Leaving Kabul after a week of confinement at the NGO compound felt
like a release from an internment camp. Not that I was a prisoner but the base
was like a place where you are obliged to stay because those in authority think
that this will be best for you. Often beneath this reasoning is a more honest
layer of reality which means that it is safer for them if you don’t venture out
because it allays their fears of perceived threats, gives a sense of taking
responsibility and avoids possible lawsuits. It has always confounded me that
that humanitarian organisations are so bureaucratically risk adverse when the
nature of the work they do naturally puts their field staff in objectively
unsafe environments. This is not to say that I or any other aid worker
necessarily seeks out the adrenaline-fuelled highs we sometimes find ourselves
caught up in, but, we implicitly accept that the work we do exposes us to situations
that may cause us harm. It comes with the territory. Organisationally however,
there is an attempt to create a security bubble around us that isolates us from
the local context and in some cases makes it more dangerous to operate
effectively because we are so removed from reality on the ground. UN and
foreign diplomatic staff are an extreme example of this. Some work in Kabul for
years but rarely, if ever, venture or even see beyond their compounds walls.
The sense in which they are meaningfully experiencing living in Afghanistan is
very limited (they could be anywhere) – much less so for me but on the same
continuum. I call this phenomenon ‘securitisation’ – a noun but also verb done
to such workers.
One might think that Medair, whom I work for, would fly me to
project locations themselves because surely air travel is a core part of their
work. Don’t let the name (or retro logo above) confuse you – we have no planes
and offer no air service. Our work is not medical either. Although, health and
nutrition programming does form an important part of our core activities. I
flew out of the Afghan capital on a plane operated by United Nations
Humanitarian Air Service (UNHAS). As we rose above the city, the dirty brown
cloud hovering in a polluted faecal haze was clear to all on board. This
undoubtedly explains the origins of the mildly rasping cough I developed within
a day of arriving. The plane headed west over dry, rocky mountains into thin,
clear air and bright light towards Bamyan. This is where I will be based for my
stay in Afghanistan and the prospect of clean air and relative calm will be a
welcome change from life in the capital. All things being equal I will be
relatively free to move around town and the province. I look forward to the
prospect of strolling through the bazar, eating in local restaurants and even
short walks in the Hindu Kush – Afghanistan’s central massif – which all fall
outside the ‘No Go’ list of proscribed places. Of course, I will be accompanied
by a driver and translator at all times regardless of my experience and local
language ability. Like it or not, I will be fully securitised.
Whether I will be safer as a result is a different matter.
C’est la vie humanitaire.
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