When I was 11, I remember waking up one morning to the sound of joy in my house. My father was listening to BBC News on his small, gray radio. There was a big smile on his face which was unusual then, because the news mostly depressed him.
Kada sam imala 11 godina, sjećam se buđenja uz zvuk sreće jednoga jutra. Moj otac je slušao vijesti BBC-a na svom malom, sivom radiju. Na njegovom je licu bio veliki smiješak, što je tada bilo neobično, jer su ga vijesti uglavnom deprimirale.
"The Taliban are gone!" my father shouted.
"Talibani su otišli!" otac je povikao.
I didn't know what it meant, but I could see that my father was very, very happy.
Nisam znala što to znači, ali mogla sam vidjeti da je moj otac vrlo, vrlo sretan.
"You can go to a real school now," he said.
"Sada možeš ići u pravu školu", rekao je.
A morning that I will never forget. A real school. You see, I was six when the Taliban took over Afghanistan and made it illegal for girls to go to school. So for the next five years, I dressed as a boy to escort my older sister, who was no longer allowed to be outside alone, to a secret school. It was the only way we both could be educated. Each day, we took a different route so that no one would suspect where we were going. We would cover our books in grocery bags so it would seem we were just out shopping. The school was in a house, more than 100 of us packed in one small living room. It was cozy in winter but extremely hot in summer. We all knew we were risking our lives -- the teacher, the students and our parents. From time to time, the school would suddenly be canceled for a week because Taliban were suspicious. We always wondered what they knew about us. Were we being followed? Do they know where we live? We were scared, but still, school was where we wanted to be.
Jutro koje nikada neću zaboraviti. Prava škola. Vidite, ja sam imala 6 godina kada su Talibani preuzeli Afganistan i učinili ilegalnim da djevojke pohađaju školu. Tako sam se sljedećih pet godina odjevala kao dječak kako bih pratila svoju stariju sestru, kojoj nije više bilo dozvoljeno biti samoj vani, u tajnu školu. To je bio jedini način kako bismo se obje mogle obrazovati. Svakim danom smo išle drugim putem kako nitko ne bi posumnjao kamo idemo. Skrivale smo knjige u vrećicama za kupovinu, da bi izgledalo kao da smo odlazile u kupovinu. Škola je bila u kući, više od stotine nas bilo je smješteno u maloj dnevnoj sobi. Bilo je ugodno tijekom zime, ali užasno vruće tijekom ljeta. Svi smo znali da riskiramo svoje živote-- učitelji, učenici i naši roditelji. S vremena na vrijeme škola bi bila otkazana tjedan dana jer su talibani bili sumnjičavi. Uvijek smo se pitali što znaju o nama. Jesu li nas slijedili? Znaju li gdje živimo? Bili smo uplašeni, ali svejedno, škola je bila mjesto gdje smo željeli biti.
I was very lucky to grow up in a family where education was prized and daughters were treasured. My grandfather was an extraordinary man for his time. A total maverick from a remote province of Afghanistan, he insisted that his daughter, my mom, go to school, and for that he was disowned by his father. But my educated mother became a teacher. There she is. She retired two years ago, only to turn our house into a school for girls and women in our neighborhood. And my father -- that's him -- he was the first ever in his family to receive an education. There was no question that his children would receive an education, including his daughters, despite the Taliban, despite the risks. To him, there was greater risk in not educating his children. During Taliban years, I remember there were times I would get so frustrated by our life and always being scared and not seeing a future. I would want to quit, but my father, he would say, "Listen, my daughter, you can lose everything you own in your life. Your money can be stolen. You can be forced to leave your home during a war. But the one thing that will always remain with you is what is here, and if we have to sell our blood to pay your school fees, we will. So do you still not want to continue?"
Imala sam sreće što sam odrasla u obitelji gdje je obrazovanje bilo cijenjeno i gdje su kćeri bile dragocjene. Moj je djed u svoje vrijem bio izvanredan čovjek. Posve svojeglav iz udaljene provincije Afganistana, zahtjevao je da njegova kćer, moja majka, ide u školu i zbog toga ga se njegov otac odrekao. Moja obrazovana majka postala je učiteljica. Tamo je. Otišla je u mirovinu prije dvije godine, samo kako bi našu kuću pretvorila u školu za djevojke i žene iz našeg susjedstva. A moj otac -- ovo je on -- bio je prvi u svojoj obitelji koji je stekao obrazovanje. Nije bilo upitno hoće li njegova djeca steći obrazovanje, uključujući njegove kćeri, unatoč talibanima, unatoč riziku. Za njega je veći rizik bio ne obrazovati svoju djecu. Tijekom vladavine talibana, sjećam se bilo je trenutaka kada bih bila toliko frustrirana našim životima i uvijek bih bila uplašena i nisam vidjela budućnost. Željela sam odustati, ali moj otac, znao je reći, "Slušaj, kćeri, možeš izgubiti sve u svome životu. Tvoj novac može biti ukraden. Možeš biti prisiljena napustiti svoj dom tijekom rata. Ali samo jedna stvar koja uvijek ostaje s tobom je ono što je ovdje, i ako moramo prodati našu krvu kako bismo platili tvoju školarinu, to ćemo i učiniti. Dakle, da li i dalje ne želiš nastaviti?"
Today I am 22. I was raised in a country that has been destroyed by decades of war. Fewer than six percent of women my age have made it beyond high school, and had my family not been so committed to my education, I would be one of them. Instead, I stand here a proud graduate of Middlebury College.
Danas imam 22 godine. odgojena sam u zemlji koja je uništena desetljećima rata. Manje od šest posto žena moje dobi su nastavile nakon srednje škole i da moja obitelj nije bila toliko odana mom obrazovanju, bila bih jedna od njih. Umjesto toga, stojim ovdje ponosna što sam diplomirala na Middlebury fakultetu.
(Applause)
(Pljesak)
When I returned to Afghanistan, my grandfather, the one exiled from his home for daring to educate his daughters, was among the first to congratulate me. He not only brags about my college degree, but also that I was the first woman, and that I am the first woman to drive him through the streets of Kabul.
Kada sam se vratila u Afganistan, moj djed, koji je bio prognan iz svog doma jer je usudio obrazovati svoje kćeri, bio je među prvima koji su mi čestitali. Ne samo da je ponosan na moju diplomu, nego i na to što sam prva žena, a i jesam prva žena koja ga je vozila ulicama Kabula.
(Applause)
(Pljesak)
My family believes in me. I dream big, but my family dreams even bigger for me. That's why I am a global ambassador for 10x10, a global campaign to educate women. That's why I cofounded SOLA, the first and perhaps only boarding school for girls in Afghanistan, a country where it's still risky for girls to go to school. The exciting thing is that I see students at my school with ambition grabbing at opportunity. And I see their parents and their fathers who, like my own, advocate for them, despite and even in the face of daunting opposition.
Moja obitelj vjeruje u mene. Imam velike snove, ali moja obitelj ima još veće snove za mene. To je razlog zašto sam globalni ambasador 10x10, globalnog kampanje za obrazovanje žena. Zbog toga sam osnovala SOLA-u, prvi i vjerojatno jedini internat za djevojke u Afganistanu, zemlji gdje je još uvijek riskantno da djevojke idu u školu. Uzbudljivo je to što vidim učenike u svojoj školi s ambicijom da ugrabe priliku. I vidim njihove roditelje i očeve koji, poput mojih, navijaju za njih unatoč, pa čak i protivno obeshrabrujućoj oporbi.
Like Ahmed. That's not his real name, and I cannot show you his face, but Ahmed is the father of one of my students. Less than a month ago, he and his daughter were on their way from SOLA to their village, and they literally missed being killed by a roadside bomb by minutes. As he arrived home, the phone rang, a voice warning him that if he sent his daughter back to school, they would try again.
Kao Ahmed. To nije njegovo pravo ime i ne mogu pokazati njegovo lice, ali Ahmed je otac jedne od mojih učenica. Prije manje od mjesec dana on i njegova kćer su bili na putu iz SOLA-e prema svome selu i doslovno su izbjegli smrt bombom koja je bila na putu. Nakon što je stigao doma, telefon je zazvonio. Glas ga je upozorio da ako pošalje kćer ponovo u školu, pokušat će ponovno.
"Kill me now, if you wish," he said, "but I will not ruin my daughter's future because of your old and backward ideas."
"Ubij me odmah, ako želiš", rekao je, "ali neću upropastiti budućnost svoje kćeri zbog vaših starih i zaostalih ideja."
What I've come to realize about Afghanistan, and this is something that is often dismissed in the West, that behind most of us who succeed is a father who recognizes the value in his daughter and who sees that her success is his success. It's not to say that our mothers aren't key in our success. In fact, they're often the initial and convincing negotiators of a bright future for their daughters, but in the context of a society like in Afghanistan, we must have the support of men. Under the Taliban, girls who went to school numbered in the hundreds -- remember, it was illegal. But today, more than three million girls are in school in Afghanistan.
Počela sam shvaćati u vezi s Afganistanom nešto što je često odbačeno na Istoku, da je iza nas koji smo uspjeli otac koji prepoznaje vrijednosti svoje kćeri i koji vidi da je njezin uspjeh njegov uspjeh. To ne znači da majke nisu ključ našeg uspjeha. Zapravo, oni su često prvi i uvjerljivi pregovarači svijetle budućnosti njihovih kćeri, ali u kontekstu društva kakvo je u Afganistanu, moramo imati potporu muškaraca. Pod talibanima, djevojke koje su išle u školu što je izraženo u stotinama -- zapamtite, išle su ilegalno. Ali danas više od tri miliijuna djevojaka pohađa školu u Afganistanu.
(Applause)
(Pljesak)
Afghanistan looks so different from here in America. I find that Americans see the fragility in changes. I fear that these changes will not last much beyond the U.S. troops' withdrawal. But when I am back in Afghanistan, when I see the students in my school and their parents who advocate for them, who encourage them, I see a promising future and lasting change. To me, Afghanistan is a country of hope and boundless possibilities, and every single day the girls of SOLA remind me of that. Like me, they are dreaming big.
Afganistan izgleda toliko drukčije gledajući ga iz Amerike. Smatram da Amerikanci vide krhost u promjenama. Bojim se da te promjene neće trajati dugo nakon povlačenja američkih trupa. Ali kada sam u Afganistanu, kada vidim učenike u svojoj školi i njihove roditelje koji ih podržavaju, koji ih ohrabljuju, vidim obećanu budućnost i promjene koje traju. Za mene, Afganistan je zemlja nade i neograničenih mogućnosti, i svaki dan djevojke iz SOLA-e me na to podsjećaju. Kao i ja, imaju velike snove.
Thank you.
Hvala vam.
(Applause)
(Pljesak)