An Afghanistan Picture Show: Or, How I Saved the World

PREFACE

We are all disposed to live in comfort; and when some people shun the chilly slopes of Lofty Principle, preferring to watch those beneath them from the comfortable plateau of High Dudgeon, we had best forgive; we may not be able to shove them off, as they will have fortified their camp. Their opinion of us is very important, of course: —in metaphors like this one we are all, for some never explained reason, trying hard to work our way up the mountain; and as they have mined all the lower passes, we must be civil and request their escort. I myself, like many a milksop before, chose the path of altruism, on whose more fatiguing switchbacks one may encounter starving children, and lean one’s weight on their little heads in the guise of patting them. The question for me was whom to aid; for I could see the sun shining on the rifle sights of the folks whose opinion of me was of so much consequence. It was not that any of them was particular to excess; in fact, they were a very tolerant lot, believing in democracy, so that they generously allowed among their number many with whom they fought to the death; and thanks to this admirable diversity of view one could never be sure who was currently at the rifle sight. I recollected that the contingent which controlled this one pass was devoutly anti-Soviet (according to latest report), which meant that every Afghan I assisted would make me look so much better than I was; and who knew? — I might even be able to help somebody. I would write a book, I would; that was always safe.

I purchased two cameras, three lenses and forty rolls of film, and proceeded into the foothills, via Pakistan.

W.T.V. (1982)