The Road to Afghanistan - George Washington University

honor, religion, and property, we don’t care who you are. Thank God, there is a border betweenour countries. That border passes not only over land or through a river. The border exists withinour people’s notions about life. You live your way. We want to live the way we live. And no oneshould cross that border—neither you nor us.‘I know those Khalqis, who are pretending to be Muslims, will certainly begin to imposeyour Western notions. They will try to change the conscience of our citizens. They areintellectuals. They will try to limit the power of the clergy. That would destroy them, because theywill enter into conflict with their own people.‘Daoud murdered hundreds of good Muslims. However, nobody was truly offended.Everybody knew Daoud was “our man.” He did not write books about poor people like Taraki. Hedid not teach in lyceums. He was sardar—a feudal lord and a tyrant—he was an Afghani. He killedsome Muslims for the good of other Muslims. He was sinful, but he was a Muslim. He was with thepeople, and nobody ever doubted that. He acted the way it is customary here in our country, in ourhistory. The more people the ruler kills, the more he is respected. Your revolutionaries are not“ours”—they don’t belong to the people. They are yours, Western.’”Vladimir grinned. “The way these fundamentalists think…what can come out of suchIslamic ruminations? It’s scary to even imagine,” he thought.He took another report.“I met Marik Warren, a consul at the U.S. embassy. We had lunch in New Treton, at theGreen Bazaar. We ate salad and pizza with rotten Italian sardines. I brought vodka and paid forlunch, and Marik got drunk. American nerves are good for nothing. And they don’t know how todrink. He made stupid faces and indecent gestures when drunk. He tried to speak in Russian, and Iduly responded.”100