Flight from Taliban to end in citizenship

Seth Rosen / Charlottesville Daily Progress
Published: July 3, 2007

The campaign of intimidation and harassment started with an anonymous note left on the door.

The letter had a simple yet dire warning for Najia and Ahmad Reshad Khaterzai: Close down the school in Islamabad, Pakistan, where the couple taught Afghan refugee children, or it would be burned to the ground.

The Khaterzais were refugees themselves, among the tens of thousands of Afghans who fled Kabul in 1994 during the tempest of the country's multi-sided civil war. After a harrowing journey across the border into neighboring Pakistan, the couple and their young child settled in Islamabad. There Reshad's sister had founded a co-ed school for displaced Afghans, who were barred from attending local public schools.

The school was brimming with students, and Reshad, a civil engineer back home, taught mathematics, while Najia, a lawyer, was a science and childhood development instructor. But at a time when the Taliban was coalescing in the ungoverned frontier of Pakistan's western border and beginning to conquer a wide swath of Afghanistan, the co-ed school drew the attention of local religious zealots intent on shuttering an institution providing education to girls.

At first the teachers, including four of Reshad's siblings, ignored the hostile letters delivered to the school and their homes.

The intimidation soon escalated.

Someone tried to break into the Khaterzais' house. Students and teachers were assaulted on their way to and from school.

To appease the agitators, the director of the school, Reshad's brother, separated the boys and girls into different classrooms, hoping it would end the attacks. But to no avail. One night a classroom was set on fire.

"We had a hard time and every day there was fighting," Najia said. "But no one can stop our school or the education of Afghan refugees. We didn't want the Afghan people, especially women, to be left in the dark."

The violence only increased. A religious militant assassinated Reshad's brother with a bullet to the chest. For the couple it was the breaking point. Because the police were either helpless or unwilling to stop the violence, the Khaterzais decided it was no longer safe to remain in Pakistan. They appealed to the U.N. High Commission for Refugees to find the family refuge in a Western country.

"We were scared for our lives," Reshad said. "It was time to leave."

Unpacking

The Khaterzai household is in a state of upheaval. Half-full boxes fill the living room and freshly painted dresser drawers are strewn across the back porch, drying underneath the setting sun. The family of five moved into a house in the Hollymead area two weeks ago and is still mired in that bewildering transition known as unpacking.

For now the couple sleeps on the floor, having yet to purchase a new bed. But they lie down each night knowing they have achieved one of the hallmarks of the American dream: homeownership.

Today, though, is the day for which the Khaterzais have been waiting. It is the completion of a journey that began 13 years ago, when Reshad, a 7-month pregnant Najia and their 3-year-old daughter left the ruins of their apartment in Kabul and said goodbye to Afghanistan; it is the culmination of an arduous process that began when the family arrived on American soil on Sept. 23, 2001, two weeks before the launching of a war that would end the Taliban's repressive rule of their native land.

For today is the day they become American citizens.

The husband and wife are two of 76 people from 36 countries who will be sworn in as citizens at a ceremony this morning on Monticello's West Lawn, on the 231st anniversary of America's independence. They will be accompanied by 14 friends and family members, including three of Reshad's sisters and his mother, all of whom live in the Charlottesville area.

To a family that has been outsiders for so long, citizenship embodies acceptance. As refugees in Pakistan the family was deprived of basic rights and services. They were looked down upon by the local population and driven out of the country by the threat of further violence.

"We now have the same rights as all Americans have," said Reshad, 40, a shy smile creeping across his face. "We have a passport. We can vote for the president."

"Every refugee that lives here wishes one day to become a citizen."

Dreaming of America

Growing up in Kabul, Reshad dreamed of visiting America. His idealistic picture of the country was shaped his fourth-grade teacher, who captured the boy's imagination with tales of the colonists' victory over the British and with the dazzling power of American technology.

Reshad and Najia grew up on the same street and married in 1989, the same year Najia graduated with a degree in law. It was also a momentous period in Afghanistan's history, with Soviet forces withdrawing after a decade-long conflict that claimed more than a half-million lives and displaced nearly 5 million people.

The Soviet departure created a power vacuum, which various warlords sought to fill. The fighting in the capital intensified in the early 1990s, and the neighborhood where Reshad, Najia and their young daughter Saha lived was caught in the crosshairs. For three months the young family lived in their basement, struggling to survive without electricity or water.

The Khaterzais were able to secure an apartment in a safer section of town. But the fighting soon followed. An all-out civil war commenced on New Year's Day 1994.

A week later, a rocket smashed into the Khaterzais' apartment building, leveling the upper floors. Living on the ground floor, the family was spared. The fighting raged outside their front door, and anyone foolish enough to venture outdoors was gunned down.

"We decided in five minutes to leave Kabul," Reshad said.

The trek through abandoned city streets, and over snow-covered peaks, was treacherous, especially because Najia was seven months pregnant, but the family was able to hitchhike a ride to Pakistan.

"When we left Afghanistan we couldn't take any of our stuff, so we just ran with the clothes we had on," said Najia, 41, a gregarious woman with dark hair and a penchant for exaggerated hand motions. "We lost everything."

For 2 1/2 years the family lived in limbo in Pakistan, waiting for a country to accept them as refugees. Finally, two weeks before the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks, Reshad got word that they would be moving to America.

Settling in

The State Department gave responsibility for the Khaterzais to the International Rescue Committee, which has an office in Charlottesville and had earlier resettled Reshad's sisters and mother here.

The IRC found the family an apartment and helped the mother and father secure jobs. Najia works at a child care center, while Reshad is a lab technician studying concrete and soil.

The family faced the typical immigrant obstacles: a limited knowledge of English, a foreign culture and a confusing society.

In many ways the Khaterzais have had the classic immigrant experience, focusing on their children's education - the older two daughters are on scholarship at St. Anne's-Belfield and the youngest is enrolled in public school - and saving money to purchase a home. The transition was made smoother by having relatives in the area.

After living in America for four years and eight months, the parents became eligible to apply for citizenship, which was granted a month ago. The children will become citizens once their parents are naturalized.

"They have been through a lot of difficult circumstances and I'm just very happy for them," said Susan Donovan, regional director of the IRC's Charlottesville branch. "This represents the end of a difficult chapter in their lives and they have their futures ahead of them."

Though Najia visited relatives in Pakistan last year, the Khaterzais have not returned to Afghanistan and are unlikely to do so anytime soon. "It's not safe for us right now," Reshad said. "There's no peace."

The school in Islamabad is still thriving, and one of Reshad's sisters acts as the director. Since the fall of the Taliban, the threats have largely dissipated.

One of the few pictures that hang in the Khaterzais' house is an image of the Buddhas of Bamyan, statues that were built 1,500 years ago but demolished by the Taliban. The statues serve as an apt metaphor for Afghanistan, testifying to the country's storied history but also to the devastation caused by two decades of fighting.

"Now they are being rebuilt," Najia said. "But it will be hard. They cannot be the same as a long time ago."