Suicide bombings in Afghanistan, a few years ago sparse and confined to the southern area of Kandahar and Hilmand provinces, are now occurring in Kabul at regular intervals. The fear of chaos returning is in the back of everyone’s mind, and Afghans working in reconstruction know the solution is a lasting economic impact felt by a wider section of the population.

An international tendency to focus on the quick-impact and short-term projects neglects the more difficult problem of how to achieve sustainable growth. In a country that is largely uneducated and illiterate, knowledge is the power that can fuel Afghanistan’s rebirth.

But frustration is growing among many Afghans at the myopic view of international organizations and their western-imposed style of “aid.”

Azizi, a defense lawyer who wants to be identified by only one name, co-founded the law firm Da Qanoon Ghushtonky, a Pashto phrase meaning “desirous of law.” As deputy director (he works under the female co-founder and director, Karimi), most of Azizi’s time is spent training lawyers and judges. He focuses on establishing an equal legal footing for both men and women by instilling a value system that guarantees women’s rights.

Previously with Medica Mondiale, an international organization helping women and children affected by war, Azizi resigned after deciding that the group was capable of running on their own without external interference. Da Qanoon Ghushtonky receives funding from the government of Denmark – something Azizi acknowledges his country still needs – but not the unwanted interference. He says it’s important that Afghans learn to lead.

“There is still a need for international colleagues to be in Afghanistan, but they should give the authority to Afghans. Instead, they don’t allow Afghans to be completely involved. The internationals provide the plan and then Afghans implement it – that’s a problem,” says Azizi, a quiet man with a comfortable personality. “Once the internationals are gone, how can we do the work ourselves? We know the culture, the law – we should have the authority.”

The working relationship with Denmark is going well (political cartoons not withstanding). Da Qanoon gets complete freedom and encouragement, but the Danish benefactors don’t bog the system down with paperwork and externally imposed guidelines.

The recent printing of hundreds of legal awareness campaign posters and booklets was one example. The funding for the printing costs was, of course, provided by Denmark. But Azizi and Karimi felt that if Danish involvement was visible, it might sabotage the desired impact.

“If the people see the [Danish] logo,” Karimi says, “they may not trust it because it’s from foreigners.” The Danes agreed and refrained from printing their logo on the material.

Something as small as a logo may seem insignificant, but it’s an attempt at a truly sovereign Afghan government and civil society: the lynchpin that can hold the state together. A three-decade span of wars has incapacitated much of the country’s human as well as economic resources, and real independence extends to the ability to demonstrate it publicly.

When considering candidates for positions at Da Qanoon Ghushtonky, Karimi and Azizi will take an under-qualified woman over an over-qualified man, hoping to bridge the gap between the sexes by training a team of female activists.

Azizi recently facilitated a national training conference for male and female attorneys and judges. Most women were merely passive observers at the beginning of the conference. But as Azizi explained the rights of women, they began to speak up. By the end of the training, the women were so involved in the discussion that the men couldn’t interrupt if they wanted to.

Gender training didn’t stop there. At the completion of the seminar, there was a final ceremony and dinner. Azizi stopped the waitresses before they brought out the food and instructed them to defy tradition and serve the women first. The women lawyers enjoyed being on the other end of discrimination for once, and the men learned a lesson as well.

“It is very small things, but as I have experienced, those small things together can make a change,” Azizi says with a shy smile.

Da Qanoon’s director, Karimi, observes the hijab, covering her body with long, loose clothing and a shawl over her hair. Yet her independence still shines through. She sits in her cold, concrete office in Kabul with her bare feet sticking out from underneath her long, grey gown. She says she constantly hears praise from the many young lawyers who are grateful for the training Azizi provides.

“Azizi’s knowledge is indispensable,” Karimi says.

In a country where the international community tries to throw a few dollars at every problem and hopes that painting a building will substitute for economic development, knowledge is worth more than gold.

And Da Qanoon Ghushtonky is spreading the wealth.

December 2007