Published by Portside

"Mirwais, son of Hayatullah Haideri. He was 1 1/2
years old and had just started to learn how to
walk, holding unsteadily to the poles of the family
tent before flopping onto the frozen razorbacks of
the muddy floor.

"Abdul Hadi, son of Abdul Ghani. He was not even a
year old and was already trying to stand, although
his father said that during those last few days he
seemed more shaky than normal.

"Naghma and Nazia, the twin daughters of Musa Jan.
They were only 3 months old and just starting to
roll over.

"Ismail, the son of Juma Gul. 'He was never warm in
his entire life,' Mr. Gul said. 'Not once.'

"It was a short life, 30 days long."

There were many such casualties, the New York Times
reports, in the deadly January of 2012, Afghanistan's
coldest January in 20 years. The United Nations notes
that, in camps around Kabul, as many as 35,000 refugees
from the fighting had only tents and mud huts to
protect them from the cold. In those camps alone, 26
Afghan children froze to death this past winter, with
nationwide casualties in triple digits.

Among Afghanistan's ongoing burdens of destitution and
war, of course temperatures are now dropping again.

Two weeks ago, I was with the Afghan Peace Volunteers
in Kabul, listening to Afghan seamstresses pour out
their thoughts about the impending winter and what they
and their families will require in order to cope with
it. Blankets to cover doorways; warm clothing; large,
heavy coverlets called duvets.

"Every woman in Afghanistan knows how to make these
items," one woman, Faribah, assured me. "But it's
expensive."

It was a meeting of the seamstress' collective that the
Afghan Peace Volunteers are working to set up in Kabul,
helping struggling women earn a living outside the
control of exploitative middlemen. The Volunteers' Dr.
Hakim and I suggested that the seamstresses could
sidestep the markets and instead invite donors from
abroad to help put a desperately needed warm coverlet,
a duvet, into an impoverished family's dwelling.
Together we estimated that it would cost $20 to make
each coverlet and also afford the seamstresses a modest
income, $2 per duvet, $4 per day in return for their
labor.

The process would also afford greater vibrancy to the
Volunteers in their work to foster an inter-ethnic,
internationally recognized Afghan peace movement, while
allowing the women a much needed, if meager, degree of
independence and dignity.

The women's responses were both eager and practical.
Over the next several days, a steady buzz of voices
accompanied the whirr of hand-operated sewing machines:
"The Duvet Project" was taking shape.

The day before I left Kabul, the women met to finalize
plans. They agreed that young Afghan Peace Volunteers
will help make, store and distribute the duvets as
gifts to needy people. "We will accept less than what
the market would pay us," Faribah said, her voice
rising with assurance. "If it is to help the people,
this is something we all want to do!"

From past experience of displacement, several of the
women understand the misery and hardship faced by
families living in abandoned lots and constructing
makeshift dwellings from mud, poles, plywood, plastic
sheeting and cardboard. These tents and shacks offer
little protection from the bitter cold winter weather.
Amnesty International's 2012 report, "Fleeing War,
Finding Misery," describes the plight of displaced
families that have fled their homes or villages because
of conflict. "Those who are displaced must deal with
the daunting challenges of finding new homes and
providing for themselves and their families at the same
time that they are struggling to cope with trauma
induced by the events that led them to flee." They face
"unrelenting misery," the report states, living in
close, unhygienic quarters, sleeping without bedding
under torn plastic sheeting, and having scarce access
to water.

With an estimated 400 Afghan people displaced every day
by a U.S.-initiated war, the desire for warm blankets
and warm clothing will certainly be greater than the
supply

Faribah tried to help us understand the barriers that
she and other women seamstresses face in fending for
their families. Like most of the women sitting in a
circle on the floor, Faribah had not been allowed to
leave her house before she began coming to the
seamstress workshop.

"Kathy, I know that in your country it is very
different," Faribah said. "People have freedom of
movement and it is not difficult to move in the
streets. We have feelings and sentiments and we all
want to be free, to have dignity, whether male or
female, but our society does not permit us to be free
not only because of social traditions but also because
of war. Kabul has become a frightening place. It's
natural for our families not to trust that we can go
out. There are strangers in the city, including
foreigners from neighboring countries. We cannot trust
anyone, even our own people, who are poor and we need
money and will do anything to get money, - and ladies
especially have been confined to their homes, partially
to protect them from harm outside. That makes it
difficult for us because we do want to provide for our
families."

It is a sign of desperation that families have allowed
the women to gather each morning at the Afghan Peace
Volunteer home to try to eke out a living. Several of
the participants had already told me that they felt
like they were losing their minds, "going mad," or
becoming mentally unstable from the crushing knowledge
that they could not adequately feed their families,
that with rising costs even a diet of bread was
escaping from their families' grasp