The Washington Post - 28.08.2019

A10 EZ RE THE WASHINGTON POST.WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 28 , 2019

1960s with help from the United
States and went on to oversee the
production of movies across Af-
ghanistan over the following dec-
ades.
But when the Taliban took
over the government in Kabul in
1996, the militants enforced a
strict version of Islamic law,
banning music and moving im-
ages. Under their rules, just see-
ing a woman’s face in public was
deemed immodest. To see one
appear on screen — pining for a
man, her hair uncovered —
would have been considered sac-
rilegious.
Afghan Film staff knew the
Taliban’s hard-line interpreta-
tion of Islam put them and their
films in danger.
Fearing the militants would
destroy their irreplaceable ar-
chive, some employees risked
their lives to hide the films,
piling as many reels as they could
in the building’s ceilings and
walls. When the Taliban even-
tually stormed the company’s
headquarters, militants burned
much of what they found.
“I felt as if I were at a funeral,”
Habibullah Habib, 61, a film
projectionist who helped hide
the films decades ago, said of
that day. “The air was full of
grief.”
Many of the movies survived
in their hiding places until after
the Taliban government fell in

2001. But in the shadow of the
      drawn-out war that followed,
      many of those films were neglect-
      ed and damaged.
      Efforts to protect the surviving
      films by digitizing them began
      years ago, but with funding and
      equipment shortages, the proc-
      ess stagnated. Then, last year, the
      archives staff at Afghanistan’s
      presidential palace took over the
      project and moved the reels from
      the historic Afghan Film head-
      quarters into a climate-con-
      trolled room in the basement of a
      gray building on the far side of
      the palace compound in Kabul,
      where they now sit neatly
      stacked behind a heavy door with
      a biometric lock.
      Critics accused the govern-
      ment of moving the films out of
      reach of the general population
      by barricading them on one of
      the most secure compounds in
      an already militarized capital.
      But Rafiullah Azizi, director of
      the palace archives, said relocat-
      ing the reels was the only way to
      ensure they would survive what-
      ever happens next in Afghani-
      stan.
      “Afghanistan has been de-
      stroyed and the movies are no
      exception,” he said. “They need to
      be taken care of like a baby.”
      Some of the films were “almost
      ruined” when they were trans-
      ferred to the palace, he said. The

FILM FROM A

already fragile film was often

unlabeled, ripped or covered in

dust.

Now, six days a week, in a

windowless room on the second

floor of the building where the

films are housed, four men sit at

desks in different corners, dili-

gently cleaning and repairing the

16- and 35-millimeter film, one

strip at a time.

One gently wipes dust off the

film with a small brush while

another plays an old movie on a

small screen, closely scrutinizing

its sound quality and making

careful adjustments. Once a reel

of film has been properly re-

paired, the staff project it onto a

large screen, taking notes about

its content and any remaining

glitches before registering it in a

database.

Then the film is placed inside a

$30,000 machine that transfers

its contents onto a connected

computer. A second group of

experts then pore over individual

scenes, using software to tweak

the newly digitized version’s

sound and color until every de-

tail feels right.

The archivists working here

see restoring these films to their

original condition as a crucial

service to their country — as

important as the work others

are doing to slowly rebuild other

artifacts the Taliban has de-

stroyed, like the centuries-old

Buddhas they once smashed to

pieces that experts are now

carefully reconstructing at the

National Museum in Kabul.

Once the film digitization proj-

ect is complete, they plan to

move copies of some films to

embassies abroad to ensure

In Afghanistan, reviving another casualty of war: Filmmaking

PHOTOS BY KIANA HAYERI FOR THE WASHINGTON POST

Nazifa Hashimi takes notes as she analyzes an Afghan film from the 1960s for archival purposes in Kabul. For her, the films are a reminder of how much has been lost to war — but also how much there is to save.

Old reels, some already restored and others waiting to undergo the

process, sit in a ventilated archive room in the presidential palace.

their protection.

Mamnoon Maqsoodi — one of

Afghanistan’s most beloved ac-

tors, who is best known for his

role as a simple villager on his

first trip to Kabul in the comedy

“De Konday Zoy,” which screened

shortly before the Taliban came

to power — said film is treasured

here because movies are a coping

mechanism, offering momentary

respite for Afghans worn down

by decades of war.

“Movies are the mirror of a

society — the mirror of both its

problems and its successes,”

Maqsoodi said. “Cinema can give

a lot, and connect people who

hate each other.”

Since the war began, Maq-

soodi said, he has never played

the role of a Taliban fighter. But

he has played the part of their

victims, and in doing so, has

sought to portray the harm the

militants wrought on his coun-

try.

“If I can take revenge through

acting and making films, I would

never pick up a gun,” he said.

On a recent afternoon, Habib,

the film projectionist, gently

placed 16-millimeter film onto a

yellow reel projector, then

cranked its handle and peered

through a small window where

he could see it appear on the

screen in a room next door.

Bit by bit, scenes from an

earlier Afghanistan came to life.

It was the 1970s, and young

women, their hair uncovered,

skipped joyfully through a public

park in Kabul. Teenagers

marched proudly in a parade at a

stadium in the capital. Vendors

bustled on streets not patrolled

by the military.

For Nazifa Hashemi, 58, who is

contributing to the films’ restora-

tion by analyzing and categoriz-

ing their content, watching these

familiar scenes can evoke painful

memories.

As a young woman in Kabul,

she moved around town as freely

as the women on screen, dressed

in miniskirts and high heels and

mingling with men at picnics.

But when the Taliban came to

power, she was forced to cover

herself in a blue burqa. Most of

her family fled to the United

States.

Sometimes, the films remind

her of how much she’s lost. But

they’re also a source of pride and

inspiration — a reminder of how

much Afghans have left that’s

worth trying to save.

“As long as we are alive, we

want to see our country, our

people, from the beginning to the

end,” she said. “Never will I love

anywhere else in the world as

much as I love my own land.”

[email protected]

[email protected]

Shoaib Harris contributed to this

report.

Habib works from his small office managing the reels and projecting the films for analysis and archiving. “I felt as if I were at a funeral,”

he said, recalling when Taliban militants burned much of the Afghan Film archive. “The air was full of grief.”

Film projectionist Habibullah Habib, 61, who is involved in the

restoration process, helped hide the reels during the civil war.

“Cinema can give a lot, and connect people who hate each other.”

Mamnoon Maqsoodi, an Afghan actor