Los Angeles Times
WWR Article Summary (tl;dr) As Matt Pearce reports, “The online rescue effort — waged from countless offices, kitchen tables and couches around the globe — cements the internet’s new centrality in the age-old experience of exodus, with smartphones and social media serving as indispensable lifelines for communication and escape.”
Arash Azizzada, a 33-year-old Afghan American activist, slumped in a chair at his home in south L.A. as he scanned the desperation in his Gmail inbox.
“To whom it may concern, I am a 21 years old gay guy living in afghanistan,” wrote one emailer, who said he had been tortured by his family and feared the Taliban’s impending rule after its sudden capture of Afghanistan. “I do not think i will be alive because of my sexuality.”
Another Afghan emailer requested “URGENT EVACUATION FOR A FEMALE DENTIST / SOCIAL ACTIVIST.” She said she worked for a nonprofit and was now under threat, like many women fearing for their liberty and their safety under a fundamentalist government.
“People are randomly cold emailing me — I don’t know who they are — just, like: ‘Help,'” said Azizzada, a labor organizer who also helps run a progressive community organizing campaign called Afghans for a Better Tomorrow. So he and many others have been trying to help, using the tools available: his laptop, his cellphone, an internet connection, social media. “Every member of our community right now is an organizer. Everybody is a volunteer.”
The online rescue effort — waged from countless offices, kitchen tables and couches around the globe — cements the internet’s new centrality in the age-old experience of exodus, with smartphones and social media serving as indispensable lifelines for communication and escape.
But the internet is only as safe as those in control let it be, and the prospect of a digital era in Afghanistan under illiberal rule poses an uncertain threat to anyone who couldn’t find a way out before the last U.S. flight left Kabul’s Hamid Karzai International Airport on Monday.
For Afghans in Kabul, the challenges of escaping through the nation’s last gateway held by U.S. troops were frustratingly analog: They had to navigate anxious crowds, armed gunmen, the threat of terror attacks, a handful of clogged airport gates, Western troops and the formidable hurdles of U.S. and Western visa paperwork and immigration policy.
Afghans and others outside the country tried to fill the gaps by staging a digital Dunkirk, as some called it, on their phones and computers, helping track down immigration lawyers, diplomats, lawmakers or government officials with .gov email addresses who could assist would-be evacuees. Sometimes help consisted of monitoring Taliban checkpoints, security threats and which of the airport’s gates appeared to be open over the course of the airlift, with Afghans trading tips and bits of news across the globe.
“I’ve been involved with this work in the Afghan community since 2016, and I’ve never seen this much involvement from our diaspora at all,” said Lida Azim, a fellow Afghans for a Better Tomorrow activist based in Washington, D.C. “It’s because of social media.”
Although it’s too soon to judge the overall effect of the remote relief work, the technology allowed real-time advocacy at a speed and scale not possible in the 20th century, when deadly conflicts such as the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan scattered its people around the world.
“This constant and instantaneous connectivity that we have can not only facilitate activism but it can also facilitate the movement of resources to people in need,” said Dana Moss, assistant professor of sociology at University of Notre Dame, who studies activism in global diasporas. However, Moss added, “Just because people can communicate doesn’t always mean they can help each other.”
In the U.S., activists used Instagram and group texts to coordinate protests to pressure federal officials to evacuate more Afghans and to cut the red tape of immigration policies that make resettlement more difficult. Activists also used the platform to gain more visibility with traditional and nontraditional media.
In between juggling interviews and trading messages with activists and Afghans, Azizzada appeared on the popular Twitch livestream of Hasan Piker, a progressive commentator who goes by the handle @HasanAbi, to call for support. More than 40,000 viewers tuned in.
“There are folks who need to get out, who need to get evacuated,” Azizzada told Piker, as Piker fans spammed the chat with messages saying “sadge” “sadge” “sadge” “sadge,” Twitch slang for sad. “We need all the people watching this Twitch right now, your fans, we need your help.”
After the interview, Azizzada checked his group’s Instagram page and saw it had drawn hundreds of new followers. “Today is Washington Post, New York Times, L.A. Times and BBC World Service,” Azizzada said, counting his interviews. “We’re trying to advocate, you know, and trying to activate.”
The Taliban was out of power for 20 years after the American invasion, and the Afghanistan it has reconquered is far more digitally connected than the one it last led, with telecommunications companies expanding phone and internet access to many Afghans.
After the Taliban’s capture of most of Afghanistan in 1996 resulted in women being forced out of jobs and girls out of schools, some Afghan women outside the country responded by creating websites to help raise visibility about conditions in the country. The children of refugees similarly used social media sites like Tumblr and Twitter to connect with other Afghans in the global diaspora, helping maintain a sense of connection over thousands of miles.
“I grew up in Oklahoma, not a lot of Afghans around. I didn’t really feel that sense of community outside of family,” said Jorj Chisam-Majid, 23, who attended a recent rally for Afghans in Los Angeles. But online, Chisam-Majid could follow what other young Afghans talked about. “It was food, Afghan culture, clothing.”
The Afghan government and military may have evaporated practically overnight in the Taliban advance, but communications devices kept working for many, and those digital connections gained new urgency. WhatsApp, Instagram and Facebook have been popular platforms for Afghans to give updates to relatives and others about conditions on the ground after the Taliban takeover.
But for the world’s dispossessed, social media, smartphones and the internet can be fragile, even potentially dangerous tethers to the rest of the world. Communications that don’t get blocked through censorship or destroyed infrastructure can also be ripe targets for authoritarian surveillance.
The Taliban, which once banned internet access in Afghanistan, has adapted to using more digital tools such as social media to get its message out, leading one spokesperson to accuse Facebook of censorship during the group’s first news conference in Kabul.
“Women activists have gone dark, folks that had a pretty decent or large social media presences,” said Halema Wali, 30, a co-founder of Afghans for a Better Tomorrow who is based in New Jersey.
She said her uncle in Afghanistan is at risk because he worked with the U.S. government. “I’ve told him not to go on social media, turn off his phone, go dark as well, because he knows he’s in immediate danger.”
Nilo Quayum, who came to the U.S. in 2001 and who attended a recent L.A. rally in support of Afghans trying to flee the Taliban, said it’s been difficult to stay in touch with some extended family in Afghanistan.
“When we contact them, they are afraid of opening up and telling us what’s going on, because they’re afraid they’re being recorded,” she said. “Most of them don’t even pick up their phone anymore.”
Azim has noticed that many of the artists she follows on Instagram have stopped posting to the app’s stories feature. “That has slowly dwindled, and I haven’t seen as much of the daily stuff anymore.”
She added of her group’s activist efforts, “We’re taking the responsibility to relay the information we’re getting, because they can’t speak for themselves.”