My travels to Afghanistan
began many, many years ago
on the eastern border of my country,
my homeland, Poland.
I was walking through the forests
of my grandmother's tales.
A land where every field hides a grave,
where millions of people
have been deported or killed
in the 20th century.
Behind the destruction,
I found a soul of places.
I met humble people.
I heard their prayer
and ate their bread.
Then I have been walking East for 20 years --
from Eastern Europe to Central Asia --
through the Caucasus Mountains,
Middle East,
North Africa,
Russia.
And I ever met more humble people.
And I shared their bread and their prayer.
This is why I went to Afghanistan.
One day, I crossed the bridge
over the Oxus River.
I was alone on foot.
And the Afghan soldier was so surprised to see me
that he forgot to stamp my passport.
But he gave me a cup of tea.
And I understood
that his surprise was my protection.
So I have been walking and traveling,
by horses, by yak, by truck, by hitchhiking,
from Iran's border
to the bottom, to the edge of the Wakhan Corridor.
And in this way
I could find noor, the hidden light of Afghanistan.
My only weapon
was my notebook and my Leica.
I heard prayers of the Sufi --
humble Muslims,
hated by the Taliban.
Hidden river,
interconnected with the mysticism
from Gibraltar to India.
The mosque where the respectful foreigner
is showered with blessings
and with tears,
and welcomed as a gift.
What do we know
about the country and the people
that we pretend to protect,
about the villages
where the only one medicine
to kill the pain and to stop the hunger
is opium?
These are opium-addicted people
on the roofs of Kabul
10 years after the beginning of our war.
These are the nomad girls
who became prostitutes for Afghan businessmen.
What do we know about the women
10 years after the war?
Clothed in this nylon bag,
made in China,
with the name of burqa.
I saw one day,
the largest school in Afghanistan,
a girls' school.
13,000 girls
studying here
in the rooms underground,
full of scorpions.
And their love [for studying]
was so big that I cried.
What do we know
about the death threats by the Taliban
nailed on the doors
of the people who dare to send their daughters to school as in Balkh?
The region is not secure, but full of the Taliban,
and they did it.
My aim is to give a voice
to the silent people,
to show the hidden lights
behind the curtain of the great game,
the small worlds ignored by the media
and the prophets of a global conflict.
Thanks.
(Applause)