The Thursday Post: Week 2: Eyes of Bright Sadness

Who is Shrabat Gula, and why is she looking at me so? That stare, that deep stare which has captured the eyes of so many others over the past twenty years, what makes it so enchanting? Not enchanting in a romantic sense, but puzzling, bewitching. The image of her is an image which one cannot erase from one's brain. It etches itself upon my consciousness, haunting my thoughts. The photograph shows only her face, but what is it in that face? It's the face of a twelve year old girl, it can't be that special. But it is. It is the face of humanity, the face of a fallen breed.

She's poor. She was part of the Pashtun tribe, one of the most warlike and barbaric in all of Afghanistan. She was orphaned at a young age and sent to live in a refugee camp. But you don't need a biography to know most of this. You can guess simply by looking at her face. There is dirt on her chin and forehead, testifying to the hardship of her life. Her skin is dark from a life in the desert, subject to torment by a cruel, hot sun. Her hair is ruffled and matted. Hair which is not used to luxury. Hair which has never known the feel of the shampoos our women use here. It is not American hair. It is wild, it is exotic.

The shawl wrapped around her head is tattered around the edges, again proclaiming her poverty. it too has been faded from the harsh sun. But is compliments her. The photograph would not be nearly as powerful as it is without the vibrant red of that shawl. It sets the stage, and tells the viewer that the subject of this photograph is not of our culture. She is not of our world. The photographer was lucky to catch her without her face covered, something that is completely foreign to the American mind. Our women take pride in their looks. I don't condemn that, but the Muslims would. If Sharbat had been photographed without a shawl at all, the image would be lost. It would be devoid of culture, simply another photograph of a girl.

But what makes this image so powerful? What is it about this piece that makes it so memorable? Her eyes. Those brilliant, green eyes. Eyes which pierce into your soul. Eyes which make you look at her, as she is looking at you. Her earthly face is beautiful in it's own right, but you can't turn away with those emeralds shining out from her weathered complexion. Like the jewels they are, they grab you attention and leave you spellbound, unable to look away. They are the eyes of hope. they pierce through the darkness, and the pain, and the harshness seen so obviously on this girl's face, and they let the world know that the human spirit is still very much alive. They are sad, because they have seen pain, but they are bright, because they have also seen salvation: refuge in a broken country, culture within the wilderness. These eyes know that the pain in life can help to highlight what pleasure we find. These eyes make us realize that, as we sit and stare at her face surrounded by comfort and technology, we are flattening the hills and valleys of our lives, making them as uninteresting as they are lazy. These eyes tell us the wisdom that most of us Americans will never be able to learn for ourselves.