Alaska News

Quiet act of respect for flag reaches from Afghanistan to Alaska

What's in a flag? By the dawn's early light, and even at night, flags, or banners, are almost everywhere these days. Auto dealerships. Fast food establishments. Fancy hotels. Even so, flags are at their most evocative and dramatic, their most emotive, as emblems of nations (past, present and potential) and ideologies (past and present).

Columbus, Blackbeard and Crusaders had flags. The United Nations, the Rainbow Nation and Greenpeace have flags. So do the Basques, Bretons and Catalans. Biafra, Tibet and the American Confederacy do too. Flags have been planted on the moon, at the bottom of the Arctic Ocean and atop Mount Everest. The Romans carried flags into battle; so did the Egyptians and Persians before them. Flags are designed to be powerful representations and to elicit strong emotions. We pledge allegiance to ours, and we hate it when people burn it as a very effective way to get our attention.

People have done remarkable things in defense or in honor of their flags over the years, not all of them admirable. A lot of people, over a lot of years. It's not unusual for drama to be involved in such events. What is more unusual is an individual acting in defense of someone else's flag, at no benefit to themselves, with no fanfare.

This time of year, between Flag Day and Independence Day, I think of one such case that I've been familiar with for some time. This particular incident was reported in Front Lines, the magazine of the U.S. Agency for International Development. Back in 1973, the U.S. had an AID mission in Afghanistan, much smaller and with a somewhat different focus than the one there today. This was before the Soviet invasion of 1979; before the Taliban and al Qaida and Osama bin Laden; before 9/11. There was a king. Life wasn't easy, but the likelihood of stepping on a land mine was virtually nil.

One day, back in 1973, a USAID staff driver delivered some American agricultural advisers conducting research to a small, isolated village. As the advisers went about their business, the driver, Nassar Mohammed, checked out the village, and happened upon a local merchant industriously dusting his wares with, as Mr. Mohammed discovered to his dismay, an American flag. Soiled, wrinkled and old (it was a 48-star flag), but unmistakably an American flag. The shop keeper had no interest in finding another use for his bright rag; the situation escalated; the police and local authorities got into the picture; and ultimately Mr. Mohammed spent the equivalent of a day's pay to acquire the colorful cloth and resolve the issue.

Once the advisers were safely back in Kabul, he took the flag home, had it laundered and ironed, and delivered it to a ranking official at the AID mission with the following note: "From an Afghan who appreciates what your country is doing for us. You'll know what to do with this." And no more explanation. When the official investigated further (imagine his curiosity upon receiving that package) and was eventually able to thank the driver personally, Mr. Mohammed refused compensation and indicated that he simply thought all national flags deserved respect. And that was that.

Flags are deserving of particular respect. They carry meaning and significance and are worthy of special consideration. As I mentioned, I think about Nassar Mohammed and his flag sometimes. Sometimes I wonder how he has fared in the decades since the quiet, dignified act reported in Front Lines took place.

ADVERTISEMENT

And since I'm actually in possession of that flag, sometimes I think I'd like to shake his hand myself, and, if he'd accept it, give him back his flag.

Ken Landfield has lived in Homer since 1980. The flag in this account has been in his family since the 1970s, when it was given to his father who was on duty in Afghanistan as a foreign service officer some time after the incident described. It has been "the family flag" ever since.

Ken Landfield

Ken Landfield lives in Homer.

ADVERTISEMENT