Nushin Arbabzadah The Afghan education ministry recently announced the issuing of 40m new school textbooks. A ministry spokesman told the BBC that the new material - financed through international aid and costing about $20m - responds to the needs of contemporary Afghan society. The emphasis of the texts is on peace, he said, adding that the material represents harmony between modern and traditional knowledge. Such lofty pronouncements cry out for verification - which is why I did just that, perusing the Dari literature textbooks intended for secondary school students. What I found was a reflection of the literary tastes of a parochial village mullah, but not an accurate representation of Dari literature. Year 9 students, for instance, are made to read a badly written text of polemical content, not only sanctioning intolerance towards non-Muslims but elevating it to patriotic duty. Exactly why such a poor text has been considered worthy of inclusion in a book of Afghan literature remains a mystery. A semiliterate militia commander fighting in the mountains might be forgiven for confusing this graceless, incendiary piece of propaganda with literature. But the board responsible for the books content should have known better. Or so we hope. Judging by the books content, hagiographies of early Islamic figures are a key part of the boards definition of Dari literature. Lets assume that the board believes literature is a tool of moral improvement and hagiographies help students become better Muslims. Even so, how is a student supposed to respond to the following passage about Uthman, the third caliph? It is clear that both through his mother and father he is closely related to the prophet (PBUH). It seems that being part of the prophets family adds kudos, but how are students supposed to reconcile this hierarchical vision of Islam with an earlier statement that says Islam is an egalitarian religion? Even if we are generous and assume that students are taught to understand such contradictions elsewhere in the curriculum, what they learn is, strictly speaking, not hagiography as a style of literature. The biographies of early caliphs are there for pietistic reasons and, as such, they are not literature. There is no need for them to be included in Dari literature because religion is already extensively covered in three other school subjects exclusively dealing with Islam. And what are students supposed to learn from this sentence, for instance? He was martyred at the hands of the garden-people (baghiyan). Who are these garden-people, and why have they killed the caliph? After moments of reflection, the reader realises that baghiyan must be a typo of the word yaghiyan, meaning rebels. A typo in a school textbook is disgraceful, but the new textbooks have plenty of them. The boards perception of non-religious literature is also peculiar. There is an obsession with poems about spring. As students grow older, the poems grow longer but the content remains the same: spring and, occasionally, birds, and flowers. If this is supposed be a literature of escapism, the repetitive nature of the themes makes escape into a fantasy world as difficult as an actual escape from Afghanistan. Unsurprisingly, the textbooks have no clear structure, but some content stands out for its oddity. For instance, lost amid randomly put-together illustrations of classical poetry and hagiography we find a couple of texts about human rights and freedom of speech. This is where the board offers a little nod in recognition of those who have financed the whole project. But what are we to make of a text entitled: Watt and the Invention of the Steam Engine? How does this text fit with the righteous caliphs, poems about spring, and tales of wisdom involving Socrates? Needless to say, we dont know. But does the board know? The only other type of prose offered to students is hekayat, traditional moral tales, the purpose of which is to illustrate proper conduct. It is here that we finally find mention of a female figure who is not a relative of Prophet Muhammad (PBUH). But unfortunately for female students, the woman in the tale represents the category of how not to behave. The hero of this timeless tale is a sheikh, and we are supposed to admire him for his grace and generosity in ignoring the womans ill-manners. The tale ends with the standard literary platitude, and so no harm was done and many were moved to tears. I, too, was moved to tears. Do Afghan girls risk acid attacks and poisoning for this? Afghan literature is rich with female contributions. Why not include Golbadan Begum, born in Kabul in 1523 and author of one of the earliest court biographies? Why not publish Nadia Anjuman, whose fine poems are the voice a generation? And Homira Qaderi, whose short stories represent artfully crafted modern prose, and a frank reflection of the inner lives of women during the Taliban period. To be fair to the board, their choice of representative literature does not only discriminate against girls. It also disregards boys. It represents men. Not any men, but grownup men of social standing. So theres consistency, a reassuring thought that disappears when the reader bumps into Schiller, Lamartine, and La Fontaine. Rather generously, the board has decided to include them in its definition of authentic Dari literature. Representing a lofty world of moral superiority occupied almost entirely by the male establishment, theres absolutely nothing in the books to reflect young Afghans experiences of war, exile and hardship. In their haughty disregard for reality, taste and lack of structure, the books are an accurate reflection of the ministrys intellectual poverty and cultural parochialism. But they are certainly not a fair representation of the diversity, wit and eloquence of Afghan literature. The Guardian