Chime In ‘Seeing Possibilities Where Others See Barriers’ Stories You May Like Good Reads: Cornell University Press Is Thriving in the Digital Age Cornell Maple Program Sees Acres of Untapped Opportunity Project Chronicles Experiences of Alums of Asian Descent My childhood in Afghanistan—and my master’s studies at Cornell—have taught me that education is a form of resistance “Chime In” comprises brief first-person essays by Cornellians. Do you have a topic in mind? Email us at cornellians@cornell.edu! By Hamidullah Nikzad Growing up in Afghanistan, I felt early that climate change was not a distant scientific debate, but a force that decided whether my family ate. One of my earliest memories is from when I was six or seven years old, during a prolonged drought that gripped much of the country in 1999–2001. Our district, cut off by Taliban-imposed restrictions, became increasingly isolated from food supplies. I remember my father leaving for a weeklong walk out of the province, returning with barley strapped to his back and another loaded on a donkey. He took it to a water-powered stone mill at the province’s border, ground it into flour, and handed it to my mother, who baked bread for us over a wood fire. That bread was more than food; it was survival, born from determination. That memory stayed with me, shaping the way I see the relationship between environment, conflict, and resilience. It taught me that climate isn’t just weather; it is survival, dignity, and the possibility of a future. Climate isn’t just weather; it is survival, dignity, and the possibility of a future. As a teenager, I took my first step toward shaping that future when I began teaching at a girls’ school in a neighboring village. In our deeply traditional community, boys and girls studied in separate schools, often miles apart, and the absence of teachers for girls was common. I was still in school myself, but I took on the role with a sense of urgency. My classroom lacked a building, desks, textbooks, and steady heat during cool seasons, so you can imagine what we had. But the students—bright-eyed, determined—showed me that education was more than lessons. It was a form of resistance to the circumstances that tried to limit them. Doing fieldwork for an applied ecology course in the Cornell Botanic Gardens. Those three years were my first “internal revolution,” as I came to see it: the moment I understood that service to my community would define my life. Attending university gave me another opportunity to act. I studied agricultural extension and economics, a field partly inspired by my childhood work. My senior thesis focused on the production of almonds, the first major orchard crop in my home province of Daikundi. I found that 83% of household livelihoods depended on it. That research cemented my belief that food systems, climate, and community wellbeing are inseparable. After graduating in 2014, I joined Afghanistan’s National Environmental Protection Agency as a planning officer. Over three years, I rose to become the director of environmental protection in Daikundi, where I worked with local authorities and communities to protect natural resources—with almost no resources. I experienced a truth that has guided me ever since: every obstacle holds a lesson, and every opportunity carries its own challenges. No barrier is entirely negative, and no opening is entirely free of difficulty. I experienced a truth that has guided me ever since: every obstacle holds a lesson, and every opportunity carries its own challenges. In Daikundi, this mindset enabled my team and me to achieve tangible results of environmental stewardship and public awareness, including designating two national protected areas—one later recognized by the International Union for Conservation of Nature as a snow leopard habitat. I learned then that leadership is not always about having resources; it is often about building trust, raising awareness, and seeing possibilities where others see barriers. Years later, to mark Earth Day in 2019, we organized a student drawing competition on themes of the planet. I watched young girls sketch the Earth and explain the ideas it sparked in them. Stories You May Like Good Reads: Cornell University Press Is Thriving in the Digital Age Cornell Maple Program Sees Acres of Untapped Opportunity Overseeing an Earth Day art competition in 2019. Their confidence took me back to my own childhood, when—without a school building—we studied under the shade of almond trees. I felt proud of how much the new generation had transformed. Later, that promise was forcibly silenced, and many of those girls were denied even the right to sit beneath those almond trees and learn. In 2021, the return of the Taliban ended not just my official work but the fragile progress we had made. In 2021, the return of the Taliban ended not just my official work but the fragile progress we had made. For a time, it felt as though the doors to my life’s work had closed. But I drew strength from two sources: the memory of my father’s long walk for barley, and the unwavering support of my wife. A graduate in anesthesiology from Kabul Medical University, she has been my strongest advocate since the day we married, encouraging me to keep moving forward when fear and uncertainty could have stopped me. Doing fieldwork in a garden in Herat, Afghanistan. That persistence led me to Cornell, where my master’s thesis in natural resources examines how seasonal rainfall anomalies and political violence interact to shape acute food insecurity in Afghanistan. In the Civic Ecology Lab, I have found a community of scholars and practitioners who believe, as I do, that resilience must be built at the intersection of science and lived experience. I have found a community of scholars and practitioners who believe, as I do, that resilience must be built at the intersection of science and lived experience. The lab’s collaborative projects, global perspective, and mentorship have not only sharpened my research skills, but expanded my vision for how environmental stewardship and food security can be advanced in fragile contexts. When I look back, I see a path shaped by the same question that drove my father years ago: how do we keep our families fed when everything seems stacked against us? With his wife in a Kabul park. The answer, I’ve learned, lies in small acts of resilience that ripple outward: teaching a class, protecting a watershed, mentoring a colleague, sharing research that might inform better policy. Each step is a thread in a much larger fabric, woven by people who refuse to give up on their communities. That is the work I intend to carry forward: connecting the science of resilience to the lived realities of those who need it most—so that the next time the rain doesn’t come, survival will not depend on how far someone can walk for a bag of barley. On track to graduate with a master’s in 2025, Hamidullah Nikzad currently works as the admin for global online courses in the Civic Ecology Lab. He holds an undergraduate degree from Afghanistan’s Herat University. (All images provided.) Published August 29, 2025 Comments Marianne Krasny 29 Aug, 2025 Thank you for sharing your moving and inspiring story and impressive accomplishments Hamid. Reply Sharon R. Mier, Class of 1973 30 Aug, 2025 Hamid, Thank you for sharing your story. It is beautifully written and so meaningful. Reply Anne Dennison Geiger, Class of 1966 23 Sep, 2025 Inspiring story, Hamid. I shared it with my daughter and granddaughters. Reply Leave a Comment Cancel replyOnce your comment is approved, your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *Comment * Name * Class Year Email * Save my name, email, and class year in this browser for the next time I comment. Δ Other stories You may like Cornelliana ‘Aardvarking’ and More: Fascinating Facts about the Marching Band Campus & Beyond Working to Reunite Families Fractured by Opioids Bear Hugs Siblings Turn their Love for Dishing on Media into a Podcast