Osama is the story of a girl, played by Marina Golbahari, who lives with her widowed mother and grandmother. The women's only hope for survival is the young girl who poses as a boy to gain employment. Out of desperation, the grandmother clips the girl's locks down to a buzz, as the adolescent assumes the identity of a boy, now referred to as "Osama."

Barmak, who is also the screenwriter, leaves his characters unnamed in the film to represent the general suffering in Afghanistan. Through the victimization of Osama, we see how the Afghan culture, landscape, and way of life have been stripped. Her lost identity symbolically entwines with the lost identity of the war-battered nation. In effect, the young girl is Afghanistan personified; her forced disguise and powerlessness representatively depict the country's transformation into something no longer recognizable or in control of its own fate.

Barmak finds beauty in the most unexpected and sorrowful of places, weaving stanzas into images, images into a heart-rending story, like a master of poetry. His use of imagery and symbolism demonstrate what is otherwise inexpressible. Osama's suppressed femininity takes the form of her severed braid planted in a flowerpot of soil, at times with an IV drip-feeding it, in hopes to keep her identity alive. Recurring images of the protagonist jumping rope in prison illustrate caged freedom and lost innocence.

Tellingly, the matriarch shares an Afghan proverb with her granddaughter when she instructs her to dress as a boy, in where a boy becomes a girl when he passes under a rainbow, and a girl becomes a boy when she passes under. The reality of the proverb is an impossibility, of course, because a rainbow cannot be passed under. Consequently, Osama's victory is an impossibility, and we are witnesses to her doom.

Soon after her alteration, Taliban round-ups force Osama, and other boys in economic distress, into a madrasa or religious school. What follows is a shocking piece of film. No violence occurs onscreen, yet the plot unfolds in such a terrorizing way, it leaves the viewer silently begging Barmak to protect these characters-and us-from the unbearable. The film's harshness, however, is softened by Barmak's evident compassion for the Afghan people.

Osama has generated a lot of discussion and high praise in the Afghan-American community. Not surprisingly, though, some have been concerned how the message will be viewed by Westerners. Chief among the concerns are that the Taliban were not shown as a foreign element in the country, and that no alternative was given to the twisted version of Islam practiced by the Taliban. Undoubtedly, Western perception frequently (sometimes recklessly) confuses the Taliban's extremism for Afghan culture and traditional Islamic practice, and these misconceptions need to be debunked.

The problem in the film's ambiguity in this area may lie in the fact that Barmak has relatively little experience with Westerners, and may be unaware of the depth of stereotypes. An educated viewer, however, will notice Barkmak does contrast the mercilessness of the Taliban's edicts against the warmth and generosity of the Afghan people and the giving nature of Islam. The director focuses not on the Taliban but on the compassion of the Afghan people, whether he gives us the shopkeeper who hires Osama when he cannot make ends meet himself, the street-hustling boy, Espandi, who covers for Osama's apparent femininity, or the grandmother reminding us that men and women are equal despite the political climate.

Before Osama, Afghans had to rely on Iranian filmmakers to tell of their struggle, and at times, they did so unsympathetically. Majid Majidi's Baran and the lesser-known but charming Jomeh by director Yekta Panah featured Afghans in a positive light, but from the distance of Afghan refugees on Iranian soil. Mohsen Makhmalbaf's Kandahar was set in Afghanistan, but met the outrage of many Afghans in his portrayal of a country full of grave robbers, con artists, and thieves.

Osama is the first feature shot in Afghanistan since the Taliban, and subsequently, one of the few chances Afghans have had to address the world about life under the repressive regime. Afghans can rejoice in the work of Barmak.

The director has not only pushed the dialogue of Afghanistan back into mainstream -- and done so in a constructive way (for once we did not have to wait for war and death to bring us into the headlines) -- but also, he has empowered Afghans to tell their own stories, which is crucial to our survival.

The Afghanistan shown is not far past, though the international community has promptly moved on. While women are working once again and girls have returned to school, conditions on the whole have not changed drastically. Poverty and disease are still among the world's highest, security remains thin, and donor money is quickly drying up.

Without viable long-term solutions, Afghanistan will once again fall victim to oppressive rule, whether to religious extremism or the interests of international oil companies.

Deeply thoughtful projects such as Osama offer the only hope. The film won Best Foreign Film at the Golden Globes this year, along with a Special Mention at Cannes and Best First Feature at the London Film Festival. The accolades advanced the film to the forefront of their year's foreign-language features, and helped highlight the nation's critical status once again.

Osama is a film you do not easily forget. Its intensity stays with you days later, inviting interpretation, yearning to be understood. Perhaps it stays with the viewer in such a profound way, because tragedies like these can never be understood.

In the opening credits, Barmak displays a quote from Nelson Mandela against a black screen: "I can forgive, but I cannot forget."

This intensely moving and tragic film reminds us why Afghanistan should never be forgotten again.