핵심요약

• 폭발이 몇 분마다 발생하며, 10명의 야간 근무자가 10시까지 집으로 돌아가는 것을 걱정했습니다.
• 과일과 채소 시장이 혼돈에 빠졌으며, 판매자들은 충격과 고통을 받았습니다.
• 많은 사람들이 빵을 사야 한다고 말하며, 전기 차단이 임박했음을 경고했습니다.
• 민아브의 학교가 타격받아 많은 사람들이 불안해했습니다.

도입

이 기사는 투자자에게 중요한 지점입니다. 전쟁과 같은 지정학적 리스크가 지역 경제와 산업에 미치는 영향을 보여주기 때문입니다. 특히, 반도체, 에너지, 금속 등 산업에서 공급망 차질이 발생할 수 있습니다.

본문 1: 지정학적 리스크의 경제적 영향

지정학적 리스크는 지역 경제에 큰 영향을 미칩니다. 이 기사는 폭발이 몇 분마다 발생하며, 10명의 야간 근무자가 10시까지 집으로 돌아가는 것을 걱정했습니다. 이는 생산성과 노동력에 직접적인 영향을 미칩니다. 또한, 과일과 채소 시장이 혼돈에 빠졌으며, 판매자들이 충격과 고통을 받았습니다. 이는 소비자 신뢰도와 시장 안정성에 부정적인 영향을 미칩니다.

본문 2: 공급망 차질과 산업적 영향

전쟁과 같은 지정학적 리스크는 공급망 차질을 초래할 수 있습니다. 이 기사는 민아브의 학교가 타격받아 많은 사람들이 불안해했습니다. 이는 지역 사회의 안정성에 영향을 미칩니다. 또한, 많은 사람들이 빵을 사야 한다고 말하며, 전기 차단이 임박했음을 경고했습니다. 이는 에너지 공급망에 대한 불안감을 반영합니다. 이러한 차질은 반도체, 에너지, 금속 등 산업에 큰 영향을 미칠 수 있습니다.

본문 3: 장기적 전망과 투자 전략

지정학적 리스크는 장기적으로도 영향을 미칠 수 있습니다. 이 기사는 폭발이 몇 분마다 발생하며, 10명의 야간 근무자가 10시까지 집으로 돌아가는 것을 걱정했습니다. 이는 생산성과 노동력에 대한 장기적인 불안정을 의미합니다. 또한, 과일과 채소 시장이 혼돈에 빠졌으며, 판매자들이 충격과 고통을 받았습니다. 이는 소비자 신뢰도와 시장 안정성에 대한 장기적인 영향을 예측할 수 있습니다.

결론

이 기사는 지정학적 리스크가 지역 경제와 산업에 미치는 영향을 보여줍니다. 폭발이 몇 분마다 발생하며, 10명의 야간 근무자가 10시까지 집으로 돌아가는 것을 걱정했습니다. 이는 생산성과 노동력에 대한 장기적인 불안정을 의미합니다. 앞으로도 지정학적 리스크에 대한 모니터링이 필요합니다.

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원문 링크: https://news.google.com/rss/articles/CBMipwFBVV95cUxNNjZIN2txVG95LUUxUUFBaVM2ZDJiWjgwd1pDWlB2WU92WHd4T2xLVFhuR0t6QWNHRC1Mb3N2YV9NdUUtSUk0YTkyTjJEZ0hjTC1iR3k4Y01QVFg1emEtTW1BMEhRN2pJcU9ZRk12Nk1lOE9GYzdMZkkxbnhyejUycHVQSDh4bnhOWkFWSlVWWHR0VlYtQnFLM2dURmFzT2dQRW44djJNQQ?oc=5

‘We had nowhere to go’: an Afghan woman journalist’s account of war in Iran - Zan Times

I live in Bandar Abbas, in Iran’s Hormozgan province, and was working the day shift from 8 a.m. to 3 p.m. when the United States began its war with Iran. We were busy that morning in the workshop when the sounds of explosions rang out. Almost immediately, we were getting phone calls from our homes.

Through social media, we had all heard that a school in Minab had been hit. Minab and Bandar Abbas are close to each other, and we could hear how near the sound of the explosions were. In those first hours, the order of everything collapsed.

We had come from Afghanistan, so we were familiar with the sounds of war. Among us were underage girls, as well as mothers who were the sole breadwinners for their families, and working children. Everyone was deeply worried and anxious.

Each person was calling a child or a mother. The girls were crying. Their faces had gone pale. They were constantly searching for answers about their families: whether their fathers, brothers, or sisters were, at school or at work, and what was happening to them.

We were supposed to return home after our shift ended but the bombing was still continuing. The night shift was anxious when they arrived. One spoke for all when she said, “If only we could be in our homes tonight. How are we supposed to go home at 10 p.m. in these conditions?”

At that time, the explosions were growing more frequent. One person said she had begged a taxi driver to take her home and had offered to pay more than the usual rate. Another person had been working in the market and was trapped there.

The fruit and vegetable market was in chaos. No one was buying anything. The vendors looked stunned and distressed. Drivers were not stopping to pick people up. Everyone was thinking only of saving themselves. I walked the whole way home.

People were talking about seeing long lines outside bakeries. They warned, “Buy bread, because the electricity is going to be cut.”

When I arrived home, I called my employer to ask whether we would be expected to go to work the next day. He said yes. He also confirmed that the war had begun and said that several areas, including Bandar Abbas, had been targeted. Around seven or eight locations in our area had been hit.

The bakeries had closed. I first prepared iftar, and then went to the bakery to bring more bread home, in case none was available the following night. I went to one bakery while my husband went to another.

At 8 p.m., we were still standing hungry in the long bakery lines. I was around the 150th person in line. Several people from each family were in line — two, three, or four people — and even husbands and wives had come together. Although we had not yet broken our fast, we stayed there in the queue.

That night was terrifying. We could hear the sound of missiles being fired and air defence systems responding. The ground shook, and thick smoke rose into the sky. From time to time, I went out onto the balcony and looked toward the places where smoke and fire were rising.

We still did not know that even Iran’s leader had been killed. It was the next day that we heard the news of his death.

On that first night, I packed a backpack. I put inside it a change of clothes, hygiene items, some basic first-aid supplies, cash, our documents, and a small power bank. I also packed some tissues and paper, a few packets of biscuits, dry foods such as dates, and bottles of water. I placed the backpack by the door. We also placed pairs of shoes by the door, so that we could leave immediately if we had to.

Though I kept myself busy on the first night, I could not stop thinking: If we were forced to leave, where would we go? We could not return to Afghanistan. When we came to Iran, we had told the passport and immigration office that my husband had been in the military and that his life would be in danger if he returned to Afghanistan. The residence permit they give us is only temporary and good for three months.

If we leave here, where do we have? What place do I even know anymore? We have no one in the smaller villages of Afghanistan.

The next day, the city was completely deserted. There was no one on the streets. It was as if the city had died. After the news of Iran’s leader’s death spread, a heavy silence fell over the streets.

All the neighbours in our apartment building — whose voices we had heard on the first night — had emptied their homes and fled to villages or nearby cities. No one was left, except us Afghans, who had no other shelter and nowhere to go.

The internet was completely cut off at around noon. The blackout continued for three months.

Just before it happened, I had wanted to call my mother. She had left me a voice message, but I became busy with work and told myself I would speak with her later. But the chance never came.

For four or five days it was not even possible to make a simple phone call. After that, my father could call from Afghanistan, but only for about a minute — just long enough for me to tell him I was well before the call would cut off.

The internet shutdown meant I could no longer continue my online university classes. Now, I have to repeat an entire semester.

First, one day passed, then two, three, four, and eventually weeks passed by. At night, everything would grow quiet, but I had no peace. During the day, I kept thinking about what might have happened in Afghanistan and what disaster might have befallen my family.

I was worried and distressed. Slowly, I began to get used to the situation. At first, our calls were once a week, and eventually only once a month — just enough to say that we were alive and well.

They would say they were fine in Afghanistan. They would ask about us, and we would tell them not to worry. With all these hardships, we eventually became used to this situation, too.

That same month, our house rental contract came to an end. I thought that because there was a war and everyone was fleeing the city, rents would probably have gone down. But the opposite happened: our rent doubled.

My husband and I had lost our jobs because our employers had taken refuge in surrounding areas and villages, and closed their workshops. Some of our close relatives were here, and my husband had previously worked with them. They gave us some financial help, and with that money, along with the small amount of savings we had, we were able to pay the rent.

I had thought prices would fall, but the advance payments required for houses grew more expensive by the day. Beyond our financial concerns, what hurt the most was being completely cut off from the rest of the world. Aside from those brief family calls, we were living in total isolation and loneliness. We knew nothing about the world outside Iran. We had no idea what was happening or what events were unfolding. We were left alone to endure that injustice.

A month after the war began, my employer called and asked us to return to work. Even though he himself was not present and had not paid our wages for one or two months, I went back. The war was continuing and there was not much work to be found. We would go only until noon and then return home. Some days, things were as they had been before the war began, but on other days there was no work at all. We would simply go to work and immediately leave for home.

During the war, our visas also expired and we needed to renew them. But the passport offices and other government institutions were closed, and no in-person services were being provided. When we went to their offices, they told us that visas were being extended online.

Source: https://news.google.com/rss/articles/CBMipwFBVV95cUxNNjZIN2txVG95LUUxUUFBaVM2ZDJiWjgwd1pDWlB2WU92WHd4T2xLVFhuR0t6QWNHRC1Mb3N2YV9NdUUtSUk0YTkyTjJEZ0hjTC1iR3k4Y01QVFg1emEtTW1BMEhRN2pJcU9ZRk12Nk1lOE9GYzdMZkkxbnhyejUycHVQSDh4bnhOWkFWSlVWWHR0VlYtQnFLM2dURmFzT2dQRW44djJNQQ?oc=5