Conclusion

Hosseini uses diction to communicate the social differences between Hazaras and Pashtuns in Afghanistan.  In the beginning of my passage, Amir has just won the annual kite flying competition, and Hassan has gone to run the last fallen kite for Amir. Assef and his friends corner Hassan in an alley. Amir sneaks up behind and watches as Assef says to Hassan  “Where is your slingshot Hazara?... What was it you said? ‘They’ll have to call you One-Eyed Assef’… That was clever. Really clever,” (70). Assef is taunting Hassan before he beats Hassan. This is because Hassan threatened Assef before with a slingshot. However, the use of the word “Hazara” conveys Assef’s derogatory feelings towards Hassan. Assef, being blond, blue-eyed, and a Pashtun, feels himself to be superior to Hassan, which gives him the right to beat Hassan if he wants. Especially because Hassan has already threatened Assef as though they were equals. That is unacceptable to him. Furthermore, Amir’s refusal to help Hassan shows a difference in class. Amir stands in the alley and “watched them close in on the boy [he’d] grown up with, the boy whose harelipped face had been [his] first memory,” (71). Amir does not go to immediately help Hassan. Nor does Amir help his friend at any point in the book. Amir does not feel that Hassan is worth the beating he would receive from Assef for getting involved. When Hosseini describes the scene, he makes sure to highlight how close Amir and Hassan are, that they were each other’s first memory. These are not strangers, or even casual acquaintances. These are close friends, but even the fact that they have grown up together does not change their social standing. Amir will always be Pashtun, and Hassan will always be Hazara. Hosseini uses this scene to show the class structure in Afghanistan. The Pashtun are on top and can do as they please. The Hazaras are the lower class, the servant class, and are punished for that. Through the relationship between Assef and Hassan, Hosseini conveys the importance of social hierarchy in Afghanistan. 

The Kite Runner, Chapter 7, Pages 70-71

The Kite Runner, Passage Four (Chapter 7: pages 70-71)

For the next few minutes, I scoured the bazaar in vain. Maybe the old merchant’s eyes had betrayed him. Except he’d seen the blue kite. The thought of getting my hands on that kite... I poked my head behind every lane, every shop. No sign of Hassan.

I had begun to worry that darkness would fall before I found Hassan when I heard voices from up ahead. I’d reached a secluded, muddy road. It ran perpendicular to the end of the main thoroughfare bisecting the bazaar. I turned onto the rutted track and followed the voices. My boot squished in mud with every step and my breath puffed out in white clouds before me. The narrow path ran parallel on one side to a snow-filled ravine through which a stream may have tumbled in the spring. To my other side stood rows of snow-burdened cypress trees peppered among flat-toppedclay houses—no more than mud shacks in most cases—separated by narrow alleys.

I heard the voices again, louder this time, coming from one of the alleys. I crept close to the mouth of the alley. Held my breath. Peeked around the corner.

Hassan was standing at the blind end of the alley in a defiant stance: fists curled, legs slightly apart. Behind him, sitting on piles of scrap and rubble, was the blue kite. My key to Baba's heart

Blocking Hassan’s way out of the alley were three boys, the same three from that day on the hill, the day after Daoud Khan’s coup, when Hassan had saved us with his slingshot. Wali was standing on one side, Kamal on the other, and in the middle, Assef. I felt my body clench up, and something cold rippled up my spine. Assef seemed relaxed, confident. He was twirling his brass knuckles. The other two guys shifted nervously on their feet, looking from Assef to Hassan, like they’d cornered some kind of wild animal that only Assef could tame.

"Where is your slingshot Hazara?" Assef said, turning the brass knuckles in his hand. “What was it you said? ‘They’ll have to call you One-EyedAssef.’ That’s right. One-Eyed Assef. That was clever. Really clever. Then again, it’s easy to be clever when you’re holding a loaded weapon.”

I realized I still hadn’t breathed out. I exhaled, slowly, quietly. I felt paralyzed. I watched them close in on the boy I’d grown up with, the boy whose harelipped face had been my first memory.