It's 8:15pm in Afghanistan right now. And at this time, 10 days ago, I was sitting in an eight-foot-by-eight-foot cell in the basement of a maximum-security prison in Kabul, where I was being held captive by the Taliban. I'd been in that cell for 104 days, and yet, I was one of the lucky ones. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me go back to the beginning. This is me. I'm five years old and living in an Afghan refugee camp in Peshawar, Pakistan. You can see the two patches on my UNHCR-donated jeans. One patch is an American flag and the other is the Statue of Liberty, the quintessential beacons of the American dream I so badly wanted. But as a refugee, I didn't have a state to call home. And not having a state, I didn't have rights. And not having rights, I didn't have a voice. I needed someone to advocate for me. And I was fortunate to have two advocates. My parents, who had emigrated to the US four years ahead of me, fought tirelessly to get me to America for those four years. They gave me a voice. They gave me the American dream. And my parents' advocacy allowed me to join them, to emigrate to Omaha, Nebraska, to go to high school in the states to serve in the military, to graduate as a Tillman Scholar from Georgetown University, to get accepted into medical school. I became the American dream. (Cheers and applause) And in my dream, everything came full circle. This past summer, I deferred one dream for another when I put medical school on hold, founded Human First Coalition, an organization dedicated to aiding Afghans in need. Having spent the first 17 years of my life stateless, I rather abruptly found myself in the role of the humanitarian aid worker who had shaped so much of my life. I became that advocate and that voice for others. And becoming an aid worker, I got to provide food, medical care and shelter for thousands of Afghans. I got to operate resettlement flights for thousands more, and I got to make multiple trips to Kabul, with the Taliban’s blessing, to oversee it all. But then, on December 18, 2021, everything changed. That morning, which started off like any other morning, I was suddenly, inexplicably and unexpectedly taken into Taliban custody. As I was being driven to the Taliban’s General Directorate of Intelligence headquarters, I was told that I just needed to answer a few routine questions, and then I’d be sent back to my hotel. Instead, a few hours later, I was brought into that basement room. Three roommates, no blanket, no mattress, no pillow, no sun, no way to communicate with the outside world and no clue what was to become of me. And from that moment on, I stayed in that basement in the dead of the Afghan winter, for 105 days. The entire time, I feared that I might be taken in front of a firing squad, at any minute. And on the 45th day, I was beaten and tortured by 11 men wielding pipes, after eight days on a hunger strike. I had done nothing wrong. But again, I was lucky. I not only had several exceptional advocates, but I had a state. The US government game me a voice and asserted my human rights, and that's what ultimately led to my release 10 days ago. (Applause) And on the day of my release, following a four-hour flight from Kabul to Qatar, the euphoria I felt as I walked off that plane is indescribable. But amidst the triumph and joy of homecoming, something was amiss. On the day of my release, I returned to society to find that the humanitarian crisis in Afghanistan was only getting worse, the whole world was fixated on Ukraine, and nearly every Afghan resettlement effort was on pause or had ground to a screeching halt, with no effective resolution in sight. And that was a huge letdown. And that is why I decided that before even visiting my family, I had to get back to work. Because the truth of the matter is 95 percent of Afghans are currently not getting enough to eat. 22.8 million are facing crisis levels of hunger. 97 percent are living below the poverty line. And 9 million are living in extreme poverty. And these are the individuals who fought alongside us in the international coalition for the last 20 years. They are our allies. They are our brothers and sisters, and they are in desperate straits. The magnitude of the work ahead is staggering. But we have to start somewhere. And the question becomes "What should we do?" In my mind, four things. First, we must bolster humanitarian aid provisions for the international community by increasing support for and donations to grassroots organizations that have infrastructure to ensure aid is getting directly into the hands of the people who need it the most. And that's not just my organization -- there are so many support-worthy groups doing exceptional work in Afghanistan, and we need resources now. Second, we, government and citizens of the 36 countries who fought in Afghanistan must keep our promises to our Afghan allies, to whom we owe a debt, by fast-tracking their resettlement, be it in the United States or elsewhere. (Applause) This, first and foremost, necessitates resettling refugees who are currently waiting in camps around the world, to reach a place that they can call home. It also calls upon the international community to increase quotas for Afghan allies to accept more at-risk Afghans for permanent resettlement and to expand programs like humanitarian parole, to generate more pathways for those in need. Third ... As we find pathways forward for these individuals, we must not separate families, we must preserve them. (Applause) Or, at the very least, create strict limits for the amount of time that families can be separated. Family separation like mine generates irreparable harm. But clear and specific change to existing admission policies can ensure that other minors do not face the same fate that befell me and my family. Fourth -- and this is the most important of them all -- we must reestablish an international diplomatic presence in Afghanistan, to hold the Taliban accountable for their actions and provide consular services to the people. It opens a channel to address Taliban’s actions, rather than cutting off, isolating and eliminating avenues for influence. And I've witnessed what engagement with the Taliban can look like firsthand. The negotiations that resulted in my release from captivity were the direct result of effective diplomacy with the Taliban on the world stage. Diplomats spoke to each other openly and resolved an issue of mutual concern. And while the success of this discussion is perhaps an anomaly, the kind of diplomacy demonstrated by my release can and should serve as a model for achieving other desired change for the future of Afghanistan, such as the restoration of girls' education above grade six, freedom of press, bolstering women's rights, and most urgently, increasing humanitarian assistance. At the same time -- (Applause) At the same time, our diplomacy can't be a blank check. The Taliban must live up to their end of the bargain to demonstrate that they are ready to engage in diplomacy, as an actor that upholds basic human rights, that ensures necessary freedoms and that does not take or hold hostages. (Applause) At the end of the day, the situation in Afghanistan is an extremely complex one. It can't be summed up in an eight-minute talk I wrote four days ago, emerging from captivity. Yet there are tangible solutions, and I'm in the privileged position of being able to advocate for them, but I'm here today to tell you that you are too. The truth of the matter is, especially in the case of Afghanistan, change has always and will continue to start with everyday people. This fall, tens of thousands of people from around the world banded together at the grassroots level to aid Afghans in need. You don't need to be an expert to engage, to volunteer, to contribute, to lobby, or even to simply welcome a refugee to advocate for them. As Margaret Mead once said, "Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it's the only thing that ever has." On the afternoon of my release 10 days ago, I, at long last, climbed out of my basement cell and into the sunlight, without anything binding my hands or covering my eyes. I could see the sky. I traveled out of the prison through Kabul city in a Corolla sedan. I passed the American embassy and arrived at the Kabul International Airport. I walked onto the tarmac, I climbed into the C-17, I shook hands with American, Qatari and British diplomats, and suddenly, I was a free man again. But again, I was one of the lucky ones. Ultimately, being a captive reminded me of a time when I was helpless and needed a voice. Now that I'm released, I have my voice back, and, mercifully, it puts me in a position where I can advocate for that little boy with the Statue of Liberty patch on his UNHCR-donated jeans, chasing the American dream. I hope you'll join me. (Applause)