“I am not free while any woman is unfree, even when her shackles are very different from my own.” –Audre Lorde
The 15th of August marked three years since the fall of Afghanistan to the Taliban, when foreign forces pulled out following a deal between the US and the Taliban. After 20 years of conflict, the country was abandoned, the American flag was removed, the Afghan flag was banned and replaced, and people mobbed Kabul Airport in desperate attempts to flee. It was the longest war in American history, but it has indelibly haunted Afghanistan’s past, present and future.
In the aftermath of the Taliban reoccupation, there was a steep decline in human rights, especially for women and girls, and the question we must force ourselves to ask is what drives the Taliban to prevent women from participating in society?
To answer this, it’s crucial to examine not only the consequences for Afghan women but also the broader systematic issues impeding gender equality worldwide.
But first, let’s start with the Taliban.
The Taliban emerged in the early 1990s in northern Pakistan following the withdrawal of Soviet troops from Afghanistan. They did not rise by magic to ban education for girls, behead intellects and destroy cultural heritage – they were funded by Pakistan. Some members were even trained by American forces in hopes of creating a terrorist nation. The promise made by this group of men was to restore peace and security, as well as enforce their own austere version of Islamic law, once in power. They quickly expanded their influence and soon introduced punishments in line with their strict interpretation of Sharia law, such as public executions and stoning. The Taliban were removed from power in Afghanistan by US-led forces in 2001, but they gradually regained strength. By August 2021, they reclaimed their control over the country.
This re-ascendancy of the Taliban has shackled Afghan women. Women have been pushed out of the public eye, prevented from getting work and forced to remain in their homes unless accompanied by a male guardian. They have been left untouched by the protective hands of Western feminism, the one that we so proudly acquired in the last few centuries.
Afghanistan is now the worst and most dangerous place for a woman to live.
We have allowed it to be. Overnight, we have permitted the Taliban to impede on a woman’s most fundamental right to work, to study, to simply live freely.
There was a belief in the future, the progress for a better tomorrow in Afghanistan.
The post-Taliban constitution in 2004 gave Afghan women all their deserving rights, including the ability to educate themselves and work, which brought social and economic growth. This significantly improved their socio-economic condition. Women’s financial empowerment boosted productivity, increased economic diversification and income equality in addition to other positive developmental outcomes.
Over the years, women have fought fiercely to bridge the chasm of inequality, making significant strides toward a more just and equal society. There were women ministers, judges, governors, police and soldiers, and Afghanistan’s parliament had a higher percentage of women than the US Congress. However, shortly thereafter, a 2019 survey by UN Women revealed that only “15% of Afghan men supported the idea of women working outside the home after marriage…while two-thirds of men felt that women in the country had been granted too many rights.”
As the situation for women and girls in Afghanistan deteriorates, the global picture remains bleak. According to the 2023 World Economic Forum, achieving gender equality remains a challenge not only in Afghanistan but worldwide, due to deeply entrenched patriarchal structures.
My parents fled Afghanistan from the Soviet invasion in the early 1980s. My grandparents paid a people smuggler, and their world changed overnight. My mum left on the back of a donkey and was accompanied by hovering helicopters and rockets, that showered the city as rivals tried to claim the capital.
My father left in 1981. His dad, who had fled the Communist regime in 1979, had arranged for him to be smuggled into Pakistan. My father, who was just seven at the time, was smuggled into Pakistan disguised as a truck driver’s son. His journey involved hiding in the back of a truck for two days with little food or water, knowing that capture could mean death.
It’s scary to think that, had my parents not escaped, and had Australia not accepted them, where would I be now? What would my reality be?
While I’m grateful my parents fled all those years ago, I worry for the uncertain future of the country and the people who remain. We are born into our lives by chance. Our birthplace, nationality, and right to live safely are determined by chance as life is an unfair lottery. We have a responsibility to stand by those who did not receive the winning ticket.
As for Afghanistan, everything is fresh. Not like anar in Kabul opened with bare hands. Fresh, like flesh burning after the bombs. Like the ripe skin cut open. Not dry, like the figs on my bibi’s platters. Wet, like the tears trickling down faces after hearing the news of another passing of a loved one. Like the smell of dirt turned for new graves.
Blood doesn’t dry in Kabul.
Edited by Kavya Mohan & Grace Jacob