‘Recalibrating activism’: Defiant resilience under Taliban rule

Before the Taliban swept to power across Afghanistan last year, one social activist had a firm grip on her aspirations.

As a university student in Kabul, Ms. F. was determined to make a difference in her country, where civil society was still a nascent, fragile concept, even after two decades flush with Western cash and attention.

She had worked to educate illiterate Afghan women in mosques, free of charge. She volunteered for nonprofits to create gender equality, to protect street children, and to empower youth and women – all experiences that now help her cope with a world turned upside down by Taliban rule. She’s repurposing her activism to create a secret school.

“I am a dreamer girl. I had many goals,” says the 22-year-old, who, like others quoted in this story, asked that her full name not be used due to risk of retribution. A year ago, she pictured herself becoming Afghanistan’s economy minister, possibly the first member of her Hazara ethnic minority to hold the post.

But then the darkness of Taliban rule came, swiftly extinguishing much of what Ms. F. and other activists thought was possible. Overnight, their visions for Afghanistan ran headlong into the Taliban’s radical interpretation of Islam, under which women are allowed little public role.

The abrupt American and NATO troop withdrawal last August brought a chaotic end to America’s longest-ever war, after 20 years. And while the Taliban takeover has yielded unaccustomed security – or at least a lack of war – the sudden end to billions of dollars in Western funds has contributed to a stark humanitarian crisis.

Fear of strict Taliban rule after a 20-year hiatus sparked a panicked exodus of tens of thousands of Afghans. And for many who stayed, like Ms. F., that fear turned to depression, as life suddenly felt restricted in every way. But Ms. F. and other “dreamers” and activists like her are navigating their way through these new realities, trying to identify creative solutions to the exacerbated challenges Afghans – and particularly women – face.

“Everything has changed,” says Ms. F., who erased her social media accounts – and their evidence of her past social activism. “Today I think one year of life is wasted.”

Still, Ms. F. found a way to ease her despair. Three months after the Taliban took charge, and failed to reopen girls’ high schools, she started an underground school that now has 150 students. She teaches English, and her sister, a medical student, teaches math.

“I thought education is the only way they can see a bright future,” says Ms. F., referring to school-aged girls. “We try to stay safe here. ... We are afraid of the Taliban if they discover us. But this is the only door of hope for girls, and the only thing which inspires me.”

For Ms. F., the secret school and its students who risk so much to attend serve as a model of resilience.

“I tell them, ‘You are heroes who can rise from the darkest and worst situation,’” she says.

“Recalibrating activism”

Taliban militants on Monday marked their one-year anniversary in power with celebratory marches in central Kabul and the southern Taliban stronghold of Kandahar.

Despite nationwide poverty, drought, and extensive malnutrition – which have shown the Taliban ill-equipped to provide for the most basic needs of its citizens – civil society and international NGOs grate at the Taliban’s narrow focus on control over society and the lives of women.

Among the litany of Western critiques of Taliban rule, Amnesty International in late July described a “suffocating crackdown” that deprived millions of women and girls of their “right to lead safe, free and fulfilling lives.”

Indeed, a small protest by some 40 women in the capital this week – the first in months – was dispersed by Taliban gunmen firing into the air. Women who protested over the past year – and others caught breaking Taliban rules – were often arrested, beaten, and tortured in custody, according to Amnesty.

“Recalibrating activism – this is what women have been doing,” says a Western official in Kabul, who asked not to be identified for security reasons. She sees this recalibration as a form of resilience, with women viewing their activism as more of a “stepping stone toward” change, she says.

“Compared to the last time the Taliban were in power, you see people a lot more creative now, using technology, trying to understand exactly what the Taliban’s objections are to things,” says the official, noting that not every broken rule is considered a death sentence.

Coping in a different way is Ms. S., a 15-year veteran of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, who – like many women at Afghan ministries – is still technically employed, but not allowed to come to work. Instead, each month she collects a portion of her previous salary.

“We are asked – it’s obligatory – to stay home, all of the women, unfortunately,” says Ms. S., a former diplomat.

Even getting to the payment office requires passing Taliban guards that can be so rude that Ms. S. last week complained to their superiors. She has received threats for writing critical social media posts about the dire situation under the Taliban – ignoring the advice of friends and family to keep quiet.

“The people are not ready to raise their voice,” says Ms. S. “Why? Because they are captured and seized by Taliban.”

She nevertheless writes about problems that affect everyone from “an educated woman like me to a poor street seller,” such as the economy, the teacher shortage, and an education system that “has stopped.”

“You can stand against them with any ability that you have,” says Ms. S. of her desire to describe challenges of life under Taliban rule. “When we have the ability to write, and an understanding mind, why don’t we do it?”

“Living in another world”

Changes wrought by Taliban rule have been dramatic for a medical student in the northern city of Mazar-e-Sharif, as well. Prior to the Taliban taking power, Ms. N. says she lived a “very peaceful life without fear and terror, free like a bird” as an activist, doing “many useful things in defense of women’s and children’s rights.” She was passionate about trying to end the tradition of forced and underage marriage.

“Unfortunately, in only one day, everything disappeared because the whole world left Afghan women alone,” says Ms. N., who has continued her university studies, despite the extreme restrictions implemented by the Taliban. She says continuing her studies is part of her own form of resistance.

But the experience of going to school has completely changed. Many professors fled with the government’s fall, and the quality of her courses has noticeably declined, says Ms. N. Taliban fighters stand at the university gate, insisting that women wear full head and body cover – in black only. The Taliban’s presence has deflated student motivation, she says.

Last month, she was stopped by a guard who told her to “go back home and never come again with these clothes,” she says. She pleaded that her hijab was correct and she would miss an important class. His response: “Go, otherwise I will kill you.”

Ms. N. has also felt profoundly the personal impact of the Taliban’s rise. Her older brother was a member of the Afghan National Police and fled under threat to Turkey via smuggling routes through Iran last year.

For five years, Ms. N.’s father paid her school fees with income from his butcher shop, which he had to sell when the Taliban took power because of the lack of customers in the market.

The family’s economic situation became so acute that, five months ago, her father forced Ms. N.’s 15-year-old sister into an underage marriage. Part of the motivation was to pay Ms. N.’s university costs.

“Before the Taliban I was fighting against forced and underage marriage,” says Ms. N. “Now, I sacrificed my sister, and I will never forgive myself.”

She says she would leave Afghanistan if she could.

“Every step we take the Taliban creates obstacles,” says Ms. N., explaining that several members of her organization were “mysteriously” killed and she fears for her own life.

“Right now, I am feeling like I’m in a prison,” she says.

Back in Kabul, girls arrive at Ms. F.’s secret school one by one to avoid drawing unwanted attention. Some 30 students are taught each hour, sitting on the carpeted floor – there is no money for chairs or desks – in a room rented in a neighbor’s home.

The Taliban “took our freedom, they took the right of education and work from women,” says Ms. F. But she can see the difference even this small-scale effort has on her students’ lives – and the future of her country.

The girls “always say when they come here, ‘We forget all the bad and negative things. We think we are living in another world.’”

Hidayatullah Noorzai contributed to this report.