Baharan Laheeb

Kabul — Afghan women have endured decades of oppression and violence, beginning with the Soviet presence, followed by years of civil war, and culminating in Taliban rule, which has severely restricted their freedoms. Despite this, many have continued to fight for education and basic rights under harsh and inhumane conditions.

Sara Sharifi (a pseudonym) tells her story, which is more than just a recounting of a difficult life — it is a living testimony to the resilience and hope of Afghan women. She grew up in inhumane conditions after the Soviet presence in her country and was forced to migrate, yet she never abandoned her dream. With unbreakable determination, she continues her struggle for women’s freedom in her homeland, becoming a voice for the voiceless and a model of a woman who creates change despite all obstacles.

“Life was filled with fear and silence”

“At the beginning of my story,” she says, “I lived in one of the most modern neighborhoods in the capital. From the moment I was born, my country was suffering under the Soviet presence. My father, a fierce opponent of the Soviet-backed government, was arrested twice by the Khalq and Parcham parties, which claimed to be communist but behaved like fascist regimes that sold the nation and its people for power.”

She continues, “My father sometimes described the torture he endured in the prisons of the Khalq and Parcham parties—horrifying accounts of brutal beatings, insults targeting mothers and sisters, stripping detainees of their clothes, pouring boiling oil on them, pulling out nails, electric shocks, forcing prisoners to stand for hours, and even burying them alive. Soviet forces and their local allies attacked villages, and if they encountered resistance, they responded with heavy bombardment and unspeakable atrocities. In this hellish environment, the United States, Pakistan, Iran, and Saudi Arabia seized the moment, creating the seven parties in Peshawar and the eight more radical factions—ushering in a new phase of conflict.”

She recalls, “I was a child living with my family in an area controlled by the Islamic Party led by Gulbuddin Hekmatyar, known as ‘the Butcher of Kabul,’ while Ahmad Shah Massoud’s forces were stationed nearby. We were literally on the frontline, where clashes never ceased, day or night.”

“Many times, my mother couldn’t even prepare food because we lived in the basement. My parents often had to host neighbors seeking refuge from constant shelling. Life was a mix of fear and resilience, where survival became a daily achievement.”

As the war intensified, the family fled for two weeks to find safety away from the front line. When they returned, her parents decided to send the children to their hometown, where conditions were more stable. “The separation was painful—we were deeply attached to our parents—but we left in tears, forced by circumstances. After more than a month, my siblings and I migrated to Pakistan to continue our education. From that moment on, migration became synonymous with exile and deprivation.”

She remembers how her mother hid her grief from them, only to cry day and night as her friends later revealed. “She became ill from sorrow, yet she continued supporting us, raising us as aware and active women. She was a hero in my eyes, a fearless woman who encouraged me to study and planted determination in my heart. Without her, I would have been an uneducated woman today.”

After years of separation, she returned to Afghanistan shortly before the fall of the first Taliban regime. Her mother was ill, but her true pain was being away from her children. “In our area, I was the only educated woman, while girls my age had no schooling. Thanks to my mother’s respected standing, we started a free educational course for girls.”

After graduating in Pakistan, she could no longer bear being away from her mother and returned during the first Taliban rule, when Kabul had become a devastated city. “I had to wait for hours in buses until they filled up. I was forced to wear the burqa. Taliban members carried cables they used to whip women they deemed ‘immodest.’ I hated Fridays—on Fridays, they cut people’s limbs in Kabul Stadium for theft and hung bodies or limbs in public squares as warnings.”

 

“Killing and death became part of daily life”

She describes one Friday as “horrific,” when Zarmeena—a woman whose execution RAWA documented—was killed in a moment that left a deep scar on Afghan memory. “Back then, the country was drowning in violence and destruction. Killings and amputations were not exceptional—they were daily reality. Afghanistan had become nearly empty of its people. With no security, visiting friends became women’s only form of recreation. There were no real services, and education was limited to boys and lacked scientific content.”

She remembers the massacres of Bamiyan, the destruction of its statues, the burning of land and homes, and the massacre of the Hazara in Mazar-e-Sharif. She vividly recalls the first NATO and U.S. airstrikes on Kabul on October 7, 2001, targeting a military base near her home at 7 p.m.

When the Taliban regime fell, women breathed freely—removed the burqa, returned to schools and universities, and joined women’s rights organizations. “I witnessed this sudden shift from repression to a superficial democracy and began my university studies in Kabul. My mother was not physically with me, but her memory stayed close.”

For twenty years, despite foreign occupation and government corruption, Afghan women continued their struggle and achieved notable political awareness. “The Solidarity Party of Afghanistan and RAWA played a historical and central role in this path.”

She recalls, “Four years ago, the Taliban began regaining influence, as if power was handed to them on a silver platter. Since 2007, there were campaigns promoting their growing strength until their return became inevitable.”

 

Drawing strength from women’s resistance

Sara concludes:
“Today, I am an educated woman working remotely online, but that doesn’t mean I am free from pain. Sometimes even breathing feels heavy, and the longing overwhelms me. Yet when I think of the women oppressed not only by society but also by the state and their own families, I draw strength to continue. I fight for the freedom of women in my country—to break free from patriarchy and extremism. I may not change my own reality or that of those like me, but I believe that our struggle today can create a better tomorrow, giving future generations a chance to live lives unlike our past burdened with oppression. This belief is what keeps me going, despite everything that weighs on the heart.