Farida Darvish
Last week, I held my newborn daughter in my arms, overwhelmed by the profound joy of motherhood. Yet, my heart aches knowing that for countless girls born in my country Afghanistan, their futures are tragically bleak. The UN Human Rights chief has rightly called their existence a “state-sponsored gender apartheid.”
Consider how almost 40 percent of all school-aged children, 1.4 million girls – are barred from attending school. Over 100,000 young women have been expelled from universities, stripping away their right to higher education. Women have been all but erased from the workforce, costing Afghanistan’s economy a staggering $1 billion annually.
When I led the women’s empowerment department in the Afghan civil service commission, we had achieved 27% female representation in the civil service. Today, that progress has been systematically dismantled.
Beyond economic exclusion, Afghan women endure daily oppression. They cannot travel long distances without a male guardian. They are banned from parks, gyms, and even beauty salons. Child marriage is rampant , 28 percent of girls are married before 18, 10 percent before 15. Since the Taliban’s return in 2021, the UN has recorded at least 150 suicides by women forced into early marriages, while Human Rights Watch reports a 35 percent increase in sexual violence.
These atrocities must not be reduced to mere statistics. These draconian measures are not accidental. They are the result of more than 100 decrees issued by Taliban leader Hebatullah Akhundzada, deliberately ensuring women’s subjugation and suffering. He stands as one of the world’s most notorious anti-women figures.
As an Afghan woman living in exile, I have the privilege – and the responsibility – to raise my voice. You too. Such huge numbers, even in cases of genocide, apartheid, and systematic discrimination, have a way of desensitizing the world to the pain of each person, as we have seen in many other examples.
We speak of a young generation that once glimpsed freedom and understood its transformative power. My classmate Hanifa, now a mother in Kabul, is a stark reminder of what has been lost. We studied together, worked in civil society, and fought for a future where women could thrive. Today, she is unemployed, her dreams shattered, her hope fading. I spend hours on the phone, trying to pull her back from despair.
Every year, International Women’s Day is meant to mark the progress that has been made. But for Afghan girls and women, it is not a day of celebration – it is a daily fight for survival.
It will be another year before we mark March 8 again. What costs will be counting another year from now? How many more women need to suffer before we pay attention? How high do the numbers need to be before we take action?
Do not forget us. Hashtags and speeches will not save lives hanging in the balance. We need action, not pity. Support the courageous educators running underground schools for girls. Amplify the voices of Afghan women who continue to write, speak, and resist despite the grave dangers. Demand policies that hold oppressors accountable and push for international pressure to restore our stolen rights.
As they say, if you can’t heal a patient, surely you can listen to their suffering. Our agony as Afghan women is compounded by abandonment and silence. No Afghan woman voted for the Taliban, supported their return, or sees a future under their rule.
Recognise our pain. Recognise gender-apartheid.
Farida Darvish was the Director of Women Empowerment at Afghanistan’s Civil Service before the Taliban takeover in 2021.
