2025/'24: March wk4 -- March wk3 -- March wk2 -- March wk1 --  Feb wk4 -- Feb wk3 -- Feb wk2 -- Feb wk1 -- Jan wk5 -- Jan wk4 -- Jan wk2 -- Dec wk4 P2 -- Dec wk4 -- Dec wk3

When one hurts or kills a women
one hurts or kills hummanity and is an antrocitie.
Gino d'Artali
and: My mother (1931-1997) always said to me <Mi figlio, non esistono notizie <vecchie> perche puoi imparare qualcosa da qualsiasi notizia.> Translated: <My son, there is no such thing as so called 'old' news because you can learn something from any news.>
Gianna d'Artali.

Al Jazeera - March 29, 2025 - By Rabia Mushtaq
<<Four Afghan girl guitarists escaped the Taliban. Will they be forced back?
Teenage musicians Yasemin, Zakia and Shukriya and Uzra, just 7, fled the repression of women in Afghanistan. Will a Trump order and Pakistan send them back?
Islamabad, Pakistan – On a pleasant February afternoon in Pakistan’s capital, Islamabad, the sound of strumming guitars fills a small bedroom in a two-storey home that houses tenants from neighbouring Afghanistan. A flight of slippery marble stairs leads to the room on the first floor, where the bright rays of the sun enter through the window and bounce off the musical instruments, which belong to four young guitarists.
These guitarists – 18-year-old Yasemin aka Jellybean, 16-year-old Zakia, 14-year-old Shukriya, and seven-year-old Uzra – are Afghan refugees who, with their families, fled the country after the Taliban returned to power in August 2021. Yasemin and Uzra are sisters, as are Zakiya and Shukriya. This is where Yasemin and Uzra are now living with their family. The bedroom is where the girls spend hours at a stretch practicing and jamming from Saturday to Thursday. Friday is their weekly day off. On the day Al Jazeera visits, the girls are busy tuning their guitars. They tease one another as they strum squeaky, off-key chords in between. Dressed in a grey sweatshirt, her head covered with a black scarf, Yasemin is the group’s lead guitarist and a fan of Blues legend BB King and Pink Floyd’s David Gilmour. “I really want to see and produce music with him,” says Yasemin on her dream to meet Gilmour, before crooning a track by King. As she tunes her sturdy wooden guitar with her dependable red pick, Yasemin turns towards her bandmates and guides them in adjusting theirs. The girls learned to play the guitar at Miraculous Love Kids, a music school for children in Kabul set up in 2016 by Lanny Cordola, a rock musician from California. The girls, whose first language is Dari, also learned to speak basic English from Cordola in Kabul, where they attended regular school as well. Their world was turned upside down when the Taliban re-took power on August 15, 2021, after 20 years. The girls were afraid to step outside their homes following a spate of restrictions imposed on women. Cordola, who left Kabul for Islamabad the day the Taliban returned to power, began hatching plans to pluck his students and their families out of Afghanistan so the girls could continue to pursue their music dreams. After months of lobbying donors for funding and negotiating with agents who promised to help the families escape, Cordola finally managed to get seven of his students out, to Islamabad, in April 2022. Even as he continued to teach them there, Cordola worked towards eventually resettling them and their families in the United States, which had announced a programme to take in Afghan allies and refugees who wanted to flee Taliban rule. Three of the seven girls were relocated to the US over the past few months. Yasemin, Zakia, Shukriya and Uzra – and their families – were supposed to fly on February 5. “It felt like we had everything in place. They [the US government] did all their medical tests, vetting, screening and interviews. We had the date,” says Cordola. Then Donald Trump took office. Almost immediately, Trump issued a series of executive orders, including one that suspended all refugee programmes for 90 days. “Now, it is all new again,” Cordola says, adding that the “devastating” move has postponed the relocation plans “indefinitely”.
But things would get even worse.
On March 7, the Pakistani government announced its own plans to deport all Afghan nationals, even those with proper documentation, back to their country by June 30. For those Afghan refugees hoping to relocate to a Western country – like Yasemin, Zakia, Shukriya and Uzra – the deadline to leave Pakistan is even more imminent: Islamabad has said it will begin deporting them on April 1.
‘Girl with a guitar’
To gather at Yasemin and Uzra’s house for practice, Cordola picks Zakia and Shukirya up in a van from their home a few blocks away.
“We practise for about three to four hours,” says Cordola.
In a floral lilac dress and a white headscarf, Zakia’s slender fingers hit the chords on her guitar, which bears her initial, Z. She taps her feet to match the rhythm – Chris Martin of Coldplay is her favourite musician. Her younger sister, Shukriya, sporting a double braid with two strands of hair resting on her rosy cheeks, is fond of American musician Dave Matthews, but also has a soft spot for South Korean band BTS and its singer, RM. “RM is my favourite. I like his dancing and rapping… it’s beautiful,” says Shukriya, as her teacher, Cordola, shakes his head in disbelief – and gentle disapproval.
Uzra, Yasemin’s younger sister, wears a lime-coloured sport watch on her left wrist, a sequinned teddy bear sweatshirt and black, patterned trousers, as she grips her smaller guitar. She struggles to climb on to the chair, then breaks into soft, husky vocals. “She is a normal seven-year-old in a lot of ways. But when she is in the studio, she is very, very focused. I can’t joke with her when she is in there,” says Cordola about his youngest student.
Then Cordola joins them in the jam session, strumming his black guitar. The girls nod in tandem and break into “Girl with a Guitar”, their own original, instrumental song. Practice ends at 1pm, and the girls go about the rest of their day – having lunch, praying, helping their mothers with chores and spending time with their families. Uzra, Yasemin says, is friends with the neighbours’ child, and always finds ways to step out of the house to play with her. Almost on cue, the little guitarist dashes out of the room.
Turning ‘Unstoppable’
On days when the girls manage to find some leisure time for themselves while the sun is still out, they and their siblings visit Islamabad’s parks and amusement spaces with their teacher. Cordola picks them up in his white Suzuki high roof, and they head out to the popular picnic spot Daman-e-Koh in the Margalla Hills or a tourist favourite, Pakistan Monument on the Shakarparian Hills. The green F-9 Park is also a favourite. There, Zakia sits on its fresh, dewy grass while Uzra enjoys swaying to and fro on the swings. Shukriya is dreaming of visiting a nearby food street, where she’s hoping for a treat – pani puri, soup, ice cream and the classic samosa. Yasemin says she’s a fan of rice and loves eating daal chawal (lentils with rice). To Zakia, chicken biryani and pani puri are the best food that Pakistan has to offer. But music is what makes the girls happiest – and is what made it possible for them to connect with multiple Grammy-nominated Australian singer and songwriter Sia. After they recorded a rendition of her female empowerment anthem, Unstoppable, in 2024, the Aussie vocalist sent the girls a special message praising their talent. “Thank you so much for singing ‘Unstoppable’ and for your support. I love you so much. I love you so much. I really feel for what you’re going through,” she said in a video message to the girls. The video of Sia’s track is shot with the girls singing against the backdrop of lush green parks and atop the Shakarparian Hills. The music was recorded at the studio of Pakistani record producer Sarmad Ghafoor, a friend of Cordola’s. The song was released on March 18. At the time they recorded the song, three girls from Cordola’s Kabul school who have now moved to the US were also with Yasemin, Zakia, Shukriya and Uzra in Islamabad. “We had to change our costumes in between the shoot and it was challenging to do it at the locations, but we managed to do it by covering up for each other and also having fun the whole time,” recalls Shukriya. When Sia reacted to their performance in a video message for them, the girls couldn’t believe it. “She is someone who didn’t need to make a video for us, but she did. She is a really kind and inspirational woman,” says Yasemin. “She spoke with her heart and gave us a lot of hope. Sometimes we lose hope and think that we won’t be able to do what we want to do in life. But her powerful words really inspired and motivated us.” Nothing about Yasemin’s life today resembles what it did seven years ago, when she first met Cordola. At his school, Cordola “wanted to focus on girls’ education and rights”, he says. “It’s education through the arts.” He convinced the parents of several children who worked on the streets, especially those of girls, to allow them at his music school. He first met Yasemin at a park where she sold candy and chewing gum, while her father washed cars nearby. “I was 11 years old when I first met Mr Lanny in 2017,” Yasemin recalls. “I first saw Mr Lanny in the park with a lot of children. At the time, I did not talk to him because I was very shy and also afraid of seeing people gathered in one place. The fear of an explosion in such a space was always in my mind.” Eventually, Cordola reached out to her through another girl, gave her 150 Afghanis ($2.11) and asked her to visit the music school with her father. “I was hesitant at first, but a friend named Yalda was already going to the school, so I went to Miraculous with her. When I held the guitar for the first time there, it felt zabardast (awesome),” she recalls. Yasemin’s father initially didn’t want her to join the music school, worried about how it would be viewed in the conservative Afghan society. “But later when he got familiar with Mr Lanny, he agreed to it,” she says. Cordola recalls that Yasemin’s father gave in when he learned that his daughter would not need to work in the park any more. “I gave a monthly stipend to the children who did well at the school,” he says. Fauzia, Yasemin and Uzra’s mother, was happy when her daughter began studying music. “I felt good because [through the guitar] she [Yasemin] wanted to depend on herself for her future. Now, I feel proud that she is not only doing this for herself but also for those who need support.” She was nicknamed Jellybean by Cordola after being confused with another girl with the same name at the Kabul school. “When Mr Lanny called our name ‘Yasemin’, both of us would respond to him. This caused a lot of confusion,” she chuckles.
In the same neighbourhood in which Yasemin and her father worked, Zakia and her father used to sell sunflower seeds. Cordola gave Zakia a visiting card and told her to visit the music school with her father, 52-year-old Muhammad Sabir. “The next day, I went there with my father to Miraculous. There, I saw the guitars and other girls playing it. I really liked it. Initially, my mother didn’t allow me because she was sceptical and scared about Mr Lanny. But I insisted on trying my luck. After I went there, I began practising the guitar and drawing, and never went back to the hill to work again,” says Zakia. Shukriya, who first visited the school with her elder sibling out of curiosity, was so fascinated by the guitars that she too soon joined Cordola’s growing class. Their father, Cordola recalls, was excited at the idea of sending his daughters to his music school. “Zakia’s father was smiling when I first met him. He asked, ‘Can we come now?’ But I told him to come the next day. He came the next day and said, ‘this is great.’”
A tall Sabir smiles as he recalls that time. Sitting at his residence in Islamabad, he says he was “happy for the children and supported them to play the guitar”. “I liked music myself before I even met Mr Lanny,” says Sabir. “When the opportunity came, I didn’t want my daughters to lose it. It was for their better future.”
It all changed with the Taliban’s return.
Suddenly, the girls were afraid to leave their homes following a spate of restrictions imposed on women. “When the situation in Afghanistan worsened, I told the girls not to use it (the guitar). The Taliban don’t allow music and consider it haram (forbidden). I hid Shukriya’s small guitar and broke Zakia’s because it was bigger,” says Sabir. Yasemin recalls one time when she stepped out to go to the bazaar. “I wasn’t wearing a mask and the Taliban pointed a gun at me asking me to wear it right there and then,” she says, referring to a face veil. “It was really hard, especially for women in Afghanistan.” Cordola, meanwhile, worked with donors to raise money to get passports made for the families of his students, and to hire guides to bring them to the border – and then across into Pakistan. After many false starts, the seven girls and their families finally made it to Pakistan in April 2022. Today, Cordola funds their rent, expenses – and the girls’ guitars – through donations.
But all of those efforts now appear at risk.
In recent years, Pakistan has stepped up its deportation of Afghan refugees – some of whom have spent most or all of their lives in Pakistan.
Pakistan deported 842,429 Afghan refugees, per the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), between September 2023 and February 2025. According to Pakistan’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs, about 40,000 Afghans in Pakistan await resettlement after “almost 80,000” were welcomed by different countries. At least 10,000 to 15,000 among the refugees still in Pakistan were cleared for resettlement in the US, according to #AfghanEvac, a coalition of US veterans and advocacy groups, before Trump blocked their move. Philippa Candler, the country representative of the UNHCR, in a statement said: “Forced return to Afghanistan could place some people at increased risk. We urge Pakistan to continue to provide safety to Afghans at risk, irrespective of their documentation status.” Shawn VanDiver, who heads #AfghanEvac, stresses the need for the US government to fulfil its promises. “Our national commitments cannot be conditional and temporary. Countries around the world are never going to trust the word of the US if our presidents can’t be counted on to carry out the commitments they have made,” he says. “This is just outrageous.” He also has an appeal to the government of Pakistan. “The 90-day mark [when Trump’s pause on refugee resettlement ends] is around April, so we would like Pakistan to give them [Afghans] a little bit of extra time. We hope they will but we haven’t gotten any positive indications through action, only words. All the action we’re seeing is negative,” says VanDiver.
“If nothing changes these people [Afghans] are in real trouble.”
Asmat Ullah Shah, the Pakistan government’s chief commissioner for Afghan refugees in Islamabad, says Afghan nationals awaiting resettlement hold no legal status as per Pakistani law. But, he insists, authorities have not taken any action against them because embassies and international organisations have committed to moving them to other countries. “When problems began to increase, affecting Pakistan’s security, a timeframe was set for these embassies to fulfil their commitments and ensure resettlement. But, some have evaded their promises,” he says. While a court has given relief until the end of June to some Afghan refugees in Pakistan, that doesn’t cover the four guitarist girls and their families, who don’t have the documentation needed for that temporary reprieve. Saeed Husain, a founding member of the Joint Action Committee for Refugees (JAC-R), an advocacy platform for Afghan refugees in Pakistan, blames the crisis on Western countries that had promised to take in Afghan refugees but haven’t processed applications of those still in limbo in countries like Pakistan. “Their lives have been on pause for the last four years. They haven’t been able to get an education or find jobs,” he says, adding that Pakistan’s move to now send these refugees “back to Afghanistan is essentially giving them a death sentence”.
A letter to Trump
When they learned about Trump’s pause on refugee entries, and then Pakistan’s plans to deport Afghans, the girls say they couldn’t believe the news. “We had been disappointed many times after getting hopes of going abroad. We’d be waiting to hear good news, but would then find out that it can’t happen,” Yasemin says. “But the recent news was still very shocking to us.” The girls and their families know that going back to Afghanistan would likely mean giving up on music for good. Zakia says she wants to become a professional guitarist. She’s still sad about her father breaking her earlier guitar out of fear it would be found by the Taliban. “That night was very hard for me. I cried a lot,” she says. But after arriving in Pakistan, all the girls received new guitars from their teacher. Meanwhile, Shukriya misses going to the music school back home. “I miss the time in Kabul when we played together, talked (to our friends) after practice and ate together,” she says, recalling what she knows she won’t be able to relive if she were to return to Kabul now.
But Cordola and the girls refuse to give up.
The teacher has been reaching out to musicians and people with contacts in the US government to make the relocation possible. “I am sending out messages to people who can perhaps contact the upper echelons in the American government. The girls have collaborated with some of the most well-known musicians in the US and UK. We are not looking for extra favours, but to get them opportunities,” he says. Cordola says he has also written an open letter to Trump on behalf of the young musicians, urging the US president to allow them into the country. In his letter, the musician wrote that if the girls are denied the chance to resettle to the US, they will be deported back to Afghanistan, where they will be at risk of being subjected to “imprisonment, and even punishment by death”. “They are ready to assimilate and contribute. They are not there to take. They want to be a part of the American dream,” he says. “We are willing to go and play a little concert for President Trump if he would be interested.” The girls, Cordola adds, could also be relocated to other countries that are “willing to welcome them and provide legal and safe residence”, adding that a leading advocate for female Afghan musicians is interested in relocating them to Northern Ireland’s Belfast, a UNESCO-recognised city for its music. Most of all, the girls just want to stay together – in whichever part of the world will have them. “When I’m out of here, it is my dream for all the girls to come together and stand strong on our feet. I can’t do it alone. When all of us girls come together with Mr Lanny at the same place, we will do something,” says Yasemin. Fauzia, Yasemin and Uzra’s mother, says she is grateful to Pakistan for hosting them. But she knows that the family’s future hinges on Western governments giving them sanctuary soon. “Our lives were at risk in Afghanistan and even in Pakistan there is no peace. Whether it is the US or any other government, we request help for those whose lives are in danger,” she says. Until then, the girls have their guitars, their music and their dreams to live with.
“Whenever I’m sad, I hold my guitar and forget all of the sadness,” says Yasemin. “It has changed my life.”>>
Source: Al Jazeera https://www.aljazeera.com/features/2025/3/29/four-afghan-girl-guitarists-escaped-the-taliban-will-they-be-forced-back

and


Kept in slavey
Zan Times - March 27, 2025 - By: Younus Negah
<<YouTube interview sparks debate on Hazara women and Afghanistan’s history of slavery
On March 14, 2025, a discussion about the ties between the late Afghan historian, Abdul Hai Habibi, and the Hazara people was published on the official YouTube channel of Sadiq Fitrat Nashenas, one of our country’s most famous and celebrated singers. In that conversation, ٔNashenas spoke of the presence of Hazara concubines within families living in Kandahar. Nashenas said that his grandfather had a Hazara concubine, and that his father’s uncle (the father of Abdul Hai Habibi) also had a Hazara woman or concubine. Nashenas added that a wife of his maternal uncle was Hazara — “We called her Mor Ana, and I still remember her face,” he said. From Nashenas’s words, it is clear that many enslaved people, concubines, and Hazara labourers lived in his childhood neighbourhood. He continued: “The Hazaras who were in those homes — at least those I know of, from among my relatives and acquaintances — carried great responsibilities for the people of Kandahar. If they were women, they served the children as mothers and fathers did. Even more than mothers and fathers — because the parents were outside, busy with work — these [concubines and slaves] were the ones who bore all the burdens at home. In winter, the men would clear the snow … and the women worked in the homes.”. Nashenas expressed these thoughts with empathy, aiming to show that Afghans are bound by shared homes and blood. According to him, the mothers of some prominent Pashtuns were Hazara women. However, his statements sparked widespread controversy. Among those who responded was Khushal Habibi, the son of Abdul Hai Habibi. He accused Nashenas of making “baseless claims about the ancestry of Abdul Hai Habibi’s mother.” In the second half of the 19th century, the feudal and tribal systems, which had existed for centuries in Afghanistan, and for thousands of years in some regions, were suppressed. Instead of extorting tributes from local Khans and rulers, the central government began to directly extort landowners, farmers, shepherds, craftsmen, and labourers. After that, a nationwide direct taxation system was implemented. Instead of paying taxes to thousands of local khans, the country became subject to a centralized super-khan, who took his share from everything, from wheat harvests and sheep’s wool to clarified butter and goat horns. Even before this shift, much blood had been spilled between local khans and the so-called super-khans who gave themselves titles like emir or king. And it all was for the control over taxes and conscripting the people. Dost Mohammad Khan and his son, Sher Ali Khan, were among the pioneers of this centralizing movement, but they were not able — unlike Abdur Rahman Khan — to suppress all the khans and those who claimed the “right to taxation” and lordship. Although Abdur Rahman Khan delivered the decisive blow to the feudal system of his time, the groundwork for his campaign had already been laid through the administrative legacy of Sher Ali Khan, who made systematic efforts to establish a central government. During his reign, the foundations of a modern army were laid, a lithographic printing press and a state publication were founded, and initial steps were taken toward promoting modern education with the opening of two schools. He appointed a cabinet and a prime minister, laying the first bricks of an administrative system for a central state. For this reason, the period following Sher Ali Khan appears much clearer and more relatable to our generation than the eras before him. Although the events of the 1880s and 1890s may seem distant and in black and white, they are well documented. In some ways, we are still living in the century of Emir Abdur Rahman Khan. It is period that began with his emirate in 1880 continues to this day — 145 years later — under the rule of Mullah Hibatullah. In this long century, we have been entangled in the foundational struggles of forming a central government, defining national identity, determining the relationship between state and citizen, outlining civil rights, the limits of freedom, the rights of minorities and women, and the roles of the mullahs in governance and politics.
The issues of women, family, and ethnicity remain as tangled today as they were in the late 19th century.
After the discussion on the YouTube channel of Sadiq Fitrat Nashenas went viral, some commenters on Facebook reflected on the painful fate of enslaved and concubine women. Others published lists of prominent Pashtun figures in literature, politics, and culture whose mothers were non-Pashtun. Some sarcastically wrote that a number of Pashtuns are nephews of Hazaras but deny this blood connection. Still others, like the letter attributed to Khushal Habibi, came forward in defence of “ancestry and lineage.” In this article, I will examine the treatment of women in the 19th century with reference to Siraj al-Tawarikh, the authoritative history of Afghanistan — specifically on what Hazara women endured, how women were treated in that era, and whether non-Hazara women fared better or were also subjected to sexual violence and trafficking.
The treatment of Hazara women by Abdur Rahman Khan and his soldiers
In researching his historical works, Mullah Fayz Mohammad Katib Hazara drew from official documents, interviews with witnesses, and accounts from survivors during Emir Abdur Rahman Khan’s reign. He recorded a comprehensive portrayal of what various social groups — including women — endured in the 19th century. This rich history is preserved in his monumental work Siraj al-Tawarikh. We know that Katib was commissioned to write this history by Emir Habibullah Khan, the son of Abdur Rahman Khan, and that the state committee that oversaw the project was chaired by Habibullah himself. As such, Siraj al-Tawarikh is particularly credible when it comes to documenting state-sanctioned oppression. In most historical texts, events revolve solely around prominent male figures with others remaining invisible. Siraj al-Tawarikh is a treasure trove of human faces, behaviours, customs, and sufferings. Women appear frequently, often in the shadows of men and primarily described as victims. One could write an entire book based solely on the stories of women recorded in this work. Katib chronicled women’s lives in homes, courts, markets, workplaces, and battlefields across the north, south, east, and west of the country. This article glimpses women’s lives in that era through a look at Katib’s text.
In September 1893, when the Hazara resistance in Uruzgan had been defeated, Katib wrote:
“Among the Hazara women and girls captured and taken prisoner by soldiers, 306 were considered khums (one-fifth share allocated to the state) and were sent to Tirin to be forwarded from there to Kabul. The remaining captives were either sold by the military and civilian soldiers or kept for themselves and sent to their own homes. Beyond those seized in battle, thousands of other Hazara women and girls were traded — since the buying and selling had been officially sanctioned — and were sent for sale both inside and outside the country. So much so that in the interior of the country, hardly any urban or rural resident remained who did not become the owner of a Hazara woman or girl.” (Siraj al-Tawarikh, vol. 3, part 1, p. 1041) With this description, Katib offers a concise yet stark summary of the fate of Hazara women and how the state, military, merchants, and elites treated them. The enslavement of Hazara women was not limited to the thousands taken as “war spoils.” The trade in women continued before, during, and after the war. Katib writes this about negotiations between Hazara elders and Abdur Rahman Khan in 1883: “His Majesty … issued a general decree strictly forbidding the purchase and sale of slaves from the Hazara people. Taking concubines and slaves from among them, which had been common practice until then, was henceforth prohibited.” (Ibid, p. 141) This decree against the slave trade appears to be symbolic, a moral veil over what was essentially a state-sanctioned campaign of looting. As Katib wrote: “Upon reading the petitions from military officers concerning the campaigns against Hazara rebels in Kamsan, Mir Adina, Zardak, Hajiristan, Qalandar, Aq Robat, the Abeh tribe, Sar-e-Jangal, and others … His Highness became enraged and issued separate orders to all military and civilian commanders in Hazarajat, instructing them that whatever men, women, boys, girls, property, and goods they could seize from the Hazara rebels as war booty, one-fifth of it was to be sent to the throne as the rightful share of the state according to the sacred Sharia of the Prophet, and the remaining four-fifths could be kept for themselves as their legitimate share. As a result of this decree, thousands of men were killed, and their daughters, wives, and sons were taken into slavery and concubinage. This ruling remained in effect until the reign of … Siraj al-Millah wal-Din [Habibullah Khan].” (Ibid, p. 993) From Siraj al-Tawarikh, we can deduce that Hazara women were enslaved in several ways. First, daughters of subdued chieftains, khans, and local notables were brought to Kabul and placed into the harems of princes, commanders, khans, and generals. These women were rarely handed over to ordinary soldiers or slave traders. Even in the army campaigns of Abdur Rahman Khan, a class hierarchy seems to have been observed in the treatment and sexual exploitation of women: “And around that same time [1893], the daughter and daughter-in-law of Mohammad Rahim, the steward of Mir Adina — along with another of his daughters-in-law — were captured by Colonel Farhad Khan. While being held in his custody, they lost all hope and light of faith, and one night, they hanged themselves and ended their lives.” (Ibid, part 2, p. 53)
At times, surviving female relatives of Hazara khans and notables were provided financial support:
“On that same day, His Majesty ordered a monthly stipend of 295.5 rupees, plus food and clothing expenses including wood and coal, for seventy-two Hazara women, girls, and boys whose husbands and fathers had been executed.” (Ibid, p. 263) Even members of the Hazara nobility were not spared or granted freedom, as Katib wrote about events of September 1902: “The daughter of Mohammad Amir Beg, niece of Mohammad Azim Beg Hazara of Sehpai Dayzangi, who had been brought into captivity along with her aunt Saleema and mother Wasila — the wives of Mohammad Azim Beg — and five other daughters of Hazara noblemen named Hawa, Saleema, Zubair Nisa, Bakht Bibi, and Fatima, were summoned from the harem of concubines. Among the eight women, one by one, they were paraded before the nobility, and if any were seen as desirable by those in attendance, they were chosen. The woman named Maryam, daughter of the aforementioned Mohammad Amir Beg, caught the eye of Lal Gul Khan, a Tajik from Gardez, and was also favored by Sardar Abdul Quddus Khan, the Ishik Aqasi [chamberlain]. Along with two other Hazara concubines, some rugs, dishes, clothing, and 300 rupees in cash, she was given to Lal Gul Khan. As for the rest, who were still living in bondage in the harem, one of them was requested. His Majesty [Emir Habibullah Khan] replied, ‘The harem is not a permanent establishment from which you may receive one or two concubines at your whim.’” ( vol. 4, part 2, p. 289) Second, young and beautiful Hazara women of non-noble backgrounds were seized as spoils of war by commanders and soldiers. Some were taken as wives and bore “legitimate” children for their captors; others became concubines or unofficial partners, or were gifted to khans and local notables. Some were sold in markets. The mother of Abdul Hai Habibi and the woman who gave birth to a child in the maternal uncle’s household of Sadiq Fitrat Nashenas likely belonged to this later category. Third, there were thousands of impoverished women — those displaced, widowed, or not in the prime of youth or beauty — who were captured and sold in groups in urban markets. These women were primarily viewed as sources of domestic and sexual labour. Many of the women referenced by Sadiq Fitrat Nashenas who worked in homes in Kandahar likely came from this group. Because Afghanistan’s non-Hazara communities, themselves economically strained and war-ravaged, could not absorb the large number of Hazara captives, many were sold to neighbouring countries — especially British India, which had a strong demand for both labour and sexual slaves. The farms and estates of feudal landlords were hungry for free labour, and records show that brothels near British military outposts were thriving businesses during that era. Katib described how the trafficking of women to the British encampments in Kabul contributed to the downfall of Shah Shuja: “Brokers would seat women on horseback and take them to the foreigners. The king spoke of this matter indirectly to Sir William Hay Macnaghten, asking him to restrain his troops. Macnaghten replied that if the soldiers were deprived of contact with women, they would suffer many diseases.” (vol. 1–2, p. 415) Fourth, there were the women taken as captives during the mass flight of refugees. These women were also enslaved — some as wives, some were turned into physical and sexual servants, while others were sold in the markets. Nashenas spoke kindly of how these concubines and slaves were treated in some households. It is likely that some of these women were accepted into families and treated with care.
The general condition of women in the 1800s
The average treatment of women during that era was deeply distressing and inhumane. Like many Hazara women, some non-Hazara women were subjected to forms of enslavement, and the position of mothers within households often resembled that of servants or slaves. By the 19th century, extensive sociological research had been conducted globally, and some of those studies, which are rooted in scientific methods of observation and sampling, are still regarded as valid today. Renowned American anthropologist Lewis Henry Morgan (1818–1881) authored Ancient Society, now considered a classic work in sociology. Through his research, he traced the historical evolution of family structures and the transformation of sexual relationships between men and women. According to Morgan, the modern family was founded on the enslavement of women. Friedrich Engels, whose The Origin of the Family, Private Property and the State was written “in light of Lewis Morgan’s findings,” states in the second chapter that the Latin word familia was initially used among Romans to denote slaves. Even a modern-day search of the Latin term famulus confirms the same: the Oxford online dictionary defines it as a Latin word meaning slave. In the works of Morgan and Engels, examples abound of women’s enslavement within the household, and they detail the historical descent of women from autonomous individuals with maternal rights to domestic slaves. The domestication of animals and the rise of animal husbandry, they argue, led to the emergence of “unexpected wealth.” With the advent of livestock management, women’s status in the family declined. As metal tools and agriculture gained importance, so too did the value of human labour. For the first time, humans could produce more than their subsistence needs, which made war captives and women objects of exchange and trade — and slavery became widespread. Afghanistan in the 19th century operated within such an economic structure. Livestock such as cattle, camels, and sheep were not only symbols of wealth but also units of exchange, even used to buy and sell humans. Metalwork and agriculture, two other key pillars of exploitation that reduced women to domestic slaves, were also dominant in 19th-century Afghanistan. In those years, khans and emirs exchanged human beings as gifts. The core value of these “gifts” (concubines and slaves) lay in their labour power. These individuals worked in homes, courts, and fields, generating profit for their owners. Female slaves also bore children, expanding the pool of domestic labour. In Siraj al-Tawarikh, numerous examples of such human exchanges are recorded — slaves and servants who were Pashtun, Tajik, Iranian, and Turkic. Katib writes of when Sardar Abdur Rahman Khan traveled to Khanabad in 1860, where Mir Shah and Mir Yousuf Ali Khan presented him with: “Six fair-skinned boys, six moon-faced girls, nine silver-saddled horses, nine sacks of fine honey, and five well-trained hunting falcons.” (vol. 1–2, p. 611) In another part of the history, Katib recounts that a group of infidels (what we now call Nuristanis) raided their Muslim Laghmani neighbours in 1887: “They killed a Muslim man and plundered 200 goats. Ghulam Haidar Khan, the commander-in-chief, ordered the Muslims of Laghman to retaliate. In the raid, 32 infidels were killed, and eight women, girls, and boys were captured. These captives were presented as a gift to the commander. He, in turn, sent those eight captives — along with another concubine that the ‘infidels’ had previously offered as tribute — to the royal court.” (vol. 3, part 1, p. 369) The accounts of Nuristani women are particularly harrowing. We know that large numbers of Nuristanis were forcibly relocated to Kabul and surrounding areas. Katib wrote that Abdur Rahman Khan ordered that the newly-converted residents of Kafiristan who had been settled in Logar and elsewhere should have their children’s marriages recorded in the royal registry. After receiving the emir’s signed approval, “They were to be formally married and then sent to bed together.” When his son, Habibullah Khan, who was famous for his hedonism, took power, he ordered: “As soon as any girl or boy reached the age of thirteen, their names were to be registered and sent to Nazer Mohammad Safar Khan. He would then obtain royal permission and summon them wherever the court desired. Those deemed pleasing would be kept; their names would be marked accordingly. Those not found desirable would be dismissed. If any family tried to arrange a marriage among themselves without this procedure, the punishment would be death.” (vol. 4, part 2, p. 389) Katib also recorded the fate of Hindu women in Afghanistan. In 1902, a man named Narayan Das, a resident of Qalqaq in Lower Kunar, was celebrating his daughter’s wedding. A Muslim named Jani, along with three dervishes, entered the house and demanded food. Moments later, they stirred up trouble by claiming that the bride had converted to Islam: “Jani and his companions claimed that the bride — seated in full wedding attire with her eyebrows dyed with henna — had become Muslim. She was then prevented from joining her groom’s home, and the matter was taken to the Sharia court. The girl denied the accusation, but the judge had her confined in a Muslim household. When Narayan Das submitted a petition, the Emir summoned the girl, Jani, and the witnesses to Kabul. Since witnesses testified that she had previously converted, and she risked being executed if she denied it, the girl confessed, confirming Jani’s claim. She was thus freed from her Hindu family and married off to a Muslim man.” (Ibid, p. 265)
The condition of Pashtun women in the 19th century
By the 16th century, Pashtuns had become key players in the politics, warfare, and economy of the Indian subcontinent. They became increasingly sedentary and agrarian, and their population and military workforce grew. However, their main areas of settlement, the mountainous regions of southern Afghanistan and northeastern Pakistan offered limited arable land. Like the Turks, Mongols, and other Central Asian tribes before them, the Pashtuns turned their gaze toward India in search of more fertile lands, competing with other inhabitants across both sides of the Indus River and beyond. They likely also clashed over grazing lands and farmlands in Kandahar, Sistan, and Herat. As British colonial power expanded, the Indian subcontinent gradually closed in on the Pashtun tribes. The British contested for control over Kandahar, Herat, and Kabul, not just fighting with the Pashtuns but with other regional ethnic groups. The resultant shrinking of available territory left the Pashtuns increasingly landless, jobless, and in crisis. A people once poised to compete over rich territories in India and Iran were confined to the valleys of the Hindu Kush, the plains of Sistan, and the ridges of Peshawar and Kandahar. This geographic and political constriction manifested in violent tribal wars over dwindling resources, conflicts among Pashtun leaders, and confrontations with non-Pashtun ethnic groups who had once been their allies in foreign expeditions. Thus, the 19th century became a time of widespread turmoil, warfare, and forced migrations. Emirs, princes, and commanders — entangled in ceaseless wars with one another and with non-Pashtun local rulers — led military campaigns to seize scarce but fertile lands in the Hindu Kush and Koh-e-Baba ranges. In the process, tens of thousands of young Pashtun men were killed within a span of less than a century.
Historical records from Siraj al-Tawarikh show how frequent and deadly these conflicts were:
In 1804, six thousand Ghilzai Pashtuns were killed in a single battle, and their severed heads were sent to Kabul as a warning to others.
In another instance, Prince Shuja-ul-Mulk reportedly had an army of 150,000 foot soldiers and cavalry under his command.
The dead were hastily buried five or ten in a single grave.
In another campaign, 300 were killed and 1,000 captured.
With just three cannon shots, 600 people and 1,000 horses were killed in another incident.
In 1887, Emir Sher Ali Khan dispatched a force of 18 infantry regiments, 10 cavalry regiments, 40 cannons, and 3,000 elite horsemen to confront Sardar Mohammad Yaqub Khan. The latter, with his force of 40,000 Durrani tribesmen, retreated after failing to resist the artillery and professional army. In another battle, 1,500 rebels were killed, and their heads were sent to Kandahar, where a memorial minaret was erected from the skulls.
Though census data from that era may not be precise, Katib’s records offer approximate population figures: Kandahar had 60,000 inhabitants, Herat had 40,000, Ghazni had 15,000, and Kabul had 70,000. The loss of tens of thousands of young, able-bodied men meant that many women were left widowed, and many daughters lost the chance to marry. Financial hardship also meant that women had to take on greater roles in farms, households, and pastures. Yet, despite their increased labour, their social status declined even further. Women were exchanged in increasing numbers as additional wives, concubines, and slaves. They had to perform exhausting labour to make up for the loss of male workers, and simultaneously give birth to many children to replenish a population depleted by war. These pressures likely increased maternal mortality rates and reduced women’s life expectancy. Yet in Siraj al-Tawarikh, we find references to the “abundance” of women — suggesting large populations of women and girls were being exchanged or passed from hand to hand across the region, including among Pashtun communities. For instance, in 1880, Katib wrote: “During Nowruz in the Year of the Whale, 6,000 Afghan women and girls captured by the Turkmens were released and returned to their families.” (vol. 1–2, p. 919)
At the time, “Afghan” referred specifically to Pashtun tribes. As Katib confirms elsewhere: “Mr. Griffin stood and delivered [translated] the words of the two previous speakers in Afghani, Persian, and English, congratulating His Majesty Abdur Rahman Khan on his ascension to the throne.” (Ibid, p. 924) The trafficking, abduction, and sale of women was widespread throughout the region. Katib recounts that when Sardar Abdur Rahman Khan was traveling from Mashhad to Bukhara in 1869, he encountered: “A caravan of Turkmens with 600 Iranian captives, both men and women. When he asked about a water well, the Turkmens, fearing he was an Iranian Cossack, misled him by claiming they’d find water at dawn.” (vol. 1–2, p. 802) Abdur Rahman Khan’s response to the 6,000 Afghans captured during Nowruz was to order the return of the women to their families. No mention is made of punishing the captors. The enslavement and trade of women were commonplace, sanctioned by culture, custom, and law. Katib also records more intimate cases. In 1893, Mullah Abdul Qadir, a scribe at the Sharia Court in Mazar-i-Sharif, took 600 rupees, 400 tangas, a sheepskin coat, and a marriage certificate from a widow — and abducted her 12-year-old daughter from Tashkurgan. He then married the girl in the absence of her mother. When the mother complained to the local governor, only the false marriage witnesses were jailed. Mullah Abdul Qadir was not questioned. (vol. 3, part 2, pp. 48–49) Another case that illustrates how women were treated like property involves a woman named Aqsu Bibi. Katib writes about how the lawful wife of Ruzi Qul, a Kazakh from Kulab, went missing. Aqsu Bibi had been taken by a man named Jildash, who declared her his wife and fathered a child with her. Later, a third man named Saeed took her. Ruzi Qul located her and tried, unsuccessfully, to reclaim her through sharia courts in both Rustaq and Kabul. Rival tribes also abducted each other’s women. In 1893, a group of Tanai tribesmen raided Khost, abducted married women, and appointed a representative to negotiate with Sardar Shirin Dil Khan. He demanded the women be returned, but the tribe requested time to consult. (vol. 3, part 2, p. 132) Volume 4 of Siraj al-Tawarikh includes other such accounts of human trafficking, particularly women being sold for profit across the Durand Line. Those traffickers were rarely punished, suggesting that the sale of women and girls was not seen as a serious crime.
The section ends with a heartbreaking tale of an enslaved woman:
“She was a concubine owned by a Kandahari broker named Sadiq Mohammad. One day, a merchant named Timur entered her house, tied her hands and feet, stuffed her into a sack, and took her, along with some jewelry, to the camp of Mullah Alam Akhund. There she was imprisoned. For three months, Timur traveled with her through Hazara mountain routes, raping her along the way, until they reached Maimana. When Timur later traveled to Bukhara for trade, the woman reported her kidnapping to the governor of Maimana. The governor detained her until Timur returned. When Timur arrived, both were sent to Kandahar, where the matter would be resolved under Sharia law. Timur died enroute. The woman was returned to her original owner.” (vol. 4, part 1, p. 531)
Women and daughters of khans, sardars, and emirs
The image Katib paints of women’s lives in royal harems and aristocratic households is no less painful. Even in these elite circles, women were traded, gifted, and used as pawns. Some were titled “lady,” while others were simply concubines. Much has been said about the brutality of Abdur Rahman Khan and his soldiers against Hazara women, but Siraj al-Tawarikh also documents how, before his invasion, Hazara Khans and rulers themselves treated their subjects as property, profiting from the sale of daughters and sons of peasants and the vulnerable: “The Hazara rulers and notables took whatever they desired from their subordinates and sold their daughters and sons to sustain their own luxurious lives.” (vol. 3, part 2, p. 108) Similar treatment of women by khans is recorded in other regions. They often exchanged their own daughters and sisters for political gain. For instance, Tajoo Khan of the Ishaqzai tribe in Kandahar betrothed his daughter to Emir Habibullah Khan in hopes of gaining favor at court. However, Habibullah, who already had many wives left this “gift” waiting for 17 years without accepting her. This poor girl had two brothers, Kamal Khan and Jamal Khan. By the time the emir finally ordered to “commence and complete the marriage of this modest and veiled woman in the best manner, and send her to Kabul,” she had likely aged beyond his interest and her father may have passed away. The emir then ordered a shirbaha (bride price) of 12,000 Qandahari rupees (equivalent to 7,000 Kabuli rupees) to be given to her brothers. The woman remained in the royal harem only briefly before being divorced — along with the daughters of the governor of Herat, a Mangal tribal chief, and Shaghani noble Shah Yousuf Ali Khan — because the emir had already exceeded his four wives. He later married the daughter of Sardar Mohammad Yousuf Khan. (vol. 4, part 2, p. 267) The fact that he married someone after divorcing these “gifts,” including the woman who waited 17 years, shows they held little appeal or value to him. Siraj al-Tawarikh contains many such examples of khans gifting their daughters and sisters in order to consolidate power. Habibullah Khan’s notorious behavior toward the wives and daughters of ministers and nobles is perhaps the clearest illustration of the degraded position of women in elite households. As Katib wrote, the emir “spent his days and nights with fair-faced, silver-bodied beauties, organizing two or three festive for noble women each year. He would send formal invitations to the wives of notables … the women removed all veils, and the king spent among them from dusk to dawn.” (Ibid, p. 390) Even the harems of aristocrats were not safe from plunder by soldiers and militants. In 1880, Katib recorded, “The ghazis entered the city [Kabul] by force and looted the homes of Sardars and nobles. They spared nothing—not even the clothes of women.” (Ibid, p. 390) Note the phrase “they spared nothing.”
Final reflections
As stated at the beginning of this analysis, the distance from the late 19th century to today is not so far. We still live in the long century of Abdur Rahman Khan to Mullah Hibatullah. Afghan society has not yet freed itself from its plunder-based traditions. Even today, women remain commodities for many rulers and elites, and consequently for segments of the general population. A significant portion of men view women as possessions and sexual property. The Taliban’s treatment of women, and their shame-based view of women’s public presence, is rooted in the collective memory of the rulers, khans, and mullahs who have shaped Afghan society. Throughout this long century, which has been shaped by economies of plunder and conquest, a privileged class has formed that is detached from labour. They viewed homes as the locales for harems and women as concubines or sexual slaves. Under such a system, the social and economic roles of women were steadily diminished, creating a growing gap between the real needs of ordinary people and the laws imposed from above. In contrast, women in Kuchi (nomadic), peasant, working, and artisan families likely enjoyed more freedom and economic agency than those imprisoned in the fortresses of khans, mullahs, and aristocrats, who built castles in villages and cities, where women were locked into two classes: wives who bore children, and slaves or servants. An ideal fort for a khan or sardar had two rings. The inner ring housed the mothers of children and their offspring; the outer ring was for livestock, concubines, servants, and labourers. Even one-ringed castles were divided into quarters for harems, servants, greenhouses, and guest rooms. This feudal structure blended with Afghan political and cultural traditions. Misogyny continues to be a pillar of governance. The elite born of this tradition envision cities without women in public spaces, progress without civil liberties. Our rulers still imagine the society as a castle where women are trapped in the inner ring, and men labour obediently in the outer one. Our Taliban-style patriarchy is cloaked in an unspoken shame. There is a deep-seated societal guilt about what has been done to the women of Afghanistan. That’s why everything related to women, even their names, can be considered shameful. We remember that adding a mother’s name to national ID cards was still controversial in the final years of the Islamic Republic, after years of talking about democracy and women’s rights. The common, almost ritualistic praise of mothers in our society reflects a collective guilt and should be seen as an attempt to redeem the way we’ve treated women. This same plunder-based treatment of women is visible in our society’s obsession with paternal lineage. Because of the sexual lawlessness that occurred under the guise of religion and tradition, possessing a clear lineage has become a badge of honour. In the language of the aristocracy, to be of legitimate noble birth is of supreme value. Everyone who rises to status or power tries to prove that they are legitimate, well-born, and fathered inside a legal marriage. But we all know that any claim to “pure paternal blood” is hollow in a society where women are commodities, and where they lack the freedom to choose partners, to work, or to study. If virtue and purity rest on an unbroken line of fatherhood, then our history and our collective conscience tell us the truth: we are all illegitimate. Due to centuries of chaos, abduction, rape, and concubinage, there is no one in Afghanistan whose ancestral line has not been infiltrated by “illegitimacy.” Mothers, however, do not need slogans to prove their relationship to their children. Unless torn apart in infancy, every child knows their mother. The blood of mothers in the veins of their children is the clearest generational truth of humanity.
Younus Negah is a researcher and writer from Afghanistan who is currently in exile in Turkey.
Pictures are by Lillias Anna Hamilton.>>
Source: https://zantimes.com/2025/03/27/youtube-interviews-mention-of-hazara-women-and-maternal-lineage-sparks-debate-on-afghanistans-history-of-slavery-and-oppression/

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