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 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

Zan Times - February 5, 2026 - by Sabawoun Beyabani
{‘Guilt is the consequence of being women’
An Afghan woman covered with Chadar Namaz looking depressed
What Afghan women are experiencing today is not merely a set of restrictions or discriminatory laws but the product of a structure that systematically feminizes guilt. This essay is an attempt to understand that logic within the Afghan context, a place where women are deprived not only of rights, but of the very possibility of being innocent. Across systems of power, women are positioned not as agents, but as those who must answer. It is as if they are already accused and their only role is to explain, justify, and apologize. In these systems, guilt and shame are imposed on women’s bodies and lives not as individual moral failures, but as a persistent structural function. The issue is neither women’s behaviour nor their personal choices; the issue is a mechanism that, in order to sustain itself, requires a fixed site for the accumulation of blame. Within this logic, women become the vessel where guilt begins. Such a structure rests on a prevailing assumption: the gendering of guilt. The logic behind the gendering of guilt is based on the insight that guilt, though ostensibly framed as a universal moral concept, is, in practice, systematically concentrated onto women’s bodies and lives. The structure pushes its crises, fears, and failures onto “women” in order to evade accountability. In this process, men are removed from the position of accusation, while women are rendered perpetual victims. In this logic, guilt is not the consequence of women’s actions but rather the consequence of being women. Men are preemptively absolved; women are preemptively accused. This essay seeks to analyze precisely this presupposition about women in relation to guilt. In Afghanistan, guilt is never distributed randomly. For its own survival, the ruling structure requires a permanent site of sacrifice, somewhere onto which fear, failure, frustration, moral crisis, and even political collapse can be offloaded. This burden must be placed where the least possibility of resistance exists. But why is this burden almost always placed on women’s bodies? A woman is not regarded as a person but as a position, a ready-made site for attaching blame. This logic begins with women themselves. In particular, the female body is always a problem: either too visible or too hidden; either tempting or dangerous. If violence occurs, the first questions are directed at her body: What was she wearing? Why was she there? Why did she come home late? Why did she laugh? Why didn’t she stay silent? This so-called logic extends beyond the body and reaches the voice. A woman’s voice is either too loud, too provocative, or inappropriate. If she speaks, she is accused; if she stays silent, she is blamed. If she protests, she is shameless; if she endures, she “wanted it.” Even her walking, her laughter, her gaze, her writing, even her breathing can become moral issues. In this equation, the male body is neutral while the female body is the site of accusation. This logic is clearly visible in everyday examples in Afghan society. A girl whose nude image is leaked loses her life, but the boy who leaked it has merely “made a mistake.” A woman who enters a relationship is said to have brought shame; the man in the very same relationship has done something “natural.” If a man and woman commit the same mistake, the man gradually disappears from the scene, but the woman is punished and suppressed for years—in her family, workplace, community, and collective memory. Why is it that when wrongdoing is “feminized,” it becomes a dead end, but when it is “masculinized,” it becomes an experience? In Afghanistan, the structure personalizes guilt to protect itself. It claims, “This woman was immoral, not this law; this woman was bad, not this culture; this woman wasn’t properly raised, not this system.” Using this manoeuvre ensures that the structure always remains pure while the woman is perpetually stained. To maintain its superficial balance, the anti-woman structure feminizes guilt and masculinizes innocence. With this logic, a woman — long before she makes any choice — is already a potential bearer of fault, while a man is absolved of all wrongdoing, again in advance. Feminized guilt is an instrument of control, not a measure of morality. For this reason, any attempt at “reform” that does not challenge the structure itself simply reproduces the same anti-woman order. This structure in Afghanistan is interested neither in reforming behaviour nor in delivering justice; its purpose is to preserve hierarchy. Women live a strange paradox: they are placed at the centre of these systems but are deprived of power. They are at the centre of politics, because their bodies are the site through which political control is exercised. They are at the centre of morality, because moral collapse is projected onto them. They are at the centre of society, because collective honour is tied to them. This centrality is neither privilege nor respect but rather a more complex form of control and erasure. The structure makes men repairable and women destructible. A man can err, experiment, destroy, and rebuild. But a woman collapses from a single mistake, a single rumour, a single image, a single sentence. This inequality is not accidental; it is engineered. The most dangerous stage is when this structure becomes internalized to a point when Afghan women begin to fear their own loud voice, feel guilty for writing boldly, and feel shame when speaking about sex, the body, anger, or desire. Or when they assume they are mistaken, excessive, extreme, or “out of place.” That is the moment the structure has won and when external repression is no longer necessary because women have begun to censor themselves. Because guilt has been imposed on us, we often fail to recognize that we have committed no wrongdoing. We do not see the structure because it has become so normalized that it is like air. We do not hear it, because it blends with the voices of morality, tradition, and social expediency. But as long as women remain in the position of guilt, no order can ever truly be just. Liberation is not merely the freedom of women; it is the exposure of a structure that cannot survive without sacrificing them. Until women in Afghanistan are no longer positioned as the locus of guilt, no system will ever be genuinely just. Liberation is not simply freeing women but is also rejecting the system that depends on their victimization to sustain itself.
Sabawoun Beyabani is an Afghan writer and women’s rights activist who lives in Brazil.} Source: https://zantimes.com/2026/02/05/guilt-has-been-feminized-taliban-deprives-women-of-the-right-to-be-innocent/


Afghanistan to the dark ages
Zan Times - February 2 - by Omid Sharafat
{How the Taliban returned Afghanistan to the dark ages
The publication of the Taliban’s new penal code marks yet another step in their effort to drag the country back into a medieval order, this time under the guise of a seemingly legal document. This code, which has been issued and endorsed by the Taliban authorities, is made up of 10 chapters and 119 articles and reflects the group’s intent to monopolize power, redefine social hierarchy, erase the civic status of the country’s residents, and legitimize the widescale use of centuries-old violence in the 21st century. The Taliban openly signal their determination to return the country to an era of ignorance and brutality by abolishing all previous Afghan laws, which drew on the experiences of neighboring and global countries and embraced an interpretation of Islam rooted in tolerance and moderation, striving for legal equality, human dignity, and respect for broader human rights, and by replacing them with this code,. Of course, the Taliban have already enforced many aspects of this new penal code since regaining power in 2021 in practice. Therefore, its official publication serves as a legal cover and an attempt to legitimize the group’s discriminatory, violent, and class-based conduct. Given the wide range of reaction to the Taliban’s new penal code, it is necessary to understand its key pillars:
The absolute monarchy of Mullah Hibatullah Akhundzada
In modern political systems where popular sovereignty is the foundational principle, the role of a monarch has either been abolished or is strictly defined and limited by law, often reduced to a symbolic function. Only in absolute monarchies does the king stand above the law, serving simultaneously as the source of law and the ultimate authority on its interpretation. Through long, costly struggles for constitutionalism, Afghanistan left behind the era of absolute monarchy more than a century ago. Yet, at this moment, the Taliban have granted Mullah Hibatullah the effective status of an absolute sovereign, marking nothing less than a return to the age of unchecked kingship. Article 1 of this code designates Mullah Hibatullah as the authority for drafting and interpreting law. Articles 118 and 119 further emphasize his exclusive powers to amend, annul, or ratify this document and any other laws. The concentration of all powers in the hands of Mullah Hibatullah also reveals deep mistrust within the Taliban’s own ranks as the authority to revise or interpret the law has not been delegated to any institution under his supervision.
A caste-based social hierarchy
This penal code identifies four social groups:
Mullahs and aristocracy
The tribal leaders and merchants
The middle class
The lower class
According to Article 9 of this code, punishments for these four groups are explicitly discriminatory. If a scholar or elder in the highest caste commits an offense, the judge merely issues a warning, and that is all. Tribal leaders and merchants who commit the same violation are only summoned to court and given a reprimand. But if the very same offense is committed by someone from the lowest class, then they must receive corporal punishment, which can include up to 39 lashes. Such discriminatory treatment can only be understood as an endorsement of a caste system and a division of citizens into unequal ranks. Under this penal code, scholars are granted a privileged status reminiscent of the clergy during the Middle Ages. Article 17 states explicitly that anyone who says they do not accept the words of the scholars is subject to two years in prison..
Legitimizing vigilante justice and summary punishment
This document outlines the methods of proving offenses punishable by ta’zir, as well as who may carry out such punishments and upon whom they may be imposed—resulting, in practice, in the clear legitimization of vigilante justice and summary punishment.
Article 4, which explains the distinction between hudud and ta’zir, states explicitly that a ta’zir offence can be established even in the presence of doubt, and that children may also be subjected to punishment. By contrast, hudud offenses cannot be established in cases of doubt and cannot be applied to children. The penal code further states that any Muslim who witnesses a person committing a sin against “the rights of God” — meaning acts considered harmful to public morality rather than to a specific individual — is permitted to carry out the punishment themselves. Under this provision, any Muslim (“Muslim” is effectively defined as adherents of the Hanafi school) may claim to have witnessed someone committing a sinful act and may, on that basis, administer punishment personally, even if the alleged offender is a child. Such authorization means that individuals favored or sanctioned by the Taliban authorities are effectively granted free rein to commit violence against others.
Denial of religious pluralism
Another hallmark of this return to a medieval order is the rejection of other Islamic sects and the insistence on the exclusive legitimacy of a single school of jurisprudence. Such a position logically results in pressure on followers of other sects. Article 26 of this code explicitly states that no one in Afghanistan has the right to leave the Hanafi school, and anyone who does so will be punished. Limiting the punishment for “leaving the faith” solely to those who depart from the Hanafi school implies that other Islamic sects are not afforded the same respect or legal standing. In effect, it suggests that abandoning the Ismaili faith, the Twelver Shia sect, or other denominations and religions is permissible or even desirable. This stands in stark contrast to the reality of Afghanistan, a country diverse not only ethnically and linguistically but also religiously, where different sects have historically coexisted with mutual respect. If Afghanistan was keeping to global norms, it should be moving toward greater religious tolerance and pluralism, not reversing it. Given the inclusion of this section of the Taliban’s penal code, it becomes evident that reports of pressure on Ismailis to convert are entirely consistent with the Taliban’s broader religious policy.
Treating women as property
Articles 32 and 34 of the Taliban’s penal code address the relationship between husband and wife. The type and scale of penalties assigned to men and women reveal that, in the 21st century, the Taliban still treat women as commodities under the ownership of males. This section states that if a man severely beats his wife, including causing fractures, wounds, or bruises, and the woman is able to prove it, the man will be sentenced to 15 days in prison. But if a woman goes to her parents’ home without her husband’s permission and does not return, both she and her father will be sentenced to three months in prison. The disparity in these punishments makes it clear that women are regarded as property. The clause concerning punishment for a man who harms his wife also stipulates that the woman must prove that the fractures, wounds, or bruises were caused by her husband. In a deeply patriarchal society—especially one under Taliban rule—this is virtually impossible. Women are usually coerced into retracting accusations and clearing their husbands of wrongdoing.
Conclusion
The points highlighted above are only a few examples of the Taliban’s medieval approach toward the universally accepted values of the modern world. Extracting and analyzing all elements of this code that contradict human values and the norms and imperatives of the 21st century would require extensive time and space. At the same time, the publication of this code is useful as it provides human rights defenders and Afghanistan researchers with an official Taliban document they can cite when engaging governments, organizations, and institutions connected to Afghanistan. While the Taliban have denied enabling widespread violence against the citizens of Afghanistan, this code stands as irrefutable evidence of its religious and gender discrimination.
Omid Sharafat is the pseudonym of a former university professor in Kabul and a researcher of international relations.} Source: https://zantimes.com/2026/02/02/how-the-taliban-returned-afghanistan-to-the-dark-ages/

Earlier stories


Jinhagency - Womens News Agency - Jan 29, 2026 Baharan Lahib
{Taliban Judicial Regulations Entrench Sharia as the Sole Source of Legislation in Afghanistan
The Taliban has republished judicial regulations defining its courts, exposing concentrated power, political repression, and systematic discrimination against women and minorities across Afghanistan nationwide today.
Afghanistan — A few days ago, the Taliban republished its judicial regulations, a document considered one of the most important instruments governing the judicial system in Afghanistan following the movement’s return to power. These regulations do not merely define judicial procedures; they also reflect the Taliban’s vision of justice, law, Sharia, and the place of the individual within the structure of power. From the outset, the Taliban’s judicial regulations reveal their complete reliance on the “application of Islamic Sharia” as the sole source of legislation, with no reference whatsoever to previous civil laws, the Afghan constitution, or the country’s international obligations. This approach has led to the dismantling of the modern legal system and the disregard of legal achievements accumulated over past decades. This charter is characterized by the near-total concentration of judicial authority in the hands of Taliban leaders, foremost among them Hibatullah Akhundzada. Judges are not selected based on professional competence or judicial independence, but rather on ideological loyalty and organizational obedience— a clear violation of the principle of judicial independence. The charter also fails to clearly define the rights of the accused: the right to legal counsel, the right to remain silent, the presumption of innocence, and the right to a fair trial are either entirely absent or presented in vague terms, opening the door to widespread violations and arbitrary rulings. The issue of testimony within this system is also framed according to the Taliban’s rigid and traditional interpretation of jurisprudence. The value of testimony given by women, religious minorities, and individuals not affiliated with the Taliban is severely restricted or ignored altogether, reflecting structural discrimination embedded within the judicial system. Taliban court rules do not clearly distinguish between criminal, political, and moral crimes. Many personal and social behaviors— especially those attributed to women— are defined and punished as “Islamic crimes” without clear or precise legal standards. The primary objective of this system is not rehabilitation or justice, but rather the instillation of social fear and the consolidation of Taliban authority. Taliban courts often operate behind closed doors without independent oversight, and in many cases judicial rulings are final and not subject to appeal. Under these rules, the Taliban present themselves as the supreme authority for interpreting Islamic Sharia, while all Taliban judges simultaneously assume security or intelligence roles, facilitating systematic repression and entrenched injustice. In dealing with political opponents and critics of Taliban rule, harsh sentences are issued through expedited trials, revealing the repressive nature of the judiciary. Ethnic and religious minorities are not afforded equal protection under this judicial system, as their rights are not recognized by law— deepening social divisions and eroding public trust. Overall, the Taliban court system focuses on preserving the group’s authoritarian rule rather than ensuring justice. Justice, in this context, is not defined as a human principle but as a function serving the Taliban’s political and ideological interests.
Rulings Related to Women
Within the Taliban court regulations, women are not defined as citizens with independent rights, but rather as “subjects of Sharia rule.” This concept forms the basis of all rulings and regulations that directly or indirectly affect women’s lives. Women have been completely excluded from the judicial structure; there is no provision allowing women to serve as judges, prosecutors, or judicial staff. This exclusion has rendered the judiciary entirely male-dominated and ideological.
Women’s participation in judicial proceedings is also subject to severe restrictions. In many cases, women are not permitted to appear before court without a “male guardian (mahram),” a condition that gravely undermines women’s right to access justice. Under this legal framework, women’s testimony is not accorded the same value as men’s. In many cases, women’s testimony is either rejected outright or requires male corroboration, reflecting institutionalized gender-based discrimination. Women are prosecuted more frequently than men for so-called “moral crimes” or “chastity offenses.” The vague definition of these crimes allows for widespread abuse, coercion, and repression of women. A woman’s behavior, clothing, mobility, and social relationships can be deemed religious violations, while identical conduct by men is not criminalized. In cases of adultery or extramarital relationships, the Taliban routinely place the burden of blame on women without evidence, resulting in harsher punishments for women than ever before. Taliban court rules also fail to clearly distinguish between consent, coercion, and sexual violence, thereby denying rape survivors legal protection. In family disputes— including divorce, child custody, and alimony— Taliban interpretations systematically favor men. Women are not recognized as having the right to make independent decisions, and male guardianship dominates their lives. Domestic violence against women is not defined as a separate crime, increasing impunity for perpetrators and perpetuating abuse within families. During the enforcement of rulings, women are more vulnerable to public and humiliating punishments that target not only their bodies but also their dignity and psychological security.
Overall, the provisions related to women in the Taliban court system demonstrate that women are not viewed as rights-bearing individuals, but rather as a source of “moral danger” that must be contained and controlled. As a result of the implementation of this judicial system, fear has replaced trust in justice. Many citizens— particularly women— resort to silence or forced concessions instead of seeking recourse through the courts. The Taliban judicial system not only fails to deliver justice, but has become an instrument for entrenching political and ideological domination. Rather than resolving disputes, this judiciary has itself become a new source of violence and injustice. As long as this judicial system remains the foundation of governance, hope for an independent, comprehensive, and humane justice system in Afghanistan will remain out of reach. Escape from this suffering will only be possible through the continued struggle of conscious women and men} Source: https://jinhaagency.com/en/actual/taliban-judicial-regulations-entrench-sharia-as-the-sole-source-of-legislation-in-afghanistan-38479


Zan Times - Jan 29, 2026 - by Khadija Haidary
{‘Writing is resistance’: Afghan women authors defy the Taliban
This report has been published in partnership with Avvenire.it
Among dozens of women whose books have been banned by the Taliban is Leila, a university lecturer in western Afghanistan. Her book focuses on project management, including how to efficiently use resources like time, capital and labour efficiently. The book was used as a university textbook for undergraduates. “It took me two years to translate multiple English sources and then write my own book,” she says. “My book is about applying quality standards using scientific tools and techniques for the success of national and commercial projects.” But after the Taliban took power, it was banned. “When I asked why, they said that because the author was a woman, it had to be removed,” Leila says. Since being dismissed from her university job in December 2022 after the Taliban closed universities to women, Leila has managed to publish an academic paper in an international journal. Now, she says she no longer has the strength to write: “I have unfinished work, but sadly no motivation. Imagine standing at a dark crossroads, with no information about which way to go, everywhere you look, there’s only darkness.” In August 2025, the Taliban’s Ministry of Higher Education issued two separate directives to universities across the country, instructing them to stop teaching 18 academic subjects, stating that the newly banned subjects “found to be contrary to sharia and the system’s policies and have therefore been removed from the curriculum.” In addition, the Taliban prohibited the use of around 640 textbooks and course materials. More than 140 of the titles were banned solely because their authors were women.Among the women blacklisted were female academics with more than 30 years of teaching experience and long records of research. Many activists say this is another systematic attempt by the Taliban to erase women’s voices from public life. As one professor notes, textbooks authored by women challenge the Taliban’s ideology by their very existence: “How can a woman be forbidden from teaching or studying, yet her book be taught in universities?” In November, Zohra was refused a printing licence by the Taliban-run Ministry of Information and Culture. The 37-year-old has been writing children’s books since 2017. “My goal is to help Afghan children prepare mentally and emotionally for learning different subjects before they go to school,” she says. Her books use images of children and cartoons to make subjects like mathematics easier. “They told me not to use pictures of living beings, especially girls,” she recalls to Zan Times. “They said if I include a picture of a girl, she must be wearing Islamic hijab. Otherwise, my books won’t be printed in Afghanistan.” Despite that refusal by the Taliban, Zohra continues working on new editions. “I believe these books will stand as a legacy of women’s resistance. in Afghanistan’s history,” she says.  In October 2024, the Taliban distributed another list of 433 banned books to booksellers. Among them, 18 titles were written by women, including nine by Afghan authors: Saeqa Hadiya Yazdanwali, Atifa Tayeb, Fatema Jafari, Dr Marzia Mohammadzada, Shakiba Hashemi, Sohaila Aman, Dr Sediqa Hosseini, Nawida Khushbo, and Aqila Nargis Rahmani. No matter their subject, the Taliban deemed their work “against national interests” and also against their version of sharia.“I wrote about the Taliban in my book; that’s why they banned it,” says author Nawida Khushbo from London. “I was thinking, why should a woman not write about politics, and only be active in literature?” The ban also includes books by international women authors like Rachel Hollis, Reshma Saujani, and Malala Yousafzai’s biography, I am Malala. Inside Afghanistan, some women continue to write, often at great risk. Nazanin, 25, writes short stories and essays from her home in a province near Kabul. “Sometimes it feels like the Taliban’s gun barrel is pointed directly at my throat,” she says. “The city is so militarized that we meet armed men at every step. For me, writing is resistance. My situation is very difficult, but I think about using it to record everything for the future.” In November 2024, the 8am Daily reported that Taliban officials in Kapisa province had removed books by women from girls’ school libraries. That news is confirmed by Suraya, a 34-year-old teacher, who tells Zan Times, “From all girls’ schools and libraries, all books written by women were collected according to the Taliban’s order.” In cities like Kandahar, bookshops rarely stock works by female writers. “In our bookstore, books written by women are almost zero,” says one bookseller. “Even a woman’s photo on a magazine cover can cause trouble.” The desire for female authors to keep creating means they will not stop working, despite the risk. Mana, a 34-year-old writer in western Afghanistan, states, “When I decided to publish my first book, I never considered Afghan publishers. Under the Taliban, printing a book as a woman is dangerous.” She is now writing her second novel. Though her topic isn’t political, she knows that her writing could come with a price, just because she’s a woman. For now, she prefers to “keep writing quietly, in a silent corner.” Names have been changed to protect the identity of the interviewees. Khadija Haidary is a Zan Times journalist and editor. A journalist with the pseudonym of Arya contributed reporting. } Source: https://zantimes.com/2026/01/29/writing-is-resistance-afghan-women-authors-defy-the-taliban/

Zan Times - Jan 29, 2026 - by Sana Atef, Mahtab Safi and Mahsa Elham
{Taliban birth control ban: women ‘broken’ by lethal pregnancies and untreated miscarriages
Parwana* no longer recognises her own children. Once known in her Kandahar village for her beauty, the 36-year-old now sits on the floor of her mother’s home, rocking silently. After nine pregnancies and six miscarriages, many under pressure from her husband and in-laws, Parwana slipped into a permanent state of confusion. “She is lost,” her mother Sharifa says. “They broke her with fear, with pregnancies, with violence.” In Afghanistan today, her story is not an anomaly. Across Afghanistan, women speak of the same descent: pregnancies they cannot prevent, miscarriages they cannot treat, and violence they cannot escape. Since the Taliban’s informal birth-control ban began quietly sweeping through clinics in early 2023, contraceptives have disappeared, clinics have closed, and hunger has deepened. Interviews from seven provinces reveal a reproductive health system in free fall, where forced pregnancies, untreated complications, and relentless poverty now define daily life. Parwana’s story is just one face of a nationwide crisis. When Shakiba*, 42, collapses beside the tandoor fire while baking bread, her toddler begins to cry. The mother of twelve from Kandahar cannot rise without feeling faint. Her hair falls out in handfuls. Her bones hurt constantly. She is pregnant again. Her local clinic no longer offers contraceptives. Her husband forbids her from seeking them elsewhere. She is one of the many women impacted by the Taliban’s quiet crackdown on family planning. The ban was never formally announced, but it was reported by the media in February 2023. Slowly and province by province, the Taliban are implementing this policy. By early 2023, doctors and midwives in multiple provinces reported the same pattern: supplies arriving late, then in smaller quantities, then not at all. However, this is not the case in all provinces. In Balkh, and Takhar, in some districts, birth control is still available. In rural Jawzjan, a doctor who has run a clinic for three decades says the disappearance was rapid. “After the Taliban came, the contraceptives started reducing. Within months, they were gone,” she says. “Before, at least 30 out of 70 women who came to the clinic needed birth control. Now we tell them: we have nothing.” In Badghis, Taliban fighters arrived at a private clinic and ordered staff to destroy all contraceptives. “‘If we see you give this to women again, we will close your clinic,’ they said,” recalls the doctor. “We stopped immediately.” Two years ago, after an earthquake left Zarghona*, 29, and family living in a tent, she went three days without access to a toilet and developed a life-threatening intestinal blockage. Surgeons did a surgery and warned her husband plainly: another pregnancy could kill her. A year after her surgery, with no contraception available and a husband insisting he needed “a daughter” Zarghona became pregnant again. She spent nine months in fear, tried to end the pregnancy with herbs and saffron, and managed just one antenatal visit. When labour began, doctors in Herat told her both caesarean and natural delivery carried a high chance of death. She survived, but weeks later still bleeds, cannot sleep, and lives with constant pain. Doctors say she must never be pregnant again. Yet there are no injections, no contraceptives exist in her area. “I reached death and came back,” she says. “But I’m still terrified. I have no way to protect myself.” The ban on contraceptives is unfolding in a healthcare system already on the brink. According to the United Nations and the World Health Organization, more than 440 hospitals and clinics have closed or reduced services since international funding cuts in 2025. For women in rural provinces, this means hours of walking or giving birth at home, often alone. In Ghor, where villages are isolated by mountains and mud roads, midwives say women bleed for days before they reach a clinic. Some die on the way. The reproductive crisis has become inseparable from economic collapse. Malnutrition now shapes every pregnancy. A doctor in Jawzjan estimates that 80 percent of pregnant and breastfeeding women she sees are malnourished. “They have anaemia, vitamin deficiencies, low blood pressure. Their bodies are too weak to carry pregnancies safely.” Domestic violence emerges again and again in women’s testimonies as both a cause of miscarriage and a method of control in households where women cannot escape, cannot seek shelter, and cannot access contraception. In Kandahar, Reyhana* recounts how her sister Sakina*, a young widow, was forced by her in-laws to marry her brother-in-law. When she objected, they beat her repeatedly. “Each time they hit her, she bled,” Reyhana says. “She lost her baby.”
Midwife Hamida*, who works in a packed maternity ward in Kandahar, says violence is one of the leading causes of miscarriage she sees. “Every 24 hours, we see over 100 deliveries — normal, premature, cesarean, and miscarriages,” she says. “About six miscarriages happen each day. Many are from beatings. Many are from women carrying heavy loads.” In Herat, a woman explains that she miscarried after being beaten during a family dispute. In Badakhshan, Humaira*, 38, took abortion pills when she discovered she was pregnant with a girl. “My husband wanted a son,” she says. “If I gave birth to another daughter, he would beat me or divorce me. So I bought medicine secretly.” The pills worked — but left her infertile, chronically bleeding, and terrified. Her story is echoed by women in Kandahar and Jawzjan who described miscarriages that were either forced, self-induced, or the result of abuse after ultrasounds showed the fetus was female.
In Ghor, a 15-year-old girl miscarried after carrying two full jerrycans up a steep hill. “I was ashamed to tell anyone,” she says. “By the time my mother saw me, it was too late.” In remote Herat, Shamsia*, 38, says she worked in construction and brickmaking through her pregnancies. “My mother-in-law forced me to breastfeed her baby too,” she says. “I became weaker every day.” When the doctor told her she needed a blood transfusion, her family refused, calling it “haram.” Before the ban, rural clinics held regular sessions on birth spacing. Now those programs have vanished. “There is no purpose in giving awareness when there is no medicine,” a doctor in Jawzjan says. “The Taliban have not given written orders, but the fear is real. If we speak openly, they may shut us down.”
In households already shaped by poverty and violence, the loss of contraception has closed every exit for women. They cannot choose when to bear children. They cannot rest after birth. They cannot flee abuse. They cannot ensure their daughters’ safety. And as clinics close, they cannot even seek help.
*Names have been changed for security reasons.
*Sana Atef, Mahsa Elham, and Mahtab Safi are pseudonyms for female journalists in Afghanistan.
Freshta Ghani contributed to this report. } Source: https://zantimes.com/2026/01/29/taliban-birth-control-ban-women-broken-by-lethal-pregnancies-and-untreated-miscarriages/


Zan Times - Jan 28, 2026 - by Parwana Kebrit
{The Taliban’s double standard for sports: Praise for men, prison for women
Although unofficial reports suggest that Khadija Ahmadzada, the courageous taekwondo coach in Herat arrested for secretly training girls, has finally been released after enduring 12 days in Taliban detention, her freedom should not be taken as a sign of any softening in the Taliban’s behaviour. Instead, it marks the beginning of a new chapter filled with uncertainty and fear. The complete media silence that has settled over reporting anything about Ahmadzada since her release reflects the severe physical and psychological state of a woman whose only “crime” was teaching other women how to stand on their own. Based on the Taliban’s behavioural patterns over the past three years, detainees like Khadija Ahmadzada are typically subjected to grueling interrogations and pressured into signing pledges that require them to cease all social and athletic activities. In many cases, release is conditioned on accepting self-imposed exile or total confinement at home. These tactics are part of the Taliban’s machinery of structural repression, designed to show women that the shadow of fear and erasure never truly leaves them, even after release from detention, and that the consequence of any form of resistance is the destruction of their identity and personal life. Ahmadzada’s arrest in Herat is far more than a simple headline about an athlete. It is a mirror reflecting the systemic policy of erasing women across territories under Taliban control. The incident strips the mask from those who claim in international forums that the Taliban have changed, that they’ve softened their hardline beliefs. The reality in the streets of Herat and Kabul is nothing short of blatant gender apartheid. Since the fall of Kabul, the first and most brutal lashes of restriction have struck Afghan women: the closure of schools and universities, bans on employment in offices and institutions, and severe limits on mobility are only the outer layers of this oppression. Even more, the Taliban have targeted the roots of women’s confidence and joy by banning artistic and athletic activities. As a result, thousands of women athletes who spent years sweating to raise Afghanistan’s flag in international arenas have been forced to flee. Yet those like Khadija who stayed behind have kept the frontline of resistance alive in basements and hidden gyms. Khadija Ahmadzada, the taekwondo coach abducted on January, 10, 2026 (20 Jadi 1404) by the Taliban’s Ministry for the Propagation of Virtue and the Prevention of Vice in the Jebrael district of Herat, has become a symbol of defiance in a time of darkness. Even as she knew that every kick she delivered to the punching bag in that hidden gym could cost her life, she refused to stop teaching girls. The Taliban raid on that small training space, as well as the arrest of Khadija, her father, and the man who had provided the location, reveal the group’s deep fear of women gathering together. The Taliban understand well that sports are not merely physical activity for women, but a way for them to train in strength, resolve, and in how to reject humiliation. This is why Ahmadzada’s  arrest sparked a fresh wave of fear among the women who had been continuing their civic and athletic activities in the hidden corners of Afghan cities. Her detention makes visible the direct clash between the “human identity of women” and the “misogynistic ideology of the Taliban.” No analysis of the present moment is complete without looking at the historical context and the patriarchal structures that shape Afghan society. The bitter truth is that the Taliban grew out of misogynistic traditions that existed long before them. Though women’s sports made notable progress during the republican era, including the creation of federations and national teams in football, martial arts, and cycling, women athletes still faced constant threats in major cities like Kabul and Mazar-e-Sharif. When the Taliban returned to power, they did not weaken this patriarchal system but sanctified and strengthened it, giving it legal and religious authority. They drew on the gendered prejudices that existed in society to consolidate their rule. Sports highlightThe stark and painful contradictions of Afghan society : While a woman taekwondo coach is imprisoned simply for practicing a sport, thousands of people flood the streets to celebrate the victories of men’s sports teams. This collective silence in the face of the repression of women athletes and the enthusiastic celebration of men’s sports reveals the depth of gendered and racialized discrimination in this country.
The fundamental question is this: Why do the Taliban, despite their primitive and extremist worldview, not only refrain from opposing men’s sports but have become their primary patrons, especially championing cricket, football, and buzkashi? The answer lies in their politics of legitimacy. The Taliban have fully recognized that having Afghan men perform sports on the global stage is a powerful tool for public diplomacy and for projecting a “normal” image of their regime. They use male athletes as unofficial ambassadors to tell the world that Afghanistan under their rule is “happy and stable.” The presence of senior Taliban officials in stadiums, their meetings with cricket stars, and their enormous spending on men’s competitions are deliberate efforts to whitewash their crimes at home. It is a grand deception in which victories of men’s teams become a cover for the sound of women’s bones breaking inside intelligence prisons. In this reality, the role of governments claiming to be democracies and international human-rights institutions is nothing short of disgraceful. Holding political meetings and striking economic deals with a group that openly practises gender apartheid is an act of erasing the struggles of women like Khadija Ahmadzada. Every diplomatic smile directed at Taliban officials lands like a whip on the backs of imprisoned Afghan women. Khadija’s arrest was not an isolated act but a piece of the broader puzzle of eliminating women from the political, economic, and cultural life of Afghanistan. Any woman who stands against this policy is branded a security threat and dragged to the slaughterhouse of repression. The silence of prominent male athletes who operate under the banner of “national interest” adds to this tragedy. Through their silence, they have effectively become tools in the regime’s machinery of suppressing their female counterparts.
In the end, the case of Khadija Ahmadzada reminds us once again that Afghan women’s struggle against gender apartheid is a full-scale battle for the survival of humanity. This struggle requires global solidarity and deep awareness within the country. One cannot claim to defend freedom while remaining silent as a female taekwondo coach is imprisoned simply for working out. A society that celebrates the victories of its men on the ruins of its women’s freedom will never know true peace or liberation. Khadija Ahmadzada and thousands of women like her continue to stand firm despite every threat. They prove that women cannot be erased from society in Afghanistan. It is the moral duty of both the international community and the people of Afghanistan to ensure that the voices of these women are not lost in the noise of political games and staged competitions. The struggle against the Taliban is a fight to reclaim the right to breathe, to move, to play sports, and to be human. Parwana Kebrit is an Afghan activist living in Europe.} Source: https://zantimes.com/2026/01/28/the-talibans-double-standard-for-sports-praise-for-men-prison-for-women/

Zan Times - Jan 27, 2026 - by Habib Islami
{The Taliban penal code is a manual for legalized abuse
The Taliban introduced its new Penal Code of the Taliban Courts as a replacement for Afghanistan’s national penal code. Unfortunately, it lacks even the most basic formal and substantive standards of legal rules. As well, it cannot be considered a law from the standpoint of its issuing authority. A law, by definition, is a binding set of legal norms enacted by authorized institutions to regulate and organize society. Yet in the very first article of this code, the Taliban present a completely independent and unusual definition of the term “law.” This author argues that their version of “law” refers to anything endorsed by the Taliban leader, Mullah Hibatullah Akhundzada. From this definition, one can infer that the new Penal Code of the Taliban Courts is nothing more than a legislative decree because Hibatullah Akhundzada is not an institution but the leader of a ruling group. The purpose of assigning lawmaking authority to a specific institution is rooted in the pursuit of justice: In modern states, legislative bodies are composed of representatives of diverse social groups who can exercise oversight over the lawmaking process. Thus, we see that the first article of this code contradicts the very concept of a legal code. The Taliban have never shown a belief in law, and, after seizing power, they annulled all existing laws. Although many legal scholars, whether supporters or opponents of the Taliban, argued for the necessity of having a legal framework to govern Afghanistan, Taliban officials repeatedly insisted that Islamic societies need only the Quran and Sunnah as their laws, and that human beings cannot legislate. Yet now, having introduced a major legal code for the first time, they have proven that they do not recognize values such as social justice and human rights. Furthermore, the civil rights of Afghan citizens, which were relatively well protected by laws enacted in previous eras, have been systematically violated under Taliban rule. This includes the Constitution, the Civil Code, and the old Penal Code of Afghanistan: laws that were created based on modern legal standards and values such as equality and justice. These very values are explicitly and openly attacked in the new version of the penal code presented by the Taliban Courts. One of the most essential substantive principles that must be observed when drafting laws is the equality of citizens before the law. Article Nine of the Taliban’s penal code flagrantly and unmistakably violates this principle by dividing the citizens of the country into four distinct classes: scholars, elites, the middle class, and the lower class. Nowhere in the world are citizens categorized into hierarchical ranks in this manner, even in any of the 56 Muslim-majority countries. It is also obvious that each of these social categories is subject to different punishments: religious scholars get mere advice delivered over the phone while those in the lower class will be subjected to corporal punishment and imprisonment.
Unfortunately, the hierarchical division of Afghan society does not end here. The code further differentiates between Hanafi and non-Hanafi individuals, and between men and women. In one provision, husbands are given the authority to impose ta’zir (discretionary) punishments on a “misbehaving” wife. In principle, those sorts of punishments should only be issued by an impartial court. Similarly, Clause Five of Article Four grants the power of ta’zir punishment to an “owner” or “master,” which implicitly validates the idea of owning slaves and servants within society. One of the main justifications for having law in any society is to guarantee the broadest human freedoms for ordinary people. A society built on equal citizenship and where the government serves its people is not one in which, as the code itself implies, it rules over them as a “master.” Yet this penal code will become a tool of repression and arbitrary enforcement by the ruling group against ordinary citizens. Every article of the code carries the unmistakable scent of restrictions imposed on citizens. Rather than simply identifying criminal offenses and their penalties, it has been turned into an instrument of political domination. A legal code should ensure fair trial standards, human rights, and the rights of citizens. Instead, this code extinguishes any hope for such principles and transforms the legal system into a rigid and oppressive mechanism against anyone who opposes the ruling group. For example, in two separate sections, the death penalty is prescribed for those who oppose the Taliban’s ideological framework. Even expressing verbal disagreement with Taliban officials can result in imprisonment of up to two years. Laws must also meet certain formal standards of legal writing. For example, the correct and appropriate use of legal terminology is one of the essential features of a sound legal system. But terminology alone is not enough; structure and organization are equally crucial. A logical sequence of chapters and sections helps both citizens and officials apply the law correctly. Yet none of these standards are observed in this code. The Taliban’s penal code contains no table of contents, perhaps because it is extremely brief and thus might not require one. Instead of following conventional formatting, the footnotes on each page provide lengthy and nonstandard citations of religious sources. This reinforces the impression that the code is a disorganized compilation of scattered jurisprudential notes rather than a coherent legal document. Criminal laws must also be clear and unambiguous. They should contain no complexity that could lead to misunderstanding or misinterpretation. The law should be sufficiently clear, general, and comprehensive so that each crime has a specific, proportionate punishment. This clarity is essential to preventing the state from committing injustice against any person, including the accused. However, discretionary punitive authority (ta’zir) is granted to judges in several articles of the Taliban’s penal code. This creates a serious risk of systematic abuse as the code effectively enables judges to impose punishments based on personal views and preferences. By contrast, if we look at the penal code of the Republic era, we can see that most of these principles were largely observed, and opportunities for judicial exploitation of legal gaps were significantly limited. Another fundamental principle of criminal law is the proportionality between crime and punishment. In the previous era, punishments were assigned with regard to the gravity of the offence. Now, there is no proportionality between the offense committed and the proscribed punishment in many cases in the new penal code. For example, execution is the punishment for a “sorcerer,” a political opponent of the Taliban, or someone who adheres to non-Islamic beliefs. Meanwhile, only five years of imprisonment is given for the crime of murder carried out by poisoning. The code also offers notable immunity to judges themselves. If a judge knowingly issues a ruling contrary to the facts of a case, the punishment is merely 10 days in jail. Yet failing to report the whereabouts of Taliban opponents can result in a two-year prison sentence, which seems extraordinarily harsh for an ordinary, possibly innocent individual. Even if we compare the Taliban’s penal code to the previous Afghan penal code solely from a structural standpoint —setting aside considerations of substance and quality — the contrast is deeply discouraging. The former national penal code consisted of a preamble, two books, 16 chapters, 112 sections, and 916 articles, which spanned 785 pages. In contrast, the Taliban  version of the penal code has one preamble, three chapters, 10 sections, and 119 articles, which take up just 58 pages. The Taliban version is shorter than the 63-page table of contents of the previous code. This simple numerical comparison shows that the previous penal code was vastly richer and more functional both in form and substance. It also fulfilled the objectives of a criminal justice system far more effectively. Earlier, we noted that the Taliban annulled the former national penal code for reasons of their own and introduced this brief document after four years in power. It is important to examine where this brevity comes from, and what parts of the former criminal justice system have been removed.
Some provisions eliminated from the national penal framework include:
– Crimes related to nuclear activities
– Crimes against humanity
– Insults against followers of other religions and beliefs
– Torture
– Money laundering
– Prohibitions on the recruitment of children into military units
– Prohibitions on child labour in hazardous occupations
– Protections against depriving children of their fundamental rights, such as the right to education (even as the Taliban closed school doors to teenage girls)
If that wasn’t bad enough, provisions have been casually removed in order to leave room for judges to apply qiyas (analogy) and thereby expand their discretionary power over citizens to the greatest extent possible.
Habib Islami is a legal scholar and former university professor. } Source: https://zantimes.com/2026/01/27/the-taliban-penal-code-is-a-manual-for-legalized-abuse/

Zan Times - Jan 26, 2026 - by Younus Negah
{The Taliban’s penal code: A testament to the failure of theocratic rule
As the world debates artificial intelligence, shifting economic power, and the climate crisis, Afghanistan remains trapped under a regime that pulls the country deeper into an archaic order. The recent publication of the Taliban’s 58-page Principles of Criminal Procedures has once again laid bare the nature of their rule: a theocratic system built on inequality, hierarchy, and gendered violence, justified through selective interpretations of religion. For Afghans living in exile, caught between the realities of modern global life and the medieval structure imposed on their homeland, this document is once again a stark reminder of how far the country has fallen. This essay examines the key components of the Taliban’s penal framework to demonstrate why a religious state cannot produce justice, equality, or human dignity-and why the system is beyond reform.
A) Slavery is not new in a religious-Taliban system
This 58-page Taliban document contains an introduction, three parts, ten chapters, and 119 articles. The second chapter deals with punishments for forgery, and the third with punishments for cultivating and trafficking narcotics. These two chapters contain many Taliban-style provisions, but the heart of the entire document is the first chapter, which lays out “the principles, grades, and categories of those deserving taʿzir and their rulings” within the Emirate’s judicial system. Almost every ruling in the new document is accompanied by a footnote citing a religious source; all its pages are filled with the names of books, jurists, and sources the Taliban consider the basis of their interpretation of sharia. None of this is new for anyone familiar with the religious vocabulary taught in traditional Afghan madrasas or who has spent enough time listening to our village preachers. These principles, categories of punishment, and the ranking of “deserving” individuals are already deeply embedded in the behaviour and language of conservative and religious segments of our society. The first section of the document opens with terms and concepts that do not belong to contemporary criminal jurisprudence, though Afghanistan’s curriculum and legal system, including during the Islamic Republic, were never fully free of them. This section begins by distinguishing between hudud and taʿzir. These were taught in Afghan universities during the Republic and even appeared in the law, though they were not enforced as they are today under the Taliban. Critics of the Taliban, even those who advocate for a democratic system aligned with the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, rarely challenge the foundation of Taliban law, which is sharia. They do not question the fact that Taliban courts impose hudud and taʿzir; instead, they focus on procedural details. A penal code cannot claim to be “sharia-based,” impose hudud and taʿzir, and yet refrain from dividing people into Muslims and non-Muslims, Sunnis and non-Sunnis, men and women, free people and slaves. The backbone of sharia-based punishment is precisely these religious, sectarian, class-based, and gender-based hierarchies. For this reason, Clause 4 of Article 4 distinguishes between a Muslim and a dhimmi (a non-Muslim living under Islamic rule who remains safe through payment of jizya). Clause 5 of that article states that the imam, the husband, and the master (owner of a slave) have the authority to carry out punishments, though hudud may only be executed by the imam (the religious ruler). Clause 6 grants “every Muslim” the authority to punish a sinner, on two conditions:
The sin must concern Haqullah (what is due to god, or sins against God), and
It must fall under taʿzir rather than hudud.
Based on the Taliban’s document, every Muslim belongs to the category of “those who command right and forbid wrong,” and each may carry out summary punishments, without the need for trials, on other Muslims or non-Muslims. Articles 26 and 27 divide Muslims into Hanafi Sunnis and “heretics,” declaring that any Hanafi who changes their sect is committing a crime punishable by taʿzir (two years’ imprisonment). Spreading “heresy” -that is, inviting Hanafis to join non-Hanafi sects -is a crime punishable by ten years in prison. These rulings are not isolated but form parts of a coherent, deeply rooted system. This system does not recognize the inherent equality of human beings. At best, it ranks people according to their level of “faith.” In such a system, obedience to the imam or religious ruler is obligatory; a woman is half a man; Muslims have superiority over non-Muslims; and followers of one Islamic sect are superior to those of others. Thus, the authority to punish is granted, in order of hierarchy, to the imam, the husband, the master, and then to any Muslim. If one accepts a penal system rooted in sharia and does not question the concepts of hudud and taʿzir, it becomes impossible to demand equality before the law or the abolition of slavery-based and husband-dominated rules. The Taliban have not limited this categorization to criminal punishment. They have applied the same gender, class, religious, and sect-based discrimination to education, dress, employment, travel, religious practice, and freedom of expression. Why would granting a husband the right to punish his wife seem “new” or “abnormal” when a woman’s presence outside the home is conditional on a male guardian, when a man’s marriage to four wives is legally sanctioned, and when male superiority is embedded across all laws and social norms?  The words slave and master may sound offensive today to many. Even in Afghanistan, formal slavery no longer exists as people are not openly labeled as slaves and masters. In practice, however, the Taliban system is quasi-slaveholding. The obedience they demand from the public and the restrictions and conditions they impose on women are manifestations of bondage.
B) The ranking of those subject to punishment in the Taliban Emirate is not new
The second chapter of this document classifies crimes and those eligible for punishment. Article 9 divides people into four groups:
Religious scholars and high-ranking individuals,
Nobles such as tribal elders and merchants,
The middle class, and
The lower class
A different method of enforcing punishment is prescribed for each category.
According to the document, religious scholars and high-ranking figures who have committed crimes must be informed personally by the judge (rather than by a prosecutor or the police), who must address them respectfully, with the following words: “It has come to my attention that you are doing such and such things.” In other words, when a scholar (meaning a mullah, not an academic) commits a crime, he should not be summoned. Instead, the judge should simply notify him of the “things” he has done (not “crimes”). The clause does not specify whether, after receiving this notification, the accused scholar must appear in court.
The second category of nobles must also be informed respectfully by the judge. But unlike scholars, they must actually be invited to appear before the court.
Members of the middle class must be summoned and detained.
As for the lower class (the poor and the powerless), they must be punished through threats and beatings (taʿzir). The document adds that if the offense committed by this group merits 39 lashes, which should not be delivered to the same part of the body. To show “mercy,” it further states that the beating should avoid the head and the “private parts.” For some, seeing this explicit, written hierarchy may seem shocking or new. But in practice, it is nothing new at all. The Taliban have implemented this stratification since the beginning of the Emirate. They have special courts for Taliban-affiliated mullahs, deem respect for them obligatory, and even consider public criticism of them a crime. Their treatment of high-status figures such as Hamid Karzai, Abdullah Abdullah, Gulbuddin Hekmatyar, and similar elites has always been exceptional, even when those figures oppose them. They do not treat tribal leaders and merchants harshly either.
It is unclear how they define the “middle class.” Perhaps mid-level merchants, moderately influential figures, or ordinary mullahs fall into this category. But the portion of the modern, urban middle class who are rooted in cities, universities, and civic life are targets of Taliban hostility and treated with great violence by them. The rest of the population, which includes women (except those related to Taliban clerics and elites), labourers, farmers, and the impoverished, face daily humiliation, threats, and beatings at the hands of Taliban officers and whip-wielders. That is to say nothing of what happens when they are dragged into formal detention centres.
D) Religion is a tool of politics in the Taliban Emirate
This document is enough to prove the Taliban’s instrumental use of religion. They selectively draw from traditions and dubious religious sources to justify class-based privileges and hierarchies. For example, we have often heard from them and religious politicians that piety is the true measure of human worth, not wealth, power, or lineage. Verse 13 of Surah 49 is always on their lips during political campaigning and mass persuasion and is directed especially at what the Taliban call the “low people” (ټیټ خلک). This verse has become one of the most famous and frequently quoted verses in our society: “Indeed, the most honorable of you in the sight of God is the most pious among you.” Once they seize power, they pull rules about economic, religious, class-based, and cultural hierarchies from yet another pocket of their sharia saddlebag. No matter how pious, those perceived as weak  are dragged to court for lashes and insults even before their guilt is proven, while an accused mullah is not even confronted with the name of his alleged crime, lest it disrespect his religious status. Another verse, that says “There is no compulsion in religion”, is a familiar instrument of political deception used by religious fundamentalists. After forming a government, religion as well as the definition of sect become compulsory. Anyone who promotes a different understanding becomes deserving of taʿzir. When addressing tribes and ethnic groups, they preach that God created peoples and tribes so that “they may know one another” (wa jaʿalnakum shuʿuban wa qabaʾila litaʿarafu). Yet factionalism, tribal favoritism, and linguistic discrimination are enforced and justified in their most naked form when it comes to distributing government posts or applying sharia. There are countless such examples. Other societies, through experience, have learned that a just and humane society cannot be built through “religious politics.” Law must be earthly and contractual so that religion does not become a tool of monopoly and discrimination in the hands of brokers and profiteers. Moments like this should compel us non-Taliban Afghans to rethink the outdated legal norms and social arrangements that under the name of religion and tradition have been imposed on society and even embedded in the subconscious of educated people and segments of the anti-fundamentalist opposition.
The Taliban system or any religious government cannot be “reformed.” No amount of clinging to a decree or exposing a few injustices will bring real change. The state must be taken out of the hands of the merchants of religion, and the legal relationships among the citizens of the country must be governed by human and rational principles.} Source: https://zantimes.com/2026/01/26/the-talibans-penal-code-a-testament-to-the-failure-of-theocratic-rule/

Malala Yousafzai and father Ziauddin Yousafzai
Zan Times - Nov 10, 2025 - by Ziauddin Yousafzai
{Letter from Ziauddin Yousafzai, co-founder of Malala Fund, for Afghan men
To Afghan fathers and brothers,
I have been where you are now. I was once a father watching helplessly as the Taliban tried to erase my daughter’s future. In 2008, they took over our town in Swat Valley and forbade our girls from going to school. My daughter, Malala, risked her life to speak out against this injustice. Over the last four years, your daughters and sisters have been fighting for their dreams and ambitions — learning in secret, expressing themselves through poetry and art, resisting in every way they can. And I have seen your courage too: male students walking out of their classrooms in protest as their female classmates were barred from learning, fathers risking everything to make sure their daughters can continue their education, families and communities opening their homes to support underground schools. You know that every girl deserves an education, and your bravery and love are keeping hope alive.
As Muslim men — whether in safety or in struggle — we are called by our faith to stand with girls and women in defending their right to learn, to work and to move freely. Education is not a Western idea; it is a sacred duty. The Prophet (peace be upon him) taught us that seeking knowledge is an obligation for every Muslim — man and woman alike. Our own history affirms this: Khadija, a successful businesswoman, and Aisha, one of the greatest scholars of Islam, each embodied the power of learning guided by faith. I know these are difficult and dangerous times. To stay silent in the face of injustice can feel safer, but it is to turn away from our faith’s legacy. Speaking against the Taliban’s gender apartheid regime is frightening, but remaining silent is far more terrifying because nothing will change on its own. To speak out is both a father’s duty and a believer’s duty to protect the dignity and future of our daughters. To every brave Afghan father and brother helping girls learn: I salute your courage. Never give up hope, and remember you are not alone. Malala Fund will continue standing with and supporting you. Until Afghanistan is free from gender apartheid, every home must become a secret school, every kitchen a classroom, every living room a place of resistance. You can shift cultural expectations and behaviours in your homes and show that valuing girls’ education is a mark of integrity and strength. You can create an environment where learning is protected, even when the world outside is hostile:
●      Teach reading, math or other skills at home. Even basic lessons, practiced consistently, help girls continue their education.
●      Share resources: Use phones and the internet (where possible) to download books, podcasts or educational videos. Organisations like Begum Organization, Education Bridge for Afghanistan and LEARN Afghan provide courses through radio, satellite television and online.
●      Encourage study circles: Brothers can quietly gather cousins, sisters or neighbours to read and study together, providing companionship and safety.
●      Model respect: Men should praise and encourage girls’ learning, showing boys that supporting their sisters’ education is honourable.
●      Create time and space: Brothers and fathers can take on household chores so girls have time to study.
●      Keep hope alive: Words of encouragement strengthen girls’ resilience in the face of oppression.
Remember that the Taliban can take away girls’ schools, jobs and public spaces, but they cannot take what lives in your heart and mind, nor the knowledge you choose to pass on. Your courage at home today strengthens the fight for girls and women’s freedom everywhere.
In solidarity,
Ziauddin Yousafzai, co-founder of Malala Fund} Source: https://zantimes.com/2025/11/10/letter-from-ziauddin-yousafzai-co-founder-of-malala-fund-for-zan-times/

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