Afghanistan: Four Years in the Taliban’s Iron Cage

By Laila Arman

Four years have passed—four years in which each day felt like a new cage closing in on the women of Afghanistan. From the very first day Kabul fell, the Taliban came not to rebuild the country, but to break its brighter half: the half called woman.

The gates of schools, universities, parks—even the streets of our cities—were locked against us one by one. No longer do we hear the laughter of girls in schoolyards, nor do new books carry the scent of dreams.

I was a journalist. For years, I walked through alleyways, schools, and homes, listening to the stories of young girls and recording their dreams. I saw how, despite countless restrictions, they still spoke of the future with eyes full of hope. But now? With what logic have these lights been extinguished?

I have wept countless times for the girls barred from education—those who dreamed of becoming pilots, doctors, engineers, lawyers… now imprisoned behind cold windows and heavy curtains. I can still see their faces when they spoke of the future, their eyes sparkling.

One mother of a former student told me: “I sent my daughter abroad to study. Tearing myself away from her burned my heart, but I couldn’t let her talent be wasted in this prison.” When I heard this, I cried, and I sent a message to her daughter: Stay strong. If Afghanistan feared your light, the world is waiting for you.

But not everyone has that chance. Online education? For most, it’s only a dream. A family that can’t afford bread—how can they buy a smartphone or pay for the internet? The Taliban exploit this poverty; an empty stomach can be silenced with promises or threats.

In these years, unemployment and hunger have hung over the cities like a shadow. People flee to neighboring countries for a piece of bread, enduring humiliation in exile. Families allied with the Taliban keep their daughters at home and see no need for literacy.

In such an environment, our future grows darker. The illiteracy of women means the spread of superstition, the death of critical thinking, and binding the children of tomorrow in the same chains.

Men’s silence as schools remain closed is an acceptance of returning to the Stone Age—the Taliban’s ideal era. Girls deprived of education today will face forced marriages, abuse, poverty, and countless other tragedies tomorrow.

And the world? The world watches. The same countries that speak of women’s rights keep the Taliban standing with their money and deals. The walls around us grow taller, and every street corner is watched to ensure no woman steps outside or raises her voice.

In the heart of this darkness, we Afghan women still dream. We want to learn, to build, to heal, to create. We want our share in rebuilding this country. Imprisonment, assault, and beatings are not our fate.

We want to laugh freely, walk without fear, and live our dreams—just like women everywhere else in the world.