In the dark, winding alleys of Kabul, where the Taliban’s shadow looms over every corner, a group of young women gathers weekly in a hidden basement. They pull out books hidden like forbidden treasures and whisper the words with hushed voices. These women, bearing scars on their bodies and souls from the past, continue these sessions despite the ban on girls’ education beyond sixth grade and the Taliban’s severe restrictions on women’s public lives. Fahar Parsa, a 29-year-old law graduate who established a women’s library before the previous government’s fall, has now relocated it to a secret location, housing over 4,000 books. She shares PDFs through secure WhatsApp and Telegram groups and occasionally lends printed copies to trusted members.
The risks are terrifying. The Taliban has confiscated books “contradictory to ideology” from public libraries and prohibited women from speaking loudly at home or outside. If discovered, they could be arrested, tortured, or even sexually assaulted. Fahar says: “Even keeping these books is a threat.” Two of her friends were arrested and tortured during initial protests, and her family has warned her that prison could “endanger your safety and tarnish the family’s reputation.” Nonetheless, these women operate with utmost caution: They personally vet new members, avoid political discussions, and limit in-person sessions to small groups. Abroad, women like Mariam Amwaj in Germany and Shahrbanoo Haidari in Britain manage virtual groups to support their sisters inside.
In one session, Anne Frank’s “The Diary of a Young Girl” is discussed. This book, recounting a teenage girl’s story in a Nazi hideout, serves as a mirror for these women. Arzoo, 17, whose hair has turned white from suppressed pains, says: “There’s something in common between me and Anne Frank. We’re both victims of war. Anne Frank couldn’t go to school or go out freely, and I have the same situation.” Masooma, another member, describes the book as a “friend” sharing her pains: “When Anne Frank called her diary Kitty, I smiled and imagined I was Kitty and we were best friends.” Zahra, who dreams of writing her own book, emphasizes: “She had hope. She fought. She studied. She resisted her fate.” Other books like “The Egyptian Sinuhe,” which deals with themes of oppression and the power of knowledge, or Gabriel García Márquez’s “Living to Tell the Tale,” which narrates a writer’s self-taught journey, are also read.
The role of books in these sessions goes beyond reading; they are tools for preserving identity and hope. In a society where the Taliban seeks to “Talibanize” the minds of Afghan girls, these clubs are a conscious resistance. Fahima, 18, who has read 35 books since the education ban and written her own book “The Path of Light,” says these activities motivate her to document her generation’s experiences. Tahira, a school bombing survivor, feels that reading is a way to pursue dreams: “First of all, I’m human, not just a woman… and reading is a path to pursuing those dreams.” These women, despite the darkness, believe that one day they will reopen their libraries and read freely. As Shahrbanoo Haidari says: “Afghan women haven’t surrendered – they’ve just changed the form of their resistance.” These clubs not only preserve culture but also shine a light of hope amid repression.
