[Thank you to our colleague Mohammad (whose full name we are withholding to protect his identity), whom we tragically were not able to help evacuate from Afghanistan, for sharing his family’s experience under Taliban rule since their return to power five years ago.]
Five years have passed since the fall of Afghanistan—a period that, for millions of people, has meant far more than lost years. It has been five years of humiliation, deprivation, fear, silence, and the gradual erosion of hope and human dignity.
Five years ago, Afghanistan fell into the hands of a group that, instead of building a future, closed the doors of life on its people. During these five years, the Taliban have not moved toward reform or change. On the contrary, with each passing day, restrictions have expanded and life has become increasingly difficult for millions of Afghans. The rights to education, work, freedom of movement, social participation, and many of the most basic freedoms of human beings—particularly women and girls—have been taken away.
But behind these statistics and reports are millions of human stories: stories of girls whose futures were taken away from them almost overnight. Five years ago, there were girls who were fourteen years old, sitting in seventh grade, going to school every morning with excitement and hope. Today, those same girls are eighteen. At an age when they should have completed high school and been preparing for university and their future, they instead face the walls of exclusion and a life filled with uncertainty.
One of these girls is not merely a name among the millions of Afghan girls who have been deprived of education. She is my beloved daughter.
My daughter loved learning. She studied with extraordinary enthusiasm and dedication. During the six years she attended school, she repeatedly ranked first among her classmates. With excellent and, at times, perfect scores in her examinations, she was recognized as one of the school’s top and exemplary students. The encouragement and support of her teachers and family only strengthened her passion for education. Every achievement gave her a new reason to work harder and dream bigger.
But then, suddenly, everything changed. What had been a clear and natural path toward the future for my daughter and thousands of other girls was transformed overnight into a distant and seemingly unreachable dream. The books were closed. The schools were taken away from them. The joy and enthusiasm of childhood—something that could have shaped the future of an individual and even the future of an entire country—was forced to remain behind the closed doors of schools.
Today, when I look at my daughter, I do not see only a girl who has been deprived of her education. I see a part of an entire lost generation.
A generation that could have become doctors, engineers, teachers, writers, scientists, entrepreneurs, and builders of Afghanistan’s future—but whose opportunities have been taken away one by one.
What makes this tragedy even more painful is that it is happening in an age when the rest of the world is advancing at extraordinary speed in science, technology, knowledge, and artificial intelligence. While children around the world are using books, computers, laboratories, and new technologies to build their futures, Afghan girls are being denied one of the most fundamental human rights of all: the right to education.
The right to education, the right to work, the right to move freely, the right to enter public spaces and parks, the right to choose what to wear, and even the right to speak and participate freely in society are not privileges.
They are human rights. Yet today, many of these rights have been taken away from Afghan women and girls, turning Afghanistan into a place where a large part of the population—especially women and girls—feels as though they are living inside a vast, windowless prison.
And the consequences of this situation will not be limited to the present. Depriving a girl of education is not simply the loss of one school year; it can mean the loss of an entire lifetime of opportunities. When an entire generation is denied education, the damage cannot be repaired in a few years. Its consequences can affect families, society, and even generations yet to come.
There is another question that must also be asked: What are the boys who continue to attend school learning under the Taliban’s current educational system? Can an education without critical thinking, freedom of thought, knowledge of the wider world, and respect for human rights truly prepare Afghanistan’s next generation to build a healthy and prosperous society?
Five years was not a short period of time. During these five years, the Taliban had many opportunities to demonstrate that they could distance themselves from the past, correct their mistakes, and lead Afghanistan toward stability, education, development, and a normal life. Sadly, instead of opening doors to hope, they have closed even more doors.
When a government considers itself the judge, the enforcer, and the ultimate authority over the destiny of its citizens, justice gives way to fear. And when fear casts its shadow over education, freedom, culture, and everyday life, society gradually suffers a profound psychological and social decline.
Today, many fathers and mothers who once worked hard to provide for their families and contribute to society are struggling with unemployment, poverty, anxiety, and an uncertain future. Girls who once walked proudly and excitedly toward their schools now remain at home. Young people who could have been the driving force behind Afghanistan’s development have been left without direction or a clear future. Sometimes there is a piece of bread to eat, and sometimes there is not. But the greater pain than hunger is the loss of hope for tomorrow.
We do not want the world merely to stand by and watch this gradual destruction. We call upon the international community to look at Afghanistan with clearer eyes, more attentive ears, and a stronger sense of human conscience. The people of Afghanistan must not become the forgotten people of the world. The suffering of millions of human beings—especially women and girls who have been deprived of their most basic rights simply because of their gender—must not become just another repetitive headline that the world eventually learns to ignore.
My daughter and the thousands of other girls like her are not statistics. They are human beings. They have dreams. They have talent. And they have the right to build their own futures.
Five dark years have passed, but hope has not died. Perhaps today our daughters’ books remain closed, but our belief in the day when those books will be opened again is still alive. Perhaps the doors of universities are closed to them today, but the dream of knowledge and freedom cannot be imprisoned behind walls forever.
History will judge us. It will judge how, in an age of science, technology, and artificial intelligence, millions of girls were deprived of one of the most fundamental rights of humanity—and it will judge what the world chose to do, or not to do, in the face of that injustice.
And one day, when this dark chapter in Afghanistan’s history is finally turned, perhaps the girls and women of Afghanistan will once again open their books, return to school, and pick up their pens to help build a better future.
Five dark years have passed—but we still believe in the dawn of a brighter day.
For my daughter, and for every girl in Afghanistan;
For a generation that deserves education, freedom, dignity, opportunity, and a future filled with hope.
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