Afghanistan · 2021 – Present
Since the Taliban's return to power in August 2021, millions of Afghan women and girls have been systematically stripped of their rights to education, work, movement, and voice. This is their story.
Understanding the Taliban's return requires understanding the events that preceded it — and the speed with which two decades of progress for women were dismantled.
The United States and the Taliban signed the Doha Agreement, beginning the formal process of US troop withdrawal from Afghanistan.
Foreign troops began withdrawing. The Afghan government collapsed with alarming speed as Taliban forces swept across the country province by province.
The Taliban entered Kabul. President Ashraf Ghani fled the country. In a single day, twenty years of international efforts came to an abrupt end.
Afghanistan is ruled as the Islamic Emirate of Afghanistan under Supreme Leader Hibatullah Akhundzada, who governs according to his strict interpretation of Islamic law.
The Taliban's leadership is concentrated among a small group of religious scholars and commanders, most educated exclusively in madrasas, with no direct accountability to Afghan citizens.
The highest authority in Afghanistan, making all major political, religious, and strategic decisions. Based in Kandahar, he is the final word on every decree affecting women's rights.
Known primarily as a religious scholar — not a battlefield commander — he built his reputation through teaching Islamic law, issuing fatwas, and serving as a Taliban court judge. He has forbidden anyone from photographing him and meets other leaders only by formal invitation.
He ordered a phased shutdown of internet services across Afghanistan, declaring the web the "root of all evil."
Centralized Rule Kandahar Base Madrasa EducationOversees day-to-day government administration, though all ultimate authority remains with the Supreme Leader. A close associate of the Taliban's founder, Mullah Omar, during the movement's early years.
Part of the older generation of Taliban leadership. He served as both Foreign Minister and Deputy Prime Minister during the Taliban's first rule from 1996 to 2001 — the previous period in which women were similarly erased from public life.
His education is primarily madrasa-based, and very little is known about his personal or family life.
Religious Scholar 1996–2001 Veteran Behind-the-ScenesAccording to BBC reporting based on leaked recordings, a rift has emerged at the top of Taliban leadership — two competing visions for Afghanistan's future, with women's rights caught in the middle.
Entirely loyal to Akhundzada, this faction drives Afghanistan toward a maximally strict Islamic Emirate — isolated from the modern world, where religious figures loyal to him control every aspect of society. Women's education and public presence are actively dismantled.
Powerful Taliban members largely based in Kabul who advocate for an Afghanistan that — while still following strict Islamic interpretation — engages with the outside world, builds the economy, and even considers allowing girls and women access to education beyond primary school.
Since August 2021, the Taliban has systematically dismantled the rights of Afghan women and girls through a series of escalating decrees — each one removing another dimension of their humanity.
Girls are generally prohibited from attending school beyond approximately grade 6. Universities have been closed to most female students — a ban affecting millions of young women across the country.
Women are restricted from most forms of employment. The ban on women working for NGOs in December 2022 cut off critical humanitarian operations and removed many women's last source of income.
Women are required to travel with a male guardian (mahram) in many situations, and must follow strict dress codes covering most of the body and face. These rules fundamentally restrict independence.
Journalists face strict controls and possible punishment for criticism. Many media outlets have closed. Female journalists, who once had a visible presence in Afghan media, have been effectively erased from the airwaves.
Music, entertainment, and cultural activities are broadly restricted. Rules govern hairstyles and beards for men, public gatherings, and celebrations. Afghan cultural heritage associated with women is actively suppressed.
Supreme Leader Akhundzada has ordered a phased shutdown of internet services, calling the web the "root of all evil." This further isolates Afghan women from global information, support networks, and education.
One of the most alarming changes under Taliban rule is the erosion of marriage protections for women and girls — returning to a framework where puberty, not age, determines when a girl can be given to a man.
"They took everything from us — our books, our jobs, our faces. They didn't just ban us from school. They banned us from existing."Afghan woman, 24 — Former university student, Kabul
These are stories — gathered from journalists, human rights organizations, and women who managed to reach the outside world. Names and identifying details have been changed or withheld for safety.
I was two semesters away from finishing my engineering degree. The day they closed the university, my professor called me crying. We both knew what it meant — not just for me, but for every girl who had watched me and believed they could do it too. I packed my textbooks into a bag and buried them in the garden. If I can't read them, no one will burn them.
I ran a small tailor shop. I employed eight women. After 2021, the restrictions came slowly at first — then all at once. Customers stopped coming because they were afraid to be seen visiting a woman's business. My employees needed the income more than I did. The day I had to close, we sat together and wept. I don't know how they feed their children now.
I was a midwife. I had delivered hundreds of babies in our district. When the restrictions came, I was told I could only work if a male guardian accompanied me — but I work night shifts, alone, in emergencies. No one can approve every call. So I stopped being called. I know that women are dying in childbirth now who did not have to.
My sister is fourteen. My father had to make a choice — sell our land, or accept the proposal from a man we had never met who was forty years older. I watched her face when she understood what was happening. She didn't cry. She just went very still. I think she is still that still. I think she might be that still forever.
For twelve years I was a television journalist. I covered elections, disasters, the war. When they came back, I received a phone call: do not come in tomorrow. A male colleague called to say he was sorry. The cameras were still running — just without women's faces. As if we had never spoken a word into a microphone. As if nothing we said had ever mattered.
My daughter asked me why she cannot go to the park. She is seven years old. I told her the rules had changed. She asked me who made the rules. I told her men who believe God told them to. She was quiet for a long time. Then she said: "I don't think God would say that." I had no answer for her. I still don't.
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