By Nargis Amini
With the Taliban back in power, all the hopes we had for a better future were dashed. On January 22, despite their ominous shadow, I tried not to lose my enthusiasm for work. I was browsing social media to gather information for a report I wanted to write. My eyes fell on a new decree of the Taliban’s directorate of vice and virtue in Bamyan.
This new Taliban decree would effectively shackle women, to restrict their ability to work. No details were given about how they would implement the decree. I decided to go to the office of the vice and virtue directorate of the Taliban in Bamyan to get more information. I managed to book an interview.
I went there with my husband, Najib. The office is housed in the building of the former Directorate of Women’s Affairs. The building used to be decorated with women’s handicrafts and beautiful, colourful hand-embroidered clothes. This time, when I entered the building, I was shocked to see how it looked. The shelves and showcases of women’s handicrafts were all empty and there was no beauty left in the building. It was chaotic and disorderly. Reminiscences of the old days saddened me.
I was probably the first woman who had stepped into that office of the directorate of vice and virtue. The cold and harsh looks of the Taliban made me shiver. We quickly passed through the courtyard of the building and entered the office.
A young Talib guided us to a room to wait for the director, Waqas. On social media, I had seen his photo, which looked scary. Now I was waiting to interview him. Suddenly, feelings of fear and disgust engulfed me. Najib, seeing signs of anxiety on my face, took my hand and tried to calm me down.
After waiting about 20 minutes, four Taliban with long beards, big turbans, and sullen faces entered. Waqas was the tallest and had the most ghoulish look among them. It appears that among the Taliban, the more menacing you look, the higher position you get.
On a small stone tablet on the desk was engraved, “Maulawi Maqbool Ahmad Waqas.” After a pause, I asked to start the interview. But Waqas turned to Najib, my husband, and asked, “Why don’t you do the interview yourself? Why is this woman doing it? A man is more comfortable with a man.” I became filled with anger for being insulted and unable to do anything about it. My husband replied softly, “My wife is the reporter. I can’t do her job. So, she asks the questions herself.”
Waqas’s face turned red. It was obvious that he did not want a woman to interview him. He pulled his phone out and called Maulawi Sarhardi, the governor of the Taliban in Bamyan. The governor summoned us to his office.
Najib went to the governor’s office. I waited outside for an hour. He finally came out and announced that the governor and the director of vice and virtue would not give interviews. We were referred to Saif-al-Islam, a commander, for an interview. But he declined to be interviewed and instead ranted, “You journalists are seeking to destroy the Islamic Emirate. You are only looking and highlighting the weaknesses and faults.”
This was not the first or last time I faced such treatment from the Taliban. Another time, during a press conference at the governor’s office, Sabour Sighani, the Taliban provincial spokesperson, told me with a domineering tone in front of everyone, “Sister, pull your scarf down on your face, the governor would not like this.”
I felt there was a fire inside me. I took a hand to my scarf and pulled myself together. I looked. I felt humiliated. I asked myself, “What right does he have to comment on my clothes?”
Suppression of information
With the Taliban in power, journalism became more difficult. We could not gather sufficient and accurate information or interview officials appointed by the Taliban. They either refused to give interviews or it took days to get a response. Even if they agreed to be interviewed, they either did not have enough information or avoided responding.
I was mostly covering women’s stories in Bamyan and when I was going to the Taliban offices, they would either ridicule or threaten me that such reports are not in the interests of the Islamic Emirate and should not be published.
I was working on a report about the new restrictions on women visiting health centres in Bamyan province. At first, none of the local Taliban officials were willing to talk. After repeated follow-ups, finally the spokesperson of the governor accepted to be interviewed and when I asked him about the new restrictions on women visiting health facilities, he flatly denied their existence. After that, he threatened that this report should not be published.
I was not the only one who faced difficulties accessing information. The Taliban practically stalled the work of journalists. Journalists always felt threatened and insecure. We could not bear to live in fear. We had to leave the country.
Now, after a year of the Taliban’s rise to power and the shattering of our hopes and dreams, I still can not cope with the sadness, despair, and depression of all that has happened in the past year. I lived six months and five days under the Taliban, but eventually I was forced to leave the beautiful valleys of Bamyan, my home, and become a refugee.
Nargis Amini is former Rukhshana Media journalist.
