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Defying the Taliban: 8 women activists tell their stories: Tamana Rezaie

For International Women’s Day on March 8, Zan Times is publishing eight narratives of eight women activists who defied the Taliban. Telling their stories humanizes the struggles of so many women against the Taliban’s misogynist regime and also records their bravery in the face of imprisonment and torture chambers.

I had been on the run from home for over a month, staying in a safe house in Shahr-e Naw, Kabul. Later, an emergency arose, and some of the other girls were arrested, so it was decided that we would be moved to another safe house. We were transferred around 10 pm. When we entered the new safe house, they told us to turn off our phones and that they would bring food behind the door. I’m not exactly sure how many people were there, but there were 14 protesting girls, along with their children, totalling eight kids.  

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In my room, I had a roommate who had a child who was hungry. We were all waiting for food when there was a commotion in the corridor. It was February 11, 2022, around 7:30 or 8 p.m. The lady told her son that the food had arrived. The child left the room then turned back with teary eyes, and said, “Mother, the Taliban have come.” We were petrified and we panicked. My roommate closed the door and turned off the lamp. I remained motionless for a few seconds. I regained myself when a man banged heavily on the door. I heard a woman telling the Taliban that there was no one in this room, but another woman who was with the Taliban said that she had seen the light in our room when they were taking other women to an adjacent room. At that moment, a woman shouted and said that if we didn’t open the door by the count of three, she would open the door lock with a bullet, and the consequences would be on us. I went towards the window to throw myself down, and my roommate was by the door. No matter how hard I tried to open the window, I couldn’t. When I looked down, I saw armed Taliban members. I hit the window so much that my foot got injured and bled severely, but for a week, I didn’t notice those injuries. Later in prison, I felt the pain and realized how much damage I had suffered. 

My roommate opened the door. The Taliban entered and searched our bodies and belongings. Then they took us to another room. All the girls there were crying, but my tears had dried up. In one room, the male companions of the protesting women were gathered and tortured by the Taliban. We could hear their voices. When they were taking everyone out to get into the cars, I looked into the room of the men and I saw a man with bloody clothes. Then, we were told to quietly get into cars in groups. As they were taking us to the Ministry of Interior, a young Taliban soldier fell off the car. His head hit the ground, and he died instantly. Other Taliban said, “Because of you Westernized whores, we lost one of our mujahid [religious fighter]; we won’t let this blood stay on the ground.” 

They didn’t torture us on the first night, but they started interrogating us the next day. They gave each of us an eight-page document without allowing us to read it thoroughly; they forced us to sign it. 

When they brought our belongings from the safe house to the prison, they allowed everyone to open them and take what was needed. 

Since they had opened and checked my mobile on the night of our arrest and saw all the information, including the messages and social media groups in which I was active, they thought I was the leader of the women’s movement. When I asked the young Taliban, who seemed like a rural man, about getting some necessary clothes, he said he first needed to know my name. When I told my name, he said, “Oh, so you’re the one we’re after!” He left the room and said something to a few other Taliban, and when he came back, he said, “No, we have a lot to do with you; they’ve opened your file. The Ministry of Interior knows what you’re up to, and you’ll be punished soon.” Hearing his threatening words, I became terrified and hopeless. I ran to the room where we were imprisoned, found scissors [it was a kindergarten at the ministry] and wanted to kill myself before nightfall and before the Taliban could harm me. I was trying to cut my wrist when others, including Fariza Akbari, rushed in, having witnessed the Taliban soldier talking to me. Madina snatched the scissors from my hand, slapped me hard and said, “You have to fight and stay alive for your mother and family, who rely on you as their sole support.” It was the first time I had thought of suicide. The second would come when everyone else was released, but I was uncertain whether they were going to release me or not. 

They inflicted so much mental torture on us that we thought freedom and survival were nothing but a distant dream. Ten to twenty armed and savage men, emitting the stench of decay with terrifying appearances, guarded us in the detention centre. They entered the room at night and repeatedly took us to the interrogation room full of armed men. Seeing their monstrous and savage faces would make anyone tremble. 

Imagine the Taliban capturing their political opponent, especially a woman who has violated all the laws and veils desired by the Taliban. When they opened my mobile phone filled with documents and evidence, they said, “You are an infidel, and since all Hazaras are infidels, you are also an infidel, and you are promoting infidel culture in this country.” They took my mobile phone, which had documents on it. The other girls had deleted or hidden their documents, but they had thoroughly searched my phone and taken copies of them. Whenever I denied something during interrogations, they opened their computers and showed me the evidence. I had no privacy left. They scrutinized our social media, private messages, videos, photos, and everything we had and took copies of everything. They investigated everything and questioned everything. Except for sexual assault, they implemented every form of other torture they could on us who protested their rules, laws and theocracy and talked to the media, and were hurdles to their recognition. They tortured us mentally and emotionally, forced us to pray from evening till morning, and forced us to fast from morning to evening. They cut off the water, made us hungry, didn’t allow us to use the toilet, and I don’t want to go into the details. 

During the night interrogations, which usually took place in the presence of 10 to 15 Taliban, including the deputy of their Ministry of Interior and their intelligence chief, they inflicted the most severe psychological torture. They spoke of horrifying and dark solitary cells to frighten us even more. 

They threatened to strip us naked and throw us into a dark room where we would endure pain and gradual death. I faced this psychological torture every night the door opened, and they entered the room.  

After others were released, I was sure they would do what they threatened us. I told my friend that we should hang ourselves before they took us somewhere else. We had prepared the means and equipment and were waiting for when they would come to transfer us to the dreaded room they were talking about, but then a miracle happened, and the scent of freedom reached our noses. 

Our release dates were different. Our forced confessions were published after 11 days of imprisonment. The day after the confessions were published, they divided us into two groups. They told me and some other girls to go to another room and told the rest to call their families through a soldier to come and guarantee them. Two days after our forced confessions, the first girl to be released from our group was Rashmin Joyanda, and after her, the other girls were released one by one and left. The last ones left were Madina, me, and her two children. We stayed in detention for nearly 20 days and were finally released on February 27. 

When I was released from prison, they took a written guarantee from me, which they forced me to write myself. They asked if I could read and write, and I answered yes. They gave me a pen and paper and told me to write. I was writing, and they were dictating, for example, “I, Tamana, daughter of so-and-so, confess that if I participate in any political program or gathering against the Islamic Emirate regime in the future or have any role in it, the Islamic Emirate has the complete permission to execute me that very moment, and if they cannot catch me themselves, they have taken guarantees from my mother and two brothers to hand me over or be punished in my place.” I wrote and signed it, and I told the girls that we had signed our death warrant. 

My mother and brothers signed and gave their thumbprints. They attached a copy of my ID card to the guarantee letter. Then they took my father’s house document and land deed, and then they released me, but they didn’t give me my computer, mobile phone, or flash drive. They said they were being held as guarantees, and I had to come back the next week, but I didn’t go back because they use people’s personal information as a pressure tool. After my release, I went to the house of one of my relatives. The next day, at 3:00 p.m., a call came, saying that the Taliban had come to my house and wanted me to go and hand over my belongings, but my family was scared and said it might be a trap, and they said I had to leave Afghanistan. 

I am now in the worst psychological condition. I can’t sleep at night, and sometimes I feel like I’m losing my mind. Sometimes I forget who I am. This situation is agonizing. I feel trapped and fear that I may never recover. I will never forgive the Taliban; at this young age, they killed any hope for life in me. 

*Tamana Rezaie, 27, is a law and political science graduate. Before the Taliban took power, she was a barrister. 

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