Julia Parsi was among the first women activists who took to the streets after the fall of Kabul to protest the Taliban’s anti-women policies. For two-and-a-half years, she continued her protests despite intense pressure and constant surveillance by the Taliban. On September 23, 2023, the Taliban arrested her.
The Taliban detained her in the Department 40 prison, where she was tortured and forced to give a false confession. Her 20-year-old son was also arrested at the same time and imprisoned alongside her. After three months in detention, they were released.
In April 2024, Parsi and her family fled to Pakistan, where she continued her civil activism. In November 2024, she received the Martin Ennals Award, which she says strengthened her resolve to keep speaking out for the rights of Afghan women.
In this interview, she describes her protest activities and her detention by the Taliban. This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
Zan Times: Please introduce yourself and tell us about your work and activities before the fall of Kabul.
Julia Parsi: My real name is Nilofar. Julia Parsi is the pseudonym under which I have been widely known. Back then, women did not create Facebook accounts under their real names, so I used my household name, Julia, to open an account. I have been active on Facebook under this name for 15 years.
I have 18 years of work experience in teaching, administration, and serving as a head teacher. In the final years of the previous government, I worked as an adviser to the High Council for National Reconciliation.
I am originally from Taloqan. I have five children: three daughters and two sons. I married in the 10th grade, and my first child was born when I was in 11th grade. I continued my studies in Persian literature up to the associate degree level (14th grade). Studying was extremely difficult for me because I had children and because of my in-laws’ opposition, but I continued and eventually graduated from the Teacher Training College in Takhar.
ZT: Tell us about the day Kabul fell. Where were you, and what were you feeling?
Parsi: I was at my office in Wazir Akbar Khan, as usual. Around 11 a.m., my son called and said: “Mother, do you know that the Taliban have reached Kote Sangi? Come home quickly.” I panicked and told my colleagues what he had said. They started making calls in every direction, and within minutes it was decided that the women should leave the office immediately.
When we stepped outside, the city was in chaos. There were no empty taxis, and when I finally found one, the driver demanded 500 afghani for a ride that normally cost 40 or 50. Because I was wearing formal office clothes and did not have a hijab, I was terrified of how the Taliban might react. I was afraid that when they saw how I looked, they might even shoot me. A route that was normally short took four-and-a-half hours because of traffic and widespread panic.
That day is the worst memory of my life. I cried the entire way home and felt utterly shattered.
ZT: When did you decide to return to the streets and protest again?
Parsi: I stayed at home for a week. Seeing my daughters unable to go to school, and myself unable to go to work, made me deeply depressed. After a week of sitting at home and sinking into despair, I called my friend Farah Mostafawi and asked if she could keep living like this. She said she absolutely could not.
We decided to go out to show that Afghan women have changed, that we are not the women of 20 years ago. We told ourselves that by doing this, we wanted to show the Taliban that we do not accept their way of life; we will continue our own way of living.
My friend and I walked from Sarak-e Panj in Taimani all the way to Shahr-e Naw. We went to restaurants in our normal clothes. In one of those restaurants, a former student of mine who worked there asked: “Teacher, aren’t you afraid?” I said, “No. We must not be afraid. We need to show the Taliban that women are not cowards.” That day we took photos and posted them on Facebook. We also encouraged other friends to leave their homes. For 10 days we continued like this — going out, sitting in restaurants — and we saw this simple act of being outside as a meaningful form of protest.
ZT: When was the first street protest you joined?
Parsi: On September 3, 2021, at eight in the morning, we held our first street protest with around 40 to 50 women at the Faware-ye Aab area in Kabul. It became the first women’s street protest against the Taliban. We continued protesting in the streets for two-and-a-half years.
ZT: During those two-and-a-half years, weren’t you afraid of being arrested, especially after seeing other protesting women detained?
Parsi: How could anyone not be afraid? We were standing up to a terrorist, anti-women group. We had already accepted the risk before stepping outside.
The first times we stepped out of our homes, we told the group of protesting women that we might be arrested that day. We said we might be beaten, —and we were.
Every time I left for a protest, I said goodbye to my family and asked for their forgiveness. Whenever I left home, I told my family and children what they should or shouldn’t do if I was arrested or killed.
To avoid arrest, I changed houses three times in one year. I moved any time I felt people in a neighbourhood might recognize me. Our last protest took place inside my own home, in a closed space. We held it to mark the second anniversary of Taliban rule.
After every protest, I would disappear for a while. Sometimes I fled to other provinces, like Takhar province, so the Taliban would think I wasn’t in Kabul. Sometimes I posted on Facebook saying I had gone to Mazar, so they would believe I wasn’t at home. We went through extremely difficult days. There was no way to continue without fear but we continued anyway.
ZT: What happened on the day you were arrested? Where were you when it happened?
Parsi: A week earlier, Neda Parwan had been arrested. A girl who was a friend of Neda had joined our group only a week before. She had been sent by Taliban intelligence, but we didn’t realize it. She became close to Neda, found her home address, and later came to my house, as well. She was the one who gave my address to the Taliban. After Neda’s arrest, I protested and did media interviews confirming that the Taliban had taken her.
On the day I was arrested, a white Corolla pulled up beside me as soon as I stepped out of the house and turned the corner. Three Taliban members were inside. One of them said, “This is her.” Another said, “She’s the infidel. Take her.” They got out quickly and rushed toward me. At that moment, I tried to throw my phone away, but they ran toward me, pulled a black bag over my head, handcuffed me, and pushed me into the car. I didn’t know where they were taking me, just that they kept mentioning “the police district.” That day, they took me to Department 40.
ZT: Who did you encounter in Department 40, and what were the conditions like there?
Parsi: The first people I encountered were the female staff. They immediately tried to force me to give them my phone password. They began beating me, doing whatever they could to make me unlock my phone and hand it over. There were six of them. They had previously worked elsewhere, but the Taliban had brought them to Department 40.
They forced me to give them the password. When I heard that they had also arrested my eldest son, I was terrified. My son had nothing to do with the protests. They only wanted to torture me psychologically.
After taking my phone, they brought me into the interrogation room. It was dark, with a very small window and surveillance cameras that were on 24 hours a day. There was one long table and a smaller table attached to it, with several chairs around them. This was their interrogation setup. I stayed in that room for 17 days, until they brought [human rights activist] Manizha Siddiqi in. After that, they moved me to another room, which was also solitary confinement.
There were three blankets in that room — filthy, smelly, and torn into pieces. The light was never turned off because of the cameras, so they could watch me constantly. During this period, 41 days in total, they interrogated me and repeatedly demanded the phone numbers of other protesting women.
ZT: Tell us about the torture and the forced confessions.
Parsi: The torture — they said, “This is not torture, this is your punishment.” — began with electric shocks. They also put plastic over my face and pushed my head into water. They handcuffed my hands, tied my feet so they couldn’t reach the ground, and hung me from the ceiling. They handcuffed me upside down on a chair. They had already-written statements that they ordered me to read. They said, “Read it in a way that doesn’t sound like a forced confession. Read it so people think you’re telling a story.”
Ten to 15 men — masked and armed — stood around me, filming, while demanding that I confess. I had no choice, because they had imprisoned my son as well. I was terrified thinking about how much they might be torturing him. I couldn’t eat or sleep, constantly worried about what might be happening to him.
It wasn’t only physical torture but psychological torture, too. They searched my home and brought every family document they found: our national IDs, my notebooks, letters, and every kind of paper we had. From my son’s shop they brought the monitor, laptop, camera, and even the papers on his desk. They brought all of it into the interrogation room.
They even brought my daughters’ phones. When they showed me the phones, I feared they had taken my daughters. They threatened that they would “marry off” my daughters to the mujahedeen if I didn’t confess.
They pulled links to my meetings from my email. They asked what I had done “for my case,” how much money I had taken. They wanted me to say that I had received money from UNAMA, that I had been encouraged by the United Nations or by the United States. They told me to say that I protested only because I wanted to go abroad.
They forced me to say that I would call the Taliban “brothers” from then on. I had to say on camera that I would speak positively about the Taliban in the media and that I would say they had treated me well in prison and had not been tortured.
ZT: What was the situation like in terms of access to healthcare and your treatment in prison?
Parsi: In Department 40, the women’s section is separate. It has three floors, and I was on the third. There was one female manager for the women’s section, but all interrogations were carried out by men. The women staff were only responsible for basic tasks like bringing food. They were not allowed to speak to us. They would come at mealtime, take the bowl, fill it, and bring it back — nothing more.
To use the bathroom, I had to knock on the door. I was allowed to use the bathroom three times in 24 hours. If it wasn’t my allotted time, they told me to wait until my time came, no matter how much I shouted or begged. Even when they took me to the bathroom, I wasn’t allowed to speak. If another prisoner passed by, they would cover my face. I once saw Manizha Siddiqi, but they immediately turned my face away.
We were not allowed to see the sky or know anything about the weather. Once, we pleaded with them to let us breathe fresh air for just five minutes, but they refused.
ZT: During your detention, were you taken to a hospital?
Parsi: I spent three months in Department 40 and was taken to the hospital twice. I had been tortured severely. The first hospital visit was because of intense back and leg pain. I couldn’t walk, and my blood pressure had risen dangerously. The painkillers they gave me — just paracetamol — weren’t helping, so they were forced to take me to the hospital.
The second time I was taken to the hospital, my family found out and made it public. The second visit happened after many days of having no news about my son. I thought they had transferred him to Pul-e-Charkhi Prison, which caused my stress level to spike. I became weak and fainted, so they took me to the security hospital.
They took me in a black burqa and chapan, along with a female prison staff member and two Taliban soldiers in a car with blacked-out windows. The hospital had two rooms specifically for prisoners, and they were exactly like a prison. They kept me there, and the doctors came to examine me. If I needed a test outside that room, the two Taliban soldiers and female staff member accompanied me. When the examination was done, they brought me back to the same room. After the check-up, they took me back to the prison.
ZT: During those three months, were you able to see your family?
Parsi: For 41 days, I couldn’t see my family at all. After they moved me out of solitary confinement, my family finally learned where I was. They had gone to every police district, looking for me. My family submitted eight petitions to Department 40. Only on the eighth request did the Taliban finally acknowledge that I was in their custody, but they still didn’t allow my family to see me.
Imagine — my family had no idea where my son and I were for 41 days.
ZT: How were you released? Were you freed together with your son?
Parsi: After three months, I was released together with my son through the guarantee of a respected elder from our community who is from Takhar province. A single release order was issued for both of us. This elder put his property up as collateral and personally went to the Taliban to secure our release.
When we stepped outside, my family was waiting. They handed my family three or four documents to sign before releasing us. They took a separate guarantee from my husband and a separate one from my brother, who even had to promise that he would prevent me from protesting again as long as he lived in Afghanistan.
Before the release, I had also been forced to sign a written pledge stating that I would no longer protest, would not give interviews to the media, and would not leave Afghanistan. My son signed it as well.
ZT: What was life like in Kabul after your release?
Parsi: It was worse than prison. I was always being followed. If I visited my mother’s house, they trailed me. Every Friday, a Taliban Ranger truck parked near my home. The three months I spent in Kabul after my release were harder than the months inside prison. Everywhere I went, Taliban intelligence vehicles followed me, and my house was under full surveillance.
I had no security. I couldn’t even visit a doctor without fear. My situation was extremely difficult.
ZT: How did you eventually leave Afghanistan?
Parsi: With the help of a human rights organization, I left my mother’s house in disguise at three in the morning, posing as someone going to a wedding. It was April 6, 2023. My family and I travelled secretly toward the Pakistan border. We got through the Taliban checkpoints and the border by paying money and bribes; the organization accompanying us paid whenever our car was stopped so that we wouldn’t be searched.
I stayed in Pakistan for a year, but, because there were security threats there as well, I eventually migrated to Brazil.
ZT: Tell us about your non-street activities. You won the Martin Ennals Award in November 2024. How much did this award motivate you to continue your work for Afghan women?
Parsi: Our work was never limited to street protests. After the Taliban violently suppressed the demonstrations, we shifted much of our efforts to non-street and civil activities. This included documenting human rights violations, recording the testimonies of imprisoned and tortured women, international advocacy, holding online educational sessions for Afghan girls, creating underground support networks for women inside the country, and bringing their voices to international institutions. We also tried, through regular reporting to human rights organizations, to expose the Taliban’s true face and prevent their crimes from becoming normalized.
Winning the Martin Ennals Award in November 2024 was not just a personal honour. This award truly belongs to all the brave women of Afghanistan who have stood firm despite threats, imprisonment, and torture. The award gave me greater motivation and a deeper sense of responsibility. When I see that the international community recognizes our struggle, I feel that our voices have not been silenced, even under immense pressure.
This recognition did not exhaust me; it strengthened my commitment. I believe that as long as even one Afghan girl is denied the right to education, as long as women are deprived of their most basic human rights, we do not have the right to remain silent. For me, this award carried a clear message: Our struggle is seen, and we must continue with greater strength, awareness, and solidarity.
