I am a girl who was born and lives in a very conservative and traditional province of Afghanistan. In this province, even during the past 20 years, women rarely had a visible role in public life. For this reason, I dreamed that one day I would enter parliament and work for the women of my province. At times, I was filled with doubt and asked myself how a society that, because of its traditions and dominant culture, did not even have a single female lawyer defending women’s rights could ever have a woman member of parliament. I wondered whether people would vote for me so that I could go to parliament.
Despite these fears, I kept moving forward, planning step by step to reach my dream.
But just when I began to feel that my dream had become a real goal and that achieving it might truly be possible, the Taliban returned to power. Schools and universities were closed to women, and there was no longer any place for women in politics. With each passing day, month, and year, the restrictions grew tighter, and women were systematically erased from society. In this suffocating atmosphere, I slowly began to lose hope in the future and in the goal I had once carried in my heart.
One day, I witnessed something that led me to set a new goal for my life. That day, when I had gone out with my close male relative to shop, I saw the Taliban’s muhatasibs from the Ministry for the Propagation of Virtue and the Prevention of Vice beating a male journalist. His microphone and camera lay broken on the ground. An elderly woman was shouting, “Who should I tell my story to?” One of the muhatasibs told her that she had no right to speak to a non-mahram man.
That scene stayed deeply in my mind and made me think that if a woman journalist had been there, perhaps that woman could have told her story to her. I realized that our society today, more than ever, needs women journalists — women who can be trusted by other women. Right there, I told myself that the unheard voices and untold stories of these women must be heard.
From that moment, I decided to enter this path. I tried to learn this profession both practically and academically, and eventually I obtained an online diploma in journalism. Exactly one year after that incident, in September 2022, Zan Times announced through social media that it was recruiting journalists. For me, that announcement was not just a job opportunity; it was a source of hope and a means to carry women’s voices to the world.
After passing the test and interview, I began working with this outlet in October. At first, I never imagined that this path would be so difficult and dangerous. My colleagues told me that I had to keep my identity hidden. I chose a pseudonym for myself, and I still work under that name today. No one except my family knows that I am a journalist, because if this becomes known, it would endanger both my life and those of my relations. Even my closest relatives and friends do not know that I am a journalist.
Part of the hardship of this work is the fear that I carry with me every day. Outside the house, from beneath my chadari, I watch my surroundings carefully. If a Taliban member is nearby and looks toward me and my mahram, my hands and feet begin to tremble, and I think that at any moment they may arrest me. At night, if a car stops near our house, I become afraid and think that the Taliban have come to detain me. I live in a world filled with terror and fear.
For every interview I conduct outside, I must have a mahram accompanying me. For four years, I have not left the house alone. Despite wearing an Arab-style hijab, I am still forced to wear a burqa. Sometimes, if there is no other woman inside the vehicle, I am not allowed to sit on the seat and must sit in the trunk. At times, I spend three to four days trying to find a single source for a story. I constantly face the fear of being searched and having my phone checked. Standing on the street in a burqa, especially at moments when I want to take photographs, are among the most frightening experiences.
Yet despite all the fear and terror, I continue. I continue because I know this is my responsibility: to carry the voices of women whose most basic rights to live have been taken from them. For many of these women, being heard is the only comfort they have. Many of them want the world to hear their voices — the voices of the suffering and pain they endure alone.
On the one hand, I consider myself fortunate, because my family has always encouraged and supported me on this path. And along this difficult journey, I also found a second family: the Zan Times team — colleagues who have never withheld their support. From the beginning of my work until today, my only goal has been to reflect the voices of marginalized and deprived women whose stories have not yet been heard. For me, it is enough to be the voice of even one woman, a woman whose suffering and pain might otherwise never be seen or heard. If I can be her voice, that alone is a great mission for me.
When I began my work as a journalist, I never imagined that one day my name would be recognized outside Afghanistan or that my reports would be published in international media such as The Guardian. But after three years of effort and enduring many hardships, in 2025 I was recognized and honoured as a Courageous Journalist by the International Women’s Media Foundation in the United States.
Although I am still in Afghanistan, trapped in the situation the Taliban have created for women, thousands of people outside the country can hear my voice, and that in itself is a great honour. Receiving the Courage in Journalism Award felt like a miracle to me and multiplied my motivation many times over. This success does not belong only to me; it belongs to all the women journalists who today continue telling stories despite fear and terror, and who refuse to surrender.
Along with the recognition and hope it brought me, the award also came with a significant cash prize, which helped my family and me during one of the most difficult economic periods in Afghanistan. Like many women in Afghanistan, I am the breadwinner of my family, and knowing that the result of my hard work could help ease my family’s struggles is, in itself, a source of happiness and pride. In closing, I want to say to all the women inside my country: never surrender, and never stop trying. In every era and every moment of history, women have faced repression and countless hardships. That is why we must always continue to struggle for our rights and our place in society. Without struggle and resistance, no one will recognize our rights, especially in today’s Afghanistan, which has been turned into a single-gender society.
My message to you is this: use your phone, the internet, books — whatever you can access — to learn and to strengthen your abilities. Do not allow these dark and difficult days to take away your hope for the future. Feeling terror is natural, but do not let that fear rob you of hope or force you to surrender.
Sana Atef is the pen name of a Zan Times journalist in Afghanistan.
