From the Fall to Today: “The Silent Voice of a Generation”
In the days when tulips blossomed and their sweet scent filled the entire city, the sun of hope rose every morning from behind the mountains. The women of my homeland, armed with the knowledge they had gained over the years, defended their rights with firm voices and hearts full of courage. Girls, with colorful schoolbags, walked toward their schools; men and women worked side by side, and smiles visited every face. In those days, the rights of men and women were equal… yet, beneath this joy, a shadow of quiet dread slowly crept in.
A year before the fall of the republic, rumors began to circulate here and there, saying the Taliban would return. No one believed it. We could not even imagine that the twenty years of women’s achievements, and the dreams of our generation, would suddenly be disregarded and our future stolen from us. But day by day, these rumors became more real. Every hour, we heard the Taliban were getting closer, and I followed the news with a heart full of anxiety.
And finally, that night arrived… a night whose scent I can still recall. The air in the city was heavy, as if breathing had become harder. People’s faces were filled with worry, and the alleys had fallen into a bitter silence. Yet there was a strange clamor in the air; the prison gates had been thrown open, and prisoners poured out with hurried steps. From every corner came the sound of gunfire — a sound that shook my heart. I felt as if someone had drained Afghanistan of all its colors, leaving only black and white behind. Silence and fear spread over everything like two cold shades.
I sank into deep thought. I knew that twenty years of progress had collapsed in a single night. I knew I could no longer go to school, that there would be no bright future for me. I had always dreamed of becoming a cardiologist, but at that moment, a lump formed in my throat. I felt as though the world had ended; my body was burning, as if I had a fever.
That night was the night my dreams died… the night all my hopes quietly faded into darkness.
In the first days after the Taliban came, I was even afraid to leave the house. I had a terrifying image of them in my mind, shaped by the many frightening stories I had heard. The situation was unbearably difficult and heartbreaking for me, but little by little, I became accustomed to this bitter reality.
From the very day the Taliban arrived, the restrictions began, one after another. Every day, life became harder for girls — it started with the closure of schools and universities, then even parks were closed to us.
It reached the point where, if we appeared on television, we had to wear masks. These restrictions ate away at our spirits day by day, making our future ever darker.
Since the Taliban came, women’s freedom of expression has completely vanished. Yet, despite all this darkness and despair, the voices of women who have been silenced can still be heard — voices that will not allow us to be forgotten, even if we are unseen.
These days will be recorded in history. And yet, we must smile and resist — for a future unknown, but full of hope.
Aylin Azimian
