Opinion
Five years have passed since the Taliban took control of Afghanistan, and during these five years, hundreds of women have been abducted, arrested and imprisoned by the Taliban. Many of these women have been jailed without their guilt being established, following vague accusations or family and social disputes. What has happened and continues to happen to them behind prison bars is part of the painful experiences of Afghan women over these five years. This account is based partly on the author’s direct observations and experiences during her imprisonment in Taliban prisons in Kabul. During her detention, in addition to what she personally witnessed and experienced, the author also heard accounts of the lives and experiences of women and girls imprisoned alongside her. Therefore, this is a firsthand account of some of the living conditions, treatment of women and what has taken place behind prison walls.
Many regimes can be understood through the laws they write, but sometimes the truth must be sought inside the homes of those in power. This account, based on a real experience, begins in the home of a senior Taliban figure, where the fate of a girl reveals another story of power, control and the reality of life. What happened to Ayesheh Gul is not merely the story of one family; it is an account that illustrates the gap between slogans and reality behind the closed doors of a home.
In prison, I met a girl who introduced herself as “Ayesheh Gul.” She spoke quietly, but behind every sentence was years of suffering and silence. Her father was a prominent Taliban figure, a man who publicly spoke about Sharia and Islamic values, while a different story unfolded inside his home.
Ayesheh Gul said: “I was not yet 15 when I fell in love with Imran, and we decided to marry. His family also came to our home to ask for my hand, but my father said only one thing: ‘I will not give my daughter to a Persian-speaking man.’” That single sentence changed the course of her life. Shortly afterward, her father decided, without seeking her consent, to marry her off to an elderly man.
But Ayesheh Gul refused to submit. She told her father: “Forced marriage is against Islamic Sharia. I will not accept someone I do not choose as my husband.” Her opposition marked the beginning of two years of confinement in her father’s home, during which she was not allowed to leave the house or even watch the outside world through a window.
She said that during those two years, violence was repeatedly used to force her to give up her decision. Her father beat her in an attempt to make her change her mind, but Ayesheh Gul’s answer remained the same each time: “No.” Her mother refused to prepare food for her in the hope that hunger would break her resistance, but this also failed.
One day, her mother approached her with another threat and said: “If you do not give up this love, I will cut your long hair.” Ayesheh Gul remained silent for a moment, then took the scissors herself, cut her hair, placed it in her mother’s hands and said: “If all you want is my hair, take it, but do not take control of my life from me.”
After escaping, Ayesheh Gul and Imran sought refuge to protect their lives and began a new life together, but this peace did not last long. Taliban officials eventually arrested them, and Ayesheh Gul was transferred to the Kabul provincial prison.
That was where I met Ayesheh Gul. She was held in Kabul provincial prison for about six months, something that raised questions for me from the beginning. Women prisoners are usually transferred to Pul-e-Charkhi prison after a short period for further legal proceedings, but this did not happen in Ayesheh Gul’s case. I later learned that her father, because of his influence and position within the Taliban regime, had ordered that his daughter be kept only in Kabul provincial prison. The behavior of prison officials also revealed his influence. Many of them knew Ayesheh Gul’s father and handled her case with noticeably greater caution.
Throughout those six months, Ayesheh Gul had almost no visitors, except for one occasion when her uncle came to see her. Without any introduction, he told her: “We killed Imran. You are now a widow. End this matter and return to your father’s home.”
Those words devastated Ayesheh Gul. She subsequently experienced severe psychological distress and repeatedly lost consciousness and control of herself. At one point, she experienced a serious mental health crisis in prison and required intervention from those around her. The violence that had begun at home continued to affect her psychological well-being in prison.
After she was transferred to Pul-e-Charkhi, the hope that had been extinguished in Ayesheh Gul for months returned. There, she learned a truth that was difficult for her to believe: Imran was alive and was being held in the same prison. Ayesheh had been told that Imran had been killed, while Imran had been told that Ayesheh was no longer alive. It later became clear that preventing Ayesheh Gul’s transfer to Pul-e-Charkhi had also been intended to ensure that the two would never learn that the other was alive.
Afterward, Imran’s family and Ayesheh Gul’s father also became involved in the matter. Ayesheh’s father demanded two girls as a form of compensation, along with two million afghanis, in exchange for his consent. Imran rejected the demand and said: “Ayesheh is my lawful wife, and I will not agree to a demand that goes against Sharia.”
Finally, after six months of proceedings at Pul-e-Charkhi prison, the court ordered the release of both of them. There were no girls given as compensation and no payment of the money demanded. What remained was the story of a girl who stood against coercion and a father who, even by relying on power and influence, could not break his daughter’s will.
Ayesheh Gul was eventually released, but this story was never simply about the freedom of one person. It was a picture of a home where even the daughter of a senior Taliban official did not have the right to choose her own husband. If power does not show mercy to its own daughter inside its own home, how can justice and women’s rights be expected to have meaning outside it? This is a question whose answer should be sought not in speeches, but in the lives of thousands of girls across Afghanistan.
