I am from Ghor province; from a land where the mountains have always stood firm, but its people have repeatedly lived through poverty, war, neglect, and injustice. I have spent years of my life working in media and civic activities, despite all the hardships and limitations, but with hope.
I hope that one day Afghanistan will become a place of freedom, awareness, and humanity.
I belong to a generation that learned hope for change through great struggle; a generation that believed the pen could reduce darkness and that the media could give voice to the voiceless.
Today, on the occasion of the 20th anniversary of The Hasht-e Subh Daily, I want to write something not as a writer or social activist, but as an Afghan youth who, in difficult times, searched for hope and found it in the lines of Hasht-e Subh.
To be honest, after the fall of the republican government, I felt something inside me broke something greater than a political system. All the efforts, dreams, civic work, media activities, voices of protest, meetings, training, and hopes suddenly felt silenced.
For those of us who worked for change with limited resources but strong belief, those days were not just a political shift; they felt like the collapse of a house we had spent years building.
In the early days, a heavy silence filled everything. People spoke less. Some left, some became silent, and others just watched.
Media outlets, one by one, went silent or were forced into silence.
Journalists who once wrote the truth either stayed at home or became migrants. Words like freedom of expression, criticism, questioning, and even hope gradually began to feel unfamiliar.
At that time, I truly felt intellectually orphaned. There was no place where one could find themselves, a place where truth was still written, people’s suffering was taken seriously, and the voices of women, youth, journalists, and others were still reflected.
But then, gradually, I saw the name Hasht-e Subh again.
For some, it may just be a media outlet, but for me and many others, Hasht-e Subh became more than that.
Fear grew, and space became tighter. Hasht-e Subh was still a window to the truth. When many were forced into silence, this media outlet continued writing. When official narratives tried to hide reality, Hasht-e Subh still reported on people’s suffering, poverty, girls’ deprivation from education, hardship, migration, and the silence of civil society.
I admit that today, a significant part of my day is connected to Hasht-e Subh. In the mornings, I start my day by reading the reports. At night, before sleeping, I check its page again, not out of habit, but out of need: the need to know, the need to understand, and perhaps most importantly, the need to feel that not everyone has been silenced.
In recent years, pressure and restrictions on the media and freedom of expression in Afghanistan have been very heavy. A society that once, despite all its problems, still had space for discussion, criticism, and hope, now faces severe limitations. Many young people feel their dreams have shrunk, and many women struggle with deep deprivation. In such a situation, the survival of an independent media outlet is not just professional work; it is a form of resistance.
For me, Hasht-e Subh is not just news; it is a kind of mental refuge. It may sound strange, but in moments when despair takes over, reading its reports and stories makes me feel that part of the Afghanistan we once dreamed of is still alive. There are still people who value truth. There are still voices speaking for the forgotten.
Hasht-e Subh is a space for freedom of thought for me, a place where beliefs can breathe when many other spaces have become too narrow. It is a place where one can still ask, still think, still speak about pain, and still preserve hope, even if it is small and wounded.
The 20th anniversary of Hasht-e Subh is not just an anniversary of a media outlet; it is a celebration of endurance. A celebration of standing firm in times when standing was not easy; a celebration of remaining loyal to truth in a time when truth comes at a cost.
I do not want my name to be mentioned. I am not writing this for recognition, praise, or attention. I only wanted, as a young person from Ghor who has spent years in media and civic work and has deeply felt the hardships of this country, to say that Hasht-e Subh has not just been a newspaper for me, it has been part of my hope.
In a time when so much was taken from us, you helped us not feel that everything was over.
Happy 20th anniversary.
I hope a day comes when Hasht-e Subh, not from afar and not under the shadow of fear, but in a free, peaceful, and hopeful Afghanistan, can once again brighten the mornings of this country.
With respect,
Anonymous ❤️
