When the republic collapsed, all that remained for him was a wounded body, empty hands, and memories of trenches and blood. Hedayat, one of thousands of former soldiers of Afghanistan, found himself facing a reality he had never imagined after the government’s downfall: the homeland he had fought for had now forgotten him.
With the Taliban’s takeover of Afghanistan, it was not only the political and social structures that disintegrated — the country’s military also effectively fell apart. Thousands of soldiers, officers, police, and security forces who once defended their land with all their might in the heat of Afghanistan’s front lines now live under the shadow of poverty, uncertainty, and fear of arrest.
Hedayat (pseudonym), a former soldier, was severely wounded during a military operation in Tagab. He is now under extreme financial pressure and fears arrest by the Taliban. “I never knew I was fighting for a country that had already been sold at the cost of our blood and wounds,” he says. “If you were going to hand the country over to the enemy, why start this game? Why plunge thousands of families into mourning for their martyred children? Why disable me and thousands of others?”
Carrying the weight of regret and sorrow, Hedayat says no one ever asked how a soldier feels — back when he shouted, “I will not abandon the trench,” and fought to his last drop of blood. After a deep sigh and a heavy silence, he adds, “When I think about the bloodshed, the martyrdom of my dear young comrades, and the helplessness and uncertainty of their families, my pain doubles. My homeland, and the pride I once had in defending it, was leveled to the ground.”
He recalls: “When the government fell, I was left with a broken body and no idea what to do. That was the beginning of my displacement — and that of thousands of other soldiers. I looked at my children, all under 18, and was bewildered. My landlord told me: ‘It’s fine. Until you return to work, I won’t charge you rent; when you find a job, pay gradually.’ But soon arrests and killings began. I decided to leave. I had no money, so I sold all my household belongings, which totaled 53,000 Afghanis, and with a little borrowed money, we set out for Iran.”
“Don’t ask about the hardships we endured along the way,” Hedayat says. “With a damaged back and small children, crossing deserts and plains… words cannot describe it. I watched my children cry from exhaustion, but they had no choice. I told them: ‘You are the children of a soldier; you must be strong and steadfast.’ We finally reached Iran, but in Iran, there is no respect for the people of Afghanistan. No one sees an Afghan as a human being.”
The young man goes on to explain that he rebuilt his life in Iran despite great hardship and deprivation — but once again, the Iranian police did not leave him alone. The arrest of his 16-year-old son led to the deportation of his entire family back to Afghanistan.
“I returned once more to Afghanistan,” Hedayat says, “with empty hands, a hopeless heart, and a constant fear of arrest. But I had no other choice. Life had become extremely difficult, because in Kabul I had neither shelter nor refuge.”
“I only had enough money to bring myself and my family back to Afghanistan,” he explains. “I bought a pushcart and some cosmetics and children’s toys from Mandawi market. My children and I took turns selling them to earn a piece of bread.”
With a heart full of grief, Hedayat adds: “Life squeezes me from every direction — my bent frame and injured back prevent me from standing and working for long, and on the other hand, financial pressure and the fear of arrest make life suffocating. But I have no choice — if I don’t leave the house, my children will go hungry.”
“I live in a rented house; I have no bread, no security, and no peace,” he says. “With a damaged body and a worried heart, I am forced to work. Every time I leave the house, I think it might be the last time. Some nights I cannot sleep until morning. I ask myself: Was this my homeland? Was this our reward? We gave our lives, we bled, my comrades were martyred before my eyes… and now no one even asks whether we are alive. This is not life — this is merely breathing.”
Hedayat says, “I swear, sometimes I ask myself: Who did I fight for? For a homeland sold at the price of its children’s blood? For those who sat in offices and had never seen the trenches, yet sold us out? The only thing I know is that I fought, I was wounded — but now I have been forgotten. And being forgotten is more painful than any wound.”
With the Taliban’s takeover of Afghanistan, not only did the country’s political and social structures collapse, but its military was dismantled as well. Now, according to available information, Taliban intelligence operatives are active in civilian clothing to identify and arrest former soldiers, human rights activists, and members of civil society — a campaign that, combined with poverty, homelessness, and the loss of the future, has deepened the fear and anxiety of former members of the security forces.
You can read the Persian version of this report here:
از سنگر تا کوچههای بیپناهی؛ روایت دردهای سربازی که فراموش شد
