The closure of Khatam al-Nabieen University in Kabul and Ghazni cannot be regarded merely as an administrative decision, the revocation of an operating license, or a dispute over compliance with the regulations of the Taliban Ministry of Higher Education, even though the ministry’s spokesperson has attributed the revocation of the university’s license to its failure to observe “Islamic values,” as well as to violations of the ministry’s policy and misuse of the university’s standing and reputation. Viewed from a broader perspective, Khatam al-Nabieen actually stands at the intersection of two processes: first, the general erosion of universities and higher education in Afghanistan under Taliban control; and second, the process of threatening, restricting, and eliminating institutions that, in religious, intellectual, and organizational terms, do not fit within the Taliban’s official and exclusive interpretation.
The first issue begins with the fact that the Taliban have not merely closed university doors to girls; rather, through a set of ideological policies, they have altered the university environment in such a way that the concept of the university as an independent institution for producing knowledge, cultivating critical thinking, and training skilled professionals has faced gradual erosion. The removal of women and girls from higher education is, by itself, a structural blow to the university, since sidelining half of society from the higher education cycle correspondingly diminishes the country’s human, scientific, and professional capacity.
But the story does not end there. Male students, too, when confronted with a Taliban-style curriculum, growing restrictions within the university environment, and increasing interference in their lifestyle and appearance, no longer necessarily maintain the same relationship with the university as before. Professors, too, experience disillusionment in such an environment. As a result, hundreds of university professors have fled the country, and those who remain are on the verge of resignation. From this perspective, even if the university’s doors remain open, that openness does not necessarily mean the university is truly alive. A university may have buildings, classrooms, students, and professors, but if it lacks academic quality and an open, free environment, it will not cure any real problem.
Private universities, meanwhile, face a more complicated situation: on one hand, they are under pressure from Taliban policies and restrictions, and on the other, they face the economic crisis affecting families across Afghanistan. When a family loses the ability to pay university tuition, private higher education is often the first item cut from its budget, particularly when graduates’ career prospects are also bleak. Private universities are thus squeezed from both sides: from above, by Taliban pressure, and from below, by the erosion of society’s economic capacity.
Khatam al-Nabieen, however, adds another layer to this equation. If the Taliban are fundamentally seeking to bring universities into conformity with their own particular values and interpretation of Islam, Khatam al-Nabieen presents a notable case in point, since it is neither a secular institution that could be targeted for its distance from religion, nor an institution that has concealed its religious identity. Its name is openly Islamic; its history is tied to religious education and activities; and its academic and administrative structure has taken shape within a context in which Shia identity is prominent.
Here lies the apparent contradiction: if the issue is the university’s Islamic character, what exactly is Khatam al-Nabieen lacking? The issue, apparently, is not simply whether the university is “Islamic” or “not Islamic”; rather, the issue is which interpretation of Islam has the right to define the university and determine the boundaries of its activity. If an Islamic university must necessarily be organized according to the Taliban’s particular interpretation of Islam, then the Islamization of the university could shift from being a cultural and educational project into a project of “epistemic homogenization,” meaning the university would no longer be a space for encounter and dialogue among different Islamic interpretations, but rather a reflection of a single official and dominant interpretation of religion.
It is precisely at this point that the issue of Shiism becomes significant. Khatam al-Nabieen is a predominantly Shia institution, and this fact confronts it with another question: can a university in Taliban-administered Afghanistan be both Islamic and Shia at the same time? If the answer is no, then what meaning would the claim of “Islamizing” the university actually carry? This question takes on greater importance given that the Taliban, on the one hand, emphasize the Islamic character of the education system, while on the other hand, they are preventing an academic institution with an openly Islamic and specifically Shia identity from continuing its activities. It would therefore be more accurate to distinguish between “Islamizing” the university and “Talibanizing” it: the former can mean the presence of religious values within education, while the latter means that a particular interpretation of religion seeks to bring the entire educational, epistemic, and cultural structure of a country under its control.
This issue is especially sensitive in Afghanistan, a country that is ethnically, religiously, and linguistically diverse. If the educational structure of such a country moves toward religious and intellectual homogenization, the result will not be merely a change in curriculum; it could dissolve “social pluralism” into a single “official narrative” of national and religious identity.
You can read the Persian version of this analysis article here:
خاتمالنبیین؛ وقتی «اسلامیسازی» به حذف «دانشگاه اسلامی» میرسد
