Women's Rights -

“Voices Silenced: Afghan Women Fight for Freedom”

Shabana, a teenager living in Kabul, looked forward to her daily English lessons. Riding on a bus with her friends, talking, laughing, and learning something new was a bright moment in her dark life. Since the Taliban took over Afghanistan, the dreams and hopes of countless women like Shabana have been shattered. For her, it wasn’t just about losing the chance to complete her education; it was about losing the essence of her life—the freedom to speak, learn, and live without fear.

In another world, Shabana would be graduating from high school next year and fulfilling her dream of earning a business degree. But in Afghanistan, the harsh reality is different. For the past three years, teenage girls have been denied formal education. And now, with a newly announced law mandating that women are not to be heard outside their homes, even the smallest joys are tinged with anxiety and fear.

“When we go out, we feel scared. When we are on the bus, we feel scared. We don’t dare take off our masks or talk to each other, thinking that if someone from the Taliban hears us, they might stop and question us,” says Shabana. The new decree is another blow to Afghan women, who have faced a relentless series of restrictions since the Taliban returned to power.

Fear on the streets
The new law gives the Taliban’s morality police, the Deputy Ministry of Propaganda of Virtue and Prevention, sweeping powers to enforce their version of a “moral” society. For Afghan women, who have seen their freedoms slowly being taken away, the law feels like the final nail in the coffin.

“If we cannot speak, what is the point of living? We are like corpses walking around,” Shabana lamented. Her words echo the sentiments of many Afghan women, who feel that life under such harsh rules is no life at all. Shabana decided to stop attending her English classes because of the new law. The fear that something might happen if she accidentally spoke out in public was too much to bear. “But then my mother encouraged me to continue,” she says, reflecting the quiet but persistent protests among many Afghan women.

Even if the implementation of such orders is not always immediate or widespread, the fear of what might happen keeps people in check. Self-regulation has become the norm. Women still appear on the streets of Kabul, but now most of them are in loose black dresses or dark blue burqas, their faces covered except for their eyes, a direct result of an order announced last year.

“Every moment, you feel like you are in prison. It has become difficult to even breathe here,” says women’s rights activist Nausheen. Until last year, Nausheen was one of the few who dared to take to the streets demanding women’s rights. But the Taliban’s violent crackdown on protests has all but stopped them.

Suppressed voices and new forms of protest

Nausheen was detained during a protest last year. “The Taliban dragged me into a car and said, ‘Why are you working against us? This is an Islamic system.’ They took me to a dark, scary place and held me there, using horrible language against me. They even beat me,” she recalls, breaking down in tears. “When we were released from detention, we were not the same people as before. So we stopped protesting. I don’t want to be humiliated anymore because I am a woman. It’s better to die than live like this.”

Unable to take to the streets, Afghan women are now finding new ways to express their dissent. Many are posting videos online with their faces covered, singing songs about freedom. The lyrics of one song say, “Let’s be one voice, let’s hold hands and walk together and be free from this cruelty.” It is a quiet form of resistance, a way to fight back against a system that wants to silence them completely.

The Taliban’s justification
Officials like Taliban deputy spokesman Hamdullah Fitrat have justified the new order by saying it is in line with Islamic Sharia law. “The law approved by the supreme leader is in line with Islamic Sharia law. Any religious scholar can check its references,” he claims. However, many Afghan women disagree, arguing that the Taliban’s interpretation of Sharia is a narrow one that is not in line with the spirit of Islam.

Shirin, a teacher who runs a secret school for girls, says, “It is their own interpretation of Sharia. Islam has given both men and women the right to choose whether they want to study and progress or not.” Shirin, like many others, continues her work quietly, often changing locations to avoid identification. “Every morning I pray to God that the day will go by safely. When the new law came out, I explained all the rules to my students and told them that things would be more difficult. But I am so tired of it all; sometimes I just feel like screaming,” she said. “They don’t see women as human beings, but as tools whose sole authority is to be used by the police.”

An uneasy tension settled over the packed courtroom.

An uneasy tension settled over the packed courtroom in Avignon’s Palace of Justice when the chief judge, dressed in a bright red robe, delivered the unexpected news. The trial, which has been running throughout France, was about to be adjourned. Dominique Pellicot, one of 51 men accused in a shocking gang rape case, was too ill to attend court, leading to a sense of gloom among those present.

This case is no ordinary trial – it has roiled a small French village and sparked outrage and debate across the country. It revolves around Dominique Pellicot, who is accused of drugging his wife Gisèle Pellicot for a decade and inviting more than 80 men to his home to rape her while he filmed the attacks. The trial has become a symbol of the fight against sexual violence and has cast a shadow over the quaint village of Mazan, where the crimes allegedly took place.

Village in shock

Mazan, a small medieval village nestled in the hills of Provence, is now synonymous with one of the most horrific crime stories in recent French history. Once known for its peaceful vineyards and picturesque streets, Mazan is now suffering from a deep crisis of trust. The village that once welcomed tourists and hosted events such as British actress Keira Knightley’s wedding has now become the site of a nightmare.

The people of Mazan are divided in their reactions to the trial. Some residents express exhaustion with the constant media coverage and attention the case is receiving. “Honestly, nobody cares here,” said local caterer Ivan Tuvignon, reflecting a sense of despair. Still, many others, especially women, feel a growing sense of fear and betrayal. They worry about who they can trust, especially with news that many of the alleged attackers are still unidentified.

The names of the accused are circulating widely on social media, causing an uproar in Mazan and the surrounding villages. Women like Océane Martin, who recognized several of the accused men, feel uneasy. “It creates tension, you can imagine. You don’t know who to trust on the street,” she said, sighing with relief that they would soon be moving away from the village. Her mother, Isabelle Liversen, expressed a deep fear, saying that 30 of the 80 suspects are still at large. “There is tension here because people don’t know if they can trust their neighbors,” she said, expressing the fear that looms like a dark cloud over Mazan.

A trial that unleashed a nightmare

At the center of this storm is Gisèle Pellicot, who has chosen to renounce her right to remain anonymous and become a symbol of rebellion for women across France. She has shown great courage by stepping into the spotlight to talk about her experience. Four years ago, she was told by a police officer that her husband had drugged her and videoed her being raped by strangers in her own bedroom. Since then, she has become a powerful advocate against “chemical subordination,” where victims are drugged and sexually assaulted without their knowledge.

Gisèle’s decision to speak out has impressed many. “She has shown great dignity and courage,” said local activist Blandine Deverlanges. “It was a huge gift for [French women] that she decided to speak out in front of the whole world, in front of her rapist.”

Her bravery in facing her husband and other accused men in court has earned widespread praise. During the trial, she sat with her daughter Caroline and at least two sons, just a few meters away from some of the men accused of these horrific crimes. The atmosphere in the courtroom was tense, with a mix of shock, anger and disbelief.

Community reactions: Divided and disbelieving
The mayor of Mazan, Louis Bonnet, has attempted to ease tensions, claiming that most of the alleged rapists came from neighboring villages and that Pellicot was not a longtime resident. He has condemned the attacks, but also suggested that threats against the accused and their families were expected. “If they have participated in these rapes, it is normal that they are considered targets,” he said. His comments have sparked further outrage, as they seem to downplay the seriousness of the crimes and the trauma suffered by Gisèle Pellicot.

Many people in Mazan and beyond feel that the case has highlighted a deeper issue of attitudes to sexual violence in France. “People here say ‘no one was killed.’ If [Pellicot] had killed his wife, it would have been much worse,” Bonnet remarked, suggesting that the psychological and emotional trauma inflicted on Gisèle is somehow less significant because she survived. This kind of rhetoric has only added fuel to the fire, leading to more anger and resentment among those who support Gizelle.

Women like Gizelle’s daughter Caroline have also been deeply affected by this. Caroline, who suspects she was also drugged by her father and had photographs taken of her without her knowledge, has been accused of sexual assault.