Afghan women: Art against silence

[ad_1]

Two months ago, on August 22, the Taliban
government decreed that women would no longer be allowed to speak in public.
This is just one more restriction, following previous bans on women studying
beyond the sixth grade, working, or leaving their homes (except in cases of
necessity). This tragically completed the Taliban’s efforts to annihilate the
humanity of women since they seized power in August 2021. With their voices
silenced, what remains for Afghan women? This question takes on a particular
meaning for artists. Whether they sing, act in theater, or paint, they use
their voices literally or figuratively. Since August 22, this act of
creation has become an act of resistance.

A new generation of artists

Like previous restrictions, the ban on women
speaking in public clashes with an Afghan art scene that began to take shape
after the fall of the first Taliban regime in 2001. “A generation of
artists emerged, who, after trying to meet Western expectations, freed
themselves to become messengers of society’s suffering,” explained Guilda
Chahverdi, a director and former head of the French Institute in Kabul. With
the support of France, some of these artists went into exile after
Kabul fell in 2021. Today, although “the Taliban forbids any form of art in
Afghanistan” and only practices aligned with Sharia—such as calligraphy
and certain types of cinema—are allowed, some artists abroad continue to echo
the tragedy of those left behind.

It is impossible for these artists not to address
the plight of women in their work. “The negation of women is the negation
of humanity,” said Chahverdi. “Since we can speak out, we must
not remain silent,” said actor and puppeteer Farhad Yaqubi, who has been
in exile since 2021. He cited the call to end patriarchy in Marjan, the Last
Lion of Afghanistan, a show he performed in France for almost two
years.

For women artists, this isn’t just an important
theme; it is the core of their creation. “For all women artists, whether
in painting, theater, or photography, Afghan women are central to their
work,” sayidYaqubi. These voices reach Afghans via social media,
despite the bans and when electricity is available. The Taliban cannot silence
these voices, nor can they silence the women who, inside Afghanistan, “practice art in secret,” as highlighted by Fakhereh Moussavi, a
political science researcher. This is a defiance of the imposed silence.

“Paying tribute to those who sacrifice themselves”

Rada Akbar, 36, multidisciplinary artist

Less than a month before the Taliban’s return in
August 2021, Rada Akbar was putting the finishing touches on her project for a
Women’s History Museum in Kabul. This was a continuation of the annual
exhibition she had organized since 2018 in Kabul on March 8, featuring
prominent Afghan women such as Queen Goharshad, a great supporter of the arts
in the 14th century, and Shabana Basij-Rasikh, founder of the first girls’
boarding school.

These women, among others, inspired creations in
various forms—painting, embroidery, weaving—that highlighted the contributions
of Afghan women to the country’s culture. But her museum project never came to
fruition. As the Taliban approached Kabul, the French embassy offered to
evacuate her, forcing her to leave behind most of her work. She was 33 at the
time.

Now, three years later, Akbar lives in Paris
and has exhibited at the Palais de Tokyo, the Institute of Islamic Cultures, in
Berlin and Madrid. This refugee life is a second chapter for someone who,
as a child, fled to Pakistan with her family after the Taliban’s first rise to
power in 1996. Perhaps this is where her artistic calling began. “We had
lost everything,” she explained. “My imagination saved me. When I was
disappointed not to have something, I made toys and dolls.” Her father, a
journalist and political activist, also played a role. In one of the many art
books he gave her, he wrote: “It breaks my heart every day to see that you
are not fully an artist.” This was a pivotal encouragement.

“All my work is dedicated to Afghan
women,” she explained. “They have always been my inspiration and are
even more central to my work in the current situation.” The ban on
speaking in public fills her with “rage,” though she insisted, “Afghan women will never be silenced.” She pointed to those who, in
secret, sing or recite poetry in small groups behind closed doors, risking
their lives. “Sadly, I don’t believe my art can change anything,”
admitted Akbar. “But it’s an important fight to honor those who sacrifice
themselves. It’s my duty.”

“Being the voice of Afghan women while also being the voice of humanity”

Zahra Khodadadi, 33, documentary photographer

Zahra Khodadadi has created photomontages for the past two years based on images of bombed-out cars. This is her way of
documenting the insecurity that has taken root in Afghanistan despite political
promises over the past two decades. She has been working on this long-term
project in Nice, where she and her husband, a painter, settled in 2022. They
fled to France in a hurry on August 12, 2021, just three days before Kabul
fell. “We applied for emergency visas,” she explained. “We knew
that, as artists, there would be no place for us in Afghanistan.”

“Artist” is the only label the former
fine arts student from Kabul claimed. After spending her childhood in Iran, she
returned to Kabul in the early 2000s to pursue her artistic studies despite
her father’s objections. “He would have preferred me to study
engineering,” she recalled. “But this is what I wanted. I said
no.” An aunt, who was talented in painting but had to give it up after a
forced marriage, encouraged her. In 2013, her father became an admirer of
her first exhibition in Kabul.

Even back then, Khodadadi was determined to
document daily life in her country, focusing on women—she even obtained
permission to work in a women’s prison in Mazar-i-Sharif in northern
Afghanistan—as well as children and families. Her photographs capture fragile
poetry with no overt activism. “I don’t consider myself an activist,”
she said, preferring to call herself a “documentary photographer.” “I’m just an artist.”

However, it’s impossible to remain disengaged
when the unimaginable happens. “I still can’t understand how the idea of
banning women from speaking in public ever took hold,” she said indignantly. “For me, it’s important to be the voice of Afghan women, but
also the voice of humanity.” She strives to make the plight of her “sisters” in Kabul resonate with everyone, wherever they may be, and
vice versa. Khodadadi spanned borders and looks ahead to the future. “I know it’s easier to get financial support for sensational
subjects,” she said. “But that approach doesn’t interest me. I want
to create something lasting for future generations.”

“Speaking out for my sisters”

Atifa Azizpor, 21, actress

The solidarity with her compatriots remaining in
Afghanistan is palpable when Atifa Azizpor speaks the words of Ismene on stage: “Seeing you plunged into this misfortune, I am not ashamed to board the
same ship as you and share your trials.” Like Antigone’s sister, the
actress is acutely aware of her people’s plight and amplifies it. She has been
doing so for over a year in The Messengers, a powerful adaptation of
Sophocles’ tragedy by Jean Bellorini, director of the Théâtre National Populaire
(TNP) in Villeurbanne, in the Metropolis of Lyon. Alongside her are eight other members of the Afghan
Girls Theater Group, a troupe created in Kabul by director Naim Karimi and
evacuated to France immediately after the Taliban’s return to power in August
2021.

At the time, Azizpor was 18, had no ties to
France, and didn’t speak the language. She had just left her family—her father
remained in Kabul, while her mother and three sisters sought refuge in Iran.
One of her few certainties: her passion for theater, which her parents did not
discourage, a rare stance in Afghanistan. “I love being on stage, the
direct connection with the audience—acting is my joy, my passion,” she
explains today, now speaking fluent French. This is the result of intensive
learning alongside her studies—she is currently studying fashion design at a
vocational school in Lyon—and her role as Ismene in The Messengers. The play
will run until 2025 at the TNP in Villeurbanne and at the Théâtre Nouvelle
Génération in Lyon, both of which have welcomed the troupe.

The Messengers title is no
coincidence, of course. With strength and modesty, Azizpor delivers a message of
advocacy. “For me, acting is a way to fight and defend myself,” she
says. To show that she and her fellow Afghans in Afghanistan still stand tall
despite the Taliban’s efforts to annihilate them. But also to encourage those
back home not to give up because “in time, their situation will
change.”

Her commitment is born out
of necessity. “I’d love to perform in less politically engaged plays, but
as an Afghan actress in France, it’s my responsibility to speak out on behalf
of my sisters. It’s a duty I take on gladly,” she explained, adding, “The ban on speaking in public this past August has only encouraged me to
disobey even more.”

——