Here's how Afghan girls and women say the Taliban's new "Vice and Virtue" laws affect their daily lives.
Since the Taliban took over in 2021, millions of women and girls in Afghanistan have lived under a system of gender apartheid that steadily erased them from public life. In 2022, the Taliban banned girls and women from secondary schools and the workforce. In August 2024, they introduced “Vice and Virtue” laws, which ban women’s faces and voices from being seen and heard in public. — including performing or reciting religious verses in front of other women.
And most recently, the Taliban has announced a ban on women studying midwifery and nursing. This ban will mean the loss of life-saving medical care for women and girls in Afghanistan. These edicts represent a complete reversal of Afghan women’s fundamental rights.
Women now face extreme restrictions. They cannot work, learn, or even walk alone. Through our grantee partners, including the Civic Engagement Project and Rahela Trust, we asked women and girls to share how the Taliban’s edicts impact everyday life:
“Before the Taliban came, I used to go out early in the morning for walks, visit the library, or hang out at a café, either by myself or with friends,” said Hana, a 17-year-old student. “Now, the fear and anxiety are overwhelming. I can’t even think about leaving the house unless my brother or father comes with me. It’s taken a huge toll on my spirit, and the new rules that even restrict women from speaking loudly in public make it feel like we’re being erased.”
For Fatima, a designer and entrepreneur passionate about creating traditional Afghan clothing, life has changed drastically because of these edicts:
“Under the new law, I am no longer allowed to work outside my home. I am required to wear a burqa that covers my entire body, including my face, whenever I leave the house. This has made it nearly impossible for me to continue my business, as I cannot interact with customers or retailers. I used to visit local markets, meet clients, and source materials personally. Now, I feel trapped and isolated.
My voice is silenced in public. I am not allowed to speak loudly and must avoid any public gatherings. This isolation has made me feel like a shadow of my former self. In the previous government, I found most of my clients from community gatherings and through my network. I miss those vibrant connections and the joy of seeing my customers wear my creations. One of the most challenging days was when a long-time customer called me, asking for an Afghani dress for her daughter’s wedding. I had to tell her that I couldn’t meet her in person or show her any samples. My heart broke as I felt my dreams slipping away.”
Everyday tasks like grocery shopping, paying bills, and purchasing internet data have become impossible for women who cannot leave their homes without a male guardian.
“When I receive my salary in USD, we must convert it to Afghanis, but the Taliban have shut down exchange shops,” Alima, a project manager, said. “My son or my brother — whom I often have to plead with to leave work — ends up handling these tasks. Even buying data for an important meeting isn’t straightforward. I have to wait for my son to return from school. It feels suffocating to be trapped at home.”
For women like Rizwana, a psychologist who has worked in Afghanistan for over 30 years — through the Soviet invasion and the Taliban’s first regime in the 1990s — the sudden confinement feels isolating and exhausting. Amid the uncertainty of Afghan women’s futures, a mental health crisis grows. Rizwana can no longer provide the support women desperately need.
“Before, I had my own clinic and visited women from all walks of life. Sometimes, I even made house calls. Now, mental health is a crisis, especially for women and young people, but I can’t provide the same support. There are daily reports of suicides among youth, yet the Taliban refuse to acknowledge mental health issues. The Ministry of Public Health hasn’t renewed my license since mid-2022, and without it, I can’t operate. I had to close my clinic and now see clients — mostly women and girls — over WhatsApp, but the impact is not the same.”
Despite these suffocating restrictions and new edicts, Afghan women are still fighting for their rights and futures. Sara, a lawyer and education activist, recognises the power of Afghan women’s collective voice.
“The Taliban know our voices are powerful,” she said. “When a woman sings, recites poetry, or simply speaks, it can inspire change. We are messengers of transformation, and the Taliban fear change, so they silence us.”
In November, the U.N. Sixth Committee — which is responsible for implementing change in international law, advanced negotiations to expand the Crimes Against Humanity treaty to include gender apartheid. This is a significant step in offering a legal framework to make gender apartheid illegal and provide protection for countless women and girls whose lives have been derailed.
Amid the uncertainty, Afghan women continue to advocate for a world without gender apartheid, where every girl and woman can choose her own future.
