Fatima Amiri is an education and girls' rights activist from Afghanistan who made it to the BBC’s 100 Women in 2022. She is one of the survivors of the deadly attack on the Kaaj tutoring center in the Shittee Hazara neighborhood of Dasht-e-Barchi in western Kabul, Afghanistan, in September 2022 while she and dozens of other students were taking the practice public university entrance exam. She rose amidst the blood and ashes to fight for her dreams and those of her 150 fellow students who were killed and injured. In this interview, HerStory’s Program Director, Murtaza Ibrahimi, sat with Fatima Amiri and discussed her early life, advocacy for girls' education, the attack on Kaaj, her current status, and more.  The interview is being published in three parts. Part 1: ‘A bad choice might seem better than a worse one’: Fatima Amiri Part 2: ‘People were afraid to lend a helping hand, but none hesitated to take my photo and video’: Fatima Amiri Ibrahimi: Farhad Darya, a well-known singer from Afghanistan, started a fundraising campaign to assist you with your treatment abroad. Could you please tell us how he learned about you? How did it all start, and how did the process work? Amiri: This was one of the positive outcomes after the attack. Many people came together to support the wounded of Kaaj. The attack brought about significant changes, leading to the creation of the #StopHazaraGenocide movement, aimed at raising awareness about the ongoing plight of Hazaras in Afghanistan. To provide context from the beginning, I should mention that no country was issuing me visas. This problem may have been a result of my advocacy work for girls before the attack or, perhaps, intensified after the attack as I persisted in standing up for our rights I remember that many of the wounded girls went to Iran for treatment. My name was at the top of the list of wounded students eligible to go abroad for treatment due to my deteriorated situation and pain—I couldn't even sleep at night. However, I was consistently rejected, and they moved on to the next person on the list. Many girls went to Pakistan, and the day I went to say goodbye to them was incredibly difficult for me because they were going to receive treatment, while I was left behind with my situation. I desperately wanted to begin my treatment. With the help of one of my relatives, an Indian doctor sent me an invitation letter to commence my treatment. It was said that if I could urgently make it to India, they could restore my eye’s vision. However, when I went to the Indian embassy, even though I wore sunglasses, I was recognized and not allowed inside because Taliban fighters were stationed at the first gate. The same process continued until Farhad Darya learned about me from my media interviews and articles. He decided to start the fundraising campaign, and I am grateful to the people who contributed, no matter how small or big. Many of them chipped in, and the needed funds were raised quickly. However, obtaining a visa became a significant issue. No countries were issuing me visas. The embassies had no problem with me, but the Taliban did. Their fighters didn't allow me into the embassies. I applied for a Pakistani visa in my absence, but even it was rejected. I became disappointed and hopeless about receiving treatment. I was being threatened due to my advocacy and media presence, speaking out about the facts. Finally, I successfully connected with a Turkish organization and went to a branch of the Turkish Embassy in Kabul, where the Taliban were not as aware. There, I applied for my visa. Otherwise, they wouldn't have allowed me into the Turkish embassy, just like other embassies. I didn't let anyone know about leaving the country until I was at the airport to avoid potential problems. Ibrahimi: What is your status in Turkey? And how are you doing there? Amiri: I'm currently in Turkey, dealing with an uncertain status. The challenge is they won't grant me permanent residency. My journey in Turkey has been quite a ride. I initially came here on a three-month visa, and of course, had to go through the process of extending it. The doctors insist that I need more time for treatment, but getting the government on board with that has been a struggle. I've been in touch with various authorities here, including the Turkish government, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the Ministry of Public Health, and the Afghan Embassy in Turkey. Despite the ongoing conversations, getting permanent residency seems to be an elusive goal. For those initial three months, it was a routine of hospital visits in the mornings and navigating the bureaucratic maze at the Ministry of Refugees to extend my visa for another six months. This routine repeated itself each time. There were even fines thrown into the mix for visa-related matters. It's been a bumpy road, but here I am, still holding on. Ibrahimi: Is your treatment finished in Turkey? Amiri: I don't have a clear sense of how well my treatment is progressing. To be honest, it hasn't been very effective. The shrapnel is still in my face, my ear's hearing hasn't fully recovered, and they mockingly suggest that my eye's vision is irrecoverable due to the delayed medical attention. They claim it could have been restored if I sought help earlier, but unfortunately, I went to Turkey three months after the attack. I've lost vision entirely in my eye, and currently, we are only focusing on improving its external appearance. One significant issue was the contamination of my blood with microbes from the smoke and gunpowder during the attack, and we consulted three public hospitals for this concern. The visit to the third hospital has shown some positive results. It's exhausting to repeatedly explain this when people inquire, but yes, my treatment is still ongoing. Ibrahimi: When did you start your advocacy work for girls? Can you walk us through this journey? Amiri: My advocacy work started before the attack but may have gained notice after it. It began when the school doors closed for girls. Although my friends were telling me that I would receive my high school diploma when I graduated and not to worry about it, it was very heartbreaking for me. I envisioned myself as a girl in the 11th grade, eager to study her 12th grade and go to university. She had studied for 11 years and then was confined at home. Or a girl who had graduated in the sixth grade and couldn't continue. I advocated sometimes anonymously, sometimes revealing my identity, and occasionally appearing with a face mask. I also attended some protests. But after the attack, I could not stop and stay silent because of the friends I lost in the attack. Unfortunately, something that is agonizing, and I am reminded sometimes, is that they tell me that I was not the only wounded individual in the attack, and there were so many others who were not saying anything. But after the attack, the media reached out to all wounded people, and no one wanted to speak out; I don't blame any of them because it was really a bad situation. They couldn't and did not want to get out of the hospital bed and talk, also because of security threats. They survived the attack and did not want to put their and their family's lives at risk again by speaking out. For me, I have not had any personal benefit in my advocacy work. Wherever I have gone and spoken, I have even paid for my transportation. I remember going to TV channels, and our house was in Dasht-e-Barchi, and none were there, and I was spending 500-1000 Afs for each trip while I could hardly pay for my medication. I spent money with no intention for personal benefit, only speaking for what was happening. It even put my life and my family's lives at risk, but I was not giving up on speaking out. I felt that I was responsible; I had lost many things and could not be silent anymore. And I had made a promise to my friends: this was the most important thing that made me not give up. Though my advocacy work puts my family members' lives at risk, I am stuck between two ways. I can neither stay silent nor can I speak out. Girls in Afghanistan contact me, crying and saying, "Fatima, you have to speak for us; no one is there to do it for us." I got a call saying, "Education was the only thing I had, which I don't have anymore." I get a call saying they are forcing me into a marriage. I can't hear all of this and stay silent only because of risks. Though I know no one would pay attention or listen to what I say, I can't stay silent either. Ibrahimi: What is your message to women who are home-imprisoned in Afghanistan? For those who are not giving up even in this situation? Amiri: The current situation is truly frightening, especially here in Afghanistan, unlike anywhere else in the world. When I look at the struggles faced by girls in Afghanistan and compare them to girls in other countries, it's disheartening. I'm convinced that if girls elsewhere were dealing with the same challenges as Afghan girls, they might not show half the resilience and determination. I recall an interview I had with a Spanish media outlet where I highlighted that even though Afghan girls are forbidden from receiving an education, they refuse to give up. They find alternatives, a fact that surprised the journalist. She mentioned that if her daughter encountered something negative on her way to school, she would skip it, and she wouldn't allow her to go because they felt too vulnerable. The journalist was amazed that Afghan girls, despite having all paths closed to them, managed to find a way. To all the girls out there, I want to express my happiness at being an Afghan girl, standing in solidarity with those for whom all doors are shut. Every time I hear about an Afghan girl achieving something, it fills my heart with joy. Despite facing stiff competition, Afghan girls have secured scholarships that seemed almost impossible. Yes, I understand the struggles of all girls in Afghanistan because I'm in the same boat, no different from them. I, too,  was in the twelfth grade when the Taliban came and I was the one whose school was closed and was denied access to university shortly after acceptance. I've experienced being banned from work. However, giving up is not the solution; it's what they want us to do. They want us uneducated to mold the next generation into terrorists. In this challenging situation, we must make use of the limited opportunities we have. We might be forbidden from attending school, but we can still study with the textbooks we have, without needing the internet or any device. If there's no light at night, we have sunshine during the day. If we lack school textbooks, we can borrow books from friends, but we should never stop learning. If learning is halted even in our homes, it would be a catastrophic loss. Ibrahimi: The situation will not remain the same, and those who don't do anything will lose valuable time. Everyone should make use of their time so that they will be prepared when everything changes. Amiri: When the situation changes, the winners are those who have made efforts and not given up today. We had a similar experience previously as well. During the first Taliban period, some people gave up on learning and became uneducated. However, some individuals continued their education in some way, and they became successful people following the first period of the Taliban.

Fatima Amiri is an education and girls' rights activist from Afghanistan who made it to the BBC’s 100 Women in 2022. She is one of the survivors of the deadly attack on the Kaaj tutoring center in the Shittee Hazara neighborhood of Dasht-e-Barchi in western Kabul, Afghanistan, in September 2022 while she and dozens of other students were taking the practice public university entrance exam. She rose amidst the blood and ashes to fight for her dreams and those of her 150 fellow students who were killed and injured. In this interview, HerStory’s Program Director, Murtaza Ibrahimi, sat with Fatima Amiri and discussed her early life, advocacy for girls' education, the attack on Kaaj, her current status, and more.  The interview is being published in three parts. Ibrahimi: Can you share a bit about your background, family, and the role your family has played in supporting your education? Amiri: I'm 18 years old, born in Ghazni province, which is next to Kabul. Education holds significant importance in my family, prompting us to relocate to Kabul from Ghazni for better educational opportunities a few years after I was born. I am the youngest among my five siblings, including two sisters and three brothers. Despite the challenging security situation in Kabul in recent years, my family remained committed to my education. While concerns for my safety arose, they continued to encourage me, occasionally suggesting that skipping school might be safer. However, they never insisted on it. What's remarkable is that my mom, despite having the least formal education in our family, turned out to be my biggest supporter. I really cherish her constant encouragement; especially given the challenges we've faced in recent times. Ibrahimi: Which school did you attend for your primary, secondary, and high school? Amiri: When my family moved from Ghazni to Kabul, my sisters started attending Rabia-e-Balkhi Girls High School. My parents picked that school because we were always on the move within the city, and Rabia-e-Balkhi was in a spot that worked well for us, reaching different neighborhoods easily. Because of my strong interest, I joined with my sisters and started school before my legal age at six years old, and it made sense – I got to go to school with my sisters, making our daily routine much simpler and safer. As time went on and my sisters finished high school when I was in 4th grade, I had to figure out the daily commute on my own. Even though my family thought it might be easier for me to switch to a school closer to our home in Dasht-e-Barchi, I stuck with Rabia-e-Balkhi. The familiar faces, the friendships I had built, and the feeling of belonging were more important to me than the hassle of a two-hour commute each day. In the end, I graduated from Rabia-e-Balkhi, holding onto the special connections I had made and appreciating the unique journey that shaped my school years. Ibrahimi: You mentioned that your daily commute to and from school took around 2 hours. What made Rabia-e-Balkhi special for you? Is there a standout memory that you still carry with you? Amiri: Rabia-e-Balkhi was different from other public schools because it had a sufficient number of teachers for its students – a rarity in public schools at the time. I vividly recall my brothers, who attended a public school in the Dasht-e-Barchi neighborhood, often complaining about the lack of teachers in their classes. What set Rabia-e-Balkhi apart was not only its curriculum, which mostly matched up to private schools but also the existence of extracurricular activities. We frequently had cultural events for various occasions, and I actively participated, delivering speeches and reciting poetry. One lasting memory from my time at Rabia-e-Balkhi is the discovery of my talent for reciting and writing poems. It all began in the sixth grade when my teachers noticed my potential and started encouraging me. Until then, I had thought I was just like everyone else when it came to reciting poems. However, when I started reciting poems in the classroom and during school events, it turned out to be a pleasant surprise for everyone, and they truly enjoyed it. I owe my success as a dedicated student to the excellent teachers and wonderful friends I had at Rabia-e-Balkhi. Ibrahimi: Rabia-e-Balkhi was one of the prominent public schools with students from diverse ethnicities and languages. Did you experience any form of discrimination at the school? Amiri: When I first joined the school, discrimination was unfortunately quite prevalent. Despite my deep affection for my school, I cannot deny the existence of discrimination among the students, even if it wasn't originating from the teachers. Perhaps it was just the nature of kids, but these instances of discrimination were widespread across the country. Allow me to share a memory that might shed light on your question. In the 4th grade, during breaks, students would gather for prayer as we attended the afternoon shift, leaving no time for prayers after I returned home. There was a small room we referred to as the mosque where we conducted our prayers. Most students were Sunni Muslims, praying with open hands, but I noticed one of my Shiite friends abstaining from prayer. Despite facing insults and criticism for my way of praying, I continued without being bothered. One day, when I asked my Shiite friend why she avoided prayer, she said that she feared revealing her sect of being a Shittee Muslim. While I may have been resilient, other students felt the impact of such discrimination. As mentioned, discrimination was prevalent in the early years, including language differences. The school had both Pashto and Farsi-speaking students. However, I believe it was a part of our childhood, and it gradually diminished as we grew older. By the time I graduated, I had formed strong friendships with Hazara, Pashtun, and Tajik friends, many of whom I am still in contact with today. Ibrahimi: When did you figure out what you wanted to study, and when did you start making moves to pursue that dream? Amiri: Back in 9th and 10th grade, my classmates and I used to chat about our future. It was during those conversations that I confidently declared my interest in computer science. Despite the concerns from some about my eyes and the constant computer work, my decision stayed firm. I couldn't ignore the reality of our country lagging in technology, which became obvious whenever we had to deal with things like applying for a national identity card or a passport. My love for mathematics played a big role in steering me towards computer science. I was pretty good at it, and I had great relationships with my math teachers throughout high school and in the prep classes for university entrance exams. During those practice exams, you could always find me acing the math questions, even if I stumbled a bit on chemistry or social subjects. The combination of my math passion and the clear need for tech progress in our country made computer science the perfect fit for me. Ibrahimi: When did you start taking prep classes for the university entrance exam? Amiri: My journey to prepare for the university entrance exam took a unique path. I began by studying at a madrasa, a religious school, and didn't attend a tutoring center, unlike my sisters. My routine revolved around going to both school and madrasa, with additional basic classes during the winter. I saved money specifically for these winter basic classes to ensure I was well-prepared for the upcoming academic year. When I considered enrolling in prep classes, seeking advice from experienced individuals, including my cousins, initially discouraged me. They emphasized the importance of foundation courses, a step I hadn't taken. Despite feeling discouraged, I stood my ground, citing my strong foundation in school subjects. Starting the prep courses was tough—I had regular school, English classes, and university entrance exam prep all crammed into one busy day. My daily schedule was a whirlwind – leaving for school at 6 am, returning at 1 pm, attending English classes until 3 pm, and then moving to another tutoring center for the university entrance exam prep until 7 pm. Throughout the day, I used breaks for assignments and quick study sessions. Evenings were allocated to reviewing the lessons from prep courses. The announcement of a special class for elite students in my tutoring center urged me to challenge myself, despite not having taken foundation courses. Persisting through late nights and firm determination, I surpassed expectations in my first practice exam. Securing a spot in the special class was a victory, especially considering the competitive requirement to maintain top scores in practice exams – a challenge I met, even with my hectic schedule. As my journey progressed, I and my fellows faced numerous challenges, including the disruptions caused by the COVID-19 pandemic and the political changes in the country, marked by the Taliban takeover. Ibrahimi: Could you share how life was for you before and after the fall of Kabul in August 2021? What noticeable changes have you experienced, especially regarding the challenges faced by women in Afghanistan? Amiri: You know, life in Afghanistan wasn't perfect even before the Taliban came back. Back then, when we went to school, there was this constant fear of terrorist attacks, even though the Taliban wasn't officially in power. The education quality wasn't top-notch, but at least we could attend school. It was something, you know? A sort of freedom, even if it wasn't perfect but we were making progress and everything was getting better. We could go to public places, breathe freely, and just live our lives. But now, everything has turned upside down. We don't even have the right to go to school anymore. People, especially women, can't even learn how to read and write, and that's a basic right we had even with the imperfect education before the Taliban. Despite the flaws, many of us managed to achieve things. Now, security is a mess, and hopes for the future are shattered. Forced marriages, restrictions on work and education, and even going to a park – it's all controlled. Women are told what to wear, and extremism has taken over, all in the name of Islam. Before the Taliban, education might not have been great, but talented individuals could get scholarships to study abroad. Now, women can't even leave Afghanistan without a Mahram. It's a nightmare. The situation in Afghanistan is heartbreaking, not just for women but for everyone. People are struggling economically, big time. In the past, even if you couldn't find a job, you could sell something as a street vendor. Now, even those who manage to earn a bit must give a huge chunk of it as taxes. It's tough to find anything positive in the stories my friends tell me from Afghanistan. Male students can still go to school, but who are their teachers? This is the question! It makes me wonder if it's better for girls not to go to school, to avoid being exposed to extremist ideas. If this situation continues, I wouldn't be surprised if women end up resorting to suicide attacks because what is being taught is even more dangerous and worse than being illiterate. In such a grim situation, a bad choice might seem better than a worse one. Afghanistan is in a league of its own – you can't compare it to anywhere else in the world.

Parwana was 15 when she was deprived of going to school under the Taliban’s regime, which took power back in August 2021 in Afghanistan. At such a young age, Parwana started to stand against the regime’s restrictions on Afghan women by recording herself dancing Sama and posting it on social media. For her safety, we use Parwana as her pseudonym and an AI-generated photo as her image in this feature article. The Sama dance, also called Sufi whirling, is a spiritual practice associated with the Mevlevi Order in Sufism. Practitioners, known as dervishes, perform circular spins symbolizing a mystical journey toward spiritual enlightenment. While women in Afghanistan are deprived of their basic rights, such as choosing what to wear, going out in public freely, studying, and working, Parwana began to dance Sama in public to criticize the restrictions on herself and millions of other women in Afghanistan. Following threats from unknown sources and the Taliban, she did not stop but turned to an alternative: recording herself dancing while covering her face and posting her videos on social media through media outlets. “It is really hard to do it here. After sharing my videos on social media, it has a lot of problems and challenges for me,” she describes how she was impacted by the threats. Schoolgirls in Afghanistan, including Parwana, who are now imprisoned in their homes, have started to spend their days learning new skills and thinking of pursuing a different path for their dreams and passions. Parwana was 17 when she discovered her passion for photography. Soon, she found herself in this beautiful art as a skillful photographer, using photography to showcase the unseen beauty of Afghanistan and Afghan women to the world. “At first, I started photography as my hobby, but after some time, I realized I was not doing this for myself anymore. I am doing it for my people,” committing to capturing things through the lens of her camera that often goes unnoticed in Afghanistan. Parwana stresses that the difficult circumstances and moments that millions of Afghan girls and women are going through should be captured. “I think with myself that there should be someone who captures these moments to show the world the lives of millions of girls at this time—that women and girls are still doing [their best] with this much pain and this much problem.” Parwana tries to reach out to as many girls as possible to talk to them, listen to what they have to say, and bring it to life through her camera. The photos she takes go into her photo collection called "Egyptian Lotus," which implies the concept of flowers growing up in swamps—comparing Afghan girls to flowers that have to live under difficult circumstances. As Parwana grows, she learns more about herself, and life, and shapes her beliefs by exploring different books from well-known authors. “When I read those stories, I think that if they could survive those times, then maybe I can too,” adds Parwana after sharing that she has been reading narratives and stories of Afghan women under the first period of the Taliban regime back in the 1990s. Khaled Hosseini, Lillias Hamilton, Elif Shafak, and Michelle Obama are some of her favorite authors. For Parwana, it is highly significant to keep her dreams alive and not give up despite all the challenges she and her fellows are facing in Taliban-controlled Afghanistan. “My dreams are very important to me, and I will do anything to achieve them, I know that one day I will have a speech at the United Nations, and I will talk about all of these women and say that I am only a teenage girl, and what is happening is not fair.” In her last statement in the interview with HerStory, Parwana stresses again the importance of continuing to introduce Afghan women to the world, “I want to show that women and girls in Afghanistan are so beautiful—their dresses, their hair, their homes, and all of their traditions—but at this time, they’re all trapped in their homes.”

Kimia is a 24-year-old artist, book lover, and university student. Before the fall of Kabul in 2021, Kimia would spend her days learning journalism at the university, reading books like Emma by Jane Austin, and watching movies. After the fall, she said she was uncertain if she could continue her education. For safety reasons, we will use "Kimia" as a pseudonym and an AI-generated image as her photo. “I was a university student when the Taliban came to power, and the universities were closed. After August 15th, we could finish one or two semesters during their period, but after the Taliban banned us from going to university, most girls have started studying on their own at home,” said Kimia in an interview with HerStory. On December 20th, 2022, according to NPRNews, girls were banned from attending university, which led to many girls being forced to stay at home. While most would imagine this would stop girls from wanting to grow and flourish, Kimia proves us otherwise. “Most of the girls I know have found something for themselves to be busy with; they try to attend online classes or start business projects.” Kimia herself has also changed since the fall. “I am one of those women who does not want to just keep thinking about marriage and stay in the corner of my room for the rest of my life, and that is it. In my opinion, the thought of a life like that is horrifying. I think that for the time we have left on this earth, we should go to school and university [get an education], and it is very important. But now that we have no access to it, we will still keep searching for a way to improve and not accept failure,” said Kimia. Passion for Art Kimia has been making art ever since she has known herself. She says she has used art as a way to express herself, and it is very dear to her. “Since I was a kid, I liked to draw a lot. I remember when I was in my second or first year of school, my dad was traveling to Moscow, and I tried to have filled multiple sketchbooks by the time he came back so that he would give me a gift/prize.” Now, art has changed its meaning and value for her. From drawing to getting a reward, she now holds drawing as a way to share her world, soul, and thoughts with others. “I think the most beautiful and meaningful pieces of art are created when the artists are going through a difficult part of their lives, like during the world wars or times when people were sorrowful.” Kimia also finds inspiration and motivation through art. “For me, if I did not have art, I would get very depressed, and I could not get along with all this amount of sorrow. Art is not only helping me through these times, but I also try to make an influence, be creative, keep myself busy, and survive.” What Kimia Says About Girl’s Education “I will tell the world that all of the people living in Afghanistan, especially the girls, are all warriors. You cannot only call someone who goes to war and takes up arms a warrior but what also makes us warriors is how we do not let our dreams die. Most of the girls in Afghanistan are now trying to keep their hopes alive in different ways and not destroy them. This is a fight in and of itself. We are warriors because we don't let the darkness conquer our lives in any way, and every single day we try to get ourselves out of this darkness. In my opinion, the world should know that the girls of Afghanistan are like warriors who are trying every day and can grow a lot if they have the chance to.” Future hopes and dreams “My hope for myself is to achieve all of my goals one day, and I am sure that I will, InshaAllah. For Afghan girls, I hope that one day they can get an education so that they can know their worth and capabilities and the world around them and have the right to choose the life they want to live. For my country, like everybody else, I want freedom. All of the people of Afghanistan are very hopeful that one day we could see our country free while we are still alive.” In her last remark, Kimia emphasizes the power of education. “The most important thing for the world to do is to help create educational opportunities for girls.” Showing us that it is only with education that a society can transform. Images Courtesy of Kimia | Submitted to HerStory