Under Censorship and Threat
By Farhad Kohestani | Part Two, Final
The direct and indirect threats facing women journalists under Taliban rule have cast a long shadow over Farahnaz’s work, at times placing her in serious danger. She says that on several occasions, while reporting in the city, she was directly threatened by Taliban intelligence forces and accused of spreading corruption.
“When I was out in the city, or speaking with people, intelligence officers would say, ‘You are looking for trouble and corruption. What kind of journalism is this that you are doing?’ There were many times when they took my phone, searched it, and deleted my photos and recordings.”
Farahnaz says these direct threats, on one hand, and the constant pressure of censorship during reporting, on the other, have taken away the joy she once felt in journalism. “Most of the censorship comes from the Taliban, and even our managers enforce it. We have no choice but to comply.” She adds that censorship does not stop at covering events; it has reached into the very words she uses. She says she is even forced to refer to the Taliban as the “Islamic Emirate” in her reports.
Alongside the broader restrictions imposed on journalism, and reinforced by media managers, Farahnaz has also begun to censor herself. Whether in the field or now working as an editor and news producer, she avoids topics that might invite Taliban interference. She says this has left her work feeling repetitive and draining.
The constant stress, the quiet fear, and the ever-present anxiety have placed her under a heavy mental and emotional burden. It has taken away her sense of joy. At times, she feels as if she is being crushed under a mountain of weight. Financial hardship has only added to this pressure, making even the simplest parts of daily life difficult. Struggling to survive on a small income, she says the lack of job security, and the mental strain that comes with it, make everything harder.
“As a woman journalist, I never feel secure in my job. Every day, I feel like it could be my last day of work.”
This uncertainty has slowly taken away her passion. She continues, not because she loves the work, but because she needs something to hold on to, and some income to survive. “It’s not like before. I no longer enjoy my work. I don’t love it anymore. I do it just so I won’t sit idle, and so I can earn something.”
Farahnaz also speaks of how women’s issues are fading from media coverage, along with the daily suffering women endure. This has deepened her sense of disillusionment. “Compared to before, women’s issues are covered far less. Women’s voices are heard less. Fewer women are present in the media. Media outlets do not focus on women’s situation, and they cannot, out of fear of the authorities.”
She says that both her own outlet and others across Afghanistan now pay far less attention to women’s issues than they once did, and when they do, it is heavily censored.
Strict control over content, especially on issues related to women, along with the limitations inside the workplace, have placed Farahnaz in an increasingly tight position. She says gender segregation is strictly enforced at work. In recent years, trust in women journalists has declined, while pressure and repression against them have increased, making journalism even more difficult for women.
The restrictions and prohibitions standing like a high wall in front of her have turned her daily journey from home to work into something shaped by necessity. The need to earn a living for herself and her family. The need to avoid unemployment and being confined to a corner of a room, which she believes is what the Taliban ultimately want.
Farahnaz says she no longer feels hopeful about continuing in journalism. She cannot imagine a future for herself in this profession. If she had the chance, she says she would leave both journalism and Afghanistan at any moment, and go to a country where she could feel safe.
It is a thought that returns to her often, yet it is mixed with a deep sense of helplessness, as the path to leaving feels unclear and out of reach.
Farahnaz, holding onto the fragile hope of one day reaching a place where she might experience even a measure of equality, and at the same time carrying the quiet weight of knowing that this hope may never come true, is forced to rise each morning and face a harsh, undeniable reality, life in Afghanistan, where she feels herself slowly crushed under the heavy burden of restrictions and discrimination. And so, for one more day, she gathers herself and steps back into an unequal struggle with life. By night, she returns home drained and deeply exhausted, or as she calls it, completely worn out, caught in a cycle that repeats itself over and over again, with no clear end in sight.
