Afghan women’s defiance and despair: ‘I never thought I’d have to wear a burqa. My identity will be lost’
theguardian.com
Sun 15 Aug 2021 02.00 EDT
For decades, the traditional Afghan burqa, mostly sold in shades of blue, was synonymous with Afghan women’s identity around the world. Usually made of heavy cloth, it is specifically designed to cover the wearer from head to toe. A netted fabric is placed near the eyes so that the woman inside can peer out through the meshing but nobody can see inside. It was enforced strictly during the Taliban regime in the late 1990s, and failure to wear one while in public could earn women severe punishments and public lashings from the Taliban’s “moral police”.
After the fall of the Taliban in 2001, even though many continued to choose to wear the burqa in adherence to religious and traditional beliefs, its rejection by millions of others across the country became a symbol of a new dawn for the country’s women, who were able to dictate what they wore for themselves again.
Today, there are burqas in the streets of downtown Kabul but women are also dressed in an array of different styles, many mixing traditional materials with colourful modern patterns and fashion inspiration from across the region.
“Afghan women are some of the most naturally stylish women in the world,” says Fatimah, an artist and fashion photographer. “When you go on to the streets of Kabul today you see this amazing mix of different fabrics and nods to centuries-old traditions mixed with very modern styles and inspirations. It’s this beautiful, creative spirit that was just full of hope for the future.”
Now the seemingly unstoppable advance of the Taliban has once again seen the burqa pulled out of dusty storerooms and cupboards by women who remember life under the militants’ rule.
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In Kabul, a sense of grief and panic has overwhelmed women in the Afghan capital. With two-thirds of the population under the age of 30, most women here have never lived under Taliban control.
In some households, the burqa has sparked divisive inter-generational conflicts. The parents of 26-year-old Habiba are begging her and her sisters to get a burqa before the Taliban enter the city, but she is resisting.
“My mother says we should buy a burqa. My parents are afraid of the Taliban. My mother thinks that one of the ways she can protect her daughters is to make them wear the burqa,” she says.
“But we have no burqa in our home, and I have no intention of getting one. I don’t want to hide behind a curtain-like cloth. If I wear the burqa, it means that I have accepted the Taliban’s government. I have given them the right to control me. Wearing a chador is the beginning of my sentence as a prisoner in my house. I’m afraid of losing the accomplishments I fought for so hard.”
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Many younger women in Kabul feel the same conflicting sense of despair and defiance. Amul, a model and designer, has worked for years to establish a small business and now she sees it heading towards obliteration.
“My whole life has been about trying to show the beauty, diversity and creativity of Afghan women,” she says. All her life, she says, she has fought the image of the Afghan woman as a faceless figure in a blue burqa. “I never thought I would wear one but now I don’t know.
“It’s like my identity is about to be scrubbed out.” |
