A New Accountability Mechanism for Afghanistan: What the IIM-A can (and cannot) do

The United Nations is creating an Independent Investigative Mechanism for Afghanistan (IIM-A) which will collect evidence of war crimes and other grave violations of international law. The new UN body will investigate, preserve and analyse evidence, creating case-ready files that prosecutors can use in multiple jurisdictions. Its mandate is not time-limited, covering past, ongoing and future international crimes and serious violations committed within Afghanistan’s territory. The move follows years of campaigning by victims’ and human rights groups and comes despite the wariness of countries whose militaries fought in Afghanistan and the current UN liquidity crisis. In this report, Ehsan Qaane explains what the mechanism will do, its potential contribution to accountability in Afghanistan and its limitations and risks.

Delegates attend a session of the United Nations Human Rights Council at the Palais des Nations in Geneva. Photo: UN Photo/Jean-Marc Ferré

On 6 October 2025, the United Nations Human Rights Council (HRC) adopted a resolution to establish the Independent Investigative Mechanism for Afghanistan (IIM-A). For those campaigning for this body, this is a huge win, which has at times looked uncertain amid a challenging global climate for human rights and fluctuating international attention to the ongoing human rights crisis in Afghanistan. This UN body will be tasked with collecting and preserving evidence of serious human rights violations and international crimes. The IIM-A will not act as a court or tribunal, but will function as a professional investigation hub, collecting, storing and analysing evidence and preparing files that can support future prosecutions in national, regional or international courts. It will complement and cooperate with other UN and international bodies, but it is an independent body.
The IIM-A follows similar mechanisms for Syria and Myanmar, each with slight variations in mandate and oversight.[1] These mechanisms are part of a trend towards supporting or incentivising national and international bodies to investigate and prosecute international crimes. Growing numbers of countries have enacted universal jurisdiction laws, allowing them to prosecute crimes wherever they have been committed, based on the principle that some crimes are so egregious they transcend borders. However, most national investigative bodies tend to have very limited resources, including investigators, country specialists and access to evidence. The International Criminal Court is also hampered by limited resources. By creating a kind of ‘one-stop shop’ for evidence, expertise and legal analysis, these UN mechanisms can boost the capacity of prosecutors to carry out investigations.

Given the sheer number of crimes, perpetrators and victims in Afghanistan, the hope is that the IIM-A can make it far easier for prosecutors – either at the ICC or anywhere in the world with jurisdiction – to take on the challenging work of prosecuting war crimes and other grave violations.

This report will examine the mandate of the new mechanism, explain what difference it might make and why civil society fought so hard for it. It will then look at some areas of ambiguity and identify potential pitfalls.

Mandate and scope of the IIM-A

The core purpose of the IIM-A, as set out in paragraph 25 of the Human Rights Council (HRC) resolution, is:

[T]o collect, consolidate, preserve and analyse evidence of international crimes and the most serious violations of international law, including those that may also amount to violations and abuses of international human rights law, committed in Afghanistan, including against women and girls, and to prepare files in order to facilitate and expedite fair and independent criminal proceedings, in accordance with international law standards, in national, regional or international courts or tribunals that have or may in the future have jurisdiction over these crimes, in accordance with international law[.] 

The mandate of the IIM-A is very broad, encompassing a wide range of crimes, an open-ended temporal scope, a geographic scope limited to crimes committed in Afghanistan, in addition to a requirement to identify the perpetrators “with a view to ensuring that they are held accountable” (para 26(e)). Each of these areas is briefly explained below. (For the IIM-A’s entire mandate, see paragraphs 25 to 32 of the HRC Resolution 60/9.)

Crimes covered

The IIM-A covers international crimes, which are the most egregious conflict-related crimes of genocide, war crimes, crimes against humanity and the crime of aggression. Its mandate also covers “the most serious violations of international law, including those that may also amount to violations and abuses of international human rights law” (para 25), which apply in times of war and peace, such as torture, discrimination and other breaches of civil and political rights.[2] When outlining this broad scope, the operative paragraph of the resolution notes international human rights law “including against women and girls,” which clearly indicates that the ongoing persecution of women and girls by the Islamic Emirate of Afghanistan (IEA) is of concern.

Temporal scope

Importantly, the mandate is not tied to a specific timeframe, but covers past, ongoing and future crimes and violations. The issue of time limits is politically charged, given the decades and cyclical nature of war and abuse in Afghanistan, as well as the time limitations of other mechanisms. The ICC can only investigate crimes committed after Afghanistan joined the Rome Statute in May 2003 and the prosecutor has placed his emphasis on ongoing crimes, de facto limiting his investigation to the post-2021 situation for now at least (AAN). Similarly, the mandate of the UN Special Rapporteur primarily focuses on ongoing violations and abuses (AAN), as does a potential case before the International Court of Justice (ICJ), focused on breaches of the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination against Women (CEDAW) by the IEA after August 2021 (AAN).

This leaves huge numbers of victims with no real avenue to justice. In theory, the IIM-A is authorised to examine the full historical record. However, the colossal number of potential crimes and perpetrators over decades of war and egregious human rights violations in Afghanistan will present a dizzying challenge to the mechanism. Combined with resource constraints, the IIM-A’s case selection policies will be critical (more on this later).

Place of conduct 

The mechanism will have jurisdiction over crimes committed anywhere in Afghanistan, regardless of the specific province or district. This country-wide scope could enable the IIM-A to track patterns across provinces and years, drawing stronger connections between evidence, crimes and perpetrators. It may also allow for a more even-handed coverage of harms suffered by affected individuals and/or communities. However, crimes committed entirely outside the country but linked to the Afghanistan conflict are likely excluded, such as the alleged rendition and torture by the United States Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) to multiple destinations (AAN).

Perpetrators

The IIM-A is mandated to investigate crimes attributed to both “individuals and entities.”  So far, only the ICC has a mandate to look at individual perpetrators, something that will also be vital for universal jurisdiction cases. This means the IIM-A can focus on individuals with command responsibility within armed groups, as well as current and former Afghan authorities and military forces, in relation to multiple crimes. In the context of the ICC investigation, for example, this might mean identifying other individuals within the IEA who might be responsible for the crime against humanity of gender persecution, beyond the two whom the court has already issued indictments for (AAN piece on those indictments).

In addition, the inclusion of ‘entities’ means it can also look at the groups themselves (para 26(e)). This could encompass a very long list, from the Taliban as an insurgency and an authority; previous Afghan authorities or entities within authorities (such as intelligence agencies); the Islamic State for Khorasan Province (ISKP); various former mujahedin groups, multiple foreign forces over several decades, from the Soviets to the Republic era. Granting the IIM-A authority to investigate entities may lead to the exploration of corporate accountability, though this is still an emerging concept in international law, and many countries, including those with UJ laws, have yet to codify it.[3]

Overall, this broad multidimensional scope mirrors the longstanding recommendations of Civil Society Organisations (CSOs) for a comprehensive investigative mechanism. Fereshta Abbasi, Human Rights Watch’s Afghanistan Researcher, told AAN in October 2025 that it kept “a high moral ground” by not excluding any victims or creating a hierarchy among them. However, it remains to be seen how well the mechanism will deliver this broad scope.

Why the mechanism matters for Afghanistan

The IIM-A can support existing and future accountability pathways for Afghanistan, particularly in the long term, by sharing evidence, analysis and case files with prosecutors in multiple jurisdictions – from the ICC to national courts and universal jurisdiction efforts – as well as in legal proceedings of a non-criminal nature. Each will be considered in turn.

Unlocking more universal jurisdiction cases

The IIM-A could be highly impactful in the context of universal jurisdiction, based on the example of similar UN mechanisms that have already demonstrated their ability to contribute to UJ cases. Most European countries, as well as Canada, Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, Senegal and Argentina have UJ laws, though not all apply universal jurisdiction in practice (see Trial International’s map tracking UJ laws and use).

The Syria International, Impartial and Independent Mechanism (IIIM) has become a clearinghouse for national war crimes units, receiving hundreds of formal requests for assistance from multiple jurisdictions and contributing material to multiple domestic prosecutions. Its 2024 report states that it has supported 215 investigations, including publicly disclosed contributions to justice processes in Germany, France, Belgium, the Netherlands, Sweden, the United States (US), Slovakia and the ICJ.[4]

Afghanistan has already featured in UJ practice in Europe, though the mixed outcomes – particularly weaknesses in evidentiary files – demonstrate why the IIM-A may be helpful. Dutch prosecutors have investigated six Afghan war crimes cases; only two resulted in final convictions for torture as a war crime. The Prosecutor closed two cases at the investigation stage due to inadmissible evidence or the death of one suspect. Judges acquitted two accused individuals due to insufficient evidence to prove their personal responsibility or command liability (AAN).[5] In the United Kingdom, one Afghan individual is currently under investigation for a murder in 2015; details have not been published yet (Trial International, p 108).

The IIM-A can help turn these kinds of uneven results into a steadier pipeline of viable UJ prosecutions by collecting and preserving evidence before it is destroyed.

The International Criminal Court (ICC)

The ICC investigation into Afghanistan could benefit hugely from the IIM-A. The Office of the Prosecutor (OTP) of the ICC is currently investigating alleged crimes against the Taliban and ISKP. It has already issued arrest warrants against the Emirate’s Supreme Leader, Mullah Hibatullah Akhundzada and its Chief Justice, Abdul Hakim Haqqani, for crimes against humanity of gender persecution in Afghanistan. The Prosecutor has said that he hoped more warrants would follow.

The investigation scope is potentially broad, but in practice, it was limited to the Taliban and Islamic State by the OTP due to resource restrictions as well as the “gravity, scale and continuing nature” of their alleged crimes (ICC). The OTP has been criticised for this approach, given wider accusations of selective justice as well as the risk that it creates a hierarchy and unnecessary competition among survivors (AAN).

The IIM-A could share evidence and analytical products in ways that meet the OTP’s evidentiary and analytical requirements and add immediate value to the ICC’s current line of investigation into the Taliban and ISKP.[6] It could also help address the apparent resource constraint that led it to deprioritise other aspects of the Afghanistan investigation by expanding its investigations to include additional perpetrators and examining cases before 2021.

The International Court of Justice (ICJ)

The IIM-A is also expected to cooperate with any future cases heard by the International Court of Justice relating to international human rights law. A case against Afghanistan is expected: in September 2024, four countries, Australia, Canada, Germany and the Netherlands, announced that if the Taliban did not stop violating the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women (CEDAW), they would initiate a case against Afghanistan before the ICJ (AAN). Since the ICJ is a state-to-state legal proceeding, any support from the IIM-A to the ICJ’s potential process would go through the state parties to the dispute.

Domestic accountability for military crimes abroad

Countries that deployed troops to Afghanistan under the Republic are expected to investigate and prosecute crimes by their own nationals that took place on Afghan soil. Some countries have already conducted military police investigations or launched public inquiries, but the results remain limited. For example, in Australia, an inquiry into alleged war crimes by the Australian special forces did result in a criminal investigation, but only one former soldier has been charged with the war crime of murder so far (Associated Press).[7] There are concerns that the longer the time between the crime and the investigation, the lower the likelihood of multiple prosecutions (ABC). In the UK, military police investigations have been criticised for their slow start, premature closure, failures to explore all evidentiary avenues and political interference (BBCGuardian). An independent inquiry currently underway may recommend further investigations, but prospects for justice for the victims of crimes that took place two decades ago seem slim.[8]

The IIM-A can accelerate cases in domestic courts in two ways. First, its existence may encourage states to step up their own investigations into allegations against their forces before the IIM-A gets involved. Second, the IIM-A can contribute to ongoing or future domestic investigations or inquiries by collecting, analysing and sharing evidence. National prosecutorial teams with limited or no access to Afghanistan could benefit from the IIM-A’s greater flexibility to work with civil society documentation efforts, combining the experience and access of CSOs with the IIM-A’s technical capacity.

Transitional justice

The open-ended time frame is important given Afghanistan’s prolonged history of systematic and systemic violence and crime through multiple eras of conflict. While current circumstances in Afghanistan do not allow for the implementation of a transitional justice programme, when this changes, the country will need a foundation of evidence and analysis (see AAN’s report on Afghanistan’s transitional justice process). The IIM-A’s work could make a significant contribution to future transitional justice efforts, particularly by preserving evidence archives. This could be invaluable for eventual national reconciliation and institutional reform. Abbasi told AAN, “When an opportunity for transitional justice arises, the IIM-A’s authentic records will be readily available, enabling Afghanistan to act quickly and not miss another crucial opportunity.” Although much of the IIM-A’s work will not be publicly released (unlike the more public-facing reporting of the UNSR or UNAMA, for example), it could share evidence and information with future Afghan domestic proceedings, assuming certain conditions are met, such as fair-trial standards and witness protection.

How the IIM-A was born: civil society advocacy 

The establishment of the IIM-A comes after years of advocacy by CSOs, gradually gaining support from UN experts and member states. Before the collapse of the Afghan Republic, voices from inside the country were urging an international investigation mechanism. A turning point occurred on 8 May 2021, when a bombing at the Sayed ul-Shuhada girls’ school in Kabul killed 85 mostly Hazara schoolgirls (see victims’ profile on the Hazara Genocide Archive website). The Afghanistan Independent Human Rights Commission (AIHRC) publicly condemned the attack in a statement and appealed for an independent UN-led investigation. Shaharzad Akbar, who was the commission’s chair at the time, explained her reasons for this call to AAN in October 2025, stating that she had little faith in the domestic justice system.

The call for a new UN mechanism grew after the collapse of the Republic in August 2021, though it was often thwarted. The HRC held a special session on 24 August 2021, in recognition of the human rights emergency, during which calls for an additional mechanism were repeated but not adopted. Nasir Andisha, who has been Afghanistan’s permanent representative to the HRC, told AAN in September 2025 that the outcome of that special session was not what he expected: “It was very weak and inadequate to the critical human rights situation of Afghanistan.” However, in October 2021, the HRC established the United Nations Special Rapporteur (UNSR) for Afghanistan, with Richard Bennett appointed as the UNSR in 2022. Alongside this mandate, Afghan and international NGOs pushed for an independent investigative mechanism, a call which the UNSR echoed. Repeated open letters signed by dozens of NGOs were sent to the Human Rights Council (see this one, hosted by the International Commission of Jurists).Behind the scenes, the European Union was scoping member states’ interest in moving forward with the mechanism, encountering only pockets of resistance (primarily from former troop-contributing nations, more on this later).

It was in the lead-up to the HRC’s 60th session (Sep–Oct 2025) that the drumbeat for a mechanism reached its peak. On 28 August 2025, a coalition of 107 Afghan and international organisations released yet another open letter urging the Council to “act where it has long failed” (accessible here on Amnesty International’s website). This time, the European Union felt it had the support it required from its members, with EU backing virtually guaranteeing the numbers needed for HRC to endorse the establishment of the IIM-A.

The final resolution was hailed as a significant victory for Afghan victims and a testament to the CSOs’ relentless advocacy. “After decades of pleas for justice, we finally have some hope,” Akbar told AAN. Abbasi told AAN, “One year ago, establishment of a comprehensive investigative mechanism seemed like a dream.”

However, both Akbar and Abbasi acknowledged that the hard job had just started for CSOs. According to Abbasi, the IIM-A’s access to information and witnesses inside Afghanistan is not guaranteed. Thus, the IIM-A will rely on CSOs, which will give renewed energy to their documentation efforts, but this comes at a time when many are struggling for funding. Akbar said that CSOs could continue advocating for funding for the IIM-A and their own funding requirements.

Operational framework: current design and early indicators

The realisation of this mandate and the potential impact outlined above will depend to a large degree on its operational framework. The Human Rights Council resolution provides the foundational elements of the IIM-A, including its independence, primary functions, and its place within the wider ecosystem of justice institutions, but plenty of questions remain.

The IIM-A is an “ongoing” entity within the UN system (para 25). Unlike the UNSR for Afghanistan and UNAMA, whose mandates are annually approved by the Human Rights Council (HRC) or UN Security Council (UNSC), the IIM-A’s mandate continues until the HRC decides to end it. While this does not guarantee long-term funding, it eliminates concerns about renewal, providing a relatively sustainable basis for the mechanism. This is crucial, since not only is the mechanism’s work time-consuming, but it should ideally also provide resources for prosecutors in multiple jurisdictions over a long period for maximum effect (allowing for the movement or discovery of perpetrators over time, for example).

It is an “independent” mechanism, meaning that it operates independently of UN agencies, including the Office of the High Commissioner of Human Rights (OHCHR) and the UN Secretary-General’s Office (para 25). Nevertheless, it will need to synergise its activities with other agencies (more on this below).

Investigative functions: collecting and preserving evidence, preparing case files

At its core, the IIM-A will function much like a professional team supporting a prosecutorial office, though it is not a police force, prosecutor or court. As an “investigative” mechanism, it is tasked “to collect, preserve and analyse evidence” and information and prepare case files to support criminal or civil law proceedings (para 25). Collecting evidence involves gathering diverse materials, such as witness statements, forensic samples, satellite imagery or digital media, before they are lost or destroyed. It is required to “consolidate” evidence, so that scattered archives from CSOs, UN bodies or individuals are gathered, analysed and stored securely.

Some of the biggest impediments to prosecuting international crimes are the erosion or destruction of evidence over time, making the IIM-A’s preservation function critical. It can maintain the integrity and ‘chain of custody’ of evidence by minimising access and the potential for tampering with each piece of evidence through secure storage, forensic protocols, and digital safeguards. Analysis might require experts to verify sources, identify patterns, connect acts to perpetrators or provide contextual and legal analysis.[9]

Civil society will be crucial to the IIM-A’s work, particularly if the IIM-A is not permitted to visit Afghanistan (more on that later). Most NGOs do not typically collect ‘evidence’ to the standards required by courts, but the IIM-A can act as a filter and sorting house for their documentation.

Complementarity

The IIM-A is intended to be a bridge mechanism that works “in complementarity with, and without risk of prejudice to, competent and robust existing national and international processes” (para 26(h)). AAN understands that this language is there to satisfy the concerns of states that had military forces in Afghanistan and are wary of external investigations. A source told AAN in October 2025 that “The purpose is almost certainly to guide the IIM-A to avoid investigation of the same cases” under existing investigations. The legal concept of ‘complementarity’ recognises the primacy of national investigations, which would mean that, for example, as long as investigations or inquiries are ongoing in Australia and the United Kingdom into potential war crimes by their forces in Afghanistan, the IIM-A would have to be cautious about doing anything that might “prejudice” those processes.

In contrast, the ICC is likely to be more welcoming towards the IIM-A. In 2023, the Prosecutor, Karim Khan, announced a new strategic focus on cooperation and complementarity, shifting the OTP from being the “apex” of the Rome Statute to a “hub” within a network of accountability efforts, with a view to greater cooperation with other accountability mechanisms and national authorities.[10] The OTP may still want to protect certain lines of inquiry from duplicative efforts that might “prejudice” its work, but given the scale of the task it has, it is not hard to see how the IIM-A and the ICC can have a constructive engagement.

The history of how complementarity is used at the ICC, however, also shows how states can abuse the principle to avoid accountability. The ICC only has jurisdiction over crimes if a state with primary jurisdiction is “unwilling or unable” to investigate (article 17 of the Rome Statute). Ideally, the threat of an ICC investigation can spur a state into a meaningful investigation. However, states can defer an investigation by claiming that they are investigating, even if that is more of a façade of superficial or inadequate investigations, much as the Afghan government did under the Republic when it sought to block the ICC’s investigation, even though its own ability and willingness to investigate war crimes were extremely doubtful.

A lack of clarity over these boundaries could create disputes between the IIM-A and states or other bodies over case selection, without further elaboration, as well as highlighting the need for a dispute-resolution mechanism in the event of disagreement about complementarity.

The IIM-A and the Special Rapporteur

The resolution goes some way to specify how the mechanism will work with the UN Special Rapporteur on the situation of human rights in Afghanistan under paragraph 26(b). It directs the IIM-A to “Build on the work and findings” of the UNSR and make use of relevant information, “with consent of information providers as appropriate.” (This will likely include obtaining additional consent from victims, which will be challenging, even with goodwill.) Once the IIM-A becomes operational, the ‘collection and preservation’ part of the UNSR’s mandate, which was added to his initial mandate in 2022, will transfer to the IIM-A. This appears to be a logical use of resources — the UNSR was never adequately resourced to conduct large-scale, criminal-grade evidence collection and preservation. However, the core work of the UNSR’s initial mandate – to “seek, receive, examine and act on information from all relevant stakeholders pertaining to the situation of human rights in Afghanistan” – will continue after the IIM-A is operational. This means that the UNSR can focus on public reporting on the human rights situation and on engaging with civil society, while the IIM-A operates discreetly in support of criminal accountability.

The resolution calls upon the entire United Nations system to fully cooperate and respond promptly to the IIM-A’s requests (para 31). UNAMA, in particular, has gathered extensive information and potential evidence on human rights violations and international crimes over many years. However, the extent to which such information has been preserved – with a clear chain of custody or the required consent – is less clear.

The resolution also calls for the cooperation of states, civil society, business enterprises and other stakeholders to provide any information and documentation they hold or may later obtain (para 30). As noted, the work of CSOs will be particularly important, especially if the IIM-A’s field engagement is hindered due to the de facto authorities’ lack of cooperation. CSOs are able to operate (discretely) inside Afghanistan and possess a rich archive of materials, including victim testimonies and datasets.   Victim-ce

ntredgender-responsive and multidimensional approach

The mandate requires the IIM-A to adopt procedures that are survivor-centred and gender-responsive (para 26(d)). Afghan women and girls have suffered disproportionately under the IEA rule, as demonstrated by the arrest warrants for Taliban leaders for gender persecution as a crime against humanity. This will likely mean that the mechanism will ensure they have the relevant staff and procedures to ensure that crimes like sexual and gender-based violence are prioritised and that the experiences of women, girls and minorities inform its investigations.

The IIM-A is also tasked with adopting procedures which are “multidimensional.” Although this is not defined, it could imply that the IIM-A should approach its work through multiple, interrelated lenses, including the historical, political, economic and social dimensions, as well as intersectional grounds.

Budget and staffing

There are two funding sources for the IIM-A: initial support from the UN to establish a start-up team and a Trust Fund for voluntary (state) contributions that will provide long-term support. The estimated 2026 budget is approximately USD 2.5 million, increasing to USD 3.5 million in 2027 and 2028, with an anticipated increase to around USD 9 million from 2029 onwards (Oral Statement by the UN Office of Programme Planning, Finance and Budget). None of this will be guaranteed, however, until December 2025, when it is subject to budgetary review and approval at the UN (the Fifth Committee, UN press statement).

The budget is significantly lower than the Syrian mechanism’s budget, which was around USD 25 million in 2024 (Justiceinfo.Net), while the annual budget for the Myanmar mechanism is around USD 15 million (Reuters). The oral statement suggests this may reflect, at least in part, the cost-efficiency of sharing data processing, cybersecurity, and other systems between the existing mechanisms and OHCHR. However, a staff of 43 is envisaged for the IIM-A, to be appointed over three years, while the Syrian mechanism was allocated a team of 100 (IIIM 2023 Results Report, p14). It presumably also reflects a backdrop of a significant reduction in resources for the UN, with the Secretary-General warning in October 2025 that the UN could “race to bankruptcy” (UN News).

Risks, limitations and mitigation factors

The mandate reads well on paper, but delivery will be shaped by real-world constraints, including limited access inside Afghanistan, political pushback on cooperation, lean staffing and restricted funding. Experience from the ICC’s Afghanistan engagement, as well as the IIIM and IIMM, suggests that these factors will define what the IIM-A can achieve. The most relevant risks and limitations are set out below.

Managing scope and expectations

The IIM-A’s expansive scope is a strength, but broad mandates can collide with finite resources, cooperation limits and political headwinds, producing disappointed constituencies when some victim groups are left behind. This has been seen in the ICC’s Afghanistan engagement – first because of how slowly things have moved, and second, in the narrowing of investigative focus, as discussed. The IIM-A’s remit is even wider than the ICC’s, covering pre-2003 conduct and serious violations of the International Human Rights Law (IHRL) that may not amount to international crimes, magnifying the risk of over-promising relative to staffing, funding and longevity.

The case selection procedure for the IIM-A has not yet been defined, except for a direct reference to crimes against women and girls in the operative paragraph of the resolution and it will likely be developed and published when it is operational. It has been directed to take a “gender-responsive and victim-centred approach,” which should allow for some degree of proactive case selection to meet clear victim/survivor demands.[11] Some Afghan victim/survivor communities advocate for a ‘representative coverage’ model, which would include at least one feasible, high gravity case from different periods and parties, to provide some equity for victim/survivor communities (the author participated in relevant discussions).

Resourcingandphased capacity development

As discussed, the IIM-A rollout will happen amid a UN liquidity crunch, which may already have influenced the proposed budget for the IIM-A, which starts at a fairly low level. Beyond core UN contributions, which are limited, the mechanism will rely on a voluntary Trust Fund, which could leave it vulnerable to unpredictable donor cycles and political conditionalities. In recent years, funding for human rights accountability work has generally decreased and for Afghanistan in particular (OHCHR’s 2025 annual report and AAN’s report on assistance cuts in Afghanistan). Donors may attempt to fund specific types of cases, excluding those they do not wish to support, which risks politicising the mechanism.[12]

Universal jurisdiction is highly state-dependent

UJ cases rise or fall on the will and capacity of states to prosecute, which in turn depends on a wide range of factors, including their legal frameworks, access to evidence and witnesses, the ability to identify perpetrators and, in many cases, the requirement for perpetrators to be present in the jurisdiction of the state. In addition, the advocacy and involvement of diaspora communities, as well as other civil society and donors, can all be influential.

The impacts of the Syrian (IIIM) and Myanmar (IIMM) mechanisms are quite different, though there are multiple reasons for this. The IIIM has received 500 information sharing requests, mainly from European states, while the IIMM has received only one, from Argentina. However, unlike the Syrian mechanism, the IIMM also cooperates with the ICC, so universal jurisdiction is not its primary focus.[13]For the Syrian mechanism, there is a greater presence (or potential presence) of perpetrators and victims in relevant jurisdictions, which relates to migratory flows as well as citizens travelling to take part in hostilities abroad (mostly to join sanctioned terrorist groups) and returning to their home country.[14]

The presence of the accused is not always necessary, however. A number of states, including Argentina and Germany, allow prosecutors to investigate and issue arrest warrants even when the suspect is abroad (though neither country will hold trials in absentia).[15] In France, not only can warrants be issued in absentia, but trials can also be held without the perpetrator present: three senior Syrian officials were tried in absentia and found guilty of war crimes in 2024 (Reuters). France also issued an arrest warrant for Bashar al-Assad in 2024, once he was no longer a head of state (an earlier warrant while he was still in office was ruled invalid, see this Reuters report).

However, prosecutors with limited resources may also want to know that there is at least the possibility of a perpetrator’s presence to justify their application of resources. In 2023, for example, the German Federal Prosecutor declined to open a universal jurisdiction case against Myanmar, which was filed by the NGO Fortify Rights and complainants from Myanmar, because the accused was not present in Germany or expected to be present (also noting the IIMM’s case building work). The decision that was criticised by Fortify Rights, which argued that the movement of persons of interest can be dynamic and unpredictable. More cynical observers might suggest that such pragmatism could be overridden only when high-profile arrest warrants align with foreign policy or business interests (Western states were criticised for many years for turning a blind eye to corporate oil and gas dealings with the Myanmar junta, for example, see this Guardian article).

Where does this leave Afghanistan?  On the one hand, Afghanistan is of importance to the ICC, which is expected to welcome the IIM-A. In addition, Afghanistan is relevant to many European states, with large Afghan diasporas and a longstanding political and military engagement. Dutch prosecutors, echoing Dutch judges’ earlier decisions, told AAN in 2019 that a key driver of their Afghan docket was ensuring the Netherlands did not become a haven for war criminals (AAN). On the other hand, several factors may temper expectations related to Afghanistan.

First, under-resourced war crimes units in several jurisdictions may remain focused on Syria and Iraq; even with assistance from the IIM-A, Afghan files may sit lower on priority lists. Secondly, the ‘presence or expected presence’ determination may affect the prosecutor’s case selection. Many former Taliban commanders and IEA officials are subject to travel bans or do not travel to jurisdictions where they might be arrested. Similar considerations may come into play with regard to ISKP commanders. However, in both cases, mid or lower-ranking commanders can defect and travel, even under the status quo, while the longevity of the regime itself is hard to predict. As things stand, this could leave former Republic officials more vulnerable to investigation, given that many are already in countries with universal jurisdiction. This, however, is a relatively under-documented area, with political sensitivities for some in the Afghan diaspora, given the scale of past and ongoing violations by other perpetrators.

Thirdly, the growing political normalisation with the IEA, which in some European states is linked to questions of migration and returns, may dampen the appetite to pursue Taliban cases. Over time, some EU countries, such as Germany, have increased their de facto engagement with the IEA, apparently driven by a need for IEA cooperation to receive Afghan deportees (InfoMigrants). Other countries, like Norway, have chosen a path of engagement with the IEA despite the gravity of their rights violations. For example, in 2022, a senior IEA delegation visited Oslo, including Amir Khan Muttaqi, the Minister of Foreign Affairs and Anas Haqqani, a senior member of the Haqqani Network (BBC).[16] While they were in Oslo, Afghan CSOs requested the Norwegian authorities to arrest them (NewsinEnglish.no).

Domestic inquiries and cooperation challenges

As discussed, there would almost certainly be resistance from former troop-contributing nations to the IIM-A opening investigations into potential war crimes that touch on their forces. States with potential exposure could narrow cooperation or seek to ring-fence sensitive files. The recent ICC experience with the United States is the most extreme example of a state’s backlash. The US imposed visa bans and financial sanctions on ICC officials over Afghanistan (2019 and 2020) and Israel (since 2025). Reports suggest that the US might even sanction the ICC as an institution (Financial Times). While US foreign policy under Donald Trump is far from the global norm, there are growing numbers of populist leaders as well as hostility to what is sometimes called ‘lawfare’ by conservative governments (including in the UK, see this article by the NGO Action on Armed Violence).

AAN obtained credible information that Poland, which eventually joined the EU consensus on the resolution, previously opposed the notion of proposing an IIM for Afghanistan during EU internal discussions over the last four years (the EU drafted and proposed resolution 60/9, which resulted in the adoption of the IIM-A). It is believed this was driven by concerns about allegations against the Polish military forces (in 2011, seven Polish soldiers were acquitted of war crimes in an incident in 2007, see this BBC report).

AAN also obtained information about the UK’s attempt to restrict the IIM-A’s scope during the informal discussions in September 2025. The UK apparently tried, but failed, to modify the wording so that the IIM-A would “be complementary with” existing national and international processes, while the wording in the draft was “working in complementarity with” those processes. A source suggested that the UK wanted to preclude the IIM-A from investigating crimes that a state has already investigated. (As noted, in December 2022, the UK established an Independent Inquiry Relating to Afghanistanto investigate potential war crimes in Afghanistan by its special forces.)

Access and witness protection

The resolution equips the IIM-A to conduct field engagement (para 26(c)). The IEA has not reacted to the IIM-A’s creation, though it is highly unlikely they would permit investigations into their own culpability. They might conceivably permit investigations into historical abuses against their own forces, such as the notorious massacre at Dasht-e Leili, though it would be equally hard to imagine the IIM-A travelling to Afghanistan to investigate only incidents by one perpetrator without compromising their own independence.[17] Thus, it seems quite possible that the IIM-A will not have an on-the-ground presence. Recent practice points the same way. They banned the UNSR from visiting after critical reports following his visits in 2022 and 2023 (Reuters). They also publicly announced that they would not cooperate with the ICC (Al Jazeera).

The IEA’s control over territory, institutions and records means that site inspections, facility visits and routine subpoenas are unrealistic. As a result, crucial information archives inside Afghanistan, including court and prison ledgers, hospital registers, school and payroll records, procurement files and telecom records, may be unreachable, altered or destroyed, degrading their value as evidence over time. Very little forensic work has been done and what there is may not be admissible. Remote investigation tools, satellite imagery, secure digital intake and proxy interviewing across borders can be helpful, but they also come with trade-offs. Without on-the-ground corroboration, authenticity and chain of custody challenges increase; translation and cultural context errors also rise.

Consequently, working with diaspora witnesses and with CSOs working on human rights issues will be vital to the IIM-A. That said, in terms of witness protection and protection for human rights defenders, even Afghans in exile also face security threats to their extended families and associates. How the IIM-A navigates this will be of utmost importance.

Conclusion

The IIM-A marks a decisive upgrade from monitoring to case building for Afghanistan, raising hopes for greater criminal accountability in the years to come. It is the first UN body mandated to collect, preserve and analyse evidence to courtroom standards across all parties, all periods and in relation to International Criminal Law, International Humanitarian Law and the most serious International Human Rights Law violations. Other UN mechanisms, including the Special Rapporteur and UNAMA, remain central for public reporting and advocacy and offer a good complement to the mechanism. Properly used, the IIM-A could encourage universal jurisdiction proceedings, enhance the capacity and potentially the scope of the ICC investigation, support a potential ICJ case and preserve evidence for future Afghan transitional justice.

The reality, however, will also be shaped by practical limitations. The same features that make the mechanism powerful – its broad scope, ongoing mandate and open-ended timeline – also carry risks familiar from Afghan civil society’s experience with the ICC. It could raise expectations that collide with finite resources, political headwinds, limited cooperation and access constraints. The IIM-A’s start-up budgets are lean and phased, cooperation may be uneven and field engagement inside Afghanistan may be limited or denied.

The decisions made by the IIM-A regarding its strategic lines of inquiry and case selection will be decisive for both the mechanism’s impact and its ability to be truly victim-centred. It will be a fine balancing act to reconcile the broad scope, limited capacity and significant expectations.

Responsibility does not rest with the IIM-A alone. Its operations and independence will depend upon predictable, preferably unearmarked funding and state cooperation. Much will also depend on the resources and interest of national war crimes units to proactively pursue UJ cases where the evidence leads. UN entities could play a significant role by enabling access to important files and aligning their future procedures, such as ensuring broader consent from their information providers, enabling them to share their documentation with the IIM-A.

Measured against Afghanistan’s decades of impunity, the IIM-A is far from a cure-all and it will not deliver justice quickly or evenly. Its contribution can be to help stop further loss of evidence, improve the quality and readiness of files for courts, encourage more prosecutors to take action and keep justice options open until judicial and political opportunities arise.

Edited by Rachel Reid and Roxanna Shapour

 

References

References
1 Another UN mechanism, the United Nations Investigative Team to Promote Accountability for Crimes Committed by Da’esh/ISIL (UNITAD), operated from 2017 to 2023, primarily to support investigations by the Iraqi authorities. For background see this article on JusticeInfo.Net.
2 Legal instruments include the Geneva Conventions and their Additional Protocols and the Rome Statute (1998) which established the International Criminal Court and four core international crimes: genocide, crimes against humanity, war crimes and the crime of aggression. International human rights law is enshrined in a series of instruments such as the Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide (1948), the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (1966) the Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities (2006) and the International Convention on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (1966) and the International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (1976). See this UN list: The Core International Human Rights Instruments and their monitoring bodies.
3 Some countries including France and Sweden can hold entities accountable, see for example the groundbreaking 2022 Lafarge/Syria case (ECCHR) and Lundin Energy / South Sudan case (JusticeInfo.Net).
4 This was exemplified by Germany’s landmark Koblenz case (Anwar R.), which convicted for the first time a senior Assad government official for crimes against humanity in Syria (European Center for Constitutional and Human Rights).
5 The two convictions were against former KhAD (Khedamat-e Ettela’at-e Dawlati) officials. A third case, against another former KhAD officer, ended in acquittal, because the evidence was insufficient to prove personal responsibility or command liability. A fourth led to an initial conviction for war crimes linked to Pul-e-Charkhi prison; the Court of Appeal acquitted him in 2024 on a legal technicality, which was under appeal until he died in 2025 (AAN). There was another investigation into an individual implicated in the 1979 Kerala massacre but prosecutors closed the case in 2017 for lack of admissible proof (AAN).
6 The IIM-A’s gender responsive procedures also align with the OTP’s Policy on Gender-Based Crimes, including the crime against humanity of gender persecution.
7 In Australia, the government created the Office of the Special Investigator (OSI) in January 2021 to investigate criminal matters arising from the Inspector-General ADF (Brereton) Inquiry, which found “credible information” of unlawful killings and other violations by Special Forces (2005–2016). In 2023, former SAS soldier Oliver Schulz was charged with the war crime of murder of an Afghan civilian in 2012; his case is awaiting trial, pending the release of information by the Australian military.
8 The Independent Inquiry Relating to Afghanistan is not a court, but may recommend further military police investigations.
9 The IIIM says it received increasing requests for analytical products that help prosecutors establish elements of a crime, such as an entity’s organisational structure, see IIIM 2024 report, page 14.
10 See, ICC Office of the Prosecutor launches public consultation on Policy on Complementarity and Cooperation, 6 October 2023. The policy reflects a desire to work more cooperatively with national authorities working on universal jurisdiction, partly influenced by Khan’s own background working with a UN pre-prosecutorial mechanism, UNITAD (Just Security). There are also, however, concerns that “excessive deference to national systems could potentially leave victims without viable avenues for justice,” as expressed by the International Federation for Human Rights.
11 The IIM-A selection policies operate on the basis of requests, but also proactively, using three strategic lines of inquiry: detention; crimes associated with Islamic State in Iraq and the Levant and unlawful attacks against civilians and civilian objects. A cross-cutting theme is an attempt to “address biases” and include underrepresented persons and groups (IIIM Bulletin No 9, August 2023, p4). Its proactive work gives it some leeway to provide a more “victim/survivor-centred approach,” including under-represented crimes against children and gender-based violence, including sexual violence, as well as a focus on missing person. The IIMM says it prioritises cases on the basis of the nature, gravity and scale of each crime; the impact on victims; the strength of available evidence; the prospect of an investigation meeting international criminal standards; the likelihood of a court or tribunal taking jurisdiction over the crime, and the possibility of building a case against the alleged perpetrator. Incidents that include sexual and gender-based crimes and crimes against and affecting children are prioritized (IIMM FAQs).
12 This concern was raised in relation to the ICC following its opening of an investigation into the situation in Ukraine, when some states voluntarily funded the ICC. This was seen as influencing the ICC’s prioritisation and case selection policy, which ultimately prejudices its independence (Amnesty InternationalAl Jazeera). In response to such critiques, in 2022, the OTP announced that states can only fund OTP as a whole, allowing it to allocate funds according to its priorities.
13 The importance of the IIMM was noted by the ICC prosecutor when announced his request in 2024 for an arrest warrant for the Commander-in-Chief of the Myanmar Defence Services.
14 A 2023 analysis by The Syria Justice and Accountability Centre of more than 250 UJ cases relating to Syria found that “states are predominantly prosecuting their own citizens for crimes committed in the Syrian conflict.” While former Syrian officials were also prosecuted, these were mostly “low and midranked individuals” who had come to Europe.
15 See for example, the arrest warrants against Jamil Hassan, a Syrian Air Force Intelligence officer, in 2018 (ECCHR).
16 Muttaqi joined the Taliban in 1994 and served in various positions, including the Minister of Education (2000 and 2001) at a time when girls were largely banned from education, a practice which could amount to gender persecution. After 2001, he remained in a senior leadership role within the Taliban (his IEA biography is here: https://mfa.gov.af/en/page/30133). Haqqani was found guilty of terrorist crimes and convicted to death (later to imprisonment) by Afghan courts, but released in exchange with US and Australian hostages in 2019, before completion of his sentence (BBC).
17 For more on Dasht-e Leili and other mass grave sites, see Assessments and Documentation in Afghanistan by Physicians for Human Rights, which conducted several forensic investigations.

 

A New Accountability Mechanism for Afghanistan: What the IIM-A can (and cannot) do
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Five Ways Pakistan Is Trying To ‘Hide’ Its Own Blunders In Afghanistan

Sarral Sharma

NDTV (India) Opinion,

Updated:
Nov 04, 2025 15:53 pm IST
Pakistan is working to shift the global narrative in its favour amid ongoing tensions with Afghanistan and uncertainty regarding peace negotiations with the interim Taliban government. To achieve this, Islamabad is portraying itself as a victim of cross-border terrorism, calling the Taliban uncooperative, seeking external support from Western and friendly Islamic nations on the issue, justifying aggressive military actions in Afghanistan, and blaming India for the rift with the Taliban. All these factors also contribute to Pakistan’s attempts to hide its “strategic depth” policy failure in Afghanistan and coerce the Taliban leadership to fall in line or face consequences. Riding high on renewed ties with the United States and a growing diplomatic role in the Middle East, Pakistan believes it can reshape the perception about Afghanistan. While this tactic may work in the short term, Islamabad risks alienating the Taliban in the long run.

Pak Plays Victim

First, Pakistan is presenting itself internationally as the victim of cross-terrorism allegedly originating from Afghan territory. Islamabad has repeatedly accused the Taliban-led interim government of harbouring the Tehrik‑i‑Taliban Pakistan (TTP) and other militant groups that attack Pakistani armed forces. In the most recent round of talks in Istanbul (with mediation from Turkey and Qatar), Pakistan initially declared: “The dialogue…ended without any workable solution” and accused the Afghan side of being “indifferent to Pakistan’s losses”. However, the recent negotiations were extended due to third-party mediation efforts and finally concluded on October 30, with plans to hold the next round on November 6 in Istanbul. By emphasising its own sufferings and sacrifices, Pakistan is now portraying itself as a responsible, peace-seeking neighbour whose diplomatic overtures have been rejected due to the Taliban’s intransigence. This victim narrative gives Islamabad moral cover in international forums.

A ‘Peace Warrior’

Second, by pointing the finger at the Taliban and declaring its own peaceful credentials, Pakistan can claim the role of the peace warrior. The Pakistani side has claimed that the country had “always desired, advocated and immensely sacrificed for peace and prosperity for the people of Afghanistan” and warned that “Pakistan’s patience has run its course”. Whereas Pakistan’s army chief, Field Marshal Syed Asim Munir, warned the Afghan Taliban to choose between “peace and chaos”, and stated in January 2024, “when it comes to the safety and security of every single Pakistani, the whole of Afghanistan can be damned”. In doing so, Pakistan presents itself as both a willing negotiator and a powerful military force that reserves the right to act. This matters because the international community generally favours diplomatic negotiations over military solutions. Therefore, Pakistan’s argument that it engaged with the Taliban in Doha and Istanbul, but that the latter allegedly backtracked on commitments, gives Islamabad a diplomatic advantage and allows it to shift the blame away from itself and onto Kabul for bilateral tensions.

Look At What It Says To The World

Third, the failure of negotiations helps Pakistan mobilise external support from the West and some Islamic countries to pressure the Taliban. Islamabad has long argued with Washington that Kabul cannot be stable unless Pakistan’s security concerns (especially the TTP) are addressed. With the Taliban’s limited role in controlling militancy in Pakistan, which it considers the latter’s “internal problem”, Islamabad may use the uncertainty around peace talks as an example of the Taliban’s unreliability and solicit financial aid, intelligence, and military cooperation, or diplomatic backing from Western capitals on the issue. Notably, Pakistan remains a close counterterrorism partner of the United States and has strengthened bilateral security cooperation under the Donald Trump administration. With renewed support from Washington and ongoing tensions between the US and Afghanistan over the issue of the Bagram airbase control, Islamabad sees an opportunity to bolster its external support and portray the Taliban as a threat to regional and global security.

Justifying Its Aggression

Fourth, the diplomatic impasse gives Pakistan a convenient justification for an aggressive military strategy against Afghanistan under the pretext of counterterrorism operations against TTP and its affiliates. For example, Defence Minister Khawaja Asif threatened Afghanistan that Pakistan did not need “even a fraction of its full arsenal to completely obliterate the Taliban regime” if provoked further. The temporary breakdown of diplomacy between the two countries may lead to Pakistan using force and carrying out more and deeper strikes inside Afghanistan, such as in Kabul or Kandahar. In Pakistan, there are growing calls for ‘open war’ or redrawing the Durand Line by forcefully capturing some territories in eastern Afghanistan. Other options include increasing airstrikes on so-called militant hideouts, decapitation of top TTP leaders, and even attempts at regime change or a reshuffle in the current Taliban administration in Kabul. These options are possible as Pakistan is working to shape a global narrative that, if the ceasefire fails and peace talks with the Taliban break down, it reserves the right to take escalatory actions against Afghanistan.

Blaming India, As Usual

Fifth, Pakistan is also using the deadlock with the Taliban to further its propaganda that India is supposedly interfering via Afghanistan by supporting certain militant outfits. In its recent narrative, Islamabad is increasingly blaming India for influencing the Taliban regime to allegedly destabilise Pakistan’s western region. While Islamabad has failed to provide any evidence proving India’s involvement, this narrative serves the purpose of Pakistan’s military establishment: shifting attention away from its own counterterrorism policy failures, pressuring the Taliban, and placing India in the role of a destabiliser in the region. Pakistan is unsettled after the recent multi-day visit of the Acting Foreign Minister of the interim Taliban government, Amir Khan Muttaqi, to India. Muttaqi lauded India as a “close friend” that provides humanitarian aid, and announced Afghanistan’s desire for “mutual respect, trade, and people-to-people relations” with India.

Additionally, New Delhi recently agreed to upgrade its “technical” mission in Kabul to a full embassy. For Pakistan, the burgeoning India-Afghanistan relationship under the Taliban regime in Kabul is a clear failure of its decades-old “strategic depth” policy. To express its disapproval and frustration, Pakistan carried out airstrikes in Kabul, allegedly targeting key TTP leaders, during Muttaqi’s visit to India. This shows Pakistan will not accept growing diplomatic ties between Kabul and New Delhi and may intensify pressure on the Taliban through military strikes and narrative warfare against India. Nevertheless, these tactics will not solve Pakistan’s core issues with the Taliban administration, improve the internal security situation, or address deep ethnic divisions within the country.

By combining these reasons, Pakistan may extract short-term gains from ongoing tensions with the Taliban. The third-party mediation from Qatar and Turkey provides Pakistan with an additional advantage to pressure the Taliban and shape the global narrative and outcomes of the talks in its favor. Here, Pakistan’s aim is to change the Taliban’s behaviour in its favor, limit Kabul’s ties with New Delhi, and use regional instability as a time-tested tool to garner international attention.

However, this approach also poses certain risks to Pakistan. By leaning heavily on military operations and coercive diplomacy, Pakistan may further alienate the Afghan Taliban, reduce its influence, and increase the probability of a broader armed confrontation. The Taliban may turn away from Pakistan and cultivate new partnerships within the region and outside. Unlike the first Taliban regime in the late 1990s, Taliban 2.0 does not want to accept Pakistan’s policy directives and expects respectful treatment from its neighbour. On the other hand, Pakistan is not ready to accept the Taliban’s independent policy lines, especially Afghanistan’s growing ties with India, and would continue to push for a malleable leadership in Kabul. Even after four years, Islamabad has still not officially recognised the Taliban regime as the legitimate government of Afghanistan. This has generated serious mistrust in Kabul regarding Islamabad’s intentions and is one of the key reasons for tensions between the two sides.

‘Disappointment’ Is The Word

Since August 2021, Pakistan’s policy toward Afghanistan has shifted from one of triumph to one of disappointment. As the Taliban refuse to accept blatant subordination from Islamabad, Pakistan has decided to use coercive diplomacy, military measures, and the cross-border terrorism issue to create a narrative in its favour, which will allow it to justify its hard actions against Afghanistan in the future. This strategy may benefit Pakistan in the short term, as the Taliban’s international reputation is already struggling with credibility issues. However, Pakistan faces the following risks: losing influence over the Taliban in the long term, intensifying anger among Afghans, especially refugees and those impacted by Pakistani military actions, rising local militancy, and possibly consolidating the disgruntled members of the Pashtun community on both sides of the border.

Therefore, what remains to be seen is whether Pakistan’s aggressive policy on Afghanistan would ultimately pressure the Taliban and bring long-term peace to the two countries, or whether the regional instability would again help garner international attention and material support for Islamabad. One thing is clear: under Munir’s leadership, Pakistan’s military establishment is likely to use rising tensions on both its eastern and western borders as justification to further consolidate its power and deflect any calls for public accountability for its recurring counterterrorism failures and destabilising regional policy.

(Sarral Sharma is a Doctoral Candidate at JNU and a former Consultant at the National Security Council Secretariat)

Five Ways Pakistan Is Trying To ‘Hide’ Its Own Blunders In Afghanistan
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What options on the Pak-Afghan table?

By Asif Durrani

The News International (Pakistan)
November 05, 2025

In deference to Turkiye’s request, Pakistan agreed to continue the talks with the Afghan Taliban in Istanbul. A meeting of the Pakistani and Afghan principals (possibly defence ministers) on November 6 is likely to yield a compromise that has bedevilled the dialogue process so far.

Turkiye’s Foreign Office statement gave the encouraging news that “all parties agreed to continuation of ceasefire”, and “put in place a monitoring and verification mechanism that will ensure maintenance of peace and imposing penalty on the violating party”. However, whether the Taliban regime officials agree to provide written assurances on a “monitoring and verification mechanism” remains to be seen.

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Earlier, during the meeting between the officials of the two countries, Defence Minister Khwaja Asif’s blunt warning to the Taliban to provide verifiable guarantees on the TTP caused ripples in Afghan circles. Meanwhile, the Taliban’s ‘ignorance’ about the TTP’s presence or activities had no takers. In this day and age, nothing can be hidden, so why claim that there are no TTP guys in Afghanistan or that ISKP cadres are in Pakistan, not in Afghanistan?

The UN, international NGOs, including Amnesty International, report clearly the existence of these terrorist organisations in Afghanistan. Not to forget that the prominent figures of the Taliban leadership are still on the 1267 travel list.

The Istanbul talks brought home three points about the Taliban’s modus operandi towards their interlocutors. First, the decision-making process of the Taliban regime is highly centralised; nothing moves without the consent of Amir Ul Momeneen Mullah Haibtullah Akhund. Therefore, Taliban officials drag out the dialogue to the maximum to tire out their interlocutors. They also believe that yielding to a proposal or demand would give the other side space or reflect poorly on the Taliban.

Empirical evidence of their delaying tactics is the ban on girls’ education, whereby the Taliban officials maintain that they are still formulating a policy about the resumption of girls’ education beyond sixth grade. The question is: are the Taliban working out a rocket manufacturing formula that is taking so much time? The plausible answer is that through such delaying tactics, the Taliban clergy think that the people will forget all about the issue. But they are harshly mistaken; girls’ education will continue to haunt them unless they give in.

Second, the Taliban are stony-faced when confronted by opponents with incontrovertible evidence. For instance, while they are passionate about relaxation in transit trade from Pakistan, their Islamic ethics take a backseat when they happily allow the smuggling of contraband items to Pakistan.

Third, if cornered on the TTP, the Afghan Taliban tell Pakistan that “we fear that bringing pressure on the TTP may push them to join the ISKP”. They also admit that TTP cadres have already joined ISKP. Hence, taking action against the TTP would be detrimental to the Taliban regime. While maintaining this stance, the Taliban officials forget that they are not living on an island and their regime is bound to take action against all terrorist groups, be they ISKP, TTP, ETIM or Al-Qaeda.

The above observations are not a conference-room eyewitness account but a drawing-board sketch of a group of people who are ruling Afghanistan, about whom our ruling elite wore a proud smile when they triumphantly entered Kabul. The Pakistanis were led to believe that the “Taliban have broken the shackles of slavery”, without realising that soon Afghanistan would be ruled by a group with a basic knowledge of religious and conservative characteristics. Therefore, the Taliban regime’s actions do not enjoy endorsement from the Islamic world, especially the ban on girls’ education and women’s right to work, which have been unanimously condemned by the Organisation of Islamic Cooperation (OIC).

What should be Pakistan’s course of action in tackling the situation with the Afghan Taliban regime? If Pakistan is banking on controlling the TTP in Afghanistan as a panacea to the current onslaught by the terrorist organisation, there is a need to reexamine the drawing board. That’s where it becomes apparent that the TTP’s back can be broken, mainly in the merged districts of former Fata, with crucial support from the local people, of course.

Once TTP cadres within Pakistan are neutralised, the ones sitting in Afghanistan will automatically become orphans and lose their nuisance value. Also, political ownership of the problem by all and sundry would be crucial for a successful campaign against TTP terrorists. The same applies to Balochistan, where people must be made stakeholders if we intend to render the BLA/BLF irrelevant.

As regards the Afghan Taliban, Pakistan will have to show patience and leadership while tackling the Afghan Taliban diplomatically. Preference should be focused on intelligence-based operations (IBOs) to dismantle the terrorist infrastructure wherever it exists. The government of Pakistan should consider taking measures to make the TTP cadres and their leadership’s lives difficult in Pakistan and Afghanistan. As a first step, the government should issue red warrants for the TTP leaders holed up in Afghanistan and raise the issue with the UN Security Council’s 1267 Committee for their arrest and repatriation to Pakistan to face the law.

Second, the TTP’s narrative should be effectively challenged, including their religious locus and the legitimacy of their cause. It is encouraging to note that the TTP does not enjoy legitimacy in Pakistan, especially in the tribal areas. The TTP’s blackmail can be challenged by empowering the local population and adequately resourcing the police.

Third, Pakistan should send a friendly message to the people of Afghanistan, regardless of the government in Kabul. The Afghan people feel comfortable in Pakistan, which is Pakistan’s great strength. By deporting Afghans in droves, the anti-Pakistan lobby in Afghanistan will only be further strengthened, which should be avoided. Fourth, create a conducive environment for people-to-people contacts and business and investment opportunities, especially by encouraging Afghan businesspeople to invest in Pakistan. Afghan businesspeople will be ready to invest billions of dollars in Pakistan, provided their investments are secure.

The writer is a former ambassador of Pakistan to Iran and the UAE. He is also a former special representative of Pakistan for Afghanistan and currently serves as a senior research fellow at the Islamabad Policy Research Institute (IPRI).

What options on the Pak-Afghan table?
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Disco, Djinns and 5-Star Service in Afghanistan

THE FINEST HOTEL IN KABUL: A People’s History of Afghanistan, by Lyse Doucet

After an intense 20-year relationship, America and the West have largely ghosted Afghanistan. As the Taliban regime has implemented gender apartheid, as Afghans have endured hunger and earthquakes and internet blackouts, we’ve averted our gaze from the suffering.

To her credit, Lyse Doucet, the BBC’s chief international correspondent, who has been reporting from the country since 1988, hasn’t wavered in her attachment. In “The Finest Hotel in Kabul,” she’s made an uneven but ultimately compelling attempt to provide a “people’s history” of the country through the story of one building, the Intercontinental Hotel in Kabul.

The Inter-Con, as it continued to be known long after the chain that lent its name severed ties, was originally a five-star accommodation built by the British in the late 1960s on a hill at the edge of the city. From the start it was meant for foreigners and the Afghan elite; ordinary Kabulis rarely passed through its doors, except to work. In the opening chapters, Doucet details its glamorous early years while telling the story of the employees who made it run, and, she says, found a second home there.

Doucet does have an eye for the black comedy of successive regimes assuming control of both country and hotel. In 1973, the hotel staff takes down the king’s portraits after he is deposed, then in the succeeding three decades do the same for a series of presidents and commanders, all of them exiled or executed. After the Soviet withdrawal in 1989, a dozen mujahedeen squeeze, with their rifles and rocket launchers, into the hotel’s unfamiliar revolving door, only to smash it in frustration.

For a good chunk of the book, I questioned Doucet’s choice to tell the country’s story through this particular place. As a foreign correspondent I spent time at the Inter-Con, though nowhere near as much as Doucet. The mix of warlords, government officials, spies and diplomats there was always intriguing, but I never considered it representative.

As Doucet herself writes, “The Hotel Intercontinental Kabul felt like a different country.” It’s not until the mujahedeen take power in 1992 that she lets slip that Afghan traditional dress had not previously been encouraged in the hotel, and that even the few local musicians who performed for guests usually covered their baggy tunics in sequins. Could there be any clearer sign that, despite its loyal employees, this was not a “people’s” place?

But at some point, the book rises — or falls — into the more representative history Doucet aims for. Violence and loss are so ubiquitous in Afghanistan’s recent history that no one and no fortress, not even the “finest hotel,” can avoid them. The Inter-Con comes into its morbid own as a vehicle for Afghanistan’s story. And a somewhat plodding, occasionally frothy book becomes both riveting and sad.

During the height of the fighting in 1993, an Inter-Con housekeeper named Hazrat finds he is unable to cross the city to reach the hotel. He ekes out a living making matchboxes at home with his family, Doucet writes, for “a city mostly lit by hurricane lamps and candlewicks.” A rocket strikes the house, killing his niece. When the family sets out for a safer area, another rocket kills his brother.

The cover of “The Finest Hotel in Kabul,” by Lyse Doucet.

The hotel gets a new life during the two-decade American presence that comes with the U.S. invasion in 2001, but its identity as a Westernized hub makes it a target: It’s attacked not once but twice, in 2011 and again in 2018. Employees see guests and friends murdered. Some come to believe the hotel is haunted by djinns.

Doucet’s long focus pays off. In the early ’70s, Hazrat, the housekeeper, is an optimistic 20-year-old bartending at a discothèque for extra cash. Nearly a half-century later, in 2018, he’s pushing 70 and hiding for more than 10 hours in a tiny, dark cleaners’ closet while the hotel is under siege.

“In just one night, more of the hotel had been destroyed than in all the war-torn decades gone by,” Doucet writes of that attack. “The ruin didn’t stop at marble, wood and steel. The hotel’s people were broken.”

It’s those people who haunted me after I closed the book. They are at the mercy of the power hungry. They may believe their fate is in God’s hands. Yet their sheer determination to survive, to feed and house their families and keep them safe, and to improve their children’s chances, never flags. If their absence of flaws doesn’t ring completely true, Doucet’s choice to highlight their ordinary heroism in this deeply felt account is understandable.

After the second attack, the hotel faces a new precarity. In 2021, Hazrat is let go in a large staff cut. Soon after, the government falls, and the Americans withdraw in chaos. The Taliban, back in power, greet the hotel, the second time around, like an old friend. A sign (“Intercontinental for Everyone”) appears at the bottom of the hill.

“Everyone” does not include women, who are ordered out of government jobs. Malalai, the hotel’s first female waiter and her family’s sole earner, is sent home. In a stroke of good fortune, she’s later brought back, not to work in the restaurant but in security — body-searching the rare woman who comes up the hill.

Amy Waldman is the author of the novels “A Door in the Earth,” which is set in Afghanistan, and “The Submission.” She is also a former South Asia bureau chief for The Times.


THE FINEST HOTEL IN KABULA People’s History of Afghanistan | By Lyse Doucet | Allen Lane | 423 pp. | $29

Disco, Djinns and 5-Star Service in Afghanistan
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Investigating the Secret History of a ‘Lawless’ War

The New York Times
Oct. 29, 2025
Over the course of four years, a Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist spoke with dozens of elite military personnel about misconduct in Afghanistan by their peers.

Times Insider explains who we are and what we do and delivers behind-the-scenes insights into how our journalism comes together.

Two months before the fall of Kabul in August 2021, Matthieu Aikins, a freelance contributor to The New York Times Magazine, began working on a story that would take four years to come to fruition.

The results of that investigation were recently published by the magazine as a four-part series, “America’s Vigilantes,” which also featured the work of the photographer Victor J. Blue, a longtime partner and friend of Mr. Aikins’s.

The series exposed war crimes committed by members of the U.S. Special Forces in Afghanistan and the subsequent cover-ups. It told the story of a unit that was responsible for the disappearances and deaths of nine men from a remote farming village. It explored how a pardon from President Trump cut short an investigation into a soldier accused of killing a man he suspected of being a Taliban bomb maker, and it even examined how a culture of flagrant military vigilantism is having an impact domestically.

Mr. Aikins has been reporting from Afghanistan since 2008. His coverage of the war and its aftermath, including a 2024 investigation into an Afghan general and U.S. ally who was involved in human rights abuses and disappearances, has earned him two Pulitzer Prizes. For this series, Mr. Aikins spoke with more than 100 people, including many members of the military. The Times also filed lawsuits to obtain thousands of pages of previously unpublished military records.

In a recent interview with Times Insider, Mr. Aikins talked about his four-year reporting effort, which he called a “long, dogged quest for truth.” This interview has been condensed and edited.

What is the biggest thing you hope readers take away from this 25,000-word series?

I think it’s vital for them to understand the secret history of this war. To understand how we’ve gotten to our current moment, where there is a clear and present danger that the military will be used in illegal and unconstitutional ways against American citizens.

How much of your vast access do you credit to your long career covering the war and the region?

There’s no doubt that many people respected the fact that I had been on the ground, that I had gotten access to areas of Afghanistan that were even difficult for the military to go to. I had become very familiar with the way the military works, particularly these elite units. I understood the entire organizational structure, the names of units, the names of officers, how military careers work in special operations, what their training entails. And I can speak very fluently in the military jargon that they use.

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Did you encounter pushback from members of the military?

Some people didn’t agree with the bigger picture that I was trying to portray, that there was a culture of impunity that had become a problem in the military. But a lot of people were willing to speak about things they had personally witnessed. I was surprised by the level of access we were able to get. I spoke with two dozen current and former members of Army Special Operations. There were some former Green Berets who were willing to go on record and accuse their organization of misconduct, which is extremely rare for people in elite Army units to speak out like that.

Why do you think so many of them were willing to go on the record?

The sense I got from talking to people in the military is that there is a real feeling of alarm about what is happening. They’re not partisan. They’re motivated by a deep sense that the system is being subverted and the country is headed in a dangerous direction. There’s a widespread feeling in the military that the country’s leadership is ignoring and flouting long-established rules and norms that are for the good of the country.

I was amazed how people were coming out of the woodwork. I had sources just email me out of the blue. It was really out of loyalty to their country, to their beliefs as a military officer in the law and the Constitution that demanded a very difficult choice from them, which was to break from this brotherhood of soldiers. And the price for that was high. You can be socially ostracized; you can face consequences in terms of what jobs you have access to after the military. It was really motivated by their conscience.

This series is largely focused on things that happened overseas. But can you talk more specifically about the domestic implications of your reporting?

This story is really about how a lawless war overseas came home to roost. Because this type of misconduct was allowed to happen unchecked, it now poses a danger to Americans. There’s no doubt that the language and rhetoric of the war on terror is now being mobilized by Trump and Pete Hegseth, the secretary of defense, against immigrants and dissidents on the home front. If you look at the way they’re using tools that were developed to combat terrorism in response to 9/11, they’re now being wielded against those they see as criminals or domestic extremists.

Many of the implications for the United States — the rule of law, the military and the government, and the embrace of this kind of vigilante ethos by our leaders — sort of came to pass in the process of reporting this story. Trump was elected. He appointed Pete Hegseth as his secretary of defense. Then they started aggressively pushing the limits of what were considered legal and constitutional uses of the military, including what would amount to lethal strikes against suspected drug traffickers and the deployment of military troops to U.S. cities.

A lot of this stuff had been hypothetical at the beginning of this project. Then it started unfolding in front of our eyes and really gave it an urgency and relevance that this initially more historically focused project didn’t have.

A version of this article appears in print on Oct. 29, 2025, Section A, Page 2 of the New York edition with the headline: Exploring the Secret History of a ‘Lawless’ War.
Investigating the Secret History of a ‘Lawless’ War
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The Daily Hustle: One serve at a time – A volleyball player’s journey from Kabul to Toronto 

Rohullah Sorush • Roxanna Shapour

Afghanistan Analysts Network

Breaking the rules: the first serve 

In my country, women face challenges in nearly every part of life — especially when it comes to doing something like playing volleyball. Many Afghans still think that women shouldn’t play sports, but there have always been women who’ve challenged these conservative ideas that keep us from going after our dreams. I am one of them.

The first time I held a volleyball, I didn’t realise I was breaking a rule. I just wanted to play. But in Afghanistan, a girl on a sports field is more than an athlete; she is a rebel.

I fell in love with volleyball the first time I served the ball over the net. I was already in high school in Kabul when I started to develop an interest in sports. All week, I looked forward to our physical education classes and was the first to show up, ready to jump in and play whatever sport we were playing that week. There were all sorts – basketball, track and field, football – but it was volleyball that captured my heart. It became more than just a game – it became a part of my identity. I practised every chance I got, even outside school hours. Eventually, I was invited to join the school’s volleyball team. By the time I graduated in 2013, I was a sportswoman and I knew that volleyball was my calling. I took the university entrance exam and was accepted into the Physical Education Institute.

Pushing past the barriers 

But not everyone in the family supported my decision. My relatives questioned it. One uncle once asked, “Why would you even study sports? What business does a girl even have in sports?” My parents were worried about what people would say, even though they weren’t against the idea of a daughter in sports themselves. My mother kept repeating a saying we have in Afghanistan: “You can close your front door, but you can’t shut people’s mouths.” But my brother supported me. “We live for ourselves, not for what other people think,” he told them. “Sports are good for everyone — men and women. People who exercise and play sports are healthy and have sound minds. Leave it to me to deal with what people say and let her study what makes her happy.” And with those words, I was allowed to accept the offer to enrol in the Physical Education Institute. I studied hard and trained even harder. In time, I was selected to join the national volleyball team. It’s difficult to explain how proud I felt wearing Afghanistan’s colours and representing my country internationally. I knew that every early morning start and every reproachful glance from others had been worth it.

Finding my stride 

Alongside my studies, I joined the Gender Equity Programme at the sports NGO, Free to Run, that empowers women and girls through sports. The programme introduced me to other sports like running and mountain climbing. I ran my first 10-kilometre race in 2016 in Bamyan. my first marathon (42 kilometres) later that same year and, in 2018, I represented Afghanistan in an ultramarathon (250 kilometres) in Mongolia. I did very well in the ultramarathon because all most of the other runners weren’t used to running at such high elevations and struggled a little. But I’m from Kabul, which is one of the highest capitals in the world. I was used to running in thin air and at 1,350 metres, Mongolia’s capital, Ulaanbaatar, is about 400 metres lower than Kabul’s 1,790 metres.

But I also knew that I had to gain other skills that would help me find a career after the one I had mapped out for myself in sports was over. I decided on sports management, and to make that a reality, I began a post-graduate course in Business Administration at Kateb University in 2016. My days were full and hectic. I’d wake up at four in the morning to get ready and leave the house right after the morning prayer to go train with my team. I’d get back home just in time to have breakfast, rest a bit and help my mother with some chores around the house. There was volleyball practice every afternoon at the Olympic Committee and university classes in the evenings. By the time I got home to join my family for dinner, I was exhausted, but very happy.

I trained with 15 other girls. We ran three days a week and on Fridays, we went mountain climbing. For safety reasons, we had to change our routine all the time. This was my life every day. My father was always worried about my safety and also about what the neighbours and people in the family would say:

You’re leaving home so early in the morning that it’s still dark. People will talk and I’m worried about your safety. What if something happens to you? I know we live in Kabul, but many people are still very traditional and narrow-minded – even some of our relatives. They keep asking your mother and me why our daughter is leaving home so very early in the morning. Where’s she going?

I’d reassure my father, telling him I was never alone, that we were a team of fifteen girls and had safe transport. But in my heart, I knew there was truth in what he was saying. Afghan society is still very conservative and women who are perceived to be stepping outside the line are regularly harassed. Even some men on the national volleyball team made us feel unwelcome: “Any girl who plays sports is not a good girl,” they’d say.

Women in Afghanistan often have to fight on two fronts — one outside the home and another one at home. Some, like me, have it easier because they have the support of their families, but many are not as lucky – and for them, the struggle can feel impossible.

Turning my calling into a career

In 2018, I applied for and was selected as a programme officer at Free to Run. This was validation that I had made the right choice and proof to the naysayers that sports were not just fun and games – and they weren’t only for men – that it could offer a career path to women too.

Working full-time meant that my routine had to change. I still left home early to run with my team, but now, instead of taking me home, the driver would drop me off at the office by 8:30. I couldn’t practice volleyball on weekdays anymore, but I was still on the national team and joined the training sessions at the  Saramyasht (Afghan Red Crescent Society) on weekend. On match days, I took the day off work and joined the national team on the court.

The experience really changed me. Sports went from being just a personal dream to my way of giving back and being a role model to other girls.

Playing on a new court: leaving home and starting over

When the Islamic Republic of Afghanistan fell in August 2021 and the Taliban retook power, I had to leave the country. The NGO, Free to Run, helped me and my family get to Canada. Leaving Afghanistan was the hardest decision of my life – I left behind my team, my friends and the only life I’d ever known.

My family and I had to get used to our new life in Canada – so very different to what life was like back home – and help each other through those difficult moments of homesickness. I still run every day and I went back to school and earned a diploma in Business Management from Oxford College in Toronto.

I also still work for Free to Run, as a programme manager, in their Omid (Hope) programme, which helps girls in Afghanistan pursue their interest in sports through remote sessions from home. We provide weekly indoor strength and mindfulness training sessions, focusing on mental health and resilience. I also work in the Marketing Department of a company called Blue Mountain in Toronto.

Here in Canada, my days are full again – active and brimming with purpose. I work at Blue Mountain Company from 9 to 5 and go for runs after work. In the evening, I spend about three hours preparing online training sessions for girls back home.

I didn’t know what I would find in Canada when I left Kabul. I certainly didn’t expect a large Afghan community, but there’s one here and many of the girls have expressed an interest in volleyball. So, we’re putting a local Afghan girls’ team together and this summer we plan to start practising. I can’t wait to get back on the court. I still miss the sound of volleyballs on courts in Kabul and the thrill of fans cheering us on.

When I look back at my life, I see a young woman who’s been shaped by her mettle, tenacity and hope. Sports taught me that bravery isn’t the absence of fear — it’s deciding to move forward despite it. In Afghanistan, I learned to run through barriers and in Canada, I’m learning how to run towards what the future offers. I dream of a future when Afghan girls can, one day, play sports openly — not as rebels, but simply as athletes.

Edited by Roxanna Shapour

 

The Daily Hustle: One serve at a time – A volleyball player’s journey from Kabul to Toronto 
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‘To the men who ran the world, I was just a photo op’: Malala Yousafzai on growing up, getting cynical – and how getting high nearly broke her

The Guardian
Saturday, October 11, 2025

The global icon of women’s education is ready to tell the full story of her turbulent recent life, from arguing with her parents to being ghosted by the statesmen who were once desperate to be seen with her

How smoking a bong brought back the trauma of the Taliban’s attack – an exclusive extract from Malala Yousafzai’s memoir

I am at the shed where Nobel laureate Malala Yousafzai smoked her first bong. No, there’s no punchline – it’s not that kind of anecdote. “My life has changed for ever,” Yousafzai says sadly, as we gaze at the semi-derelict structure. “Everything changed for ever, after that [night].”

The shed is tucked away at the back of Lady Margaret Hall, away from the prying eyes of Oxford’s college life. You have to know how to find it. Yousafzai leads me through quadrangles and out into a hidden garden. Inside are dusty pint glasses and spiderwebs, and board games with the pieces missing.

We are meeting on a bright summer afternoon, ahead of the release of her memoir, Finding My Way, a sequel to her 2013 bestseller I Am Malala. Dressed in a blue shirt, jeans and a headscarf, Yousafzai is accompanied, at a discreet distance, by two close-protection officers. The college is quiet – it’s the summer holidays – and Yousafzai attracts no attention from the few students who remain as she tramps across the grass.

Blazer: Sandro; Dress: Issey Miyake; Earrings: Alighieri
Blazer: Sandro. Dress: Issey Miyake. Earrings: Alighieri

This is not our first interview. Our last conversation sparked days of negative headlines for Yousafzai, back home in her native Pakistan. As we gaze at the bong-shed, I fear that round two may lead to more of the same.

In 2021, I profiled a then-23-year-old Yousafzai for the cover of British Vogue. The world’s youngest Nobel laureate – she received the award at 17, for her activism for girls’ education – had recently graduated from university and was about to launch her adult life.

Yousafzai began campaigning at the age of 11. Her father, Ziauddin, is an education activist and she followed in his footsteps, writing a blog for BBC Urdu about her life as the Taliban shut down girls’ schools across Pakistan’s Swat valley where she lived. When a Taliban gunman shot her in the head on her school bus when she was just 15 years old, Yousafzai was airlifted to the UK and made a remarkable recovery, resettling with her family in Birmingham, where she attended secondary school, all the while campaigning for the rights of girls around the world to receive an education.

When I met Yousafzai in April 2021, she had just got a 2.1 from Oxford in politics, philosophy and economics, and signed a deal with Apple TV+ to develop and produce her own slate of TV and films. (The deal has now ended.) We did an interview at a hotel in London before walking around a Covid-era St James’s Park. When I asked her if she had a romantic partner, she blanched. “I would say that I have come across people who have been great, and I hope that I do find someone,” she stuttered, visibly embarrassed.

Later, she mused on marriage. “I still don’t understand why people have to get married,” she told me. “If you want to have a person in your life, why do you have to sign marriage papers, why can’t it just be a partnership?”

Her comments seemed unexceptional. I was more concerned that the fact she’d told me that she frequented pubs could create controversy, given that Yousafzai is Muslim, and so when I wrote up the interview I was careful to specify that she did not drink alcohol.

The article came out. Yousafzai shared it, and sent me a message of thanks. The following day, logging on to Twitter (now X), I saw that #shameonMalala was trending in Pakistan. Her comments had been widely misinterpreted to mean that she was denouncing nikah, the Islamic institution of marriage, and implicitly to suggest that she condoned premarital sex.

She led Pakistan’s national news for days. Online commentators accused Yousafzai of betraying her religion as a result of western indoctrination. An influential cleric tagged her father on Twitter, asking him to explain his daughter’s un-Islamic remarks. (He responded, saying they had been taken out of context.) Parliamentarians in an assembly in north-west Pakistan even debated her comments.

Yousafzai maintained a dignified silence. And then, in November 2021, she announced her surprise wedding to Pakistani cricket manager Asser Malik. Many, including myself, struggled to make sense of it.

Malala Yousafzai sitting on the floor leaning backwards with her right arm supporting her, wearing a light-blue shirt with rolled-up sleeves, a lim-green textured skirt and a pale green scarf tied underneath her chin
Shirt: Stella McCartney. Skirt: Kent & Curwen. Headscarf and shoes: Gucci

Malala, what happened?!” I ask now as she walks, alone, into an empty conference room and greets me with a hug.

She smiles sheepishly. “When you asked that question [about meeting someone],” she says, “I felt like I was caught. It was like, wait a second, does she know anything? I was like, no, no, no, you know, I just don’t want to get married.”

In Finding My Way, Yousafzai reveals that, by the time of the Vogue interview, she and Malik were already dating. In other words, Yousafzai over-corrected to throw me off the scent.

But she was sincere in having her doubts about marriage. Growing up in Pakistan, she says, it represented “a future without any opportunity, where your husband determines your life”.

After the furore, her parents, but particularly her mother, were distraught. “She was so mad at me,” Yousafzai says. Family and friends kept texting articles. An imam from her village called to lecture her parents on the phone. “I was facing a lot of pressure,” she says, “from my dad, especially, and my mum, to issue a statement to clarify what my thoughts were on marriage, and I found this absurd.”

And then there was Malik. Yousafzai’s parents had met him, but she hadn’t felt ready to make the relationship public. She felt guilty for disavowing him publicly, but Malik didn’t blame her, and instead stepped in to help mediate with her parents. Over the following months, Yousafzai began to interrogate her views on marriage. She asked Malik about his thoughts on women and equality, and liked what she heard. “I’m supposed to be an advocate for girls and women, and even I was limiting my own self in how I perceived marriage,” Yousafzai says.

But there were other pressures, familiar to any immigrant child who has butted up against their parents’ cultural expectations. When Malik and Yousafzai left the house together, her mother would urge them to “maintain, like, a 10-foot distance”, she says.

It seems from reading Finding My Way that she would not have married so young were it not for her parents. She nods. “I felt like I was sort of giving up,” she says. Refusing to marry would have led to not only interfamilial, but international, conflict. “Am I willing to fight my mum and my dad? Am I willing to start a new debate on people living together without these ceremonies and traditions?” Yousafzai realised that she couldn’t live with Malik “without getting married in the traditional way, in the religious way”.

She could dig her heels in, but it would cause immense pain to her parents. And, besides, she was in love. “He’s so charming, he’s so smart, and I just could not stop thinking about him.” So she relented. On 9 November 2021, at her parents’ house in Birmingham, in an Islamic ceremony, Yousafzai married.

After marriage, Yousafzai realised that “things feel sort of the same. They’re not that different.” She lives with Malik in a riverside apartment in London. They split the chores; neither cooks, instead eating out or using a meal delivery service. (Yousafzai’s mother thinks this is “a disaster. She says, ‘Your house is the only house where there’s a fridge with no vegetables!’”)

It has been only four years since we met, but Yousafzai is much changed. The woman I met before appeared girlish, even a little gauche. She was visibly mortified when we spoke about relationships. Now, she is grounded and at ease. She also looks subtly different, having undergone surgery to improve the facial paralysis she suffered after the attack.

At university, Yousafzai experienced the sweetness of independent adult life for the first time. When we met in 2021, she described a whirl of college balls, societies and essay crises. Now she’s more willing to share the unvarnished reality of her university experience.

Malala Yousafzai wearing a long flowing white outfit and a black headscarf, standing against a dark-green wall
Skirt, shirt and scarf: Jacquemus. Earrings: Pond London. Cuff: Charlotte Chesnais. Head scarf: stylist’s own

In Finding My Way, Yousafzai writes of the pressures of having to travel internationally, maintaining the relationships critical to the Malala Fund, which supports girls’ education projects around the world, in addition to paid speaking gigs. She is the breadwinner not only for her parents and two brothers, but also for her extended family back home in Pakistan, and even family friends. (At one point, she was paying for two family friends to attend college, in the US and Canada.)

Did she feel resentful of these financial obligations? “It was difficult to manage,” Yousafzai says. She “hated the experience of thinking about our expenses for the next year and [thinking], OK, I have to do this event, because otherwise we won’t be able to cover these costs.

Her studies suffered. Yousafzai got a 2.2 in her first-year exams and had to seek additional support from specialist tutors, a humbling experience for the most famous education activist in the world. “I felt like an impostor,” she laughs. “I felt ashamed.” She asked her tutor to write a letter to her parents explaining that she was forbidden from working during term time because she was failing her degree. Why didn’t she tell her parents herself? “I had talked to my family many times about the pressure,” she says, “and how difficult it was to manage.”

She writes of how, at home in Birmingham, “my dad treated our house like an art museum, and me like the signature piece in the collection”. She would be summoned downstairs to meet visitors keen to gawp at a Nobel laureate up close. “My dad is a very generous person,” she says, “a giving person, and he always understood what other people wanted … in his heart, he knew that they wanted to meet me.”

Have there been times, I ask, where he’s pushed you too much?

“Oh,” she laughs, “he has physically pushed me.” When meeting well-wishers or guests at family events, Ziauddin has given her the odd shove. “You know when you have a little kid, and you sort of push the kid [to] say hello to this person? I’m, like, it’s fine when they’re little kids, you know.” But even when she’s grouching, it’s clear Yousafzai has tremendous love and respect for the man who, however inadvertently, propelled her on to the world stage. “My dad has always been supportive,” she says. “Whenever I explain something to him, he completely understands it. He is one of those cool dads, who never disagrees with me.”

But I fear even the world’s most down-to-earth father may have concerns about what Yousafzai – whose new book is likely to be a bestseller (her first memoir sold nearly 2m copies) – is about to put in the public domain.

And so to the bong incident. What happened that night: Yousafzai tried to walk back to her room, but she blacked out en route. A girlfriend carried her back instead. She couldn’t sleep. Her brain endlessly replayed a loop of the day the Taliban attempted to murder her. The gun. The bloodspray. Her body being carried through crowds to an ambulance.

She had always thought she couldn’t remember being shot. But the bong unlocked long-submerged memories, of the attack and also of a childhood growing up under the spectre of Taliban violence. “I had never felt so close to the attack as then, in that moment,” she tells me. “I felt like I was reliving all of it, and there was a time when I just thought I was in the afterlife.” She felt she was dying, or already dead. “It’s easier to laugh about it now,” she says, with a small, tight smile.

Listening to her speak, I feel deep compassion for all she went through as a young child. “I was nine or 10 when the Taliban took over control in our valley,” she says, “and they would bomb schools, they would kill or slaughter people and hang their bodies upside down.”

After the bong, Yousafzai developed anxiety. “I felt numb … I couldn’t recognise myself in the mirror,” she says. The sweetness of college life fell away. She told her parents in general terms about the incident, but “they were a bit dismissive”, she says. She struggled to tell them how much it had affected her mental health. “I just could not explain to them that things are not the same any more.”

Friends were worried about her. (Maria, her personal assistant, who lives in London, was so concerned she drove up to be with her immediately after the incident.) Yousafzai lied and told them things were fine. “I’m the girl who was shot … I’m supposed to be a brave girl,” she says. Until she couldn’t pretend any longer. “I’d be sweating and shaking and I could hear my heart beat. Then I started getting panic attacks.” She saw a therapist, and realised that her childhood, the attempted murder and exam stress were overwhelming her mental health. In the book, Yousafzai writes a list of her symptoms at the time: a racing heart, finding it hard to breathe, struggles sleeping, brain fog and a constant fear of someone she loved dying. “Normal people don’t have lists like this,” she writes, adding, “Something is wrong with me.”

“I survived an attack,” she says, “and nothing happened to me, and I laughed it off. I thought nothing could scare me, nothing. My heart was so strong. And then I was scared of small things, and that just broke me. But, you know, in this journey I realised what it means to be actually brave. When you can not only fight the real threats out there, but fight within.”

Has becoming famous so young also had an impact? “Yes,” Yousafzai says, nodding emphatically. She talks about how young she was when she started winning awards, and what it was like to go to ceremonies and see activists there who had spent decades fighting for a cause. It made her feel as if she needed to “spend the rest of my life campaigning for girls’ education” to show she was worthy.

But no matter how many leaders she lobbied, or projects she helped to fund – Yousafzai glows when she talks about the girls’ school she opened back home – she felt it was not enough. There was “always this feeling … could I do more?” Her youthful idealism began to flake and peel off in patches, and then rub clean away. “As I was getting older,” she says, “I was realising that things are not as straightforward. Things are more complex.”

As a teen, Yousafzai had seen the world as a biddable place. She would reason with world leaders! Show them girls’ education was important! As she got older, she began to see the world as it really is.

You became cynical? I ask.

“Yeah,” she says, “for sure.” She gives a bitter, clipped laugh. “100%.”

In April 2021, the US announced it was withdrawing from Afghanistan in August of that year. Within days of them leaving, the Taliban took over the country. “We had calls with the Afghan activists who the Malala Fund were supporting,” she says, “and it was just unbelievable. Some of them knew the worst was coming. Some of them still had faith.”

Afghanistan is now the only country in the world where girls cannot go to secondary school or higher education, with the only option available being madrasas that promote an extreme interpretation of Islam. The Malala Fund continues to do what it can. “We are providing funding for alternative education right now,” she says. “There are underground schools, there are radio and television education programmes.”

Yousafzai is heartbroken at what has come to pass. “I feel the world has forgotten about the women in Afghanistan,” she says. What stings is that “people were willing to trust the Taliban more than Afghan women”. Which people, I ask? “World leaders,” she says, “decision makers.”

Yousafzai writes of emailing politicians, begging for their assistance in evacuating her Afghan partners to safety before the Taliban took over. “For years, I’d smiled in pictures with these leaders, shaken their hands and stood next to them at podiums – but not one of them picked up the phone, or replied to my messages. To the men who ran the world, I was just a photo op.”

Who didn’t take her calls? She mentions Biden. Johnson. Macron. Trudeau. She notes, pointedly, that female politicians did. Erna Solberg, the then Norwegian prime minister, former secretary of state Hillary Clinton and Lolwah Al-Khater, assistant foreign minister of Qatar at the time, stepped in to help evacuate her Afghan partners to safe countries, in some instances without passports.

For many years, Yousafzai pioneered a model of professional activism: cautious, consensus-driven, willing to work with institutions, rather than calling them out; one that used the photo op and the handshake, rather than the megaphone and the protest. Her detractors said she was too corporate, but Yousafzai sincerely believed it was better to work with people and make incremental change. And then Afghanistan happened. Did she feel duped?

“I do feel like I’m more cynical,” she says. “But, at the same time, I do my work. I know that optimism is the only way you can keep going, because there’s no other option.”

There is a perception on social media that, as one of the most prominent Muslim activists in the world today, Yousafzai has not done enough to speak out on Gaza. This perception is not entirely fair. Through the Malala Fund, and personally, Yousafzai has donated hundreds of thousands of pounds to organisations that support children and schools in Gaza. She first called for a ceasefire on 10 October 2023.

Today, it is Yousafzai who brings up Gaza. “Israel has to stop this indiscriminate bombing,” she says. Humanitarian aid must be allowed in, she adds, characterising the starvation of civilians as “deliberate”. But, still, the perception lingers. Her critics, she says, “completely are dismissing or ignoring the actual work that I’m doing”.

Yousafzai describes what is happening in Gaza as “a genocide”. “You look at the evidence, you look at what’s happening, you look at how they’re [the IDF] committing these actions, and it’s very clear if they’re targeting people for collecting aid, or getting water. Everyone knows children are unarmed.” She also calls for the release of the surviving hostages being held by Hamas in Gaza in appalling conditions. “I’ve been very consistent in saying that the hostages should be freed … I don’t believe in using violence for resistance.”

Does she think she has done enough? “I wish I lived in a world where I could do a tweet and the world would stop the war.” After we meet, Yousafzai travels to Egypt to meet injured Palestinian child refugees, and announces a $100,000 grant from the Malala Fund to support their medical treatment and education.

“There isn’t a night where I don’t think about what I can do,” she says.

Throughout the 2010s, Yousafzai was the most prominent of a wave of child activists – such as the climate-change campaigners Greta Thunberg and Vanessa Nakate, or gun-control advocate Emma González (now X González) – feted by world leaders, invited to events, on the covers of magazines, writing bestselling memoirs, delivering speeches to adoring audiences. This cultural moment has now passed. The celebrity activist feels like a relic of a different era. Many question what these activists achieved.

The Malala Fund supports girls’ education projects in six countries. In order to maintain the funding streams, Yousafzai has to cultivate relationships with funders and world leaders, inevitably leading to accusations of selling out. Most of the people who slam her online will never achieve a fraction of what she has done for girls around the world. But it can at times be jarring to see Yousafzai enjoying an international jet-set lifestyle – days out at Formula One and at Taylor Swift concerts – interspersed with posts about Gaza or the plight of Afghan girls.

She is often compared unfavourably by her critics, particularly those on the left, with Thunberg, who is willing to put herself in physical danger, boarding the Freedom Flotilla and setting sail for Gaza. “I really look up to Greta,” says Yousafzai, adding she checked in with her after she was detained by Israeli authorities.

In April 2024, Yousafzai attended the opening night of Suffs, a Broadway musical about the suffragettes that she executive produced. Also in attendance was Hillary Clinton, a fellow executive producer. Online commentators flamed Yousafzai for being associated with the hawkish former secretary of state. In reality, Yousafzai says, she didn’t realise that Clinton was an executive producer on the project until after she had been brought on, and they did not work together on it.

“People say, ‘Oh, you’re at the Suffs premiere, you are an executive producer, oh, Hillary Clinton has these views, therefore you support these views, therefore you are also complicit.”

Being photographed at the same star-studded premiere as Clinton, rightly or wrongly, reinforces a persistent criticism of Yousafzai in Pakistan: that she is in the pocket of western powers; there are even longstanding rumours that she is an intelligence asset. When I ask her about this, she pushes back. “Pakistan is a part of me,” she says, “and so I get defensive when I’m asked this question. I say, no, no, no, Pakistan doesn’t hate me.”

She fears that by giving succour to the view that she is unpopular in Pakistan, she feeds into broader anti-Muslim sentiment: the idea that Pakistan is a country full of backwards people who instinctively hate educated women. “I believe,” she says, “and it is deliberate, on my side, that I have a lot more love and support in Pakistan.” But, equally, she says, “I’m not going to deny there isn’t any hint [of hatred] at all. There is. There have been these campaigns from when I was, like, 12 years old.

“The criticism is not against me,” she adds. “It’s more criticism against the west, criticism against these bigger narratives, and political conversations, but I am sort of attached to it.”

Still, it’s clear to see it wears on her. “I do find it sad,” she admits, “that I sometimes have to read everything 10 times before I post it, because I’m, like, what is it that will get people’s attention?

It is difficult. I do wish for more freedom in expressing myself.”

After I wrap up the section of the interview on politics, Yousafzai exhales with relief and stretches her arms out in front of her, as if we are colleagues who have just finished a difficult task and can now relax with a cup of tea and a biscuit. By contrast, when it comes to talking about her family and her relationship with Malik, she speaks freely, laughing often. She is happiest when talking about her plans for Recess, an investment fund with a focus on women’s sports that she recently launched with Malik.

Recess isn’t a non-profit, as I initially assumed. It’s a business, with the aim of increasing participation in women’s sports. Malik helped Yousafzai find her love of exercise. The fact that Malik is a cricket manager was part of his initial appeal, says the cricket-mad Yousafzai, even if her husband refuses to let her watch him play. “He says,” Yousafzai says, with an eye roll, “‘I used to work in cricket management! I was not a professional cricketer!’ I’m, like, uh-huh. He did not explain that before marriage.” She hopes that Recess will “create more opportunities for women in sports” and help women “get a say in sports at all levels, whether that’s from the field to the owner’s box”.

Before we leave, I ask Yousafzai if her parents have read Finding My Way. She says she has given them the gist of it, but they have not read it. “I have told them, ‘You will read it when it’s released, and you can pick it up from any bookshelf in any bookstore, and feel free to read it, but then you cannot make any changes.’”

I understand the logic, familiar to many first- and second-generation immigrant children, including myself. Ask for forgiveness, not permission. But I’m also floored. Because Yousafzai is a global figure: the bong story will, inevitably, unleash a maelstrom of negative publicity back home.

She is ready. “I am very prepared for that,” Yousafzai says, absolutely calm. “I don’t think I’m going to get defensive about it at all. I’m not going to issue any statement. If anybody has any confusion, they can read my book and decide for themselves.”

It strikes me as I walk away from our interview that she never chose any of this. To be shot as a child, to be airlifted to the UK, to win the Nobel peace prize. Yousafzai seems to be someone who consistently puts others before herself, whether it’s accommodating her parents’ cultural expectations around marriage, supporting her family back home, or dedicating her life to advancing girls’ education. “I’m working so hard to learn how to say no,” she says, “and to be more direct … I do sort of overthink about other people’s feelings sometimes.”

If the story of her teens and early 20s was of service to others, her late 20s are about Yousafzai choosing happiness for herself. I think she deserves it.

 Finding My Way by Malala Yousafzai is published by Weidenfeld & Nicolson on 21 October at £25.

‘To the men who ran the world, I was just a photo op’: Malala Yousafzai on growing up, getting cynical – and how getting high nearly broke her
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The Taliban’s internet blackout was a warning

By Shabana Basij-Rasikh

Shabana Basij-Rasikh is co-founder and president of the School of Leadership, Afghanistan (SOLA).

The Washington Post

October 11, 2025

I was talking to a teenage girl in Afghanistan last week. She was on her laptop and I was on mine. She was explaining to me how she came to understand that women don’t have the temperament to be politicians.

And then she vanished. One moment she was there. The next moment — gone.

She hadn’t shut off her computer. She had lost internet access, just like everyone else in Afghanistan. Tens of millions of people went dark in an unprecedented nationwide internet shutdown that lasted more than two days. No phone calls, no text messaging, no emails, no social media — nothing. A complete blackout for everyone in the country.

The Taliban said the blackout was due to upgrades to Afghanistan’s infrastructure. Was the blackout therefore merely due to technical ineptitude? Maybe. But even if so, the Taliban is very obviously working on implementing a dark vision.

The Taliban recently banned all books written by women from being used in universities in Afghanistan. More than a dozen university-level subjects have also been banned. Among them are gender and development courses and courses on women’s sociology.

Women, of course, are not attending these universities. Women haven’t attended any university in Afghanistan since 2022. Indeed, girls haven’t gone to school past sixth grade since shortly after the Taliban’s seizure of power. An Afghan girl’s formal education ends around the time she enters puberty. For the Taliban, no further education is needed for the only job a woman is meant to do.

“I’m 14 now,” the girl I was talking to, the girl who suddenly went dark last week, told me. “I have big dreams. I wanted to be a member of parliament; I’ve always been drawn to law and justice. Then I did research and found out that women are softhearted and cannot be great judges. So, I thought about other things I can do.”

In the space of four years under the Taliban, Afghanistan has become a place where women’s dreams glow only in a dim light. A place where a teenage girl can come to understand that her role in society is not what she desires it to be. A place where she can come to understand that she was wrong to even have that desire at all.

The internet is back on in Afghanistan now. And it needs to stay on. In 2023, when I spoke at the U.N. Security Council, I urged the international community to take the necessary steps to keep the internet accessible within Afghanistan. With the internet, I said, education could come into every Afghan home, into the smartphone in the palm of every Afghan girl’s hand. And we as Afghans — educators and activists — would take care of the rest.

But without the internet, it’s darkness. The Taliban made the internet go dark for two days. They can do it again, and they can do it for much longer. This cannot be allowed.

I’d like to talk to that girl again, the girl on the laptop that went dark. I’d like to share a poem with her, a poem that a different Afghan girl shared with me just a few weeks earlier. A teenage girl looked to the sky over Kabul and saw illumination there that defies all attempts at eclipse.

A girl cries,

not for her scars but for her rights.

She wants her wings to fly.

You can burn her wings

but she can grow them bigger this time.

Maybe you can make her wear the burqa

but you can’t hide what she has under it.

Maybe her mind’s brightness blocks your sight

but you can’t hide the sun with two fingers.

The Taliban’s internet blackout was a warning
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Iran has taken care of millions of Afghan refugees with little international support

Ayoub Heidari of the Iranian embassy contests the claim that hundreds of thousands of Afghan refugees may be released into neighbouring countries

While Iran has continuously shouldered this heavy responsibility largely on its own, international support for refugee hosting and integration in the country has remained minimal compared with the scale of needs.

Your report claims that Iran is considering “releasing” large numbers of refugees toward neighbouring countries (Iran may release hundreds of thousands of Afghan refugees into Iraq and Turkey, 2 October). No such policy or decision has been announced by the competent Iranian authorities. Iran’s refugee policy has consistently been grounded in humanitarian principles, respect for human dignity, and cooperation with relevant international mechanisms.

Publishing unverified or incomplete information risks distorting realities on the ground and misleading public understanding.

Ayoub Heidari
Spokesman, Iranian embassy, London

Iran has taken care of millions of Afghan refugees with little international support
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The Daily Hustle: Muhammad’s last journey – a story of survival, debt and loss

The Islamic Emirate’s ban on poppy cultivation has reshaped life in many areas across Afghanistan, especially in Helmand province, where poppy was fundamental to the economy and to many farmers’ livelihoods. This is the story of one such farmer, Muhammad, who, having lost his main source of income following the poppy ban and finding that persistent drought was frustrating his attempts to grow other crops and pushing him into debt, took the desperate measure of trying to get to Iran for work. He left his wife and seven of his children and set out for Iran with one teenage son. But his journey ended in tragedy: Muhammad was shot dead by Iranian border police and his son was badly injured. In this instalment of The Daily Hustle, Nur Khan Himmat hears from a friend of Muhammad’s about his final journey and the family he left behind.
My friend, Muhammad, was 45 years old, a farmer from Marja district in Helmand province. He owned seven jeribs of land (about 1.4 hectares), and for years, poppy cultivation was his main source of income. He grew opium poppies on most of his land and wheat, just for his family, on a small patch of it. When the Emirate banned poppy cultivation, he took to growing wheat and cotton. But the prolonged drought has ruined one harvest after another. His debts grew and it became nearly impossible for him to put food on the table for his family.

Debt, drought and the struggle for survival in Helmand

About a month ago, Muhammad rented out his land to another farmer for five kharwar of wheat (around 2,200 kg). He sold part of the wheat to repay his debts and kept the rest for his family. Then he joined nine other men from his village and set out for Nimruz province, where a smuggler had promised to take them across the border into Iran. Muhammad had twin 17-year-old sons; he took one with him and left the other behind to look after the family. These days, the journey is riskier than it has ever been and there are no guarantees of finding work or even being able to stay in Iran, if you can get there. The government there is taking a hard stance against Afghans. They’ve been picking people up off the street, even going into their homes or places of work and deporting them. There are even reports of Iranian border guards shooting people as they try to cross into the country. But he felt like he didn’t have a choice but to take on the risk and go there to earn some money.

The journey to Nimruz

By the time they reached Zaranj, the capital of Nimruz, it was already dark. The men from Helmand had already arranged to meet the smuggler who’d take them across the next morning. So, they spent the night in a cheap hotel and, early the next morning, joined another group that was also heading to Iran. But just as they reached no-man’s land between the two countries, they were caught by the Emirate’s border patrols and forced to return to Zaranj. The police made them promise not to try to cross illegally again. This isn’t unusual; many people try multiple times over a week or more, before they can successfully cross into Iran. The smuggler told them it would be better to try the crossing at night, using the cover of darkness to avoid detection by the patrols. After discussing their options, they agreed to try again that evening.

Crossing into danger

It was around nine at night when the group set out again. As they climbed the border wall that had been built by the Iranian government, the Iranian border patrols spotted them and opened fire. We heard what happened from two of the men from Helmand who managed to escape and make their way home to their families – although they had no news of their companions. They said that in the chaos, some of the men escaped, others vanished – no one knew who made it across the border, who had been caught and who had been killed or injured.

Later, we found out that, for my friend Muhammad, the journey ended at the border. He was shot dead, along with another man from Zabul’s Khak-e Afghan district. Muhammad’s son and another man from Zabul were injured. The Iranian police handed the dead and wounded to the Afghan authorities, who took the living to the hospital and the dead to the morgue.

Bringing him home

Later at the hospital, the police asked Muhammad’s son for a phone number so they could contact the family. At first, when they called, the police didn’t tell us what had happened. They only asked us where Muhammad was. We told them that he’d gone to Iran. That was when the man on the phone gave us the devastating news: Muhammad had been shot dead by the Iranian police and his son lay wounded in hospital.

With a heavy heart, I went with some of Muhammad’s relatives to Zaranj to bring them both home. They kept his son in hospital for two more days before they let us take him back to the village to recover. We also brought Muhammad back to his family and buried him in the village. This is how my friend’s story ends. He took a dangerous gamble out of desperation and lost. But for his grieving wife and seven children, the journey is only just beginning. They now face a future marked by grief, poverty and uncertainty, without their beloved husband and father.

The family he left behind

Every migration story is a tale of survival and in places like Afghanistan, survival can be a deadly business. My friend’s story isn’t just about one man’s misfortune – it’s just one story among thousands about the desperate choices that many Afghan families have to make just to survive.

I tell his story because details matter – how he lost his livelihood, the land he leased to pay his debts, the one twin he left behind and the other that he took along, the hopes he had of finding a living and supporting his family and the death of a good man who only wanted his family to survive – they shine a light on the human cost of poverty and the impossible choices people have to make just to keep going.

Muhammad went to Iran looking for financial security and a future for his family, but he found death instead. His children now inherit not security, but hunger, poverty and grief in a world that offered their father no safe path forward.

Edited by Roxanna Shapour 

The Daily Hustle: Muhammad’s last journey – a story of survival, debt and loss
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