At 11:59pm on the 30th August 2021, the last US military place left Kabul airport in Afghanistan. The departure marked the end of almost 20-years of western presence in the country and was brought on by an offensive campaign led by the Taliban. Countless people thronged the runway, running alongside aircrafts as they tried to take-off. Under the ultraconservative rule of the political group, the rights of women and girls in the country has been systematically erased with access to education, employment and public life all hinging on the question of gender. Canadian-Iranian photojournalist Kiana Hayeri and French researcher Mélissa Cornet have focused their attention on the hidden lives of those repressed under Taliban rule. Their work is the recipient of the 14th edition of the Carmignac Photojournalism Award and is a stark reminder of the vital role art and journalism play in preserving the stories of people who have been silenced. We spoke to the two practitioners about their experiences documenting the lives of women in Afghanistan and their hopes for how the exhibition can help raise international attention.
A: You spent six months travelling seven provinces in Afghanistan to investigate the conditions imposed on women and girls by the Taliban. Could you tell us a bit about that experience? What was it like?
Traveling through Afghanistan – for 10 weeks over the course of six months – under the Taliban regime to document life there was a complex and difficult experience. We had to navigate tight security concerns, balancing the need to document the realities of Afghan women’s lives with ensuring their safety, that of the people we worked with (our interpreter and driver), and our own. Each province revealed different shades of oppression, based on local sensitivities – Afghanistan remains a very heterogeneous country, and as such, while the Taliban’s restrictions were universal, the specific challenges women faced varied across regions. In some areas, in the South and the East in particular, women were already living under similar conditions before the Taliban’s official return, with the main difference being the end of the war, while in others, the sudden loss of freedom was devastating. Despite the constant presence of the Taliban’s shadow, we witnessed moments of joy and defiance. Afghan women are fighting to carve out spaces for themselves, even in the smallest ways — whether it’s a secret gathering with friends to play music and dance, or continuing education underground. We learned that the spirit of resistance through small acts of joy was still alive, though it manifested differently in each place.
A: You met with more than 100 women and girls, barred from participating in public life. How did you go about deciding who and what to document?
It was a delicate and thoughtful process that we spent a lot of time preparing together before travelling to Kabul at the end of January 2024. We wanted to highlight a range of experiences, and we didn’t want to portray a single narrative of victimhood but to reflect the complexity of Afghan women’s lives today. We wanted to leave the visual narrative of Afghan women in burqas begging in the street, give them back a space to raise their voices and tell their stories with dignity. Our selection process was guided by the main themes and regions we wanted to cover, and then by the women’s stories themselves — who felt ready and willing to share, and in what capacity. We were also very conscious of their safety, ensuring that each woman had full control over how her story and image were presented. For example, most women had a look at their portrait and gave us their green light to use it.
A: Many pieces were created collaboratively with Afghan teenage girls. Why was creating this project collaboratively such an important consideration for you?
Collaboration around art was an important ‘chapter’ to this project: it wasn’t just about telling these girls’ stories — it was about giving them the opportunity to tell their own. This collaboration also allowed us to show that, despite the oppression, some Afghan girls are still managing to imagine futures for themselves: as a president, as a globe-trotter, as a CEO of a clothing brand. But it’s important to note that a lot of girls have lost this ability to dream and working with them gave them agency in how their stories were shared with the world, giving them a much more active role in how they’re portrayed.
A: What do you see as the role of art in highlighting the injustices people are facing? Do artists have a responsibility to amplify voices usually unheard?
Art has a unique power to reach people on an emotional level, to communicate what words sometimes fail to express. It can humanize the abstract and distant, making injustices feel immediate and personal. Many moments we witnessed are universal: girls braiding their hair, tenderness between a mother and a daughter, teenagers playing in the snow. For us, using visual storytelling was a method to bring the realities of Afghan women’s lives to a global audience in a way that would resonate, to which anyone could relate. As visual storytellers, we believe it’s not about speaking for them but about providing space for their stories to be seen and heard. In Afghanistan, where so much of women’s lives have been repressed, where they cannot show their faces any longer, nor have their voices heard in public, it’s more important than ever to keep their experiences alive, ensuring they don’t disappear into silence.
A: Kiana, you’ve been documenting the country for several years now and won the Robert Capa Gold Medal in 2021 for Where Prison is a Kind of Freedom. What changes have you seen amongst the women during this time?
Using the prison as a metaphor is a powerful way to explain the changes I’ve seen. In 2019, I spent nearly two weeks inside Herat Prison documenting the lives of women incarcerated for murdering their husbands to escape abuse and domestic violence. At that time, the prison provided a strange sense of refuge. Many of these women felt more free within its walls than in their own homes or the patriarchal communities they came from. However, the metaphor of the prison as a refuge has drastically shifted. What once offered a degree of ironic freedom has now transformed into a place of fear and unimaginable cruelty. The chilling transformation of Herat Prison into a site of torture and overcrowding mirrors the broader regression in the lives of Afghan women since the Taliban’s return to power. As the prison walls have become more oppressive, so has Afghan society. The freedoms these women once fought for, even in the smallest ways, have been systematically stripped away. What was once a semblance of safety is now a manifestation of control and brutality, where hope for liberation feels more distant than ever.
A: What do you hope people take away from viewing the exhibition?
We hope that people leave the exhibition with a deeper understanding of the nuanced realities of Afghan women and girls under the Taliban, and feel closer to them and their struggle. We want people to see these women as more than just victims of oppression—they are survivors, they are fighters, and they need us by their side. The world cannot turn away: we hope that viewers feel not only moved but also compelled to speak out and take action, however small, to support Afghan women in their struggle: call their governments and representatives to ask what they do to welcome Afghan women and to put pressure on the Taliban, support the campaign for the codification of the crime of gender apartheid, or simply continue to talk about Afghanistan and share what is happening there.
A: What was the reaction of Afghan women and girls to your creation of this project?
We wish we could say they felt a sense of hope and defiance thanks to this opportunity to have their stories brought internationally, but unfortunately many of them feel disillusioned by the international community. They saw us come and go, promote them to high positions then abandon them. Some can be bitter and ask, like an ex-prosecutor in Herat: what have they done for us? And they’re right to ask these questions: we hold a heavy responsibility to them, and so far we have failed them.
A: What opportunities do exhibitions like this have to drive forward change?
By bringing these stories to an international audience, exhibitions can pressure governments and organizations to keep women’s rights at the forefront of any negotiations with the Taliban – especially as international media coverage is fading. Art doesn’t change policies overnight, but it can shift public consciousness—and that, in turn, can influence the powers that can.
A: What’s next for you both?
In the coming months, the exhibition will travel to several locations, and we will continue our work of advocacy alongside it. We are also working on turning all the stories we have collected into a book and an interactive website. Kiana is developing a larger long term project about how education is under attack globally, and Melissa is starting a women’s rights projects in other countries of the region.
Afghanistan: No Woman’s Land is at Réfectoire des Cordeliers 26 October – 18 November: refectoiredescordeliers.rivp.fr
Words: Emma Jacob, Kiana Hayeri & Mélissa Cornet
Image Credits:
Kabul, Kabul, Afghanistan, February 23, 2024. A group of teenage girls dance at a birthday party of their friend. Music and dancing have been forbidden by the Taliban but women continue to dance and celebrate in the privacy of their homes and behind closed doors. © Kiana Hayeri for Fondation Carmignac.
Kabul, Kabul, Afghanistan, February 8, 2024. A mother is struggling to provide for her children under dire circumstances. One of her sons suffers from a painful skin condition and seizure attacks but cannot be taken to a doctor due to a lack of funds. Her family burns old fabric or clothes from neighbours for heating. She is also afraid of sending her children out to collect materials because the Taliban have detained her 12-year-old son multiple times, believing him to be a beggar: “I walked all the way to Bagh-e-Bala prison and back it was night, and cold. In the prison, they would get water but no food, and he had his boots but no clothes.” The family is facing severe financial difficulties, with five months of overdue rent at 1,500 Afghanis per month (19.50euros). Her husband, who previously worked in a factory, is now unable to work due t0 a spine injury.” Before the change, things were good, I could send my kids on the street to work, they could bring back some money, and my husband was able to work.” Despite the hardships, she refuses to send her children to beg for food, although they sometimes collect plastic to burn for warmth. She dreams of a better future for her daughter and wishes she could provide everything her daughter needs, especially medical care for her leg pains. “We have dignity, I don’t send my kids to the neighbours to collect food…even if we don’t have food or anything to eat, we sit still and hungry, but we won’t go knock on the neighbour’s door to get food.” © Kiana Hayeri for Fondation Carmignac.
Kabul, Kabul, Afghanistan, February 3, 2024. Girls playing in the snow in western Kabul behind an apartment block, off the main road. Since the takeover, women and girls’ rights to move without a male chaperon or to go to parks have been curtailed, and very few opportunities to find joy in their daily lives remain. A snow storm in a quiet neighbourhood of Kabul western suburb offered such a chance for an hour of playing together. Even then, an eye is always kept on the surroundings, looking for a sign of a Taliban patrol. © Kiana Hayeri for Fondation Carmignac.
Kabul, Kabul, Afghanistan, February 17, 2024. A private institute in the West of Kabul, where girls follow the American curriculum in English, but cannot obtain any Afghan official education certificate, nor can they go to university in Afghanistan, closed for women. This is a rare instance where the school has managed to secure the local Taliban’s approval to shut a blind eye on the school’s operation with teenage girls. 700 female high school students study at this institute everyday under strict security measurement while two armed security guards from the community watch the gate and girls enter and exit one by one, leaving their backpacks at the entrance. Despite suicide bombers’ attacks that took place before the takeover, the institute remains full of girls, whose dreams are now to leave the country to continue their education abroad. Despite the Taliban’s promises, girls high schools never reopened after the fall. As of today, girls are only allowed to study until grade 6, and are barred from both high schools and universities. However underground schools setup at homes, mosques or alternative spaces continue educating girls, at a high risk. ©Kiana Hayeri for Fondation Carmignac.
Kabul, Kabul, Afghanistan, February 29, 2024. Female journalists working in the office of a women-focused media. Since the Taliban came to power in August 2021, the Afghan media landscape has been decimated. According to Reporters Without Borders, in the three months following the Taliban takeover of Afghanistan, 43% of Afghan media outlets disappeared. Since then, more than two-thirds of the 12,000 journalists in the country in 2021 have left the profession. For women journalists, the situation is far worse: forced to cover their face, to travel with a chaperone, forbidden from interviewing officials, subject to harassment and threats, more than 80% of women journalists stopped working between August 2021 and August 2023, according to Amnesty International. Without women reporters, it is increasingly difficult to report on the situation of Afghan women, in a society where men are rarely allowed to interview women. Topics around women’s rights are particularly sensitive, and the amount of pressure put on media outlets and journalists made self-censorship the new rule for reporting. ©Kiana Hayeri for Fondation Carmignac.
