AFGHANISTAN – Connection: failed

„I want you to know because silence is heavier than any pain. Please hear us. Remember us.“

Während der österreichische Innenminister den Taliban den roten Teppich ausrollt, um mit Vertretern des Terrorregimes über Abschiebungen nach Afghanistan zu verhandeln, erreicht mich von dort die Nachricht einer Freundin, eine kluge und umso verzweifeltere junge Frau.* Während in Wien die Taliban hofiert werden, setzen sie in Kabul offenbar den nächsten Schritt Richtung Steinzeit: die Abschaltung des Internets.

Aktuell scheinen die Phasen noch zeitlich und lokal begrenzt, aber nun geht (wieder) die Angst um, dass es im ganzen Land zu großflächigen Netzunterbrechungen kommt. Gerade für Frauen, die ohnehin schon völlig isoliert sind, wäre das die größte Katastrophe. Damit wäre die letzte Verbindung nach außen gekappt. Die letzte Lebenslinie zu Informationen, Bildung, aber auch zu den Angehörigen in der Diaspora, die ihrerseits fieberhaft nach Möglichkeit suchen, dieVerbindung zu halten. Und die einzige Sorge in Wien und Berlin ist es, wie am schnellsten Menschen in den nächsten Flieger Richtung totale Unterdrückung zu schicken.

I am writing to you with a heart full of pain and exhaustion. Once again, with a single blow, we in Afghanistan have been pushed backward. From tomorrow, the internet may be cut off, and it feels as if even the last thread connecting us to the world is being torn away.

Sometimes I wish I had never been born, because every day here feels like carrying a heavy burden with no hope of relief. We have no hope left. Even the simplest joys—like going to a restaurant—are filled with fear, restrictions, and humiliation. Schools and universities are closed. Thousands have been killed. And we, the people, were forced to watch in silence, unable to raise our voices, as if our lives meant nothing.

We have become strangers and wanderers in our own country. Doors are closed to us. Our dreams have been stolen. Time and again, we are pushed into darkness, with no hand reaching out to pull us back.
Here, I often feel frustrated and restricted. Even when we try to go out for recreation, restrictions stop us, and we are questioned about where we are going. We have to go outside the city for leisure; all parks, universities, and schools are closed, beauty salons, baths, and saunas are closed; and the literary association is closed to women.
There are no jobs. I have studied two fields, but I am unemployed, sitting in the corner of my home. To go to a restaurant, I have to ask permission many times; some days it is open for women, and other days it is closed. Sometimes in the market, they stop me and ask why my hair is outside my scarf or why I am outside without a male guardian. I have no father or brother to go with. If I say I have no male guardian, they might force me to marry one of their own.

I am tired. Tired of writing, tired of shouting into the void, tired that my voice does not reach anywhere. But I want you to know, because silence is heavier than any pain.
Please hear us. Remember us. Speak for us when we cannot.

Please amplify my voice to the world.

A writer has grown so tired of writing that her words no longer carry her voice anywhere.

With all my brokenness,
…

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