A group of teenage girls gathers quietly in front of a locked school gate in the western Afghan city of Herat. Some turn their backs to the camera, others cover their faces. They hold up textbooks or display lessons on their mobile phones, capturing a moment of defiance that lasts only seconds. Then they run, disappearing into nearby streets, afraid that Taliban authorities might arrive and detain or beat them.
“It’s our way of protesting and showing that we are still trying to study and learn,” says Soha, one of the participants, who asked that her surname not be published for safety reasons. Within hours, images and videos of the protest spread across social media and local television, an unusual occurrence in a country where public demonstrations—especially by women—have become extremely rare since the Taliban returned to power in 2021.
For the girls involved, the emotional toll is immediate and intense. “I tremble with both excitement and fear,” says Elhan, another participant using a pseudonym. “I am proud to do this, but I am also afraid that I will be recognized in the photos, that my family will find out, or that the Taliban will come to arrest me.” In many cases, even their parents are unaware of where they have been.
These brief protests have taken place over several days in Herat, coinciding with the start of a new school year. According to UNICEF, approximately 2.2 million Afghan girls are currently denied access to secondary education. Afghanistan remains the only country in the world where girls over the age of 12 are barred from attending school or university.
The restrictions extend far beyond education. Since 2021, Taliban authorities have issued more than 130 decrees limiting women’s rights, including access to most jobs, freedom of movement, healthcare, and public spaces. A new penal code introduced in January has further intensified concern by effectively legalizing physical punishment against women as a form of discipline.
“I don’t want to sit at home anymore, trapped in the pain of losing my freedom,” Elhan says. “I decided to raise my voice and stand up against the injustice of not being allowed to go to school. I know I am taking risks, but it is better than disappearing in silence.”
Many of the girls participating in these protests are connected to an organization known as Golden Needle, a group in Herat that traces its origins to the 1990s, when it operated as a clandestine sewing school under the previous Taliban regime. Since 2021, it has re-emerged as a network advocating for women’s right to education, offering support and coordination for acts of resistance like the recent demonstrations.
Khadija Qasemi, another protester, insists that the global community must not normalize the exclusion of half a country’s population from basic rights. “Maybe the world has forgotten us, but we have not forgotten what we deserve: education, freedom, and participation in society, just like men,” she says. “Sometimes there are fewer than ten of us at these protests, but each of us has a voice, and we want it to be heard.”
For many of these young women, the return of Taliban rule abruptly interrupted their education. Since then, they have struggled to continue learning through online classes or secret schools disguised as religious institutions. Their long-term goal is to secure scholarships abroad and pursue higher education, with the hope of one day returning to a freer Afghanistan.
According to UN Women, around 80 percent of Afghan women are now excluded from both education and the workforce. The United Nations has described the situation as a form of “gender apartheid,” a term used by Richard Bennett to characterize systemic discrimination that denies women control over their bodies, health, and futures, and may constitute a crime against humanity.
Not all acts of resistance take place in the streets. Madina, a 13-year-old girl, found her own way to delay exclusion from school. “Two years ago, when I realized I might not be allowed to continue studying and could even be forced into marriage, I started failing on purpose,” she explains. “I wanted to stay in school.” Eventually, however, even that strategy failed. “This year, I had to watch the start of the school year from my window. I spend hours in the morning watching other children. I hope one day I can go back and study engineering.”
The challenges are compounded by increased enforcement. The Afghan organization Rawadari has reported that in 2025 alone, Taliban authorities shut down dozens of clandestine education centers for women, as well as private schools and training centers where female students were enrolled. Teachers who resisted restrictions have reportedly faced arrest, while rules governing women’s dress and the requirement for a male guardian have become even stricter.
Yet within these constraints, many Afghan women continue to find small openings to persist. For some, like 18-year-old Raza Azad, resilience takes the form of self-education and community support. After falling into depression when she was barred from continuing school in 2022, she gradually rebuilt her routine through reading and online English classes.
Over time, she created a small home library of around 40 books, ranging from history to self-help, which she now shares with other women. She also teaches younger girls remotely and contributes financially to her family. “I dream of becoming a lawyer one day,” she says. “The pain is still there, but we have to keep going.”
The protests in Herat may last only seconds, but their message carries far beyond the city’s streets. In a country where silence is often enforced, these young women are finding ways—however brief and risky—to make themselves heard, holding onto the belief that education is not only a right, but a future worth fighting for.
