Five years under Taliban rule: A celebration of liberation or a deepening crisis? That’s the question lingering in the air as Afghanistan marks the fifth anniversary of the Taliban’s return to power. On the surface, the celebrations in Kabul—with men waving Taliban flags and chanting slogans—paint a picture of unity and triumph. But if you take a step back and think about it, the narrative becomes far more complex. What does it mean to celebrate ‘liberation’ when the very people who are supposed to benefit from it—women and girls—are conspicuously absent from the festivities?
One thing that immediately stands out is the Taliban’s framing of their rule as a victory over foreign occupation. At the Loya Jirga, officials hailed Afghanistan’s ‘liberation’ from American forces, a narrative that resonates with those who view the U.S. withdrawal as a long-overdue end to decades of war. Personally, I think this narrative is both powerful and problematic. While it’s true that the U.S. withdrawal marked the end of a costly and often misguided intervention, it’s also true that the Taliban’s return has ushered in a different kind of crisis—one that’s deeply personal and systemic.
What many people don’t realize is that the Taliban’s definition of ‘liberation’ is deeply exclusionary. The absence of women at the Loya Jirga wasn’t an oversight; it was a statement. Since retaking power, the Taliban has systematically stripped women and girls of their rights, banning them from education beyond the sixth grade, barring them from public spaces, and effectively erasing them from public life. From my perspective, this isn’t liberation—it’s oppression cloaked in the language of sovereignty.
The human rights crisis in Afghanistan is staggering, and it’s not just about gender discrimination. As Richard Bennett, the U.N. special rapporteur, pointed out, the country is witnessing arbitrary arrests, torture, extrajudicial killings, and persecution of minorities. What this really suggests is that the Taliban’s rule isn’t just a rollback of women’s rights; it’s a broader assault on human dignity. And yet, the international community seems hesitant to act. Why?
In my opinion, the reluctance to confront the Taliban stems from a fear of instability and a desire to avoid another prolonged conflict. But here’s the thing: normalizing the Taliban’s policies doesn’t bring stability—it legitimizes abuse. When countries like Russia engage with the Taliban, they’re not just recognizing a government; they’re endorsing a system that treats half its population as second-class citizens. This raises a deeper question: What are we willing to tolerate in the name of geopolitical pragmatism?
A detail that I find especially interesting is the Taliban’s call for more international engagement. Foreign Minister Amir Khan Muttaqi argued that countries that have interacted with the Taliban have benefited. But what does ‘benefit’ mean in this context? Is it economic gain, or is it the illusion of stability? Personally, I think the Taliban’s appeal for engagement is a strategic move to gain legitimacy without making meaningful concessions.
Meanwhile, the humanitarian situation in Afghanistan continues to deteriorate. With 2.4 million girls excluded from secondary education and child malnutrition reaching critical levels, the country’s future is at stake. What makes this particularly fascinating is how the Taliban tries to deflect criticism by pointing to investments in universities. But let’s be clear: building infrastructure doesn’t compensate for denying half the population access to education and opportunity.
If you take a step back and think about it, the Taliban’s rule is a study in contradictions. They claim to have brought stability, yet their policies are sowing the seeds of long-term social and economic collapse. They talk about liberation, yet they’re enforcing a system of control that’s as oppressive as any foreign occupation. This isn’t just a local issue—it’s a global one. The world’s response to the Taliban will set a precedent for how we address human rights violations in the 21st century.
So, as we reflect on five years of Taliban rule, let’s not be distracted by the flags and slogans. The real story isn’t about liberation—it’s about the cost of silence. In my opinion, the international community has a choice to make: stand up for human rights, or become complicit in their erosion. The question is, which side of history do we want to be on?
