Photo: Two contrasting representations of Afghan female learners are shown: the madrassa-centered model of religious instruction is on the left, while the formal school model of modern public education is on the right.

1. Introduction and Central Argument

Madrasas, which focus on religious instruction, differ fundamentally from modern schools in their purpose, curriculum, and teaching methods. The increase in madrasas in Afghanistan since 2021 should not be viewed as a natural growth of religious education in a devout society or as a revival of longstanding traditions; this perspective must be approached with caution, as the visible trends may suggest otherwise. Instead, this growth represents a state-led initiative aimed at ideological goals. Under Taliban, the expansion of madrasas serves as a key tool for solidifying the regime, resulting in a deliberate restructuring of the educational landscape. This effort is not intended to strengthen religious education alongside modern schooling but rather to blur the lines between the two systems, aiming to bring the broader education framework under the madrasa’s influence.

This restructuring unfolds along two parallel pathways. On one hand, both public and private schools face restricted access, limited growth, and ideological redefinition. Their curricula are increasingly stripped of social sciences, humanities, philosophy, and civics—elements that have traditionally set them apart from religious institutions—while what remains aligns with Taliban interpretations of Islam. Conversely, madrasas are expanding more rapidly, bolstered by state-funded dormitories, formal credentialing pathways, and direct employment opportunities within the state. Inside the public education system, only a limited range of technical subjects continues to operate with some autonomy, focusing on the regime’s practical needs and lacking the political or intellectual content the Taliban seeks to suppress.

The argument presented here is that this situation does not represent a neutral convergence but rather a layered, asymmetric transformation. Both ends of the educational spectrum—madrasas on one side and public and private schools on the other—are being deliberately shaped by policy toward a single ideological center defined by the regime. The Taliban’s madrasa policy can be best understood as the establishment of a framework for ideological indoctrination, a system through which the regime’s preferred subjects are produced, categorized, and integrated into the state. The numerical data supports this interpretation. According to the reports, since 2021, approximately 85 madrasas have been established for each new public school, with registered madrasas exceeding 21,000 compared to roughly 18,000 public and private schools combined; the regime has also announced plans to establish between one and ten madrasas in every district. These figures indicate not a balanced expansion of educational opportunities but a deliberate reversal of the traditional roles of madrasas and modern schools within the national education system—an issue that requires urgent scholarly and policy attention.

2. Indoctrination at the Core of Institutional Design

A recurring analytical oversight in discussions about Taliban education policy is the focus on indoctrination at the curriculum level—specifically what is taught in individual lessons—rather than considering the institutional structure. This perspective is insufficient, as the structural changes taking place provide a broader context in which curricular changes are one important aspect among many. To fully understand Taliban educational policy, it is essential to start at the structural level rather than concluding there. Scholars of totalitarian education emphasize that the ideological function of an educational system is less about any single textbook and more about the structural organization of credentials, examinations, teacher recruitment, institutional prestige, and recognized pathways to social mobility. A more fruitful inquiry, therefore, examines who is authorized to teach, which credentials facilitate state employment, which institutions are permitted to expand or contract, and how social mobility is currently enabled.

From this perspective, the Taliban’s policy appears as a well-planned and systematic program rather than a series of isolated decisions. The issue is not merely that religious instruction is now reaching a broader segment of Afghan children; rather, the institutional framework of modern education—public schools, universities, teacher-training academies, and examination bodies—is being restructured to align with religious institutions under direct regime control. UNAMA’s April 2025 report characterizes this shift as the “conversion of the public education system into a madrassa system” and the “gradual replacement of educated technocrats in line ministries with religiously educated clerics loyal to the Taliban movement” (UNAMA, 2025). Similarly, the Special Inspector General for Afghanistan Reconstruction, in its October 2023 report to the U.S. Congress, found that the de facto authorities had begun removing secular subjects from curricula at all levels and converting teacher-training facilities and schools into madrasas across several provinces (SIGAR, 2023).

3. The Pre-2021 Baseline: The Education System and Societal Demand

To grasp the significance of the post-2021 shifts, it is essential to carefully establish the pre-Taliban baseline. Data from the National Statistics and Information Authority (NSIA) from 2016 to 2021 reveal that Afghanistan’s educational system maintained a structural distinction between general and formal religious education. However, this distinction should not be overstated; the curriculum in general public schools was not entirely secular, as it included Islamic religious instruction as a mandatory subject across all grades. Thus, Afghan general schools were not secular institutions in the strictest sense; they were public institutions that integrated religious content alongside a modern curriculum. Within this framework, the two sectors operated at scales suited to their distinct social functions.

Despite facing well-documented challenges such as quality issues, corruption, insecurity, and uneven access, the general education sector was expanding to meet pressing developmental needs. The number of general schools grew from 15,709 in 2016 to 17,780 in 2021, while student enrollment increased from 8,755,955 to 9,966,496. This expansion was driven by structural necessity rather than ideological motives; a country like Afghanistan requires millions of literate citizens and a skilled workforce—teachers, physicians, engineers, civil servants, and technicians—and only a mass public schooling system can provide that workforce at the necessary scale.

Formal religious education, which includes madrasas, Darul Hifaz, and Darul Uloom, functioned at a scale that matched its narrower social purpose. The number of institutions remained stable during this period (1,048 in 2016 and 1,038 in 2021), with enrollment fluctuating between approximately 300,000 and 380,000. This profile indicates a sector that is neither in decline nor suppressed by state policy; rather, it reflects a sector that is appropriately sized to meet the actual societal demand for formal religious training: stable, specialized, and operating within a transparent and regulated framework.

This baseline is analytically significant for two reasons. First, it demonstrates that during the final years of the Republic, the two sectors did not compete for the same students or social functions; they addressed different needs at scales appropriate to those needs and coexisted within a single education system that was neither strictly secular nor exclusively religious. Second, it counters a justification available to the de facto authorities and some sympathetic observers: the claim that post-2021 madrasa expansion addresses a latent religious demand previously suppressed by the former government. The data do not support this interpretation. There is no discernible trend in the 2016–2021 figures that would, if projected, lead to the institutional shift observed since 2021. The post-2021 expansion does not reflect an unmet societal preference or a continuation of any visible trend prior to the regime change. Instead, it represents a rupture: the imposition of a new institutional framework by a regime intent on reshaping the educational landscape contrary to the calibration achieved by the previous system.

4. The Mechanism of Flattening: Convergence as Policy

Understanding the asymmetry in this restructuring is crucial: the environment in which madrasas are expanding is not a static modern school system; it is actively being reshaped to facilitate that growth. This process is directional and uneven. Modern schools are increasingly losing subjects—such as civics, social sciences, philosophy, and the humanities—that have historically set them apart from religious instruction. Meanwhile, modern educational credentials, including undergraduate, master’s, and doctoral degrees, are being extended to madrasa graduates without any reciprocal recognition. This piece analyzes this trajectory through three sequential processes, highlighting the disparity between the evolving modern schools and the unchanged madrasas.

First, modern schools are being stripped of the subjects and pedagogies that have historically defined them. The curriculum is being diminished as civics, social sciences, philosophy, and the humanities are removed, with critical-thinking pedagogies being narrowed or reframed within a religious context. The October 2023 report from the Special Inspector General for Afghanistan Reconstruction to the U.S. Congress indicated that the de facto authorities have begun eliminating secular subjects at all educational levels, shifting curricula toward Taliban-interpretive Islamic studies (SIGAR, 2023). UNAMA has characterized this curricular change as part of a broader transformation of the public education system into a madrasa system (UNAMA, 2025). The remaining subjects in the modern curriculum—mathematics, natural sciences, and a limited range of technical topics—are preserved primarily because they fulfill the regime’s need for engineers, medical professionals, and technicians, while lacking the political or intellectual content the regime aims to suppress. The pressing question is what happens to the other subjects: the social, civic, humanistic, and historical content removed from schools is not disappearing but is being replaced by material aligned with the Taliban’s preferred religious and ideological framework—sometimes through new content and sometimes by increasing the share of existing religious subjects.

Second, this substitution does not represent a transfer of content from one sector to another. The civic, humanistic, social, and historical material removed from school curricula is not being transferred to madrasas, and madrasa enrollment is not designed to provide these subjects in any recognizable form. The substitution occurs within the schools themselves. The space once occupied by history, civics, ethics, and the humanities is not being filled with reworked versions of those subjects but is being reduced and replaced with content that aligns with the regime’s preferences: historical material is being simplified and reframed to position the Taliban as the legitimate inheritors of Afghanistan’s past; civic education, human rights, and gender equality topics are being narrowed or replaced with Taliban interpretations of jihad, governance, gender, and obedience. Where limited opportunities for non-religious material exist—such as English and basic mathematics in some private madrasas for wealthier families—they do not indicate a parallel modernization of the religious sector. Most madrasas, including those funded by the de facto authorities and many supported by charitable networks, remain predominantly religious in nature. These minor concessions are best viewed as a thin veneer that conceals the substantive direction of policy, where subjects with familiar names—like “history,” “social studies,” and “ethics”—are increasingly presenting the regime’s self-portrayal.

Third, the credentialing framework is being restructured, but not through a neutral unification of the two sectors. Madrasa graduates are increasingly receiving secular credentials from the modern education system—at the undergraduate, master’s, and doctoral levels—through examination and certification processes managed by the Islamic Education Department of the Ministry of Education and the Ministry of Higher Education. Holders of these credentials are now occupying senior and managerial roles across various state sectors, including customs, traffic administration, economic affairs, agriculture, and media oversight, areas that traditionally require specialized technical training but which the regime prefers to staff with ideologically aligned individuals. UNAMA’s April 2025 report on the Promotion of Virtue and Prevention of Vice law describes this trend as the “gradual replacement of educated technocrats in line ministries with religiously educated clerics loyal to the Taliban movement,” framing it within a broader governance strategy aimed at consolidating the regime’s political authority (UNAMA, 2025). The flow is one-directional: madrasa credentials are gaining access to positions historically reserved for graduates of schools and universities, while the value of modern school credentials is diminishing and receiving no equivalent acknowledgment within religious institutions or the state.

Collectively, these three processes illustrate a flattening that is neither balanced nor complete and does not operate in both directions. The modern school is being compelled to shift toward the madrasa rather than vice versa: its curriculum is being emptied, and the vacated space is being filled with content from the regime’s preferred religious and ideological canon; its credentials are being awarded to madrasa graduates without reciprocal recognition; and its institutional standing within the state is eroding. In contrast, the madrasa remains structurally unchanged—it is not absorbing modern subjects nor being transformed into a different institution but is instead being elevated as the benchmark against which the modern school is being evaluated and reshaped. Some aspects of this design are already in operation, others are being implemented gradually, and some are outlined in the regime’s published plans yet to be executed. What is evident is the clear direction of this development: an apparatus of ideological indoctrination is actively being constructed, rather than a system of religious education in any conventional sense.

5. The Gendered Dimension: Madrasas as the Sole Tolerated Pathway

The situation described above is occurring in a context where an entire demographic—girls and young women beyond grade six—has been entirely excluded from secondary and tertiary education. UNESCO estimates that since 2021, around 1.5 million girls have lost access to secondary schooling, with approximately 80 percent of school-age girls and young women currently out of formal education (UNESCO, 2023). In this environment, madrasas are not just one option among many; for many girls and their families, they represent the only post-primary pathway permitted by the de facto authorities. According to the same UNESCO report, by 2023, about 95,000 girls and young women had enrolled in religious schools, including over 20,000 in government-run madrasas, with subsequent data showing a continued increase.

Mirbacha’s (2025) grounded-theory study on girls transitioning from public schools to madrasas describes this decision as a “forced choice.” Faced with the prospect of leaving education entirely, girls and their families turn to madrasas, but this choice is influenced by the same restrictive conditions: prior schooling is not always recognized equivalently, the curricula offered are narrower than those available to boys, infrastructure is inconsistent, and instruction tends to focus more on promoting regime-approved norms than on fostering intellectual growth. This gendered aspect of the restructuring is not incidental but fundamental. The unequal shift from schools to madrasas, coupled with the complete exclusion of girls from the former, creates a group of young women whose only approved avenue for organized learning is through an institution explicitly designed to reinforce the regime’s moral and ideological framework.

6. The Comparative Argument and Its Limitations

Proponents of engagement with the Taliban’s education system may argue that madrasa-based education can coexist with modern educational objectives. This perspective references, among others, the UNESCO’s 2024 policy brief on madrasa systems in Bangladesh, Indonesia, Malaysia, Egypt, and Singapore, which illustrates that faith-based Islamic education can fit within a pluralistic educational framework when regulated by the state, aligned with a general curriculum, inclusive of girls, and connected to competencies needed for contemporary labor markets. This observation holds empirical validity in those contexts and merits consideration.

A counter-argument to the position presented in this piece comes from Rahimi and Muhammad Din’s (2024) study, which draws on thirty-five key informant interviews with students, teachers, and administrators from madrasas across seven Afghan provinces. Their research examines the current state of madrasa education under Taliban rule and explores whether these institutions can serve as a platform for Afghan women to assert their agency as equals deserving of dignity and free inquiry. Citing Saba Mahmood’s analysis of Islamic women’s agency in non-Western contexts, the authors suggest that female madrasa attendance can be seen as a form of negotiation and quiet resistance to the regime’s extreme patriarchy. They argue that women are leveraging these institutions, designed to confine them, to gain interpretive authority within the religious framework that legitimizes the regime’s rule. This argument deserves a careful response rather than dismissal. Engaging with it is methodologically important; a thesis like the one presented here is strengthened through sustained engagement with scholarship that challenges its conclusions, and the literature on contemporary Afghan education benefits from dialogue between differing perspectives.

In response, I contend that the empirical evidence gathered by Rahimi and Muhammad Din ultimately does not support the optimism of their interpretation. The institutional context they describe, regardless of how adeptly their interviewees navigate it, does not align with the comparative cases that underpin their argument. This discrepancy becomes evident when their evidence is assessed against the three institutional conditions established in the literature on integrated madrasa systems.

First, the comparative cases rely on a specific institutional foundation: a state that enforces academic standards, ensures equal access for girls, and recognizes madrasa credentials within a broader, predominantly secular labor market. Rahimi and Muhammad Din acknowledge that the Indonesian model often cited in this literature relies on a configuration where women have political rights, full access to education, freedom from Purdah-based mobility restrictions, and the active support of state-backed Islamic feminist movements. They note that this contrasts sharply with the situation for women in Afghanistan. The Pakistani case similarly falls short, as the gradual integration of Pakistani madrasa graduates into the broader credentialing system occurred under competitive pressure from general education and literacy, with female enrollment in formal examinations rising alongside religious education. Such dynamics are absent in Afghanistan, where the regime has prohibited women from general education beyond grade six, dismantled connections between religious credentials and the broader labor market, and, as documented by Rahimi and Muhammad Din, excluded female madrasa graduates from most government jobs, even within the religious sector.

Second, the comparative cases position madrasas as one option within a plural educational landscape. The Afghan context has eliminated this plurality, as evidenced by the interview material collected by Rahimi and Muhammad Din. A female student in rural Kabul states that “most girls go to madrasas because they have no choice.” Teachers and students across their sample repeatedly express that if schools and universities were open to women, the enrollment rate in madrasas would significantly decrease. Even female madrasa teachers, whose positions might seem strengthened by current trends, express concern that the redirection of girls into religious studies will result in a shortage of female doctors and nurses in the coming years. These voices reflect not an integrated system where madrasa attendance represents a meaningful choice but a population for whom alternatives have been systematically removed.

Third, the comparative examples present madrasas as tools for expanded access, designed to incorporate marginalized groups into the broader educational system. In contrast, the expansion of madrasas in Afghanistan serves a different purpose. Rahimi and Muhammad Din document that personnel in the new state apparatus are primarily drawn from the ulama and madrasa networks; the prospect of state employment is the main incentive for male students entering the religious sector, and the institutional framework has been restructured to channel religiously credentialed men into positions of authority. Women, even those with the same credentials, remain excluded from this pathway. Consequently, what is being institutionalized is not access as understood in the comparative literature, but the development of an ideologically aligned cadre within an authoritarian framework, alongside the diversion of women into a separate educational track with no equivalent route into public life.

It is noteworthy that the authors of the counter-argument themselves acknowledge some of these points. Rahimi and Muhammad Din conclude their study by emphasizing that female madrasas cannot serve as an acceptable substitute for general education for Afghan girls and women, reporting that their interviewees, both teachers and students, called for the reopening of general education. Thus, the disagreement between this piece and their analysis is narrower than it may initially seem; it revolves around the interpretive weight assigned to agency exercised under conditions of severe constraint. The comparative cases supporting the engagement argument illustrate pluralism, complementarity, and expanded access; the Afghan case, even when generously interpreting the experiences of its female students, reveals the systematic removal of those essential preconditions. Applying the conclusions of the first set to the second amounts to imposing a framework on a context from which its foundational conditions have been deliberately stripped away.

7. Conclusion: The Thesis and Its Stakes

This piece presents an institutional argument rather than a doctrinal one. It asserts that under the Taliban, the growth of madrasas occurs within a coercive policy environment characterized by the prohibition of girls’ secondary and tertiary education, the ideological reshaping of the existing curriculum, the unequal recognition of madrasa graduates within the state, and the positioning of religious institutions as the primary source of education. This combination has transformed religious education, within the specific institutional framework established by the regime, into a tool for state-led ideological reconstruction.

What sets this development apart from the gradual institutional changes typically expected from a religiously radical regime is the speed of its implementation. In less than five years, the Taliban have nearly quadrupled the number of registered madrasas, established religious institutions at about eighty-five times the rate of general schools, replaced humanities and social sciences in schools with content aligned to their ideological preferences, expanded the religious sector significantly more than the schools sector, and integrated madrasa graduates into key state functions. The UN Special Rapporteur on human rights in Afghanistan has warned that this trajectory deprives Afghan children of essential knowledge and skills for contemporary life and risks fostering extremist views, noting that madrasas and other informal pathways “cannot fill the gap” left by the closure of formal education for girls (Bennett, 2024; JURIST, 2025).

Thus, the thesis of this piece, along with the historical analysis provided earlier, is clear: the Taliban’s expansion of madrasas since 2021 should not be interpreted as a natural progression of religious education in a devout society or a revival of longstanding traditions. Instead, it should be seen as a state-directed initiative for ideological formation, wherein the distinctions between modern schools and madrasas are intentionally being blurred. This boundary is not evolving into a workable pluralism, as seen in the comparative cases discussed; rather, it is collapsing asymmetrically, with general schooling being reshaped to align more closely with madrasas. The exclusion of girls from formal education leaves a generation of young women with limited options for organized learning, confined to institutions designed to reinforce the regime’s moral framework. The rapid pace and direction of this restructuring, coupled with the increasing difficulty of reversing it over time, necessitate not only scholarly attention but also urgent engagement from researchers, multilateral institutions, and policymakers.

References

Afghanistan International. (2025, January 28). Taliban’s jihadi madrassas have dangerous impact on minds of youngsters, says new study. https://www.afintl.com/en/202501286648

Afghanistan de facto Ministry of Education. (2025). Key achievements of the Ministry of Education. Kabul: De facto Ministry of Education.

Bennett, R. (2024). Report of the Special Rapporteur on the situation of human rights in Afghanistan (A/79/330). United Nations General Assembly. https://www.ohchr.org/en/documents/country-reports/a79330-report-special-rapporteur-situation-human-rights-afghanistan

JURIST. (2025, February). UN expert expresses concern over worsening human rights situation in Afghanistan. https://www.jurist.org/news/2025/02/un-expert-expresses-concern-over-worsening-human-rights-situation-in-afghanistan/

Mirbacha, P. (2025). From maktab to madrassa: Afghan girls and the forced choice — A grounded theory study of girls’ transitions from public schooling to religious education in Afghanistan after 2021. Raoul Wallenberg Institute of Human Rights and Humanitarian Law. https://rwi.lu.se/wp-content/uploads/2025/09/Palwasha-Mirbacha-report-2024.pdf

Rahimi, H., & Muhammad Din, F. (2024). Female madrasas and Islamic agency of Afghan girls and women: How religious education is being used by Afghan women and girls under the Taliban regime. Manchester Journal of Transnational Islamic Law & Practice, 20(3), 101–118.

Special Inspector General for Afghanistan Reconstruction. (2023, October 30). Quarterly report to the United States Congress. SIGAR.

United Nations Assistance Mission in Afghanistan. (2024). Report of the Secretary-General on the situation in Afghanistan (A/78/914–S/2024/469). https://unama.unmissions.org/sites/default/files/sg_report_june_2024.pdf

United Nations Assistance Mission in Afghanistan. (2025, April). Report on the implementation, enforcement and impact of the Law on the Promotion of Virtue and the Prevention of Vice in Afghanistan. https://unama.unmissions.org/sites/default/files/unama_pvpv_report_10_april_2025_english.pdf

UNESCO Kabul. (2024). Policy discussion brief: Key elements of madrasa education in selected countries — What lessons can be drawn for Afghanistan? UNESCO. https://articles.unesco.org/sites/default/files/medias/fichiers/2024/09/02.Madrasa_Education_in_selected_countries.PDF

UNESCO. (2023). Afghanistan: Let girls and women learn! UNESCO. https://www.unesco.org/en/articles/unesco-dedicates-2023-international-day-education-afghan-girls-and-women

Abstract

The 2026 Global Education Monitoring Report (UNESCO, 2026) presents a narrative of measured progress alongside increasing exclusion as we approach 2030: since 2000, enrollment has increased by 327 million, yet 273 million children, adolescents, and youth remain out of school, with the global out-of-school rate stagnating since 2015. This piece examines this situation through the lens of Afghanistan, utilizing insights from the Afghanistan Education Situation Report 2025 (UNESCO & UNICEF, 2025). It posits that Afghanistan is not just falling significantly behind averages in developing countries; it is experiencing a deliberate regression primarily due to policy decisions rather than just a lack of capacity. While institutional capacity is indeed a significant and deteriorating challenge—reflected in ongoing fiscal constraints, the loss of qualified female teachers, ongoing infrastructure issues, and inadequate assessment systems—these factors are influenced by the policy environment rather than existing in isolation. The piece also critiques two prevalent analytical assumptions in global education discourse: the conflation of the Report’s five SDG indicators with five “dimensions of equity,” and the framing of education as a supply-and-demand issue rather than a fundamental right. Consequently, numerical improvements (e.g., apparent gender parity in enrollment) coexist with the complete exclusion of girls beyond Grade 6, highlighting the limitations of indicators that are not validated against real-world conditions.

Introduction

The 2026 Global Education Monitoring Report, the first in UNESCO’s three-part Countdown to 2030 series, arrives at a time when the multilateral consensus around Sustainable Development Goal (SDG) 4 is visibly weakening (UNESCO, 2026). Funding levels are decreasing, and commitments are being reassessed. Simultaneously, the rapid advancement of artificial intelligence presents both opportunities and challenges for education. AI has the potential to enhance access, personalize learning, and support learners in resource-limited or crisis-affected environments—possibilities that, if implemented effectively, could accelerate progress on stalled commitments. However, it also complicates traditional approaches—access, attendance, learning—that have long been used to evaluate education systems, necessitating institutional adaptations that many systems struggle to implement swiftly, while raising questions about who benefits from these technologies and under what conditions. In this context, the Report’s focus on access is timely, yet it prompts a critical question: how is equality measured, and what impact does this have on interpretive accuracy?

This piece engages with the Report’s key findings in relation to Afghanistan, where the Afghanistan Education Situation Report 2025 (UNESCO & UNICEF, 2025) illustrates an education system moving against the global trend. The argument unfolds in five steps. First, it summarizes the global landscape of progress and stagnation. Second, it offers a critical inquiry to a common interpretation of the Report’s analytical framework—specifically, the assumption that the five SDG indicators correspond to five “dimensions of equity.” Third, it contextualizes Afghanistan within the global benchmarks for out-of-school rates and completion. Fourth, it examines the structural factors contributing to progress identified in the Report and questions the effectiveness of the supply-and-demand framing increasingly used to model educational access. Fifth, it characterizes Afghanistan’s trajectory as a politically motivated regression with long-lasting implications.

The Global Picture: Measured Progress, Persistent Stagnation

The Report’s most frequently cited finding is that, overall, expansion is real. Since 2000, enrollment in primary and secondary education has increased by 327 million students—a 30% rise—alongside a 45% increase in pre-primary participation and a 161% increase in post-secondary enrollment (UNESCO, 2026). Globally, the out-of-school rate for children, adolescents, and youth dropped from 27% in 2000 to 17% in 2015. Completion rates have also improved across all levels: primary completion rose from 77% to 88%, lower-secondary from 60% to 78%, and upper-secondary from 37% to 61% (UNESCO, 2026).

However, these figures can also be interpreted in a different light. The rate of decline in the out-of-school population has stalled since 2015, and the absolute number of out-of-school individuals has increased for seven consecutive years, reaching 273 million in 2024 (UNESCO, 2026). This number is likely an underestimate, as the Report suggests that additional humanitarian data could add at least 13 million to the total in the ten most conflict-affected countries (UNESCO, 2026). At the current pace, universal upper-secondary completion will not be achieved until 2105 (UNESCO, 2026). Thus, the Report’s tone is neither overly optimistic nor pessimistic; it is diagnostic. Progress is uneven, and aggregate data can obscure areas where setbacks have occurred.

A Critical Note on the Report’s Architecture: Five Indicators, Not Five “Dimensions”

The 2026 GEM Report does not measure equity through “five dimensions” such as gender, wealth, location, region, and disability. Instead, it tracks five SDG indicators: (a) the participation rate one year before primary entry (SDG 4.2.2), (b) the out-of-school rate (SDG 4.1.4), (c) the completion rate (SDG 4.1.2), (d) the tertiary education gross enrollment ratio (SDG 4.3.2), and (e) the parity index (SDG 4.5.1) (UNESCO, 2026). Gender, wealth, location, and disability are not separate indicators in this framework; they are the disaggregations applied to the fifth indicator—the parity index.

This distinction is significant. The parity index, as the Report notes, operates “almost mechanically”: its value reflects the underlying indicator, so changes in parity typically indicate the progress of disadvantaged groups at higher access levels, rather than independent equity initiatives by states (UNESCO, 2026). Misinterpreting the five disaggregations as five dimensions of equity oversimplifies this methodological caution and risks leading to “flawed conclusions,” as the Report explicitly cautions—such as the now-disputed claim of universal primary completion in the early 2010s (UNESCO, 2026). For a country like Afghanistan, where the parity index appears to improve based on administrative data while girls above Grade 6 are entirely excluded from public schooling, distinguishing between an indicator and an equality outcome is crucial. It highlights the gap between a closing number and a disappearing population.

Afghanistan Against the Global Benchmark

Afghanistan clearly demonstrates the limitations of relying solely on indicators. The Afghanistan Education Situation Report 2025 estimates that in 2024, approximately 2.13 million primary school-aged children are out of school, with 60% being girls (UNESCO & UNICEF, 2025). At the secondary level, around 2.2 million adolescent girls have been barred from public schooling since the de facto authorities reinstated the ban beyond Grade 6 in 2022, with an additional 397,000 being prevented each academic year (UNESCO & UNICEF). Female enrollment in tertiary education has plummeted from 27% in 2019 to zero in 2024, while male enrollment has decreased by about 40% during the same period (UNESCO & UNICEF, 2025). Furthermore, the female teaching workforce has significantly diminished, with the number of female university lecturers dropping from 2,599 in 2019 to 794 in 2024 (UNESCO & UNICEF).

A noteworthy aspect of the Afghan data is the discrepancy between administrative reports and field verification. The Education Management Information System (EMIS) indicates over two million girls enrolled in lower secondary education in 2024, and a gender parity index for primary education that has improved from 0.69 in 2017 to 0.84 in 2024 (UNESCO & UNICEF, 2025). However, verified data shows that secondary enrollment for girls above Grade 6 is zero. The authors of the report include the EMIS figure, despite its flaws, to quantify the extent of exclusion and maintain administrative continuity should policies change. This methodological point is crucial: a gender parity index based solely on registry data would suggest progress in a country that has implemented one of the most extensive state-level exclusions of women from formal education globally.

On the global benchmark for completion, Afghanistan is at the extreme negative end. The national average for secondary completion is 31.3%, but in Urozgan province, for example, it drops to 3.8% (UNESCO & UNICEF). For comparison, the global upper-secondary completion rate is currently 61% (UNESCO, 2026). These differences are not merely quantitative; they represent significant disparities, exacerbated by overlapping humanitarian challenges such as flooding, mass returns from Iran and Pakistan, and a Humanitarian Response Plan funded at only 22% (UNESCO & UNICEF, 2025).

Completion Rates and the Schooling Pipeline

The 2026 Report suggests that completion rates have improved even where out-of-school rates have stagnated, due to increased system efficiency: repetition in primary education has decreased by 62% globally since 2000, and by 38% in lower secondary (UNESCO, 2026). However, late enrollment and over-age progression remain significant issues in low-income countries, where the gap between “timely” and “ultimate” completion is around nine percentage points (UNESCO, 2026). In Afghanistan, this efficiency argument is inverted. The primary constraint is not repetition but political exclusion. Approximately 93% of 10-year-olds in Afghanistan cannot read a simple, age-appropriate text, indicating a learning poverty rate among the highest globally and roughly 35 percentage points worse than the South Asian regional average (UNESCO & UNICEF, 2025; World Bank, 2024). The schooling pipeline is leaking at both ends: children who are enrolled are not learning, and those who should be entering secondary school are being legally barred from doing so.

Drivers of Progress and the Limits of the Supply–Demand Framing

The Report attributes sustained global progress to several key factors: legal frameworks for free and compulsory education, school construction, inclusive education provisions, and reductions in the direct and opportunity costs of schooling, along with conditional transfers such as cash grants, scholarships, and school feeding programs (UNESCO, 2026). It also notes that fewer than one in ten countries has a sufficiently strong equity focus in its financing system (UNESCO, 2026). This finding deserves greater attention, as it suggests that even when standard policies are implemented, they often lack the redistributive design necessary to close existing gaps.

A more contentious aspect of global discourse, partly inherited by the Report, is the use of a supply-and-demand framework to model educational access. While this logic can be useful for cost and provisioning decisions, it conflicts with the legal status of education as a human right. A right is not merely a quantity demanded; it is a claim that persists regardless of effective demand. When access is rationed based on household-level cost–benefit analyses or when state responses depend on “demand signals” from communities, the framework shifts the responsibility for upholding rights from the state to the child. The Afghan situation sharpens this critique: demand for girls’ education remains strong, as evidenced by multiple field assessments cited in the Situation Report (UNESCO & UNICEF, 2025); what has collapsed is the political and institutional framework to support it. No supply-demand adjustments can rectify this, as the primary constraint is not price or preference.

The Afghan Reversal: Political Economy of Educational Regression

While the global narrative reflects slowing progress, Afghanistan’s situation represents active regression. Three key features warrant emphasis. First, fiscal compression: the de facto Ministry of Education allocates over 90% of its budget to teacher salaries, leaving little room for capital investments, materials, or maintenance (UNESCO & UNICEF, 2025). Second, curricular reorientation: a February 2025 decree mandates a unified primary curriculum for general schools and madrasas, with Islamic subjects occupying nearly half of total instructional hours. An August 2025 directive instructs universities to eliminate 18 subjects—including gender studies, human rights, political systems and governance, and the history of religions—and to withdraw 679 books from circulation (UNESCO & UNICEF, 2025).

These actions do not reflect an under-resourced system struggling to meet global commitments; rather, they signify a re-engineering of the education sector that contradicts the SDG 4 framework. The system is becoming more centralized in governance, more theological in content, and more gender-segregated in participation. Each shift compounds the others: a curriculum that minimizes secular subjects is less compatible with the national and international tertiary pathways, while a teaching workforce devoid of women complicates the eventual restoration of girls’ schooling.

Conclusion

The 2026 Global Education Monitoring Report is a balanced document that acknowledges the achievements of the past quarter-century without suggesting that the SDG 4 commitments will be fulfilled by 2030. The Afghan case is particularly troubling, not merely as an example of underdevelopment—many countries face similar challenges—but as a case of state-directed regression amidst a progressive agenda. Three implications arise. First, indicators must be cross-verified against actual attendance, especially in contexts where administrative reporting may not align with policy realities. Second, the language used to analyze access should honor the legal status of education as a right and avoid framing that introduces market conditions into discussions of obligations. Lastly, the global community’s remaining efforts in Afghanistan—such as alternative schooling, teacher development, and literacy programs—need not only protection but also expansion, with the understanding that they serve as bridging measures for a system whose recovery will take decades. Without sustained engagement, the Afghan reversal risks becoming a model for other states to follow, suggesting that the right to education can, in practice, be retracted.

References

1. UNESCO. (2026). Global Education Monitoring Report 2026: Access and equity—Countdown to 2030. https://doi.org/10.54676/JLKL3223

2. UNESCO & UNICEF. (2025). Afghanistan Education Situation Report 2025. United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization & United Nations Children’s Fund.

3. World Bank. (2024). Afghanistan Learning Poverty Brief 2024. World Bank Group.

4. United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs. (2024). Afghanistan Humanitarian Needs and Response Plan 2025. OCHA.

5. United Nations Children’s Fund. (2023). Afghanistan Multiple Indicator Cluster Survey 2022–2023. UNICEF.

Photo: Early 1960s, Kabul University Dormitory, constructed through United States financial and technical assistance. The dormitory played a significant role in accommodating generations of Afghan scholars and students, including the author, and became an important symbol of Afghanistan’s modern higher education development. The dormitory was reconstruted again by the USAID in 2013.

Introduction

The dominant popular narrative on U.S.–Afghan relations begins on September 11, 2001, and ends on August 15, 2021. Between those two dates, twenty years of war on terrorism supply the conventional frame; before and after them, very little of the relationship is taken to be visible. This compression is characteristic of popular Western discourse rather than of the specialist literature on Afghan studies, where the longer record has long been documented. It is, nevertheless, the compression that shapes most public commentary, much of the diaspora’s post-2021 self-narration, and the framing within which Afghan intellectuals are now expected to locate themselves. It is also misleading. The intellectual and educational engagement between the United States and Afghanistan is older, deeper, and more consequential to Afghan development than its public narration suggests[1].

This essay argues, drawing on a body of primary-source evidence—a 1972 USAID audit of the Afghan education sector (USAID, 1972), feasibility reports prepared for USAID in the mid-1970s on rural non-formal education (Bing & Srinivasan, 1975; Bing, Srinivasan, & Villaume, 1975), and a substantial secondary literature—that the relationship is best understood not as a Cold War episode followed by a post-2001 reconstruction, but as the latest layer in a continuous Afghan reform tradition that has unfolded across a sequence of layered historical phases since the early twentieth century. Three connected propositions follow.

First, the relationship is long. The Afghan reform tradition that culminated in formal U.S. partnerships was already in motion by the first decade of the twentieth century, and continuous American educational engagement with Afghanistan can be dated to 1954. By the time the Saur Revolution of 1978 disrupted that engagement, the United States had already invested twenty-four uninterrupted years and approximately thirty-seven million U.S. dollars in the Afghan education sector (USAID, 1972). The post-2001 era was therefore neither the beginning of U.S.–Afghan intellectual relations nor a fresh start; it was their second flowering after a quarter-century of forced absence.

Second, the relationship was instrumental—but instrumental within an Afghan project Afghans had been pursuing for half a century before the Americans arrived. From the editorship of Mahmud Tarzi’s biweekly Siraj al-Akhbar (1911–1919) onward, Afghan reformers had identified modern education as essential to national survival. The successive phases of Afghan modernization—the Tarzi generation’s pan-Islamic Turkish orientation, the Amanullah-era European partnerships of the 1920s, the Musahiban consolidation of the 1930s and 1940s, the Daoud-Zahir constitutional opening of the 1950s and 1960s—built on, negotiated with, and partially concealed themselves within the institutional inheritances of the earlier phases. The American engagement, when it arrived, was absorbed into this continuing tradition rather than founding it. Teachers College of Columbia University, Southern Illinois University, Indiana University, the Universities of Wyoming and Nebraska, the Academy for Educational Development, the Peace Corps, and the Fulbright Commission all operated within institutional architectures that Afghans had built and continued to direct (USAID, 1972; Bing & Srinivasan, 1975).

Third, this history constitutes an enduring legacy that the present generation of Afghan intellectuals, and the Afghan diaspora abroad, have a responsibility to integrate into their own intellectual self-understanding. The task is not to celebrate American influence but to recover the continuous Afghan reform tradition into which that influence was absorbed—to recognize the U.S. partnership as one strand in a longer braid that includes Turkish, French, German, Soviet, and indigenous Afghan threads. Read this way, the U.S.–Afghan relationship becomes integral, rather than ornamental, to a serious analysis of Afghan modernization and of the diaspora’s own intellectual genealogy.

The essay proceeds in eight sections. Section I sets out the methodological frame of layered phases against the more familiar episodic narration. Sections II through V trace the phases of Afghan modernization from the late nineteenth century through the early 1950s, paying particular attention to continuities that the standard episodic narration tends to obscure. Section VI reconstructs the architecture of the American layer (1954–1978) using primary-source evidence. Section VII documents the rupture of 1978–2001 and confronts the structural questions it raises. Section VIII analyzes the second batch (2002–2021). The conclusion argues for the recovered intellectual genealogy that the long arc demands.

A Continuous Reform Tradition: Phases, Not Ruptures

The standard periodization of Afghan modern history offers the convenience of clean episodes: Abdur Rahman closes (1880–1901), Habibullah opens (1901–1919), Amanullah accelerates (1919–1929), the civil war reverses (1929), the Musahiban retrench (1929–), Zahir liberalizes (1933–1973), the United States arrives (1950s), the Saur Revolution disrupts (1978). Each label captures something true. Together, however, they obscure the deeper continuity that runs through these phases. Each successive period built on, negotiated with, and partially concealed itself within the institutional architectures inherited from its predecessors. None of the openings was a clean break; none of the retrenchments was a clean reversal. Royal patronage, court-centered reformism, suspicion of regional powers, preference for distant non-bordering partners, an elite stratum cultivated in the capital and a few provincial centers, and a cautious distance from the deep countryside—these features ran continuously through the entire arc, even as the foreign partnerships and the dominant rhetoric shifted from Turkish to European to American.

Reading the U.S.–Afghan partnership through this layered frame has analytical consequences. It means treating the American engagement of the 1950s through 1970s not as an external Cold War initiative imposed on a passive Afghan state, but as a deliberate Afghan choice to add an American layer to a modernization project Afghans had been directing for nearly half a century. It means recognizing that the structural narrowness Rakove (2023) identifies in the Cold War partnership—its filtering through Kabul’s Westernized elite—was not introduced by the Americans but inherited from the Habibullah-Tarzi pattern that had set the terms of Afghan reformism three generations earlier. And it means that the post-2001 second batch must be analyzed not only against the rupture of 1978–2001 but against the much longer continuity that the rupture interrupted.

This methodological framing also has implications for the diaspora’s intellectual self-understanding. If U.S.–Afghan intellectual relations are a layer rather than an episode, they cannot be separated from the rest of the Afghan reform tradition without distorting both. To analyze the American engagement honestly is to analyze it alongside the Tarzi generation, the Amanullah cohort sent to Europe, the Musahiban’s French and German partnerships, and the Soviet engagement at the Polytechnic Institute as expressions of the same continuous Afghan project under different external partnerships. The diaspora’s task, when it engages with the American chapter, is not to celebrate or condemn it in isolation but to integrate it into the longer continuum it both joined and helped extend.

The Abdur Rahman Foundation (1880–1901)

The unitary kingdom forged by Amir Abdur Rahman Khan consolidated central authority but did so at substantial cost to social, economic, and intellectual development (Ewans, 2002). To preserve absolute power, Abdur Rahman pursued a deliberate policy of self-imposed isolation, exiled forward-thinking subjects, and suppressed any inquiry that might unsettle the established order (Gregorian, 1969; Poullada, 1973). Throughout the late nineteenth century, formal learning was confined almost entirely to mosques and madrasas, where conservative mullahs imparted a curriculum dominated by rote memorization and strict adherence to medieval scholasticism (Gregorian, 1969). Modern sciences, foreign languages, and humanist inquiry were absent (Lee, 2018). The few Afghans who sought a non-traditional education had to leave the country—for India, Bukhara, or the Ottoman Empire—an act that effectively amounted to self-imposed exile (Ewans, 2002).

It is essential, however, not to read this period as merely a long sleep. Abdur Rahman built the institutional machinery—a centralized administration, a tribute-paying clergy, a controlled foreign policy, a managed elite—that subsequent reformers would inherit and operate within. He also institutionalized two strategic preferences that would persist throughout the Afghan modernization project: the avoidance of dependence on neighboring British India and Tsarist Russia, and the preference for engagement with distant, non-bordering partners. These preferences would shape every subsequent phase of Afghan foreign-policy and educational decision-making, including the eventual turn to the United States half a century later. Read against the longer arc, Abdur Rahman’s reign is not the antithesis of Afghan modernization but its institutional precondition: it built the centralized state that subsequent reformers needed in order to pursue any modernization at all, and it set the strategic calculus within which their foreign-partnership choices would be made.

The Habibullah Period (1901–1919): Liberalization Within the Inherited Framework

The accession of Amir Habibullah Khan inaugurated a period of relative openness in Afghan intellectual life. It would be a mistake, however, to read this period as a break from his father’s political settlement. Habibullah retained the absolute monarchy, the centralized administration, the careful management of the ulama, and the cautious foreign policy that Abdur Rahman had established. What changed was the space he permitted within these structures. A general amnesty allowed exiled intellectuals to return, bringing with them the cosmopolitan exposure of their years abroad (Koplik, 2015). The founding of Habibia College in 1903/1904 introduced modern secondary education to a small cohort drawn primarily from the royal family, court officials, and the sons of prominent religious and tribal leaders (Newell, 1972; Amin, 1978). The 1972 USAID audit, looking back from a half-century’s distance, identifies Habibia as the institutional starting point of “the modern education era in Afghanistan,” and adds that the first regular primary school was established in Kabul in 1909 and the first teacher-training institution—the Darul Mo’Allamein—in 1912 with an inaugural cohort of 120 trainees (USAID, 1972).

The reformist energy of the period, however, came less from Habibullah personally than from the circle that he tolerated. The so-called Young Afghans (Jawanan-i Afghan) gathered around Mahmud Tarzi, who had absorbed during his Damascus and Istanbul exile the reformist currents of the Young Turks and the pan-Islamic anti-colonialism of Jamal al-Din al-Afghani (Lee, 2018). It was Tarzi’s circle, not the monarch himself, that systematically dismantled the anti-modernist rhetoric of the previous decades, arguing through the biweekly Siraj al-Akhbar (1911–1919) that Islam and modern science were not merely compatible but mutually reinforcing, and that national survival in an age of empire depended on embracing both (Ahmed, 2017; Gregorian, 1969). Habibullah’s role was that of a permissive monarch operating within a system that remained, in its essential structure, his father’s. He was assassinated in 1919, in part because conservative court factions considered him insufficiently pious (Lee, 2018)—a fact that should warn against any reading of this period as a clean break from the conservative settlement of the 1880s and 1890s. The liberalization Habibullah permitted was real but partial, and it operated under continuous pressure from a conservative establishment that had been built up under Abdur Rahman and remained largely intact.

This continuity matters for the longer argument. The reformist tradition that would later receive American partnerships in the 1950s was not founded by a sudden break in the early twentieth century. It emerged within the inherited Abdur Rahman state through the patient cultivation of a small intellectual space, and it carried the imprint of that inheritance—its elite-court orientation, its caution toward the deep countryside, its dependence on royal tolerance, its restriction to a privileged few—into all the phases that followed. Modern education under Abdur Rahman and Habibullah alike was deliberately restricted to a privileged stratum: members of the royal family, select state officials, and the sons of prominent religious and tribal leaders, drawn mainly from the second and third tiers of the court (Gregorian, 1969). The intent was utilitarian: to produce administrators and bureaucrats rather than to foster independent thought. This pattern—reform through a narrow court-centered elite, with the deep countryside left largely untouched—would persist as a structural feature of the Afghan modernization project across every subsequent phase, including the American one.

The Amanullah Acceleration and the Turkish Sphere (1919–1929)

Amanullah Khan, Habibullah’s son and Tarzi’s son-in-law, inherited not only the throne but also the Tarzi reformist network. His reforms—the 1923 constitution, the legal modernization, the educational expansion, the dispatch of students to France, Germany, Italy, and Turkey—represented an acceleration within the framework Habibullah had cultivated rather than a break from a stagnant past (Poullada, 1973). The continuity is visible in the personnel as much as in the institutions: the first cohort of students sent abroad to France included future prominent leaders such as Prince Daoud Khan, who would in time return to direct the Afghan state and preside over the constitutional decade of the 1960s (Poullada, 1973). The cumulative effect of Amanullah’s educational policy was the formation of a small but consequential European-trained Afghan elite whose influence would extend into the Musahiban period and beyond, providing personnel continuity across what is conventionally treated as a sharp break.

The Amanullah period also marked the maturation of the Turkish sphere of foreign influence in Afghan modernization—a sphere whose foundations had been laid in the Habibullah era through Tarzi’s personal Ottoman exposure and the intellectual currents of Siraj al-Akhbar. The 1921 Turco-Afghan Alliance Agreement, signed by representatives of Mustafa Kemal and Amanullah, committed Turkey to dispatch military officers and educators to Afghanistan; the arriving Ottoman experts established the Mekteb-i Harbiye (military academy) and taught in civilian schools, solidifying Turkish pedagogical and administrative influence (Ahmed, 2017). For Afghan modernists, the Ottoman Empire—and its Kemalist successor—represented an attractive synthesis: a Muslim-majority polity that had assimilated Western sciences and military technology while preserving Islamic sovereignty (Gregorian, 1969).

The 1929 civil war and the brief, reactionary rule of Habibullah Kalakani interrupted Amanullah’s acceleration but did not erase its institutional foundations. Many of the European-trained Afghans returned to public life under the Musahiban dynasty after 1929, providing the personnel and intellectual continuity that allowed the modernization project to resume its layered development under more cautious management (Lee, 2018). The 1929 episode is therefore better understood as a constraint on the pace of reform than as a reversal of its direction—a moment that pushed the modernization project toward greater accommodation with conservative elements while preserving its core institutional commitments.

The Musahiban Consolidation and the European Sphere (1929–1953)

The Musahiban dynasty under Nadir Shah (1929–1933) and Mohammad Zahir Shah (1933–1973) is often presented as a long retreat from Amanullah’s modernization. The historical record is more ambiguous. The Musahiban did make substantial ideological concessions to the conservative clergy in the immediate aftermath of the 1929 rebellion (Gregorian, 1969; Newell, 1972), and the visible pace of public reform slowed compared to the Amanullah years. But cautious institutional development continued, and several of the most consequential institutions of modern Afghan higher education were established during this period of supposed retrenchment. Kabul University was founded in 1932 with the establishment of the Faculty of Medicine, supported by a French medical mission and Turkish professors (Gregorian, 1969). The College of Law and Political Science followed in 1938, and the Faculty of Science in 1942, both drawing on French and German methods and personnel (Amin, 1978; Newell, 1972). Read in continuity with what came before, the Musahiban period extended rather than reversed the modernization project; what changed was the rhetorical register, not the institutional direction.

The European sphere of foreign influence—chiefly French and German—matured during this period. French instructors had been recruited for the Amaniyya (later Istiqlal) lycée in the 1920s, and German educators for the Amani (later Nejat) school (Fletcher, 1965; Poullada, 1973), and these partnerships extended into the Musahiban period as the institutional foundation of Afghan higher education. The European turn reflected the same Afghan strategic logic that had shaped the earlier Turkish partnership: a deliberate diversification across distant non-bordering powers in order to insulate the modernization project from any single foreign veto and to avoid dependence on either British India or Soviet Russia (Newell, 1972). The 1972 USAID audit confirms the durability of these European partnerships across four decades: by the early 1970s, France was still supporting the Faculties of Medicine, Law, and Letters at Kabul University, and the Federal Republic of Germany was assisting the Faculties of Science and Economics, with German support to the technical-education sector then being gradually transitioned to Afghan management (USAID, 1972).

By the early 1950s, when the question of American partnership arose, the Afghan modernization project was therefore well advanced. It had a generation of European-trained leaders (Daoud Khan among them) who would soon assume the senior positions of the Afghan state. It had an established university system with multiple faculties supported by long-running partnerships with several foreign powers. It had a consolidated developmental state under the Musahiban that had survived the 1929 disruption with its institutional core intact. And it had a clearly articulated strategic preference—traceable to Nadir Shah’s declarations of the 1930s but rooted ultimately in Abdur Rahman’s original strategic logic—for engagement with countries that lacked colonial aspirations in the region (Gregorian, 1969). What it sought from the United States was not a foundation but the next layer.

The American Layer (1954–1978): Continuity and Acceleration

A. Strategic Logic and Afghan Direction

By the time the United States arrived in significant numbers as an educational partner in the early 1950s, the Afghan modernization project was nearly half a century old. It had been launched under Habibullah within Abdur Rahman’s institutional framework; matured under Amanullah with European partnerships and a Turkish military-educational alliance; consolidated under the Musahiban with Kabul University, French and German faculty support, and a generation of European-trained leaders. The American partnership, when it came, was absorbed into this continuing project. It was the next phase, not the founding one.

Photo: The Kabul University library, built in the 1960s with financial and technical support from the United States.

This framing matters for how the archival evidence should be read. The detailed American institutional architecture documented in the 1972 USAID audit—Teachers College of Columbia University at the Faculty of Education, Southern Illinois University at the Afghan Institute of Technology, Indiana University at Kabul University central administration, and so on—was not imposed on Afghanistan. Each of these contracts ran through Afghan ministries, operated under Afghan policy direction, and required Afghan counterparts at every level. The Afghan side was contributing approximately twelve percent of the general government budget to education in the late 1960s, with annual Ministry of Education expenditures rising from 339 million afghanis in 1964 to 732 million in 1970—a 9.6 percent annual growth rate against a 4.6 percent average across all ministries (USAID, 1972; Bing & Srinivasan, 1975). The American partnership was substantial but it operated as one of several streams of foreign assistance feeding an Afghan-directed project that also included Soviet (Polytechnic Institute), West German (Faculties of Science and Economics), French (Faculties of Medicine, Law, and Letters), and Indian, Egyptian, Bulgarian, Chinese, Czechoslovak, and Polish bilateral programs (USAID, 1972).

What the American partnership particularly did was extend the reformist tradition into specific sectors that Afghan policy makers had identified as priorities: teacher training (TCCU), vocational and technical education (SIU/Wyoming/AIT), university administration (Indiana), and rural non-formal education (Nebraska/Academy for Educational Development). The strategic choice—to receive American assistance in these specific areas—was an Afghan one, made within a long-standing preference for engagement with what Nadir Shah had described in the 1930s as countries lacking colonial aspirations in the region (Gregorian, 1969). The United States, like Turkey before it and France and Germany alongside it, was a non-bordering power whose geopolitical position made the partnership safe from the Afghan point of view, and whose post-1945 ascendancy made it newly available as a partner.

B. Institutional Architecture: A Network of Sustained University Contracts

The 1972 USAID audit report provides the most comprehensive contemporary record of the scale of this engagement. By September 30, 1972, USAID had obligated approximately thirty-seven million U.S. dollars for the Afghan education sector since the program’s inception in 1954—eighteen years of continuous funding through a network of long-term contracts with American universities, each assigned to a specific institutional reform task (USAID, 1972).

Photo: Late 1950s, a group of agriculture faculty students from Kabul University enjoying a picnic in Paghman, organized with support from the United States Agency for International Development. This image highlights the growth of academic and student life initiatives linked to international educational assistance during Afghanistan’s modernization in the mid-twentieth century.

Teachers College of Columbia University (TCCU) was the first and longest-serving American partner. From 1954 onward, TCCU operated under continuous USAID contracts that placed American educators inside the Afghan Ministry of Education and within Kabul University’s Faculty of Education (USAID, 1972). The TCCU portfolio was unusually wide-ranging and covered four continuously running sub-programs over the better part of two decades. A Primary Teacher Education program ran from 1954 to 1967, when UNESCO assumed the lead role. An Emergency Teacher Education program operating from 1962 to 1968 added approximately eight hundred primary teachers to the Afghan system, over and above the regular output of Afghan teacher-training schools. A Secondary Teacher Training program operated continuously from 1956 to 1971, working through the Faculty of Education at Kabul University to produce secondary-level teachers for the rapidly expanding lycée system. And an English Language program, which ran from 1956 to 1968, was assessed by USAID itself as the most popular education program in the country (USAID, 1972). After the 1968 phase-out of the standalone English-language program, U.S. Peace Corps volunteers continued to staff English instruction in Afghan schools (USAID, 1972).

Southern Illinois University (SIU) led a parallel reform of Afghan vocational and technical education through the Afghan Institute of Technology (AIT) in Kabul. After an initial USAID advisory engagement at AIT from 1956 to 1962, SIU was contracted in October 1964 (Contract AID/nesa-131, later AID/nesa-244) to provide a comprehensive transformation of the Institute. By the contract’s conclusion on June 30, 1970, the curriculum had been completely re-written across six new technical majors (aviation, automotive, building construction, civil, electrical-electronics, and machine-shop and machine-tool operations); a new physical plant of nearly thirteen thousand five hundred square meters—twelve buildings including dormitories for four hundred boarding students—had been completed and dedicated on June 27, 1968; approximately six hundred thousand U.S. dollars in laboratory equipment had been installed; and AIT enrollment had increased by 58 percent to about six hundred students, graduating roughly 180 trained middle-level technicians annually. The total construction package amounted to roughly four million U.S. dollars, of which USAID contributed 1.6 million and the Afghan government contributed 77,059,000 afghanis (USAID, 1972).

After SIU’s departure in 1970, the University of Wyoming was contracted to provide residual advisory services to AIT, inaugurating Wyoming’s continued involvement in Afghan vocational and agricultural education. Dr. Keith Humble of Wyoming arrived at AIT on September 27, 1970, and was succeeded in June 1971 by John E. Griswold, who served as Chief of Party until the contract’s completion in June 1972 (USAID, 1972). The University of Nebraska entered Afghanistan principally on the rural and basic-education side; by the mid-1970s, Nebraska faculty were among the technical advisors involved in feasibility work for non-formal education in rural areas, building on the institutional infrastructure established under the SIU/Wyoming AIT contracts.

Indiana University handled the parallel reform of Kabul University’s central administration. Under Project Agreement 306-013, signed in April 1966, USAID obligated 1.7 million dollars through September 1972 for an Indiana University contract (AID/nesa-282) that placed four long-term technicians and six short-term consultants at Kabul University. The Indiana team rewrote student admission and registration procedures, established a central student-records system, introduced University planning seminars, and developed orientation programs for incoming students. Forty-one Afghan administrators received training across various phases of university administration; nine had returned to Kabul by 1972 with Master’s degrees from American universities, and seven were still in the United States completing graduate work in Business Administration at the time of the audit (USAID, 1972). The audit candidly acknowledged that progress on implementing university-wide administrative reforms had been slower than hoped, attributing the difficulty to structural features of Kabul University—notably, the autonomy of the various Faculties and the election (rather than appointment) of Faculty Deans—that limited the central administration’s capacity to enforce policy uniformly (USAID, 1972). The intellectual lesson of the audit was significant: even substantial American technical assistance could not overcome the underlying political economy of Afghan academic governance, and the reform of higher education depended on Afghan internal consensus that no external program could supply.

In addition to Columbia, SIU, Wyoming, Nebraska, and Indiana, Franklin Book Programs—a U.S. non-profit organization—operated the Afghan Ministry of Education’s Education Press to produce textbooks and instructional materials throughout this period (USAID, 1972). The Peace Corps had operated in Afghanistan since 1962, supplying volunteer English, mathematics, and science teachers across the country (USAID, 1972). The Fulbright Commission sustained the academic exchange that brought Afghan students to American universities and American scholars to Afghanistan, and was, in Kornacka’s (2014) judgment, the most recognizable and successful of the U.S.-sponsored exchange programs. The Asia Foundation funded targeted educational and cultural projects (USAID, 1972). The architectural firm Daniel, Mann, Johnson, and Mendenhall designed and engineered the AIT physical plant under a separate U.S. government grant of approximately three hundred eighty thousand dollars (USAID, 1972). Together, this network represents a substantially larger and more sustained intellectual partnership than the standard literature on U.S.–Afghan relations typically acknowledges.

C. Sectoral Reach: From the Village to the University

The institutional architecture above might suggest that U.S. assistance focused primarily on Kabul University and other elite institutions. The archival record shows otherwise. The engagement extended downward through the Afghan educational system and outward into rural areas in a way that has rarely been recognized.

Photo: Mid-1960s, students celebrating the successful completion of an academic project supported by the United States Agency for International Development. The image reflects the evolving culture of institutional development, student engagement, and international educational collaboration during a pivotal time in Afghanistan’s higher education growth.

At the primary level, the TCCU emergency teacher-training program (1962–1968) added eight hundred trained primary teachers to the Afghan system at a moment when the country was attempting to expand basic education to rural areas (USAID, 1972). USAID-financed curriculum and textbook development for primary education continued under TCCU through the early 1970s, with project funding of approximately six hundred thousand dollars per year and revisions ongoing on roughly 140 textbook titles by 1972 (USAID, 1972). At the village school level—where instruction in 1970 covered the first three grades and reached a network of 1,852 village schools serving an average of 200 pupils each—American assistance contributed indirectly to curriculum design and teacher preparation (USAID, 1972). At the secondary level, the rapid expansion of middle and high schools (lycées) was supported by TCCU’s continuous secondary teacher training program. Between 1965 and 1971, total enrollment at Afghan secondary schools grew by approximately 82 percent, reaching about 82,000 students in middle schools and 26,000 in high schools by 1970 (USAID, 1972). At the higher-education level, by 1971 Kabul University had grown to 5,719 students from a 1965 base of 3,136—a six-year increase of roughly 82 percent—with nine faculties, of which all but Theology had received some form of American technical assistance (USAID, 1972).

By the mid-1970s, U.S. engagement was pushing further still—into rural non-formal education designed to reach those whom the formal school system had not. The 1975 feasibility report by John W. Bing and Lyra Srinivasan, prepared for USAID under contract with the Academy for Educational Development, surveyed three districts of Kabul Province (Deh Sabz, Chardehi, and Bagrami) to determine the viability of a village-level non-formal education project (Bing & Srinivasan, 1975). The team worked closely with the Afghan Directorate of Functional Literacy and Adult Education (FLAE), met directly with the Minister of Education Dr. Kayum and the First Deputy Minister Dr. Siddiq, and consulted extensively with Ms. Kubra, the President of the Directorate, who by the team’s account was actively cooperative in setting up site visits and willing to consider an unconventional, contract-based approach to village field operations (Bing & Srinivasan, 1975). Two members of the consulting team had spent a combined seven years in Afghanistan during 1964–1973, indicating that by the mid-1970s a stratum of American specialists had accumulated sustained, longitudinal field experience in the country (Bing & Srinivasan, 1975).

A subsequent draft project outline by Bing, Srinivasan, and Villaume (1975), prepared in consultation with five named Afghan colleagues—A. Fareghi, A. Qayeum, G. Shewa, Aziza Azia, and N. Rahimi—proposed a three-year, four-phase pilot program designed to develop rural youth and adults’ economic productivity through training in agriculture, animal husbandry, small-scale industry, and home crafts. The proposal explicitly recommended that core staff positions be filled, to the maximum extent possible, by qualified Afghans selected on the basis of professional qualifications, with non-professional staff to be entirely Afghan nationals (Bing, Srinivasan, & Villaume, 1975). It also called for equal attention to male and female learners, with two male and two female Field Operational Agents in each pilot village, and for six Afghan FLAE educators (including a woman) to undertake a six-week field-visit orientation in the United States, with stops at the Center for International Studies at the University of Massachusetts at Amherst, World Education in New York, and Michigan State University, and a possible field visit to an ongoing non-formal education project in Turkey, Iran, or the Philippines (Bing, Srinivasan, & Villaume, 1975). That such a project was being designed at all in 1975, with explicit attention to Afghan ownership of staffing and to the educational needs of Afghan women, testifies to the breadth and ambition of the partnership in the immediate pre-war period.

Photo: Early 1960s, a group of agriculture faculty students from Kabul University engaged in a field visit and hands-on skills development activity. This image highlights the focus on applied agricultural education, technical training, and experiential learning during the growth of Afghanistan’s modern higher education system.

D. Human Capital Formation

The most lasting product of the American layer was human capital. By 1962 alone, more than one thousand Afghans had received an American education (Fletcher, 1965). Within individual programs, the documented numbers add up rapidly. The Indiana University Kabul Administration project trained 41 Afghan administrators, with 9 returning by 1972 with American Master’s degrees and 7 still in the United States completing graduate work (USAID, 1972). The SIU vocational education program at AIT trained 55 Afghan vocational educators, of whom 23 had received some form of U.S. training, including 4 with American Master’s degrees, 4 with Bachelor of Science degrees, and 9 with Associate Technical degrees; on the participants’ return, the SIU team was replaced by Afghan vocational teachers and the technical-assistance program terminated successfully on schedule, on June 30, 1970 (USAID, 1972). The TCCU program over its eighteen years involved fourteen American specialists and thirty-eight Afghans from the Ministry of Education at the time of the 1972 audit, with cumulative trainee numbers across primary, secondary, and university teacher-training programs running into the high hundreds (USAID, 1972). The cumulative effect on Kabul University faculty was substantial: prior to the war, more than one-third of Kabul University faculty held Ph.D.s (Babury & Hayward, 2014), a level of qualification that placed the institution among the more credentialed universities in the developing world at the time.

E. Multi-Channel Continuity

A defining feature of the American layer is its multi-channel continuity. American engagement was not concentrated in a single program that could be terminated by the failure of one contract; it was distributed across USAID, the Peace Corps, the Fulbright Commission, the Asia Foundation, and direct university-to-university partnerships. When one program ended—such as the SIU contract for AIT in 1970—another took its place: the University of Wyoming residual advisory program. When TCCU’s primary-teacher-training role was phased out in 1967, UNESCO assumed it, while TCCU continued in the secondary, English-language, and curriculum sub-projects through 1971. The architecture was robust, layered, and self-renewing—a feature that mirrored the longer Afghan strategy of distributing foreign-partnership influence across multiple sources to insulate the modernization project from any single failure point.

The Disruption (1978–2001) and the Question of Brittleness

The trajectory of the American layer was abruptly broken by the Saur Revolution of April 1978, which brought the People’s Democratic Party of Afghanistan to power and inaugurated a quarter-century during which sustained American intellectual engagement was no longer possible. The Soviet invasion of December 1979 deepened the rupture: the Fulbright Program, which had operated continuously since 1952, was suspended that year and would remain absent for nearly a quarter of a century (Kornacka, 2014). The TCCU, SIU, Wyoming, Indiana, and Nebraska contracts had all wound down by then, but the wider American educational presence—the Peace Corps, the Asia Foundation, the USAID education-sector technical assistance—was forced to withdraw, and the institutional architecture documented above ceased to function as a transmission belt for U.S.–Afghan intellectual exchange.

Beyond the bilateral relationship, the period transformed the Afghan intellectual climate itself. The continuous developmental ethos of the earlier decades was displaced by ideological indoctrination from both right and left, and the core mission of intellectualism was subordinated to political agendas defined by the Cold War, the Soviet occupation, the mujahideen resistance, the civil wars of the 1990s, and the Taliban regime (1996–2001). The human cost was severe and measurable. By 2008, only 5.2 percent of Kabul University’s faculty held Ph.D.s and 31 percent held Master’s degrees (Babury & Hayward, 2014)—figures dramatically lower than the more-than-one-third Ph.D. share that had prevailed in the 1960s and 1970s. The institutional capacity that the longer reform tradition had built up across nearly seventy-five years had been depleted.

The collapse of 1978 raises a question that the long arc framing makes unavoidable. If the modernization project was nearly seventy-five years old at the time of the Saur Revolution, why did it prove so vulnerable? The answer lies partly in the structural narrowness identified by Rakove (2023)—but that narrowness, properly understood, is not a feature of the American partnership alone. It is inherited from the original Habibullah-Tarzi pattern of court-centered modernization, conducted from above by a small reformist elite, depending on royal tolerance, and oriented toward urban centers rather than the deep countryside. Each successive phase—Amanullah’s European-trained cohort, the Musahiban’s French- and German-supported faculties, the Daoud-Zahir constitutional opening, the American layer—extended the elite stratum without fundamentally altering its narrowness. The 1975 Bing-Srinivasan feasibility report acknowledged this directly: rural Afghan villages had remained “fundamentally unchanged, socially and economically, largely because of isolation and the economics of subsistence” despite two decades of intensive American partnership and a longer history of Afghan modernization (Bing & Srinivasan, 1975).

The structural narrowness was therefore not a flaw of the American partnership; it was a feature of the Afghan reform tradition into which the American partnership had been absorbed. Recognizing this is essential to the diaspora’s intellectual self-understanding. The task is not to defend the Tarzi-to-Daoud-to-American continuum from the 1978 disruption by treating the disruption as an external imposition, but to ask honestly whether the continuum’s elite-court character contained, from its early-twentieth-century origins, the seeds of its own vulnerability. A modernization project conducted by a small Westernized stratum in Kabul and a few provincial capitals—generative as it was of human capital, institutional infrastructure, and intellectual achievement—did not build the rural and provincial constituencies that might have defended it when the Saur Revolution came. This is not to absolve the political actors of 1978 of responsibility for what they did. It is to recognize that the brittleness against which their actions registered was a feature of the longer arc, not an importation from outside it.

The Second American Layer (2002–2021): Reconstruction Within Continuity

The arrival of the Republic in late 2001 and the establishment of a new Afghan government in 2002 reopened the space for U.S.–Afghan intellectual collaboration. In 2003, the U.S. Department of State formally reinstated the Fulbright Program in Afghanistan, an explicit attempt to rebuild academic ties with a country whose universities had been hollowed out by decades of war (Kornacka, 2014). Across the following two decades, the United States delivered scholarships to Afghans across a wide range of fields, and bilateral educational engagement once again became one of the most consistent features of the relationship—even as the broader political and military situation grew more contested. The post-2001 era is therefore better understood not as a fresh start but as a delayed continuation: the second flowering of an engagement that had been interrupted in 1978 but that drew on institutional models, personnel networks, and strategic logics established in the earlier American layer and, behind it, in the longer Afghan reform tradition.

Several features distinguished the second batch from its predecessor. The first was the comparative breadth of participation. Whereas the first batch had been heavily concentrated among male elites drawn from a narrow Kabul-based stratum, the second batch made deliberate efforts to broaden access along gender and provincial lines. By 2013, twenty percent of Afghan Fulbright candidates were women (Babury & Hayward, 2014), a marked departure from the patterns of the 1960s and 1970s—though one that built, intellectually, on the explicit female-participation provisions of the 1975 Bing-Srinivasan-Villaume non-formal-education project design (Bing, Srinivasan, & Villaume, 1975). The second feature was the explicitly reconstructive character of the engagement: whereas the first batch had built capacity into a small but functioning higher-education system, the second batch sought to rebuild a system whose foundations had been catastrophically eroded. The 2008 figure of 5.2 percent of Kabul University faculty holding Ph.D.s (Babury & Hayward, 2014) conveys the depth of the deficit.

The third feature, and perhaps the most analytically important, was a structural continuity that the new context did not fully overcome. The narrowness identified by Rakove (2023) in the first batch—filtering through Kabul’s Westernized elite—applied with renewed force to the second. The geographic and security constraints of the post-2001 environment, the concentration of donor activity in Kabul and a few provincial capitals, and the language and credential requirements of programs like the Fulbright together meant that, despite genuine efforts at broadening access, the resulting cohort was again socially narrower than the country it was supposed to serve. This narrowness was not introduced in 2002 any more than it had been introduced in 1954: it was the inheritance of the Habibullah-Tarzi pattern, transmitted across each phase of the Afghan reform tradition and reproduced under each successive foreign partnership.

Even with these limitations, the second batch produced a significant cohort of Afghan professionals, academics, journalists, civil servants, and civil society leaders who shaped the institutional life of the Afghan Republic between 2002 and 2021. Many returned to teach at Kabul University and at the newly established or revived provincial universities; others entered the ministries; still others built the civil society organizations that became one of the distinguishing features of the Republic era. As during the first batch, intellectual capital generated by American education flowed into the running of the Afghan state itself—and, as during the first batch, the fate of that intellectual capital would prove inseparable from the fate of the state that received it. When the Republic collapsed in August 2021, the second batch’s intellectuals, like the first batch’s before them, found themselves dispersed into a global diaspora—still living, still working, but cut off from the institutional homes their education had been designed to populate.

Conclusion: Recovering the Continuous Tradition

The intellectual partnership between the United States and Afghanistan is older, deeper, and more consequential than the dominant popular narrative recognizes. Beginning in 1954 with the first USAID education contracts and continuing—across two phases separated by a quarter-century of war—into the present, it has been a defining feature of the Afghan modernization project. But the longer argument advanced here is more demanding than this descriptive claim. It is that the U.S. partnership is best understood as the latest layer in a continuous Afghan reform tradition that had been in motion since the Habibullah period and the editorship of Tarzi’s Siraj al-Akhbar; that each successive phase—Habibullah’s liberalization within his father’s inherited framework, Amanullah’s acceleration through Tarzi’s network, the Musahiban’s cautious continuation, the Daoud-Zahir constitutional opening, and the American layer—built on, negotiated with, and partially concealed itself within the inheritances of the previous phases; and that the structural narrowness of the project, traceable to its early-twentieth-century court-centered origins, ran through the entire arc rather than being introduced at any one point in it.

The archival record assembled here documents the American layer in concrete terms: an engagement that, at its first peak, lasted twenty-four uninterrupted years (1954–1978); committed approximately thirty-seven million dollars through 1972 alone; involved Teachers College Columbia, Southern Illinois University, Indiana University, the Universities of Wyoming and Nebraska, the Academy for Educational Development, the Peace Corps, the Fulbright Commission, the Asia Foundation, Franklin Book Programs, and the architectural firm Daniel, Mann, Johnson, and Mendenhall; built physical infrastructure such as the four-million-dollar AIT campus dedicated in 1968; trained successive cohorts of Afghan administrators, teachers, and technical specialists; reformed primary teacher education, secondary teacher training, the English-language curriculum, university administration, vocational and technical education, and rural non-formal education; and produced the institutional and human capital that enabled the dramatic expansion of Afghan education in the 1960s and 1970s (USAID, 1972; Bing & Srinivasan, 1975; Bing, Srinivasan, & Villaume, 1975).

These are not the achievements of a fleeting Cold War flirtation. They are the foundations of modern Afghan formal education as it existed in the late 1970s, before war and ideological extremism began their work of dismantling. But they are also, properly understood, the achievements of an Afghan project that absorbed American partnership into its own continuing trajectory. The agency belongs to the Afghan state and the Afghan reform tradition; the United States, like Turkey, France, Germany, and the Soviet Union before and alongside it, was a partner whose contributions were filtered through Afghan institutional choices and Afghan strategic logic.

The argument advanced here is therefore not merely descriptive but normative. The Afghan intellectual community at home and the Afghan diaspora abroad have substantial interpretive responsibility in the period that has followed the collapse of the Republic in 2021. Public discourse has tended to compress the U.S.–Afghan relationship into the years 2001–2021, treating it as a brief, recent, and externally imposed encounter. This compression is historically inaccurate, and it produces an analysis that is itself impoverished. A relationship that has shaped Afghan teacher training for nearly seventy years, Afghan technical and vocational education for nearly as long, Afghan higher-education administration for over half a century, and Afghan rural development pilots from the 1970s onward cannot honestly be described as brief or peripheral. And it cannot honestly be described as externally imposed, since at every point it operated within Afghan institutional choices and within an Afghan reform tradition that long preceded it.

The intellectual task—for Afghan academics, journalists, public figures, and the diaspora that today carries forward the country’s intellectual life from positions of exile—is therefore not to celebrate the American legacy but to recover the continuous Afghan reform tradition into which the American partnership was absorbed. To recognize this longer continuum is to take seriously the Tarzi generation as the founding moment of Afghan modern intellectualism; to read the Amanullah, Musahiban, and Daoud-Zahir periods as successive layers of one continuing project rather than as a sequence of openings and closures; to integrate the Turkish, French, German, Soviet, and American partnerships as different external strands feeding the same Afghan loom; and to confront honestly the structural narrowness—the court-centered, urban-elite character—that ran through the project from Habibullah onward and that helps explain why both the first and the second batches of the American layer ended in dispersion rather than consolidation.

To recover this longer continuum is also to recover something the diaspora itself embodies. The Afghan academics teaching abroad, the Afghan administrators rebuilding institutions in exile, the Afghan researchers, journalists, and policy specialists shaping international understanding of their country—many of them are descendants, intellectually if not always biologically, of the cohorts cultivated within the long Afghan reform tradition. The U.S.–Afghan intellectual relationship lives on in this diaspora, but it lives on inside something larger: the continuous Afghan project of which it has been one strand. To recognize this is to take seriously not only the history that produced these intellectuals but the future they may yet build—a future in which the recovered continuum supplies both the resources for analysis and the inheritance from which Afghan intellectual life, at home and abroad, can continue.

References

Ahmed, F. (2017). Afghanistan rising: Islamic law and statecraft between the Ottoman and British Empires. Harvard University Press.

Amin, A. (1978). An analysis of education policy and institutional goals of Kabul University—the Republic of Afghanistan [Doctoral dissertation, University of Nebraska–Lincoln].

Babury, M. O., & Hayward, F. M. (2014). Afghanistan higher education: The struggle for quality, merit, and transformation. Planning for Higher Education, 42(2), 1.

Bing, J. W., & Srinivasan, L. (1975). Abstract of a report on the feasibility of a non-formal education project in Afghanistan (Contract No. BOA/ta-1060, Task Order No. 2). Academy for Educational Development for the U.S. Agency for International Development.

Bing, J. W., Srinivasan, L., & Villaume, J. M. (1975). Draft project outline for a non-formal education pilot program in rural areas of Afghanistan [Revised Final Report]. U.S. Agency for International Development.

Ewans, M. (2002). Afghanistan: A short history of its people and politics. HarperCollins.

Fletcher, A. (1965). Afghanistan: Highway of conquest. Cornell University Press.

Fox, E. F. (1943). Travels in Afghanistan, 1937–1938. Macmillan.

Ghaus, A. S. (1988). The fall of Afghanistan: An insider’s account. Pergamon-Brassey’s.

Gregorian, V. (1969). The emergence of modern Afghanistan: Politics of reform and modernization, 1880–1946. Stanford University Press.

Koplik, S. (2015). A political and economic history of the Jews of Afghanistan. Brill.

Kornacka, M. (2014). Public diplomacy of the United States of America in Afghanistan. Studia Bezpieczeństwa Narodowego, 4.

Lee, J. L. (2018). Afghanistan: A history from 1260 to the present. Reaktion Books.

Newell, R. S. (1972). The politics of Afghanistan. Cornell University Press.

Poullada, L. B. (1973). Reform and rebellion in Afghanistan, 1919–1929: King Amanullah’s failure to modernize a tribal society. Cornell University Press.

Rakove, R. B. (2023). Days of opportunity: The United States and Afghanistan before the Soviet invasion. Columbia University Press.

U.S. Agency for International Development. (1972). Examination of USAID assistance to the Afghanistan education sector (Audit Report No. 5-306-73-31). Office of the Auditor General, Area Auditor General–Near East.

[1] My attention was first drawn to this matter during my visits to the archives at the University of Wyoming and the University of Nebraska at Omaha. These universities played a crucial role in Afghan higher education during the late 1950s, 60s, and 70s. The evidence I found highlights the depth and importance of their contributions in a significant way.

Photo: Kabul, Afghanistan, March 2019. The author and civil society colleagues called for clear guarantees on women’s rights as peace negotiations with the Taliban commenced—warnings that were unfortunately overlooked.

When Taliban negotiators arrived in Doha for peace talks, there was a surge of optimism. Abbas Stanikzai, the group’s chief negotiator, made significant promises: under Taliban governance, girls would be allowed to pursue education up to the doctoral level. For a nation weary from four decades of conflict, these assurances were impactful. Afghan peace delegates, international mediators, and many in the public were inclined to believe that the Taliban of 2020 was fundamentally different from the regime that previously closed girls’ schools and enforced brutal punishments against women from 1996 to 2001.

However, not everyone was convinced. Within Afghan civil society, a more critical assessment was taking place. Those of us who had examined the Taliban’s ideology — beyond just their tactics — recognized that their opposition to female education was not merely a policy that could be changed. It was a deep-seated ideological conviction, rooted in their interpretation of Islamic law and their vision of a society where men and women occupy distinctly separate roles: men in public life and women confined to the home. Given that the core beliefs of the Taliban had not changed in 25 years, why would a shift in political circumstances alter their ideological stance?

I publicly raised this concern. In the winter of 2019, during peace negotiations between the Afghan government and the Taliban, I joined fellow civil society activists in a demonstration in Kabul. Our demand was straightforward: considering the Taliban’s documented history of systemic gender discrimination, any peace agreement must include legally binding guarantees for women’s rights — particularly the right to education. We were not against peace that would protect human rights and freedom; we advocated for accountability and human dignity. This distinction was crucial, though often overlooked amid the political discourse.

Our concerns were largely dismissed. Some members of the Afghan political establishment, including those on the Republic’s negotiating team, viewed civil society voices as obstructive, even as threats to peace. In hindsight, this response is understandable: many in the delegation seemed more focused on securing power in a post-agreement landscape than on protecting rights. The Taliban, for their part, navigated the negotiations skillfully, providing assurances designed to satisfy international observers while committing to nothing enforceable. Consequently, the vital question of what rights Afghan women would retain under a future Taliban-influenced government was sidelined.

The Taliban’s return to power in August 2021 clarified the situation. Within days of taking Kabul, they banned girls from secondary schools, impacting over one million girls who had completed primary education or were enrolled in higher grades. For many, this was shocking. For those of us in civil society who had closely examined Taliban ideology, it was expected. It confirmed what historical and scholarly evidence had long indicated: the Taliban’s opposition to female education is not a reactive policy but a proactive ideology, upheld with strong commitment since their establishment in 1996.

Understanding the Ideology

To understand the Taliban’s stance on girls’ education, it is essential to look beyond 2021 and even 1996, focusing instead on the movement’s ideological foundations. The Taliban’s worldview is significantly shaped by Deobandi Islamic thought, a reformist tradition from 19th-century colonial India, along with the extremist dynamics resulting from the wars and conflicts of the 1980s and 1990s. Within this context, female education, especially co-educational or secular schooling, is viewed not only as unnecessary but also as a threat to social order, political power, and religious integrity. This viewpoint is resistant to negotiation or gradual reform, reflecting deeply held theological and political beliefs.

Research supports this interpretation. Scholars like Dyan Mazurana and Elizabeth Stites have documented the Taliban’s consistent application of gender-segregated norms across both their first and second regimes, highlighting the ideological continuity that persists despite tactical adjustments for international audiences. Similarly, Antonio Giustozzi’s work on Taliban politics shows that the movement’s leadership has remained ideologically consistent on gender issues, even while internal debates have emerged on military strategy or governance. The promises made in Doha were not evidence of ideological change; they were a strategic negotiation tactic.

Ongoing Suppression

Since August 2021, the Taliban have not only maintained their ban on girls’ secondary and higher education but have also systematically expanded their repressive measures. Through numerous decrees, they have restricted girls’ access to non-formal learning, limited online education, and imposed sweeping ideological changes at the primary level affecting all students. Boys’ education has also been affected: curricula have been stripped of critical thinking, civic education, human rights, and cultural pluralism, replaced with Taliban doctrine. Libraries and bookstores have been purged of disapproved materials, and educational environments have been realigned with Taliban ideology.

The Taliban have significantly altered the labor market, making secular education less advantageous for the future. Female employees have been dismissed from almost all government sectors, and private sector employment for women is largely prohibited across most industries. For men, advancement within the Taliban’s state apparatus increasingly depends not on academic qualifications but on religious credentials and ideological loyalty. Graduates from Taliban-aligned madrassas, who receive doctrinal training alongside their religious education, are favored for government roles. In contrast, university graduates find their qualifications devalued in a system that prioritizes ideological alignment over merit. The message is clear: secular modern education has no future in Taliban-controlled Afghanistan.

Political theorists differentiate between authoritarian regimes, which seek compliance, and totalitarian ones, which aim for conversion. Hannah Arendt’s analysis of totalitarianism is relevant here: such governance not only controls behavior but also seeks to reshape consciousness, eliminating independent thought. The Taliban’s education policies fit this model. The ban on girls’ schooling is not merely a discriminatory act; it is part of a broader ideological project aimed at creating a society where the Taliban’s radical interpretation of religion is not only enforced but internalized from an early age through education.

A Broader Warning

Afghanistan’s experience has implications that extend beyond its borders. The Taliban model — characterized by systematic gender-based exclusion from education, ideological control of curricula, and economic restructuring to reward doctrinal conformity — serves as a coherent and replicable framework. In fragile states where radical movements are gaining power and state institutions are weakening, Afghanistan offers a template that others may observe and emulate. The international community’s failure to foresee, prevent, or effectively counter the Taliban’s education policies should prompt serious reflection on the assumptions that guide engagement with extremist movements in peace processes.

Seven years have passed since the winter demonstration in Kabul, and the developments have unfolded as civil society had warned. The key takeaway is not only that pursuing the peace process was misguided, but also that it proceeded without enforceable rights guarantees. Such a process, as we witnessed in Afghanistan, cannot lead to genuine peace and instead creates opportunities for systematic human rights abuses. The Taliban did not change their position on girls’ education after 2021; they simply made it clear. The evidence—historical, ideological, and empirical—has always been available for those willing to look.

The question now is not whether the Taliban will change, but whether the world will finally stop expecting them to.

References

Arendt, H. (1951). The Origins of Totalitarianism. Harcourt Brace.

Giustozzi, A. (2008). Koran, Kalashnikov, and Laptop: The Neo-Taliban Insurgency in Afghanistan. Columbia University Press.

The Taliban’s newly introduced criminal code serves not just as a legal framework but also aims to reshape Afghan society through hierarchy, coercion, and institutionalized inequality. It deviates from fundamental principles of equal citizenship, due process, and legal accountability, creating a tiered system of rights and responsibilities that reinforces gender-based discrimination, restricts freedom of expression, and permits harsh penalties, including capital punishment. In this context, the law does not function to limit power or address harm; instead, it acts as a tool of authoritarian governance that imposes suppression, normalizes surveillance, instills fear for compliance, and redefines social relations around subjugation rather than rights.

Structurally, the Taliban’s Criminal Code of Conduct comprises ten chapters and 119 articles, enforced alongside Sharia-based norms primarily derived from Hanafi jurisprudence. In practice, the system operates through a dual normative regime. When conduct is alleged to be criminal, authorities first assess whether it constitutes an offense under Sharia, regarded as divine and superior law. If the act does not fall within explicit Sharia prohibitions, adjudication shifts to taʿzīr, a domain of discretionary punishment framed as human-legislated regulation. This structure reflects a deliberate hierarchy of legal legitimacy, positioning Sharia as the ultimate normative authority while employing taʿzīr as a flexible tool for regulating a wide array of behaviors.

In terms of scope, Sharia is typically invoked concerning personal morality and a limited set of public-order offenses. Conversely, a broad spectrum of conduct that modern legal systems would generally classify as criminal—particularly behavior related to governance, social regulation, and political control—is adjudicated through taʿzīr. Under the Taliban, this discretionary domain has been effectively codified, making taʿzīr the primary mechanism for governing daily life. The penal framework thus operates through the interplay of two sources: Sharia provisions and the taʿzīr-based criminal code, supplemented by additional regulations with lesser normative authority. Within this hierarchy, the criminal code represents the highest authority among man-made laws, to which all other regulations must conform.

Importantly, this penal order is not based on equal legal status or reciprocal rights and obligations. Instead, it institutionalizes differentiated legal standing through two intersecting regulatory frameworks. The first is Sharia adjudication, which—despite claims of universality—operates on gender-differentiated assumptions that lead to systematically unequal outcomes for men and women. The second is the criminal code itself, which explicitly categorizes individuals and assigns unequal punitive consequences based on social and political position. As a result, identical actions can yield drastically different outcomes: some groups may face no punishment at all, while others endure severe and disproportionate penalties. Thus, punishment is determined not only by the offense but also by the offender’s position within the regime’s constructed hierarchy, leading to selective criminalization.

Beyond stratified punishment, the code governs society through ambiguity, intrusion, and ideological enforcement. Indeterminate offenses—such as assisting “corrupt” individuals or engaging in undefined oppositional behavior—are paired with harsh penalties, allowing for selective enforcement while maintaining an appearance of legality. The code intrudes deeply into private and social life, criminalizing everyday actions like eating during Ramadan, interacting with a non-mahram woman, or criticizing Taliban officials. Even children are not exempt: the code permits physical punishment as long as it does not result in broken bones or visible injury, effectively legalizing violence as a governing method.

The penal framework also criminalizes dissent and pluralism. Insulting Taliban leaders, criticizing policies, or disagreeing with Taliban-approved religious scholars can lead to imprisonment or flogging, insulating those in power from accountability and criminalizing independent thought. Religious conformity is enforced through sanctions against deviation from Hanafi jurisprudence, transforming theological differences into criminal liability. Thus, the law extends beyond regulating conduct to governing belief itself, marginalizing religious minorities and suppressing alternative interpretations of Islam.

A significant feature of this framework is the mandatory reporting obligations, which effectively recruit ordinary citizens into the regime’s enforcement apparatus. The code criminalizes not only prohibited actions but also the failure to report dissenting opinions or oppositional behavior, shifting legal responsibility from individual wrongdoing to loyalty. This represents a considerable departure from established justice principles, redirecting focus from individual accountability to enforced adherence to political authority. By penalizing non-participation in coercive governance, the code institutionalizes collective surveillance, erodes social trust, fragments community cohesion, and subjects daily life to extensive political scrutiny. The resulting penal logic is explicitly political, aimed at disciplining society, enforcing conformity, and suppressing independent civic engagement.

Emerging signs indicate a stratified Afghan society organized according to the three hierarchical categories defined by the new legal framework. At the top are Taliban officials and religious clerics; below them are wealthy and influential ethnic leaders; and at the bottom is the broader population. This hierarchy is not just symbolic—it manifests in daily life. In social gatherings, private events, and even access to public services, those in higher tiers receive preferential treatment. What was once informal social deference has now become institutionalized. Social prestige and privileged access are viewed not as temporary advantages but as legally recognized entitlements.

In summary, the Taliban’s criminal code establishes a coherent system of control built on class-based impunity, collective surveillance, ideological enforcement, and legalized inequality. These components do not constitute a justice system; rather, they create a governing model in which legality expands state power, normalizes arbitrary punishment, and ranks individuals according to their status and utility to the regime. Under this system, impunity increases with power while punishment intensifies for the vulnerable. Afghanistan is not being offered justice through law; it is being subjected to law as a means of domination.

دا قانون پر افراطي مذهبي فکر ولاړ ده چې ساري یې په نورو هېوادونو کې د حکومت د رسمي تګلاري په بڼه نه لیدل کیږي.

اسلام، د یوو دین په حیث، د تاریخ په اوږدو کې مختلف فکري مکتبونه او تفسیرونه لرلي، او مذهبي متفکرونو تل پر موضوعاتو بحثونه او اختلافات لرلي. دا تفسيرونه له معتدل او اصلاح غوښتونکي ليدلوري نيولې تر سخت‌دريځو او افراطي نظرونو پورې غځېدلي دي. څه چې په افغانستان کې پیښیږي هغه د طالبانو د مشرتابه سخت دریزه ايديولوژۍ ده چې نه دیني اړخ او نه هم د افغانانو له تاریخ، دود او غوښتنو سره برابره ده.

د امر بالمعروف او نهي عن المنکر قانون یې روڼه بېلګه ده. دا قانون هڅه کوي چې په زور د جنسیتي تبعیض او استبداد پر بنسټ داسې ټولنه رامنځته کړي چې د طالبانو له فکر او ایډیولوژۍ سره سم برابر نوي انسانان وروزي. دا تګلاره هغو هڅو ته ورته دی چې د پخواني شوروي تر ملاتړ لاندې په کابل کې کمونیستي رژیم کولې او هڅه یې دا وه چې پر کمونیستي روحیه ولاړ نوی انسان جوړ کړي.

په دې قانون کې د ښځو او سړو لپاره جلا حقوق، واکونه او ازادۍ تعریف شوي دي. ښځې یوازې د کورني چوکاټ په دننه کې د ورکړل شویو حقوقو پر بنسټ ژوند کولی شي. د کور څخه بهر ټول سياسي، اقتصادي او ټولنیز مسوولیتونه ــ د طالبانو په نظر ــ نارينه وو ته سپارل شوي دي. ښځې له زده کړو، کار، تګ راتګ او عامه ژوند څخه محرومې شوې دي.

د دې قانون د پلي کولو مسؤولیت د امر بالمعروف وزارت ته سپارل شوی، خو نور وزارتونه او ادارې باید له دې وزارت سره ګډ کار وکړي او د هغه اوامر عملي کړي. قانون د دې وزارت مذهبي پولیسو (محتسبینو) ته واک ورکوي چې د خلکو ورځنی ژوند وڅاري، د دوی په اصطلاح د منکراتو مخنیوی وکړي او پر ناقضینو جزاوې تطبیق کړي. د قانون له نظره د منکراتو څو بېلګې دا دي: د نامحرمو تر منځ د ټولنیزو اړیکو منع کول، د ښځو د جامو او چلند څارنه، په لوړ آواز د ښځو د خبرو مخنیوی، د مسلمانې او غیرمسلمانې ښځې تر منځ د تماس له منځه وړل، او ښځې له محرم پرته د بهر تګ منع کول. د قانون د ۲۰مې مادې له مخې، ترانسپورتي وسایل مکلف دي هغه ښځې د سفر څخه منع کړي چې شرعي حجاب ونه لري او يا له محرم پرته سفر کوي.

د قانون ساحه يوازې د ښځو د محدوديتونو پورې نه محدوده کېږي، بلکې فرهنګي ژوند هم رانغاړي. د ۲۲ مادې له مخې، نارينه نه شي کولای ږیره تر ټاکلي اندازې لاندې کمه کړي، موسيقي واوري، يا د نوروز او يلدا شپه په څېر فرهنګي مراسم ترسره کړي. همدارنګه، په موبایل، کمپیوټر يا نورو وسايلو کې د ژوندي موجوداتو د انځورونو او ويديوګانو جوړول يا ساتل منع دي. دا بنديز د هنر، انځورونو او د بصري استازيتوب پر ټول شکل اغېز کوي، او له همدې امله په دولتي ادارو، پوهنتونونو او عامه ځایونو کې انځورونه لېرې شوي دي.

په عملي توګه، دا قانون يو دولتي–اخلاقي څار رامنځته کوي چې د ښځو واک له منځه وړي، د خلکو کلتوري دودونه کمزوري کوي او عادي ټولنيز ازادۍ محدودوي. د انځور، موسيقۍ او مخلوطت د منع کولو له لارې، دا قانون د يوې داسې ټولنې د جوړېدو هڅه کوي چې د څارنې او جبري يو رنګۍ پر بنسټ اداره شي. دا احکام سمبولیک نه دي—د پلي کولو واقعي واک ورته ورکړل شوی، چې په مرسته يې د ادارو، کاروبارونو او حتی د خلکو د کورونو د تلاشي حق لري. پوهنتونونه د دې قانون تر ټولو روښانه هدف ګرځېدلي دي.

پايله يوازې د حقونو محدودول نه دي؛ بلکې د يو داسې ظالم نظم قانوني کول دي چې غواړي د افغانستان ټولنه د زور، څارنې او د فکري تنوع د له منځه وړلو له لارې بېرته جوړه کړي.

د دې قانون اغیزه پر لوړو زده کړو څه ده؟

په همدې بستر کې د لوړو زده کړو وزير، چې يو سخت‌دريځ او د دوی د مشر نږدې کس دی، د دې اصولو په لوړو زده کړو مؤسساتو کې د پلي کولو رهبري کوي. د هغه پاليسۍ نه یوازې د لوړو زده کړو ادارو لپاره خطرناک دي، بلکې د افغانستان د فکري او ټولنيز راتلونکي لپاره اوږدمهاله زيان ګڼل کېږي.

له همدې امله، هغه امر وکړ چې د وزارت له ويبپاڼې ټول انځورونه، حتی خپل انځور یې حذف شي. پوهنتونونو ته یې لارښوونه کړې چې د انسان د شکل مجسمې، لوگوګانې او انځورونه له منځه يوسي او د امر بالمعروف محتسبینو (پوليسو پولیسو) د داخلېدو اجازه ورکړي.

د هغه د دښمنۍ ريښه په خپله د عصري زده کړو په مخالفت کې ده. هغه پرله پسې د نجونو د زده کړو مخالفت کړی او حتی ويلي یې چې دا بنديز ښايي «دایمي» وي. په يوه شپه کې یې ښځې له پوهنتونونو منع کړې، حتی د امتحانونو پر مهال.

د هغه منطق تخنيکي نه دی—بلکې ايديولوژيک دی. وزير ټینګار کوي چې افغان ځوانان بايد د طالبانو په فکري چوکاټ «بيا روزل» شي. نوموړي په کابل کې یوې مدرسې ته په وینا کې د پوهنتون محصلين «له دښمنۍ ډک فکرونو» اغېزمن بللي او ویلي چې محصلين د «دښمن د فکري جنګ» تر ټولو خطرناک هدف دی. د همدې ليد له امله، هغه په پوهنتونونو کې د ګرځنده تیلفونونو د بندولو او د انټرنټ د محدوديتونو ملاتړ کړی دی.

سره له دې، نوموړي پوهېږي چې ټکنالوژي او د معلوماتو ازاد تګ راتګ د طالبانو لپاره د بشپړ کنټرول مخه نيسي، او دا موضوع د طالبانو مشرتابه اندېښمنه کړې ده.

د داسې کړنو اغیزې پر لوړو زده کړو ژورې دي. پوهنتونونه د ايديولوژي د تزريق ځایونه ګرځېدلي، خو پرمختګ پدې اړوند د طالبانو د توقع خلاف ورو دی. هغوی غواړي چې په يوه يا دوو کلونو کې بشپړ پر خپل فکر برابره ټولنه رامنځته کړي—يو داسې هدف چې تر اوسه نه دی پوره شوی.

د لوړو زده کړو اوسنی حالت، چې د امر بالمعروف قانون پر بنسټ اداره کېږي، موقتي نه دی. د طالبانو مشرتابه په ښکاره توګه غواړي د ښځو د تعليم د بندولو، د علمي ازادۍ د له منځه وړلو او د پوهنتونونو د خپلواکۍ د ماتولو له لارې ټول نظام د خپلې ايديولوژۍ پر بنسټ جوړ کړي. د دوی لپاره د معاصرې نړۍ د حقونو او د دوی د افراطي فکر تر منځ ګډ ژوند ناشونی دی.

دا قانون په دیني دلیلونو ولاړ دی، خو په هغو سختو او رادیکالو تفسیرونو چې د اسلام له منځلارو او نرم دریځونو سره هېڅ تړاو نه لري. اسلام تل د بېلابېلو فکرونو او بحثونو دین و، علماوو تر دې دمه مختلفې نظریې وړاندې کړي دي—ځینې معتدل، ځینې اصلاح‌غوښتونکي، او ځینې ډېر سخت. طالبان بیا تل هماغه سخت او تنگ تفسیر غوره کوي او رسمي کوي.

د «امر بالمعروف» قانون ښيي چې طالبان یوه سخت دریزه، د جنسیت پر بنسټ له تبعیض ډکه او په بشپړ ډول د دوی د فکر تر کنټرول لاندې ټولنه غواړي. پدې قانون کې د نارینه‌وو او ښځو حقوق بېخي جلا تعریف شوي دي. نارینه د عامه ژوند هغه واکونه چې دوی ورته په سیاست، کار، اقتصاد، ټولنیز ژوند کې ورکړي، لري. او ښځې یوازې د کور دننه محدودې شوې دي. ښځې د نارینه محرم تر واک لاندې ګڼل کېږي، او له زده کړو، کار، سفر او عامه ژوند څخه محرومې کېږي.

د دې قانون عملي کول د «امر بالمعروف او نهی عن المنکر» وزارت ته سپارل شوي. دې وزارت ته داسې پراخ واک ورکړل شوی چې د خلکو د ژوند هره چاره څارلي شي او سرغړونکي په نښه او مجازات کولای شي. د دوی د کار ساحه ډېره پراخه ده: د ښځو او نارینه‌وو د خبرو منع، د ښځو لباس او حرکت څارل، د غیر مسلمانو ښځو سره د افغان ښځو خبرې بندول، او د محرم پرته د ښځې د بهر تګ منع کول. د قانون ۱۳ ماده «شرعي حجاب» د ټول بدن پوښ تعریفوي، او ۲۰مه ماده وايي چې هېڅ چلوونکی دې داسې ښځه په موټر کې نه وړي چې حجاب یې پوره نه وي یا محرم ورسره نه وي.

قانون یواځې په ښځو پورې نه محدودېږي؛ فرهنګي ژوند هم په ټوله مانا کنټرولوي. په ۲۲مه ماده کې داسې کارونه منع شوي چې ډېر خلک یې د دود او کلتور برخه ګڼي: د ږیرې لنډول تر یوې لویشتي کم، په کور یا موټر کې موسیقي اورېدل، نوروز یا یلدا شپې لمانځل، او آن په موبایل یا کمپیوټر کې د ژوندیو موجوداتو انځورونه ساتل. دا بندیزونه د هنر، تصویر او ټولنیزو دودونو د له منځه وړلو هڅه ده.

په واقعیت کې، دا قانون داسې پراخ ځواک رامنځته کوي چې د طالبانو په فکر برابر افغاني ټولنه جوړه کړي. دا قانون د ښځو انساني صلاحیت لمنځه ځي، ټولنیز دودونه زیانمنوي، او د خلکو عادي ژوند تر شدیدې څارنې لاندې راولي. د تصویر، موسیقۍ او ګډ فعالیتونو منع کول په دې معنا دي چې ټولنه د وېرې، کنټرول او اجباري یو شانۍ پر لور بیول کېږي. دا یوازې خبرې نه دي؛ محتسبین، د امربالمعروف وزارت ځواک، دا واک لري چې دولتي ادارې، تجارتونه او آن شخصي کورونه وپلټي. پوهنتونونه مجبور شوي چې د دوی حکمونه ته غاړه کیږدي؛ درسي مواد بدل کړي او د دوی عقیدوي کنټرول ومني.

پایله یې یوازې د حقونو محدودول نه دي—بلکې د یوه متشدید او افراطي فکر رسمي کېدل دي، داسې فکر چې غواړي ټولنه د زور او څارنې له لارې بېرته په خپله خوښه جوړه کړي.

پډې ټوله پروسه کې د لوړو زده کړو وزیر رول مهم کېږي. وزیر، چې ډېر توندلاري او افراطي شخص دی، هڅه کوي چې دا قانون په پوره ډول سره په پوهنتونونو کې عملي کړي. د هغه پالیسۍ نه یوازې د پوهنتونونو لپاره جدي خطر دي، بلکې د افغانستان د فکري راتلونکي لپاره هم لوی زیان ګڼل کېږي.

کله چې دا قانون رامنځته شو، وزیر امر وکړ چې د وزارت له وېبپاڼې ټول عکسونه لرې شي—حتا خپل عکس هم. بیا یې پوهنتونونو ته وویل چې د انسان انځورونه، لوګوګانې، مجسمې او هر هغه څه چې د طالبانو له سیاست سره ناسم وي، لرې کړي. مذهبي پولیسو ته یې اجازه ورکړه چې پوهنتونونو ته داخل شي او د قانون تطبیق په خپل لاس وګوري.

د دې ټولو تر شا اصلي دلیل د لوړو زده کړې سره ژوره دښمني ده. وزیر څو ځله په ښکاره ویلي چې نجونې او ښځې باید زده کړې ونه کړي—او آن یې اشاره کړې چې اوسني بندیز ممکن دایمي وي. ده ادعا کړې چې د دوی په تفسیر کې د ښځو تعلیم ته هیڅ دیني دلیل نشته.

د وزیر دلیل خالص ایډیولوژیک دي. هغه ټینګار کوي چې افغان ځوانان باید د طالبانو په فکر «بیا جوړ» شي. په یوه وینا کې یې محصلین د «ذهني اغېزمنېدلو» تر ټولو خطرناک قشر وباله—هغه کسان چې د انټرنېټ او ټولنیزو رسنیو له لارې د «دښمن» فکر تر خطر لاندې دي. نوموړي ټولنه په درې برخو وویشله: مشران چې ټکنالوژي نه پېژني، دیني خلک چې د طالبانو نظریه ملاتړ کوي، او محصلین چې ګواکې د فکري برید اصلي هدف دي. له همدې امله، هغه د پوهنتونونو لپاره د موبایل د بندولو وړاندیز کړی او د انټرنېټ د لا محدودولو ملاتړ کوي.

سره له دې ټولو، وزیر پوهېږي چې ټکنالوژي د طالبانو د فکر بشپړ کنټرول ناشونی کوي. دا خبره د طالبانو لپاره د اندېښنې ځای ګرځیدلې ده، ځکه د پوهنتونونو کنټرول د دوی د ټولنیز بدلون د پروژې مهمه برخه ده.

د لوړو زده کړو نظام یې له بنسټه بدل کړی. پوهنتونونه د زده کړې پر ځای د ایډیولوژۍ د ټومبلو ځایونه شوي، خو دا بهیر د طالبانو د غوښتنې خلاف دومره چټک نه دی. هغوی غواړي په یو دوو کلونو کې بشپړ فکري یو شانۍ ترلاسه کړي—یو هدف چې تر اوسه یې نه دی ترلاسه کړی.

نن چې په افغانستان کې د پوهنتونونو په نوم څه روان دي، د «امر بالمعروف» له قانونه سرچینه اخلي. طالبان غواړي د ښځو د زده کړو بندول، د تصویرونو له منځه وړل، د اکادمیکې ازادۍ ختمول او د پوهنتونونو خپلواکي له منځه وړل د یوې داسې فکري طرحې برخه کړي چې د نړیوالو حقونو او ازادیو سره هېڅ یو ځای کېدل، په اغیزمن ډول سره ترسره شي.

Executive Summary

Approximately four years after the collapse of the Republic, Afghanistan is witnessing a significant regression in the rights of women and girls, marking a troubling chapter in its modern history. The Taliban’s prohibition of secondary and higher education for girls, initially framed as a temporary measure due to concerns about dress codes, has now become a foundational element of their ideological identity. Despite previous promises of potential reconsideration, no advancements have been made. Instead, the Taliban have deepened their totalitarian regime through legal frameworks, institutional changes, and moral surveillance.

This situation should not be seen as merely an administrative issue; it is a deliberate reflection of the Taliban’s political ideology, which rejects gender equality, confines women to domestic roles, and views education as a tool for ideological reinforcement. As long as this mindset prevails among the leadership—particularly their so-called Supreme Leader and the Kandahar clerical circle—girls’ education will remain incompatible with the regime’s governing principles.

International and regional stakeholders missed a critical opportunity early in the Taliban’s rule when internal dissent, global scrutiny, and political uncertainty briefly converged. A misplaced belief in narratives of a “moderate Taliban” and fragmented diplomatic efforts enabled the regime to delay, deflect, and ultimately entrench its position.

The potential for reopening girls’ schools on a large scale now depends on political transformation. Achieving this change will require adjustments in the Taliban’s internal power dynamics, shifts in their ideology through coordinated international pressure with tangible consequences, and broader societal changes. Without such transformations, the ban on girls’ education will remain a deeply rooted aspect of the Taliban’s ideological framework, hindering Afghanistan’s human capital, economic development, and social justice for generations.

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Part 1: The Years of Suppression & Abuse

A troubling image persists: Afghanistan’s once-vibrant schools, filled with girls and women actively participating in public life, now stand silent under the Taliban’s strict rule. The change was swift and devastating. Within weeks of taking power, the Taliban closed nearly all secondary schools for girls, affecting over one million girls who had completed primary education or were already in higher grades. This setback is not merely a policy error or a temporary pause; it clearly indicates that the Taliban never supported equal educational rights. Their focus remains ideological rather than national.

The implications of this ban extend far beyond closed school doors. Denying education results in significant losses in lifetime earnings, undermining household resilience and national economic prospects. Research consistently shows that educated women make informed health choices, leading to lower child mortality rates and improved family well-being. Recent reports indicate a rise in child marriage since the ban, underscoring how the lack of education fuels gender-based violence and entrenched poverty. The human cost is immense, with repercussions that will affect generations.

When the Taliban enacted the ban in 2021, they claimed it was temporary, stating that existing school arrangements violated “religious and traditional values.” However, these values were never clearly defined and shifted in meaning when challenged. In truth, the Taliban’s stance is grounded in their ideological beliefs rather than a reflection of Afghan religious or cultural consensus. If they were transparent, they would acknowledge that education for girls beyond primary level contradicts their doctrine, not Afghanistan’s heritage.

Education is deeply intertwined with ideology and politics, and in Afghanistan, this connection is more evident than ever. Public education mirrors political power: who controls funding, sets curricula, and governs access. Although private education relies less on public financing, it remains subject to state regulation and ideological expectations. This reflects global trends, but under the Taliban, this relationship is pronounced and rooted in a totalizing political agenda.

At its core, the Taliban regime embodies totalitarian governance: consolidating power, enforcing a singular ideology, and stifling dissent. In such a system, education is not viewed as a public good but as a strategic instrument for social control, ideological reinforcement, and regime consolidation. Schools must cater to the state rather than the nation; they are expected to produce compliant subjects rather than critical thinkers. This explains the Taliban’s priorities: expanding madrassas, revising curricula, purging teachers, and enforcing gender segregation, while dismantling mechanisms that foster open discourse or participatory policymaking.

The Taliban’s governance agenda aims to establish a new social and political order—one that negates the achievements of the past century and reinstates a rigid societal structure briefly attempted in 1929. Under this vision, educational policy serves as a primary vehicle for entrenching ideological authority.

The Taliban’s ideological aggression since their return to power reveals a calculated strategy of disruption followed by consolidation. Their initial phase, characterized by sweeping bans and institutional dismantling, eliminated competing sources of authority—civil society organizations, tribal institutions, women’s movements, teachers’ associations, and human rights groups—that once influenced the educational landscape. The current phase seeks to normalize and solidify this order through legal codification, strict enforcement, and a bureaucratic structure that ensures ideological compliance at every level.

The outcome is a society where education is no longer a means of empowerment but a tool for fostering ideological conformity and promoting violence, posing a threat not just to Afghanistan but beyond.

Part 2: The Taliban’s Policy Framework

The Taliban’s education policy over the past four years demonstrates a unified ideological agenda rather than a collection of separate administrative actions. At the core of this agenda is the belief among the movement’s senior leadership that the educational system established during the Republic produced a workforce shaped by secular, liberal, and democratic values, which fundamentally contradict their worldview.

This ideological perspective plays a crucial role in their decision-making. Senior leaders, including their Supreme Leader, Haibatullah Akhundzada, along with key figures like Minister of Higher Education Nida Mohammad Nadeem, have publicly committed to preventing girls from returning to secondary schools and universities. For boys and young men, they promote what they call “re-education,” aimed at eliminating “Western” influences and instilling Taliban doctrine.

Public statements over the last four years highlight the strength of this ideological commitment. At a madrassa graduation in January 2024, Foreign Minister Amir Khan Muttaqi—often perceived externally as a “moderate”—accused Afghan youth of being “brainwashed” by Western ideas and stressed the need for their reintegration into an Islamic worldview as defined by the Taliban. The Minister of Higher Education supported this view, stating that the Taliban-led education system has a responsibility to “correct” the thinking of students influenced by the Republic. These statements clearly reflect a policy objective: to transform schools and universities into instruments of ideological instruction rather than centers for knowledge and public development.

This ideological agenda has unfolded in two distinct phases. From the perspective of punctuated equilibrium theory, the Taliban’s approach can be seen in two distinct streams. First, they initiate a period of aggressive disruption to displace the previous equilibrium and normalize a new ideological structure. Second, once this disruption has settled, they gradually expand institutional changes, ensuring that ideological enforcement becomes deeply entrenched and less reliant on overt coercion.

Phase One: Disruption and Indoctrination (2021–2023)

The Taliban’s initial strategy focused on rapidly disrupting the education system established by the Republic. This phase can be characterized as a “shock stage,” defined by swift institutional changes aimed at dismantling existing frameworks.

Key aspects of this phase included:

1. A nationwide ban on girls’ education beyond primary level, which not only removed a fundamental right but also reduced the perceived social and economic value of women’s education.

2. Purges of female teachers, administrators, and university staff, along with the intimidation or removal of educators deemed “ideologically unsuitable.”

3. Accelerated madrassa expansion, aimed at replacing or overshadowing general education with religious schooling under Taliban control.

4. Curriculum revisions, introducing religious content while eliminating subjects viewed as inappropriate or “Western.”

5. The reintroduction of corporal punishment, indicating an authoritarian approach to socialization and discipline.

Despite internal disagreements among Taliban officials—some advocating for a more gradual approach to avoid public backlash—the more radical faction prevailed, emphasizing immediate structural and ideological changes. This resulted in a policy environment marked by coercion, exclusion, and ideological imposition.

Phase Two: Stabilization and Consolidation (2023–Present)

The Taliban have entered a second phase characterized by the consolidation of an ideologically exclusive order. This phase emphasizes embedding, enforcing, and normalizing the previously established ideological agenda rather than introducing new policies.

A key aspect of this phase is the formalization of ideological control through codified instruments. The Law on the Promotion of Virtue and Prevention of Vice illustrates the Taliban’s intentions, effectively marginalizing women from public life and empowering the religious police to enforce “moral order” in both public and private spheres.

This stage aligns with what policy theorists refer to as a policy consolidation period, where the introduction of new regulations slows down, but enforcement becomes more stringent. The Taliban are converting their ideological preferences into binding legal norms, framing them as the legitimate legal and moral foundation of the state.

The shift is also apparent in institutional behavior. Ministries are undergoing ideological vetting, and adherence to Taliban directives is enforced through bureaucratic and coercive measures. For example, the Ministry of Higher Education has removed all images of living beings from its website and ceased public visual representation. In regions like Kandahar, universities have even banned mobile phones on campus, deeming them tools of moral corruption.

This phase is not just about strict enforcement; it also seeks to create a perception of normalcy. By normalizing coercion and integrating ideological control into daily governance practices, the Taliban aim to establish a self-sustaining system where deviation is socially unacceptable and structurally unfeasible.

Throughout both phases, one principle remains constant: education is the frontline of ideological control. The Taliban’s policies demonstrate a steadfast commitment to transforming Afghanistan’s educational landscape into a mechanism for sustaining their totalitarian vision of society.

Part 3: Narrative & Policy

The Taliban’s approach to education is fundamentally shaped by their ideological narrative, developed over the last thirty years. This narrative blends anti-modern education sentiments, selective religious interpretations, and propaganda from the insurgency era, influencing the content, execution, and rationale behind their educational policies. It serves not merely as rhetoric but as a governing doctrine that informs their decision-making.

The Construction of an Anti-Modern Educational Narrative

The Taliban did not merely foster skepticism towards modern education; they radcialized it. They capitalized on existing concerns among religious extremists regarding modern institutions within Afghan society, despite ongoing public support, and reframed these concerns through a rigid ideological perspective unprecedented in the country’s educational history. According to their viewpoint, modern education is seen as corrupt, Westernized, morally hazardous, and incompatible with an “authentic” Afghan-Islamic identity.

Over time, the Taliban institutionalized this perspective through various means:

• Religious narratives, selectively interpreted to justify gender segregation and the subjugation of women.

• Insurgency propaganda, including chants, anthems, and battlefield songs that glorified jihad while denouncing modern schools as centers of moral decline.

• Local messaging networks, comprising madrassa preachers and front-line fighters, who disseminated simplified concepts regarding gender, morality, and the perceived threats of “Western thinking.”

This established a robust ideological ecosystem: a multi-layered network of clerics, commanders, loyalists, and ultra-conservative community members who absorbed and perpetuated Taliban narratives without question. This decentralized yet coherent system enabled the Taliban to sustain a unified ideological message even in the absence of a formal ministry or structured hierarchy during the insurgency.

Narrative Meets State Power

During their insurgency, these narratives had limited practical application; they were more aspirational than actionable. However, after the Taliban took control of Afghanistan in 2021, the ideological framework gained significant weight. What was once rhetoric transformed into governing policy.

The Taliban’s educational narrative is now evident through:

• The ban on girls’ education beyond primary school

• Curriculum revisions that emphasize obedience, religious texts, and moral policing

• Restrictions on subjects considered “Western” (civics, arts, music, social sciences)

• The dismissal of women teachers and administrators from schools and universities.

• The expansion of madrassas as preferred learning institutions

Even laws that do not explicitly address education—such as the Law on the Promotion of Virtue and Prevention of Vice—play a role in shaping the social environment necessary for enforcing these educational policies. They limit women’s public presence, justify moral oversight, and foster a cultural climate where educational deprivation is normalized.

From Narrative to Policy

The Taliban’s narrative not only justifies policy but also shapes educational policy based on their radical moral interpretation. A clear example of this is their discourse surrounding ḥayā (modesty) and “protecting morality.” These intentionally vague terms serve as the foundation for specific policies, such as banning girls from secondary and higher education, removing women from classrooms, segregating students, rewriting curricula, and restructuring schools to prioritize obedience over inquiry.

What starts as an ideological assertion transforms into an administrative directive.

The Gendered Foundations of the Taliban’s Narrative

At the core of this ideology is a rigid gender perspective. Within the Taliban’s framework:

• Women are viewed as inherently morally fragile and are relegated to domestic roles.

• Girls are seen as needing “protection” from social exposure, public knowledge, and modern influences.

• Education for girls is acceptable only if it prepares them for motherhood and domestic duties.

• Men alone hold public authority, religious autonomy, and interpretive power.

This worldview is not merely patriarchal; it is totalizing. It frames women’s exclusion from public education not as a social choice but as a divinely mandated reality. In this context, gender equality is not just dismissed; it is perceived as a threat to the moral order and the legitimacy of the state.

The Ecosystem of Narrative Production

The Taliban’s narrative is not solely shaped by senior clerics or political leaders; it arises from a distributed ideological network that includes:

• religious authorities who approve and share doctrinal interpretations;

• madrassa teachers who incorporate these ideas into their lessons;

• members who enforce these beliefs through coercion;

• conservative community members who socially validate them;

• illiterate or semi-literate supporters who accept them as unquestioned truths, as they represent their primary source of information.

These groups constitute a small fraction of the Afghan population, likely less than 10%. This diffusion contributes to the narrative’s resilience, as it is continually reiterated, re-legitimated, and integrated into daily social life. It is neither accidental nor temporary; rather, it serves as a strategic foundation for governance.

Narrative as a Policy Tool

The Taliban utilize narrative to obscure the contradictions and shortcomings of their policies. When their previous justifications—such as dress codes, co-education, and curriculum issues—became challenging to uphold, they pivoted to new arguments, including women’s “safety” or “honor.” This flexibility in narrative enables the Taliban to maintain policies lacking religious consensus, cultural legitimacy, and historical precedent in the Muslim world.

Over time, the narrative becomes the policy, and the policy becomes the narrative.

Ideology Made Visible

The connection between narrative and policy is a hallmark of the Taliban’s governance. Their anti-modern education narrative is not merely an accessory; it is the primary mechanism through which they legitimize state actions, justify repression, and influence the country’s future. By embedding this narrative within administrative frameworks, laws, curricula, and daily life, the Taliban aim to construct a social order that reflects their totalitarian vision.

In this context, schools transform from places of learning into tools for ideological reproduction. The Taliban’s narrative, once limited to insurgency propaganda, has now become the foundation for the state.

Part 4: Taliban & the Policy Process

The Taliban’s takeover of Afghanistan’s education policymaking represents a fundamental transformation, not just a change in leadership. They have replaced a semi-participatory governance structure with a rigid, top-down model designed to exclude alternative voices and consolidate ideological control. This shift is a deliberate effort to eliminate pluralism in education governance and embed the movement’s worldview into the state’s institutional fabric.

From Semi-Participatory Governance to Total Exclusion

During the Republic, the Ministry of Education’s policymaking environment had weaknesses like politicization, donor dependency, and limited capacity. However, it still had formal and informal avenues for participation. Working groups within the Ministry brought together civil society actors, donor agencies, NGO networks, and experts to contribute to initiatives like girls’ education, emergency responses, quality improvement, curriculum development, and teacher training. These groups were imperfect, but they symbolized a commitment to inclusive governance and pluralistic input.

This architecture has been entirely dismantled under Taliban rule.

The Taliban’s Top-Down, Ideologically Driven Model

Under the Taliban, policymaking is now fully centralized within a narrow elite circle, with the so-called Supreme Leader’s office as the ultimate authority. Ministerial bodies function as instruments of enforcement, not policy innovators or autonomous administrators. The system operates according to several defining features:

1. Concentration of Authority

All significant educational decisions are routed upward, often reaching only a handful of senior clerics in Kandahar. This is ideological centralization, not bureaucratic efficiency.

2. Elimination of Participatory Channels

Civil society organizations, teacher associations, women’s groups, donor agencies, and local communities have been stripped of any role in policy deliberation. Many have been banned or operate under severe restrictions.

3. Ideological Veto Power

Even when bureaucrats or technocrats present pragmatic proposals, the ideological leadership retains veto power. The Supreme Leader’s interpretation of religion functions as the ultimate guiding principle.

4. Coercive Compliance

The policy process relies on coercion rather than consultation. Administrative purges, public punishments, and surveillance ensure that opposition cannot shape policy outcomes.

From the standpoint of elite theory, the Taliban’s governance structure represents an extreme concentration of power in the hands of a small ruling group insulated from public accountability.

Policy Process as Ideological Enforcement

The Taliban’s policy process is not merely centralized; it is instrumentalized. Procedures that once encouraged stakeholder engagement are now designed to ensure ideological conformity. Policy design, implementation, monitoring, and enforcement all follow the same logic:

– Design: Policies must reflect the movement’s doctrinal positions, with religious clerics as the ultimate arbiters.

– Implementation: Provincial and district directorates enforce policies mechanically, with little discretion or interpretation.

– Monitoring: Inspections and enforcement are carried out by religious police, Taliban-appointed committees, and intelligence units.

– Accountability: Sanctions, dismissals, and detentions replace professional evaluations or performance-based assessments.

This approach collapses the distinction between policy and ideology. In effect, policymaking becomes a process of translating the Taliban’s worldview into state practice.

From Policy Deliberation to Policy Domination

The exclusion of alternative actors is strategic. Civil society, especially women’s groups and human rights organizations, once acted as critical safeguards for educational equity. Their elimination ensures that no counter-narratives or reform pressures can infiltrate the policy arena.

The Taliban’s domination of the policy process reflects a broader political strategy:

– control discourse

– control policy

– control institutions

– control society

This sequence reinforces the movement’s totalitarian character, in which the state and ideology become indistinguishable.

Implications for Education Governance

The Taliban’s capture and redesign of the education policy process has profound implications:

Loss of Legitimacy

With the elimination of public consultation, the policymaking process lacks democratic or procedural legitimacy. It reflects the will of the ruling movement, not the needs of the nation.

Loss of Technical Expertise

By removing or intimidating technocrats, the Taliban have hollowed out the technical capacity required for system reform, budgeting, planning, or quality assurance.

Loss of Responsiveness

The system cannot accommodate local needs, regional disparities, or specialized issues because it is rigidly tied to ideological dictates.

Loss of Pluralism

The absence of civil society eliminates alternative perspectives, innovations, and critical checks, weakening the entire governance ecosystem.

Institutional Paralysis

With policy driven by ideological inflexibility rather than evidence, Afghanistan’s education sector becomes incapable of long-term planning or adaptive reform.

Conclusion: A Policy Process Designed for Control, Not Education

The Taliban have replaced a flawed but participatory governance structure with a monolithic, exclusionary model. This policy process is not simply authoritarian—it is totalitarian, engineered to ensure that no dissenting voice can influence educational policy. It transforms the Ministry of Education from a national institution into an apparatus of ideological enforcement.

Under this system, policymaking is no longer a forum for problem-solving. It is a mechanism for reproducing the Taliban’s worldview. And education becomes the primary arena in which this worldview is imposed.

Part 5: Strategic Phases of Taliban Consolidation and Policy Implementation

Understanding Taliban governance requires recognizing that their approach to education is not accidental, reactive, or improvised. It is a strategically sequenced political project aimed at reshaping the social order, consolidating authority, and embedding ideological control across institutions. Since 2021, this project has unfolded in two distinct but interconnected phases: initial consolidation and ideological stabilization. Together, they reveal a deliberate attempt to transform Afghanistan’s educational ecosystem into an instrument of totalitarian governance.

Phase One: Consolidation Through Control, Coercion, and Institutional Overhaul

In the first years following their return to power, the Taliban pursued an aggressive strategy to dismantle the existing educational order and neutralize actors capable of mobilizing opposition. This period—best understood as an attempt to establish governance dominance—was characterized by four major developments:

1. Concentration of Power and Elimination of Dissent

The Taliban rapidly centralized decision-making authority, systematically repressing civil society organizations, women’s groups, teacher unions, youth associations, and tribal elders. This crackdown ensured that no competing institution could challenge Taliban authority.

2. Institutional Realignment

The Taliban reoriented the Ministry of Education (MoE) and Ministry of Higher Education (MoHE) toward the movement’s ideological objectives. This involved purging staff associated with the Republic, replacing administrators with loyalists, imposing madrassa-style oversight structures, and reconfiguring school governance to strengthen clerical influence.

3. Legal and Administrative Restructuring

Early decrees and directives laid the groundwork for a new regulatory regime. The Taliban imposed gender bans, dress codes, mobility restrictions, and neo-moral policing practices, creating an administrative environment where compliance was enforced through coercion rather than participation.

4. Suppression of Alternative Narratives

Public expression challenging the Taliban’s educational policies, particularly regarding girls’ education, was criminalized. Activists, academics, journalists, and community leaders faced arrest, intimidation, and exile. As internal pressure built, the Taliban resorted to full censorship, banning discussion of girls’ education altogether.

This first phase established ideological dominance and eliminated the actors necessary for policy contestation, setting the foundation for the second phase, in which the Taliban would transition from dismantling the Republic’s educational order to building and normalizing their own.

Phase Two: Ideological Stabilization and Enforcement (2023–Present)

Having secured institutional control, the Taliban shifted to stabilizing and legitimizing their ideological order. This stage is less about designing new policies and more about routinizing existing ones, embedding them in legal frameworks, and normalizing the Taliban’s vision of society.

1. Legal Codification

The Law on the Promotion of Virtue and Prevention of Vice removes women from public spaces, authorizes religious police to enforce moral discipline, legitimizes gender segregation, and normalizes state surveillance in public and private domains. Through legal codification, ideology becomes law, and dissent becomes criminality.

2. Bureaucratic Penetration

The Taliban have embedded ideological supervision throughout all levels of the education bureaucracy, ensuring that educational governance is aligned not with national development needs but with the movement’s doctrinal priorities.

3. Behavioral Normalization

By restricting mobility, censoring public debate, and policing gender interactions, the Taliban have sought to create a social environment in which their ideology feels inevitable. Policies that were once shocking are gradually presented as natural extensions of “Islamic” governance, reducing the need for overt coercion over time.

4. Selective Reinterpretation and Expansion

As stability increases, the Taliban selectively reinterpret aspects of their ideological framework to expand influence where functional gaps remain. This serves to deepen ideological entrenchment and expand the Taliban’s societal reach.

Analytical Perspective: Punctuated Equilibrium and Totalitarian Consolidation

Through the lens of Punctuated Equilibrium Theory, the Taliban’s approach reveals a deliberate two-stage strategy: creating a rupture that dismantles the previous order and installs new ideological structures, followed by consolidation, normalization, and behavioral routinization, making the ideological order durable and self-reinforcing.

Conclusion: An Engineered Social Order

Across its two strategic phases, the Taliban’s policy trajectory demonstrates a coordinated effort to reshape Afghan society through educational control. The shift from shock to stabilization signals the entrenchment of a system designed not to educate but to regulate beliefs, behaviors, gender roles, social expectations, and political loyalties. The Taliban are not merely governing a system; they are re-engineering it. And education—once a tool for national development—is now a mechanism for sustaining authoritarian rule.

Part 6: Prospects for Girls’ Education Under the Taliban Ideological Order

Any analysis of future possibilities for girls’ education under Taliban rule must start with a clear understanding: the current ban is a fundamental part of their ideological project, not a temporary measure. The question is not whether the Taliban will “allow” girls to return to school as they did during the Republic. Instead, the question is whether they will redefine girls’ education to fit their ideological goals while appearing to make concessions.

No Sign of Ideological Change

Despite four years of domestic pressure, international advocacy, and widespread public frustration, the Taliban have given no credible indication that they are willing to revise the core principles guiding their gender ideology. Senior leaders consistently affirm a worldview where:

– gender equality is seen as a foreign idea, – public life belongs to men, – women’s roles are limited to the home, – and education for women is only justified if it supports maternal responsibilities.

Under this doctrine, girls’ education is not a right; it is a conditional privilege granted only when the curriculum, environment, and governance structure align with the Taliban’s ideological vision.

The Myth of “Reopening” Without Reform

Even if the Taliban were to reopen girls’ secondary schools or universities, it would not mean progress toward equality. It would mean the opposite: institutionalizing indoctrination under the guise of education.

Any reopening would be subject to three conditions:

1. Curriculum Control

The curriculum would be revised to emphasize:

– obedience, – religious doctrine aligned with the movement’s interpretation, – moral training, – and gendered socialization.

Critical thinking, civic education, arts, social sciences, and any subject promoting intellectual autonomy would be removed or heavily restricted.

2. Environment Control

Education would be strictly segregated and monitored. Teachers would be vetted for ideological loyalty, classrooms would be watched, and mobility would be tightly regulated.

3. Outcome Control

The goal would not be to empower girls academically or economically but to produce ideologically compliant wives and mothers who can reproduce the Taliban’s worldview within the household.

In this context, schooling becomes an extension of state indoctrination, not a path to social or economic mobility.

Comparative Evidence: The Taliban as an Outlier in the Muslim World

The Taliban claim religious legitimacy for the ban, but their position is unprecedented across the Muslim world. Among 52 Muslim-majority states, none besides Afghanistan under Taliban rule restrict girls’ access to secondary and higher education. Countries like:

– Indonesia,

– Turkey,

– Egypt,

– Jordan,

– Saudi Arabia, and

– Iran (despite its theocratic structure)

not only allow female education but see it as essential to national development, social well-being, and human capability enhancement.

This stark difference highlights a critical point: the Taliban’s stance reflects an ideological agenda unique to their movement, not a theological consensus or cultural norm.

Strategic Reframing: From “Religious Objection” to “Female Safety”

As domestic and international criticism intensified, the Taliban shifted their rationale for the ban. Having failed to justify the policy through religious arguments, they reframed the issue as one of “protecting women” and ensuring “safe” environments.

This shift is revealing:

– it shows ideological rigidity paired with tactical flexibility,

– it masks the lack of doctrinal justification,

– and it repositions the debate from rights to “protection,” sidestepping substantive challenges.

The pattern is clear: when one justification collapses, another is manufactured.

Suppressing Debate and Moral Panic

Starting in 2022, the Taliban banned public discussion of girls’ education and criminalized criticism. Protesters, including women’s groups and youth activists, faced detention, surveillance, and forced disappearance. Civil society organizations were dismantled. Religious scholars who supported girls’ education were silenced.

This censorship serves two purposes:

1. It shields the leadership from internal challenge.

2. It constructs a moral panic in which female education is framed as a threat to societal purity.

These tactics reflect the broader strategy of ideological entrenchment: suppress dissent, monopolize interpretation, and criminalize alternatives.

Education as a Tool of Totalitarian Reproduction

The Taliban’s ideological order is built on a totalizing vision of society in which gender roles are fixed, authority is centralized, and obedience is moralized. In such a system, education is not merely regulated; it is weaponized.

The Taliban aim to produce a new generation of Afghans socialized into:

– a binary worldview of “believers” and “non-believers,” – suspicion of modernity, – rejection of global norms, – acceptance of gender hierarchy, – and reverence for the movement as the sole moral authority.

Under these conditions, the exclusion of girls from meaningful education is not a policy mistake—it is a central mechanism for preserving the ideological boundaries of the Taliban’s political order.

Conclusion: No Genuine Prospects Without Ideological Transformation

The possibility of reopening schools, as suggested in periodic Taliban statements, cannot be seen as a sign of reform. It represents conditional access within an unchanged ideological framework. As long as the Taliban’s worldview remains intact, any shift in educational policy will be superficial, tactical, and strategically designed to strengthen regime stability—not to empower Afghan girls.

Real change would require:

– recognition of education as a right, – rejection of gender apartheid, – dismantling of ideological schooling, – restoration of independent institutions, – and reopening of the public sphere.

None of these conditions are compatible with the Taliban’s governing ideology.

Thus, the prospects for girls’ education under the Taliban are not constrained by logistical obstacles or administrative delays—they are constrained by ideology itself. And until ideology shifts, meaningful reform remains impossible.

Part 7: International Missed Opportunities and the Policy Window

The early months of Taliban rule presented a rare policy window, a brief period when internal pressures, global attention, and regime uncertainty aligned to influence the Taliban’s decisions on girls’ education. This window emerged as the Taliban consolidated power, the Afghan public mobilized, and the international community focused on the crisis. However, this opportunity was squandered. Neither regional allies nor global actors applied the necessary pressure to alter the Taliban’s trajectory. This failure reflected structural limitations, misaligned incentives, and misplaced optimism about the so-called “moderate Taliban.”

A Missed Policy Window: Early Internal Pressures and Global Attention

After August 2021, the Taliban faced intense internal and external pressure regarding girls’ education. Families demanded school reopenings, religious scholars supported girls’ education, and localized protests erupted. International organizations and donor countries stressed that reopening schools was a prerequisite for engagement. These pressures combined to create a brief moment when the political, problem, and policy streams overlapped—the exact conditions for opening a policy window. Taliban officials hinted that secondary schools for girls would reopen, but these signals were deceptive, buying time and reducing external scrutiny.

This window rapidly closed as global attention shifted to Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in February 2022. The Taliban capitalized on this pivot, delaying decisions, issuing contradictory statements, and reversing earlier hints of progress. By the time global attention returned, the window had shut.

Why Regional Powers Failed to Act

Countries with close ties or strategic leverage over the Taliban—Pakistan, Qatar, China, and the UAE—were uniquely positioned to influence the group’s decisions. Yet each failed for reasons tied to its own interests, constraints, and calculations.

Pakistan: Influence Without Will

Despite deep historical ties and substantial leverage, Pakistan opted not to apply meaningful pressure. Its calculus prioritized border stability, countering India, and maintaining influence over the new regime—not supporting Afghan women and girls.

Qatar: Strategic Mediation Without Intervention

Qatar facilitated negotiations and maintained channels of communication with Taliban political actors. However, its diplomatic efforts focused on preserving its role as a neutral mediator rather than pressing hard on specific policy issues. Concerned about jeopardizing its broker position, Qatar remained cautious.

China: Stability Over Rights

China’s engagement centers on security, economic access, and preventing spillover instability. Beijing prioritizes counterterrorism cooperation and protecting regional investments—not shaping domestic Afghan educational policy. As such, it avoided challenging the Taliban directly.

UAE: Recognition Calculus

The UAE engaged the Taliban diplomatically, adopting a pragmatic approach driven by interests in recognition, logistics, and influence. It did not leverage its capacity to condition assistance on changes regarding girls’ education.

Collectively, these actors held the necessary leverage but chose restraint, pragmatism, and strategic ambiguity over principled pressure. This failure contributed directly to the closing of the policy window.

The Fallacy of the “Moderate Taliban”

During this period, a damaging narrative gained traction: that internal factions within the Taliban could be persuaded to support girls’ education. International actors, analysts, and some Afghan elites argued that negotiations should be patient, “moderates” should be empowered, and the Taliban needed time to build internal consensus. This framing reflected a profound misunderstanding of Taliban organizational dynamics. The supposed moderates functioned not as policy reformers but as narrative managers, tasked with softening the group’s image and deflecting pressure.

As during the Doha negotiations, these figures reassured diplomats that reforms were forthcoming, framed the ban as temporary, claimed logistical rather than ideological barriers, and urged patience while the “internal process” unfolded. These assurances created a false sense of progress and encouraged a softer approach among key external actors. Meanwhile, within Afghanistan, they weakened resistance, convincing many that confrontation was unnecessary and that change would happen organically.

The result was disastrous. The so-called moderates did not shift policy. They shifted perception—and bought the radicals time.

Decision-Makers Anchored in Ideology, Not Problem-Solving

Fundamentally, the Taliban’s core leadership operates on ideological imperatives, not pragmatic governance. They seek to shape society according to their doctrinal worldview, not respond to social needs or external expectations. For them, equality is a threat, girls’ education challenges their gender hierarchy, and accepting public demands undermines their authority. Given these priorities, it is unsurprising that the leadership rejected problem framing around girls’ education. From their perspective, the issue is not a policy problem requiring attention but a doctrinal boundary that must be protected.

Thus, external incentives that conflict with ideological interests are dismissed.

Internal and External Pressure: Both in Decline

By 2023, internal dissent had been violently suppressed. Civil society groups were dismantled, protests criminalized, and activists detained. The Taliban employed coercive force to eliminate any domestic actor capable of sustaining pressure.

Externally, pressure waned as geopolitical shifts—including Western fatigue, regional normalization of ties, and strategic recalibrations—reduced Afghanistan’s presence on the international agenda. Countries like China and Russia moved toward recognition, further diminishing the leverage once held by global actors.

In this context, the Taliban faced neither internal nor external forces strong enough to compel change.

A Narrow Political Window—Unlikely but Not Impossible

The only scenario in which change becomes possible is through a shift in the political stream—a fracture among elites, internal power struggles, or a recalibration of the Taliban’s political incentives. However, as long as internal and external conditions align with the Taliban’s ideological agenda, such a window remains deeply improbable.

The leadership does not see girls’ education as a problem. Thus, no solution is considered necessary.

Conclusion: A Case Study in Lost Leverage

The international community’s failure to act decisively during the critical early months—combined with misplaced faith in “moderate Taliban” actors—allowed the leadership to solidify its position. The Taliban successfully closed the policy window by suppressing internal dissent, deflecting external pressure, and spinning narratives that delayed action.

The result is not merely a missed opportunity but a foundational setback for the rights of Afghan women and girls. What might have been a moment of influence has become an era of entrenchment.

Part 8: Explanatory Analysis of Taliban Decision-Making and Ideological Rigidity

Understanding why the Taliban persist in banning girls’ education requires looking beyond surface-level explanations and examining the ideological foundation that shapes their decision-making. The Taliban do not view girls’ education as a governance issue, a policy challenge, or a domain requiring technical reform. Instead, they see it as a core aspect of their identity, a key feature of their political theology, and a test of ideological purity. This worldview makes conventional policymaking logic—based on public demand, evidence, or national interest—irrelevant.

The Leadership’s Strategic Horizon: Ideology Over Governance

At the heart of Taliban decision-making lies a leadership circle tightly centered around the Supreme Leader and his closest clerical advisors. Their strategic orientation prioritizes:

– maintaining ideological coherence,

– upholding internal loyalty,

– asserting the movement’s identity,

– constructing a new social order,

– and consolidating their regime through doctrinal authority.

In this worldview, education is not an administrative sector; it is a political instrument. Girls’ education, in particular, represents a symbolic fault line between the Taliban’s ideological project and the social transformations of the Republic. Allowing it would:

– weaken the ideological boundary between the Taliban and the previous state, – undermine their claim to religious authority, – open space for competing worldviews, – and empower women, thereby challenging patriarchal power structures essential to regime stability.

Thus, from their perspective, conceding on girls’ education is not a policy shift—it is an ideological defeat.

Why the Taliban Reject the Problem Framing

For the international community and Afghan citizens, the closure of girls’ schools is a humanitarian, developmental, and moral crisis. But for the Taliban’s leadership, the issue is framed entirely differently.

They reject the idea that girls’ exclusion constitutes a “problem.” Instead, they interpret:

– public demand as social corruption,

– international pressure as moral interference,

– civil society mobilization as fitna (discord),

– and policy advocacy as Westernization.

From this vantage point, there is no incentive to “solve” the issue. Doing so would require accepting a framing that contradicts their ideological premises.

The Taliban leadership does not acknowledge the ban as harmful. They acknowledge it as necessary.

The Ideological Logic Behind Policy Rejection

Taliban ideology combines:

– a literalist approach to religious texts, – a patriarchal anthropology that assigns fixed gender roles, – a suspicion of modern institutions, – and a belief in religious exclusivism distinguishing “true believers” from “others.”

Within this framework, girls’ education is seen as dangerous because it:

– destabilizes the gender hierarchy, – exposes girls to ideas outside the movement’s control, – disrupts domestic roles critical to their political theology, – and introduces intellectual autonomy incompatible with authoritarian rule.

In short, girls’ education poses an ideological threat. And threats, in the Taliban’s system, must be suppressed—not negotiated.

Why External Pressure Fails

External actors often assume that sanctions, incentives, or diplomatic engagement can shift Taliban policy. This assumption fails because it misunderstands the Taliban’s incentive structure.

For the leadership:

– legitimacy comes from religious narrative, not international recognition,

– power comes from coercion, not public consent,

– success is measured through ideological consistency, not service delivery,

– and political survival requires doctrinal purity, not policy performance.

Thus, incentive-based diplomacy—however rational it appears externally—collides with an internal logic in which ideological compromise is a form of defeat.

The Internal-External Symbiosis of Ideological Rigidity

The Taliban’s ability to maintain ideological rigidity depends on a dual dynamic:

Internal Suppression

Civil society, women’s groups, tribal leaders, and youth activists—actors capable of shaping political incentives—have been repressed, eliminated, or silenced. Without internal contestation, ideological decisions remain unchallenged.

External Ambiguity

As global actors shift toward pragmatic engagement or normalization, the Taliban receive signals—intended or not—that their ideological positions do not endanger their diplomatic standing.

Together, these dynamics create an environment of ideological insulation in which the Taliban face no meaningful pressure forcing them to reconsider their stance.

Four Years of Evidence: Consolidation, Not Concession

Across four years, the Taliban have:

– expanded gender restrictions—not reduced them, – strengthened ideological institutions—not weakened them, – broadened the ban on women—not relaxed it, – intensified censorship—not opened dialogue, – and tightened clerical control over policy—not decentralized it.

This trajectory demonstrates a regime moving deeper into ideological governance, not away from it.

Rather than showing signs of softening, the Taliban have shown a growing inclination to:

– institutionalize gender apartheid, – reshape social order according to their creed, – and align governance with their totalitarian vision.

A Predicted Outcome, Not a Sudden Shock

Some observers described the 2021 school closures as “unexpected.” Yet the trajectory of the Taliban movement—from the 1990s, through their insurgency, to their present rule—consistently points to hostility toward female education. The ban was not sudden, nor was it ambiguous. It was:

– historically grounded, – ideologically coherent, – publicly signaled, – and entirely predictable.

The surprise was not the Taliban’s actions, but the world’s doubt in the evidence.

Conclusion: No Change Without Ideological Shift

The Taliban’s stance on girls’ education is not a policy anomaly; it is a core component of their ideological identity. Without a fundamental transformation in the movement’s political theology, there is no pathway—technical, diplomatic, or economic—that can yield meaningful change.

As long as their identity rests on patriarchal doctrine, religious exclusivism, and totalitarian governance, the ban will remain:

– justified internally,

– defended rhetorically,

– enforced coercively,

– and embedded legally.

Thus, the future of girls’ education under the Taliban hinges not on negotiation or administrative reform but on the question of ideology itself—and whether that ideology can be reshaped, contested, or ultimately displaced.

Part 9: The Taliban’s Expanding Totalitarian Order and the Deepening Entrenchment of the Ban on Girls’ Education

Four years into Taliban rule, the trajectory of governance reveals a clear trend: the consolidation of a totalitarian order driven by ideological purification, not social need, public demand, or national interest. The ban on girls’ education, initially framed as temporary, now stands as a key marker of this ideological consolidation. Instead of moderating, the Taliban have expanded and hardened their authoritarian governance, embedding their worldview into law, institutions, social norms, and daily life.

This section examines why hope for reversal has not only diminished but was always misplaced, and why the Taliban’s growing ideological coherence makes meaningful policy change increasingly improbable.

The Ideological Convergence of Power Consolidation and Gender Apartheid

Early analyses after 2021 often speculated that internal debate among “moderate” and “hardline” Taliban could eventually shift the group’s stance on girls’ education. However, it is now clear that the Taliban’s leadership—particularly the Supreme Leader and the clerical establishment in Kandahar—view gender restrictions not as negotiable policies but as proof of their ideological authenticity. Conceding on these restrictions would undermine the internal cohesion of the movement, the theological authority of the leadership, the patriarchal logic at the foundation of their political theology, and the symbolic distinction between their regime and the Republic.

Thus, the ban is not merely a policy choice; it is a badge of ideological purity.

The movement’s most powerful actors share a commitment to imposing a social order rooted in gender segregation, moral surveillance, and clerical control. The notion that schooling for girls beyond primary grades could fit within this order contradicts the core assumptions underpinning Taliban governance.

The Decline of Hope: A Four-Year Pattern of Escalation, Not Moderation

Any residual hope that internal pressures or diplomatic engagement might shift the Taliban’s position has faded. Over four years, the Taliban have:

– expanded restrictions on women’s mobility,– imposed new bans on women in public spaces and employment,– strengthened the authority of religious police,– criminalized debate or protest regarding girls’ education,– intensified censorship, and– increased moral regulation across all sectors.

These developments show a regime moving in one direction only: toward deeper institutionalization of patriarchal authoritarianism. The ban on girls’ education must be understood as part of this broader architecture, not an isolated issue. If anything, the regime’s ideological rigidity has grown more entrenched with time.

Hope did not “fade”; it was systematically dismantled.

Why the Taliban Reject Problem Recognition

One of the most critical obstacles to policy change is that the Taliban leadership refuses to recognize girls’ exclusion as a “problem.” Under Kingdon’s Streams Framework, no policy solution is possible unless decision-makers first acknowledge the existence of a policy problem.

But the Taliban leadership:

– does not perceive the ban as harmful,– does not accept the developmental or economic consequences,– does not recognize public demand as legitimate,– does not accept the idea of equal rights for women, and– does not interpret education as a universal right.

Instead, they frame girls’ education as a potential threat to moral order, ideological coherence, and religious purity. The Taliban leadership’s refusal to accept the problem framing makes any policy window dependent on political, not technical, shifts.

The Impact of External Shifts: Declining Pressure and Strategic Normalization

The decline in external pressure has further emboldened the Taliban. As global crises—particularly the Ukraine war and the Middle East conflict—shifted international attention, Afghanistan receded from the diplomatic agenda. Simultaneously, countries like Russia and China moved toward normalization of relations, giving the Taliban confidence that their ideological choices would not jeopardize international engagement.

This dynamic has strengthened the movement’s belief that ideological concessions are unnecessary for political survival.

International leverage has weakened not only because attention has shifted but because many states have signaled willingness to engage without conditions, reinforcing the Taliban’s ideological resistance.

The Internal Landscape: The Silencing of Civil Society and the Crushing of Advocacy

Inside Afghanistan, the Taliban have extinguished the actors who once created internal policy pressure:

– civil society groups have been dismantled,– women’s rights activists imprisoned or exiled,– tribal and community leaders silenced,– religious scholars intimidated, and– youth networks dismantled.

Without internal pressure, there is no domestic counterweight to Taliban ideology. The regime faces no organized resistance capable of shifting the internal political stream.

This absence of domestic counterpressure has made ideological decisions more stable—and durable.

The Closing of the Policy Window

The first 6–12 months of Taliban rule provided the strongest chance for change. Public mobilization, international unity, and regime instability aligned briefly, creating a potential opening. But that window has fully closed.

Why?

1. Internal repression weakened activist-driven pressure.

2. International distraction fragmented global consensus.

3. Regional actors avoided leveraging their influence.

4. The “moderate Taliban” narrative delayed decisive action.

5. The Taliban leadership solidified ideological control.

By 2023, the possibility of reopening girls’ schools had shifted from unlikely to implausible.

By 2024, it had become ideologically unacceptable within the Taliban’s inner circle.

The Expanding Totalitarian Order

The Taliban’s current governance displays the hallmarks of totalitarian systems:

– a unifying ideology,– absolute control over public and private behavior,– institutionalized surveillance,– elimination of pluralism,– gender apartheid as a structural practice, and– the weaponization of education.

This is not merely authoritarian rule. It is an attempt to engineer society.

Education is central to this project—not as a public good, but as an instrument of ideological reproduction.

Conclusion: No Policy Change Without Political Transformation

The Taliban will not alter their stance on girls’ education unless a political rupture, internal fracture, or shift in power reconfigures their strategic calculus. Technical solutions, humanitarian appeals, or religious persuasion will not suffice. The issue is ideological, not administrative.

Thus, any meaningful progress requires:

– external pressure tied to political costs,– internal realignments among Taliban elites, or– structural shifts in the regime’s stability.

Absent such changes, girls’ education will remain constrained by a political theology that rejects equality, autonomy, and modernity at their core.

The ban is not temporary. It is foundational to the Taliban’s vision of society.

Final Concluding Section: The Ideological Boundary of Girls’ Education and the Limits of Change under Taliban Rule

Four years after the fall of the Republic, the Taliban’s governance has become unmistakably clear. The exclusion of girls from education is not an anomaly, nor a temporary response to administrative challenges, nor a negotiable policy awaiting technical solutions. It is the ideological boundary that defines the Taliban’s political identity, legitimizes their authority, and distinguishes their regime from the modern Afghan state that existed from 2001 to 2021. Any hope for substantive reform must begin with this recognition.

A Missed Diplomatic Moment

In the early months after the Taliban takeover, a rare convergence of pressures emerged. Inside Afghanistan, residents voiced strong and diverse support for girls’ education; outside, the world’s attention was sharply focused on the unfolding crisis. This alignment briefly created the conditions described in Kingdon’s policy framework—where the problem, policy, and political streams intersect to create a window for reform.

However, this window closed quickly. Countries with diplomatic leverage—Pakistan, Qatar, China, the UAE—failed to use it. Each had both the access and political capital to influence the Taliban, but each made a strategic choice to prioritize its own interests over Afghan women’s rights. Their caution, ambiguity, or silence allowed the Taliban to delay, deflect, and ultimately consolidate their stance.

Meanwhile, Western actors fell into a familiar trap: believing that “moderate Taliban” figures could be empowered to counterbalance the hardliners. In reality, these moderates performed the same role they had during the Doha negotiations—managing optics, not policy. Their assurances that the ban was temporary convinced many actors to wait and hope rather than apply decisive pressure.

By the time the global spotlight shifted to Ukraine and other geopolitical crises, the moment had passed; the Taliban recognized it and acted swiftly. The policy window shut, and the regime moved to institutionalize its ban.

Ideology, Not Logistics

The Taliban’s unwillingness to reverse the ban is best understood through their ideological framework, not through the shifting excuses they deploy. Over the past four years, they have offered multiple justifications:

– cultural norms– modesty and moral protection– logistical constraints– safety concerns– the need for “Islamic” educational environments

But these rationales are strategically malleable. As soon as one is questioned, another emerges. Zabihullah Mujahid’s August 14 interview is illustrative: he reframed the ban not as exclusion, but as “kindness,” insisting that girls must be protected and that the Supreme Leader is motivated only by safeguarding their chastity (ʿiffat). This paternalistic rhetoric is not meant to persuade; it is meant to obscure the deeper ideological truth.

The Taliban’s worldview constructs gender hierarchy as divinely mandated, the public sphere as the domain of men, and education as a pathway that must be tightly controlled to prevent moral contamination. Within this framework, granting girls broad educational access is not simply difficult—it is heretical.

Thus, the problem is not logistical; it is doctrinal. And doctrinal problems cannot be solved with technical solutions.

The Political Stream: Why Change Is Unlikely

Under Kingdon’s model, a policy window reopens only when the political stream shifts: changes in leadership, elite alignment, public mobilization, or external pressure alter the incentive structure of decision-makers. None of these conditions exist today.

– Internally, civil society has been dismantled.– The public sphere is silenced through coercion.– Religious scholars who support girls’ education face intimidation.– The Taliban’s base largely consumes ideology through madrassas and internal propaganda.– Externally, countries like Russia, China, and Iran are moving toward normalization, signaling that the Taliban can entrench their ideology without jeopardizing international legitimacy.

Without political costs, ideologically motivated policies remain protected. And within the Taliban’s doctrinal universe, girls’ education beyond the primary level is precisely such a protected domain.

No Change Without Ideological Rupture

The uncomfortable truth—and the one that must be acknowledged openly—is that the Taliban cannot provide equal education for girls without abandoning their core ideological commitments. Every component of their worldview would have to shift:

– their theological interpretation of gender,– their political theology of obedience and moral policing,– their suspicion of modernity,– their belief that women’s presence in public is destabilizing,– and their fear that education empowers dissent.

These are not peripheral ideas; they are the pillars of the Taliban’s identity. As long as this ideological foundation remains intact, any form of girls’ education will be limited, instrumentalized, or designed to reproduce Taliban doctrine.

There is no “technical solution” to an ideological problem. There is only ideological transformation—or regime change.

The Necessary Honesty for Future Policy

The global community, Afghan civil society in exile, and researchers must therefore adopt a more realistic framework. No meaningful change will occur unless:

1. Internal political dynamics shift, creating fractures or incentive changes within the Taliban elite;

2. External pressure becomes strategically coordinated and tied to real political or economic consequences;

3. The Taliban’s ideological legitimacy is challenged, rather than accepted as an immutable reality; or

4. A new political configuration emerges that is not governed by the Taliban’s totalitarian theology.

Without one of these conditions, the ban on girls’ education will remain not only in place but foundational to the Taliban’s governing identity.

مذهبي توندلارو په سیسټماټیک ډول عصري ښوونځي د دیني زده‌کړې سره «په بنسټیز ډول ناساز» معرفي کړي، او داسې فکري درز یې رامنځته کړی چې خپله دیني تفسیر د افغانیت، مشروعیت او برلاسۍ معیار معرفي کړي. دغه روایت د دوو موازي او په اصل کې د متخاصمو تعلیمي ماډلونو ترمنځ اوږدمهاله تنش زېږولی. هرکله چې هڅه شوې چې دیني زده‌کړه د معاصر نصاب په چوکاټ کې مدغم شي، توندلارو سخت غبرګون ښودلی او اصلاحات یې شاته غوځولي؛ د ۱۹۲۹ کال د عصري ښوونځیو تړل، د ۱۹۹۰مې لسیزې په منځ کې د طالبانو بریدونه، او د نجونو پر زده‌کړې اوسنی بندیز د همدې کړنلارې څرګندې بېلګې دي.

تاریخي شواهد په څرګند ډول د دوو متضادو فکري لیدلورو شخړه ښيي. مذهبي توندلارې په خپل ضد-عصري دریځ ټینګ ولاړې پاتې دي او د تعلیمي سیاست د تنظیم لپاره یې تل د خپلو عقیدوي لومړیتوبونو د حاکمېدو هڅه کړې. د طالبانو واکمني د همدې دریځ څرګند تجسم دی: دغه تحریک تل د عصري زده‌کړې پر وړاندې دښمني او د ازاد فکر پر وړاندې کلک مخالفت ښودلی.

په مقابل کې، افغان روښانفکران—هم تاریخي او هم د جمهوریت په دوره (۲۰۰۲–۲۰۲۱)—اکثره دفاعي، احتیاطي او غبرګونیز دریځ غوره کړی. اصلاح‌پالانو د عصري زده‌کړې پر اړتیا ټینګار کاوه، خو د توندلارو د ادعاوو د رد لپاره یې ديني، فرهنګي او فکري بستر ته لږ پام اړولی. د شلمې پېړۍ تر ډېرو کلونو پورې روښانفکران د سیاسي بې‌ثباتۍ تر سیوري لاندې فعالیت کاوه: معاصر تعلیم یې ستایه، خو له توندلارو سره د فکري او عقیدوي بحث څخه ډډه کوله، ځکه وېره وه چې ښايي سیاسي او ټولنیز نظم ګډوډ کړي.

دغه تمایل د جمهوریت په دوره کې هم دوام وموند. پالیسي جوړوونکي او فکري مشران ډېری وخت د طالبانو د افراطي روایتونو د ماتولو مسؤلیت له ځانه لرې کاوه، او حتی د نجونو د زده‌کړې په اړه د طالبانو د استدلال د منطقي تضادونو د افشا کولو پر ځای، ستونزې یې «کلتور» ته منسوبولې او د توندلارو د قناعت لپاره یې نصاب او ښوونیز مواد نرمول. په پایله کې، دوی د یو داسې فکري چوکاټ په وړاندې کولو کې پاتې راغلل چې د توندلارو د سخت دریځ بنسټیزې نظریې ننګولی وای.

د دې کمزورۍ پایلې ژورې وې. د جمهوریت پر مهال د افراطي روایتونو د مستقیمې مقابلې نه‌شتون یوه دایمي اړتیا رامنځته کړه؛ پالیسي جوړوونکي د توندلارو له غبرګون څخه وېرېدل. د طالبانو په واکمنېدو سره دا کمزوري په ښکاره او د پالیسي په کچه بریدونو بدله شوه. د قوي، منسجم او فکري مقابلې د نه‌شتون له امله توندلارو ته زمینه برابره شوه چې پر معاصرو بنسټونو بریدونه وکړي او له جدي مقاومت پرته یې له منځه یوسي. نو هرځل چې طالبان واک ته رسېدلي، د معاصرې زده‌کړې جوړښتونه یې په قاطع ډول ړنګ کړي او د ازاد فکر فضا یې ختمه کړې.

سره له دې چې اوسنی تعلیمي بحران تر ټولو زیات د مذهبي توندلارو له کړنو سرچینه اخلي، افغان روښانفکران باید خپل تاریخي کمزوري هم په رښتیني ډول درک کړي. هغوی تاریخي فرصت، نهادي فضا او علمي سرچینې لرلې چې د توندلارو افراطي تفسیرونه—که د مدرسو د نظام په اړه وو، که د نصاب په اړه، یا د دیني زده‌کړې او د افغانستان د فکري میراث ترمنځ د اړیکو په اړه—ژور او منظم نقد کړي. خو علمي هڅې د سیاسي مصلحت‌ګرۍ تر اغېز لاندې راغلې، او ثبات، مصالحه او قدرت د فکري جرئت ځای ونیوله. کله چې فکري څېړنه د سیاسي محاسبې تابع شي، بې‌له شکه بن‌بست ته رسېږي. په افغانستان کې دغه بن‌بست د ښوونیزې ایډیالوژۍ ډګر تش پرېښود، چې په پایله کې توندلارو ته اجازه ورکړل شوه چې روایت تعریف کړي، پالیسي جوړه کړي، او د معاصرې زده‌کړې راتلونکی په بشپړ ډول وټاکي.

اوس د دې وخت ده چې - بخصوص بهر میشت روشنفکره افغانان - سره راټول شي او د طالبانو مذهبي افراطیت او تورتم پر ضد خپل استدلال او علمي دلایل وړاندي کړي او پرېنیږدي چې یو نسل د افغانانو د دوی د ظالمانه فکر ښکار شي.

𝕊𝕖𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕞𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝟚𝟡, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟙 – 𝕥𝕖𝕞𝕡𝕠𝕣𝕒𝕣𝕚𝕝𝕪 𝕤𝕦𝕤𝕡𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕠𝕗 𝕗𝕖𝕞𝕒𝕝𝕖 𝕤𝕥𝕦𝕕𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕤

The Taliban has temporarily suspended all female students and teachers from Kabul University, stating the need to align with religious and traditional norms. The university’s progressive academic environment has made it a key focus for the Taliban’s changes. Other higher education institutions have also been affected by this decision.

𝔸𝕡𝕣𝕚𝕝 𝟚𝟜, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟚 – 𝕕𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕤 𝕔𝕠𝕕𝕖𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕘𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕤𝕖𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕘𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟

After the temporary ban, the Taliban Ministry of Higher Education instructed its gunmen and university officials to enforce strict, unprecedented dress codes and complete gender segregation in classrooms, a move unheard of in Afghan universities. The decision to reopen universities has outraged extreme hardliners, who demand a total ban, similar to the ban imposed on public secondary schools for girls.

𝔸𝕡𝕣𝕚𝕝 𝟚𝟜, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟚 – 𝕣𝕠𝕥𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕒𝕝 𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕦𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕨𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕞𝕖𝕟

Further details regarding gender segregation in universities have emerged. The new guidelines instruct universities to allocate three days of instruction to women and three days to men in order to maintain segregation. This measure, however, was technically impractical given the severe limitations in resources—limitations that have worsened due to the mass departure of hundreds of academics from the country. As a result, the policy has seriously disrupted the learning process and undermined the learning quality.

𝔸𝕦𝕘𝕦𝕤𝕥 𝟙𝟞, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟚 – 𝕖𝕩𝕡𝕒𝕟𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕠𝕗 𝕣𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕘𝕚𝕠𝕦𝕤 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕤𝕖𝕤 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕦𝕣𝕣𝕚𝕔𝕦𝕝𝕦𝕞

The Taliban’s Ministry of Higher Education told its officials, who were all Taliban members with no qualifications to run a university, to add more religious courses to the curriculum. They were told to introduce new religious subjects, in addition to the existing ones. They carried out this instruction quickly.

𝔸𝕦𝕘𝕦𝕤𝕥 𝟚𝟡, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟚 – 𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕗𝕦𝕝𝕝 𝕗𝕒𝕔𝕚𝕒𝕝 𝕔𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕗𝕖𝕞𝕒𝕝𝕖 𝕤𝕥𝕦𝕕𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕤

In response to the backlash from religious radicals opposed to female students in universities, the Taliban Ministry of Higher Education has ordered female students to fully cover their faces. This directive means students must now strictly follow the established dress codes. This highlights a contrast between the so-called moderates and the hardliners, with the former wanting to outline the benefits of females being trained in their ideology at universities, and the radicals, including their leader, having no confidence in universities.

𝕆𝕔𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝟟, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟚 – 𝕨𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟 𝕓𝕒𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕕 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕜𝕖𝕪 𝕒𝕔𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕞𝕚𝕔 𝕗𝕚𝕖𝕝𝕕𝕤

Women are prohibited from studying agriculture, mining, civil engineering, veterinary medicine, and journalism, deemed “too difficult” for women.

𝔻𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕞𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝟚𝟘, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟚 – 𝕨𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟 𝕓𝕒𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕕 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕦𝕟𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕖𝕤

Female students are barred from public and private universities until further notice.

𝔻𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕞𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝟚𝟜, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟚 – 𝕓𝕒𝕟 𝕔𝕝𝕒𝕣𝕚𝕗𝕚𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕠 𝕖𝕩𝕔𝕝𝕦𝕕𝕖 𝕞𝕒𝕕𝕣𝕒𝕤𝕒𝕤

A letter from the Ministry states that the suspension applies only to higher education for women, not madrasa studies.

𝕁𝕒𝕟𝕦𝕒𝕣𝕪 𝟚𝟙, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟛 – 𝕨𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟 𝕖𝕩𝕔𝕝𝕦𝕕𝕖𝕕 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕦𝕟𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕚𝕥𝕪 𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕖𝕩𝕒𝕞𝕤

The Ministry orders the removal of women from university admissions testing.

𝕁𝕒𝕟𝕦𝕒𝕣𝕪 𝟚𝟝, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟛 – 𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕚𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤 𝕠𝕟 𝕗𝕖𝕞𝕒𝕝𝕖 𝕝𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕖𝕣𝕤’ 𝕒𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖

Female lecturers are instructed to sign timesheets only once a month at a designated campus gate.

𝕄𝕒𝕣𝕔𝕙 𝟞, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟛 – 𝕙𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕖𝕕𝕦𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕥𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤 𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕚𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕠 𝕞𝕒𝕝𝕖 𝕒𝕕𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤

Institutions are ordered to admit only men for the upcoming academic year.

𝕄𝕒𝕣𝕔𝕙 𝟙𝟚, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟛 – 𝕦𝕟𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕖𝕤 𝕓𝕒𝕣𝕣𝕖𝕕 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕚𝕤𝕤𝕦𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕕𝕠𝕔𝕦𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕤 𝕥𝕠 𝕨𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟

Universities are prohibited from providing transcripts and certificates to female graduates.

𝔻𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕞𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝟝, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟛 – 𝕗𝕖𝕞𝕒𝕝𝕖 𝕟𝕦𝕣𝕤𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕞𝕚𝕕𝕨𝕚𝕗𝕖𝕣𝕪 𝕖𝕕𝕦𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕤𝕦𝕤𝕡𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕕

Religious police halt nursing and midwifery programs for women in Kandahar.

𝔽𝕖𝕓𝕣𝕦𝕒𝕣𝕪 𝟙𝟛, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟜 – 𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕞𝕖𝕕𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕝 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕤𝕖𝕤 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕨𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟 𝕚𝕟𝕧𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕕𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕕

Medical institutes are directed to cancel winter semesters taught to women and repeat them next year.

𝔽𝕖𝕓𝕣𝕦𝕒𝕣𝕪 𝟙𝟡, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟜 – 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕕𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕒𝕝 𝕒𝕡𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕧𝕒𝕝 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕗𝕖𝕞𝕒𝕝𝕖 𝕞𝕖𝕕𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕝 𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘

The Ministry permits a female doctor (with mahram) to participate in nursing and midwifery student registration and exams in 11 provinces.

𝕁𝕦𝕝𝕪 𝟚𝟛, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟜 – 𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕒𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪 “𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕕𝕦𝕣 𝕟𝕒𝕞𝕒𝕒𝕫” 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕗𝕖𝕞𝕒𝕝𝕖 𝕞𝕖𝕕𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕝 𝕤𝕥𝕦𝕕𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕤

Female medical students are required to wear a full-body chador to enter colleges.

𝕁𝕦𝕝𝕪 𝟚𝟡, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟜 – 𝕞𝕒𝕛𝕠𝕣 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕤 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕙𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕖𝕕𝕦𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕥𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤 𝕠𝕟 𝕚𝕕𝕖𝕠𝕝𝕠𝕘𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕝 𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕤

A report documents a severe decline in higher education, ideological control, and academic deterioration.

https://8am.media/eng/major-setback-for-education-schools-and-universities-under-taliban-rule/

𝕁𝕦𝕝𝕪 𝟚𝟡, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟜 – 𝕕𝕚𝕤𝕤𝕠𝕝𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕠𝕗 𝟙𝟙 𝕙𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕖𝕕𝕦𝕔𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕥𝕦𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤

The Taliban dissolves 11 public higher education institutes, restructuring under ideological control.

https://x.com/HafizZeiya/status/1866797084093059369

𝕁𝕦𝕝𝕪 𝟚𝟡, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟜 – 𝕦𝕟𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕖𝕤 𝕡𝕝𝕒𝕔𝕖𝕕 𝕦𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕚𝕕𝕖𝕠𝕝𝕠𝕘𝕚𝕔𝕒𝕝 𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥

Reports highlight: – curriculum rewritten for religious ideology – widespread appointment of mullahs – elimination of scientific disciplines https://8am.media/fa/universities-under-the-knife-of-ideology-taliban-mullahs-curriculum-for-higher-education/

𝔻𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕞𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝟚, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟜 – 𝕨𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟 𝕓𝕒𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕕 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕤𝕥𝕦𝕕𝕪𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕞𝕖𝕕𝕚𝕔𝕚𝕟𝕖

The Ministry of Public Health announces a complete ban on women studying medicine and orders final exams within 10 days.

𝔻𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕞𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝟠, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟜 – 𝕗𝕖𝕞𝕒𝕝𝕖 𝕒𝕕𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕗𝕗 𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕣𝕚𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕕

Herat University instructs that women unable to work in person must appoint a male relative to collect salaries on their behalf.

𝔻𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕞𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝟙𝟙, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟜 – 𝕗𝕖𝕞𝕒𝕝𝕖 𝕦𝕟𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕚𝕥𝕪 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕗𝕗 𝕕𝕚𝕤𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕

The Ministry announces the termination of all female administrative staff, offering replacement by male family members.

𝕁𝕦𝕝𝕪 𝟙𝟘, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟝 – 𝕠𝕗𝕗𝕚𝕔𝕚𝕒𝕝 𝕣𝕖𝕔𝕠𝕘𝕟𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕘𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕠𝕗 𝕒𝕔𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕞𝕚𝕔 𝕕𝕖𝕘𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕤 𝕥𝕠 𝕋𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕓𝕒𝕟 𝕔𝕝𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕔𝕤’ 𝕗𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕠𝕨𝕖𝕣𝕤

Clerics with ‘Alamiya qualifications are recognized as holding bachelor’s and master’s equivalents, enabling credential issuance.

𝕁𝕦𝕝𝕪 𝟚𝟞, 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟝 – 𝕍𝕚𝕔𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕍𝕚𝕣𝕥𝕦𝕖 𝕃𝕒𝕨 𝕖𝕟𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕔𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕚𝕟 𝕦𝕟𝕚𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕖𝕤

The Minister orders universities to implement religious moral policing, monitor curricula, and raise students according to Taliban values. https://www.mohe.gov.af/dr/node/13182

𝕃𝕒𝕥𝕖 𝟚𝟘𝟚𝟝 – 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕗𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕠𝕣𝕤 𝕕𝕚𝕤𝕞𝕚𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕣𝕖𝕡𝕝𝕒𝕔𝕖𝕕 𝕓𝕪 𝕞𝕦𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕙𝕤

Reports confirm: – termination of university professors – replacement with mullahs – full ideological restructuring of universities. https://8am.media/fa/complete-talibanization-of-universities-26-professors-and-mullahs-have-been-appointed-in-four-universities/

Reference:

https://www.usip.org/tracking-talibans-mistreatment-women?utm_source

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• August 30: The Taliban announced the prohibition of mixed-gender education and stated that male teachers would not be permitted to instruct female students.

• September 12: Authorities suspended secondary education for girls.

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• January 3: Educational facilities for blind girls in Nangarhar and Kunar were closed.

• February 7, 2022 – Taliban officials send daughters to school abroad. Reports indicate that Taliban elites are sending their daughters to schools overseas while restricting girls’ education in Afghanistan.

• March 17: Officials announced that girls’ schools would reopen at the start of the 1401 school year.

• March 24: Shortly after, a new announcement confirmed that girls in grade seven and above would remain out of school.

• June 1: In Ghazni, girls in grades four through six were instructed to cover their faces while traveling to school, with noncompliance potentially leading to expulsion.

• September 11: Secondary and high schools for girls in Paktia, which had briefly reopened, were closed again.

• October 6: Hundreds of adolescent girls in Kandahar were removed from school following verbal orders from local education officials.

• December 22: Girls above grade six were prohibited from attending private tutoring centers and courses.

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• June 8: Foreign NGOs were banned from providing educational services, including community-based programs. UNICEF estimated that this decision would impact approximately 500,000 learners, including around 300,000 girls.

• October 22: Kandahar’s religious police informed elementary schools and women’s madrasas that the burqa would be the only acceptable form of hijab.

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• Jan 13, 2024 – Local leaders advocate for reopening girls’ schools Religious scholars and elders urge the Taliban to reopen schools and universities for girls.

• Jan 11, 2024 – Detention of girls for dress code violations UNAMA reports the arrest of women and girls at schools for alleged hijab violations.

• Jan 13, 2024 – Book bans in schools and libraries Taliban intelligence bans the sale and printing of 100 books; some have been removed from schools.

• Jan 15, 2024 – Taliban supporters receive academic credentials Mass issuance of educational credentials to Taliban followers occurs.

• Jan 17, 2024 – Taliban promotes ideological “re-education” for youth Leadership claims that students have been “brainwashed” and must undergo ideological reshaping.

• Jan 20, 2024 – Brainwashing narrative reinforced in universities Minister of Higher Education pledges to “fix” youth ideology.

• Feb 22, 2024 – Girls over 10 banned from school in Kandahar The Taliban orders schools to exclude girls aged 10 and older from attending classes.

• Feb 23, 2024 – Conflicting Taliban statements on girls’ schools The Deputy Foreign Minister supports reopening girls’ schools, while the Minister of Higher Education opposes it.

• Feb 25, 2024 – Acknowledgment of 700 ghost schools The Taliban Ministry of Education reports approximately 700 non-existent “ghost schools.”

• Feb 28, 2024 – Reports of abuse include school children The UN includes school students in reports of abuse within educational settings.

• February 22: In Kandahar, school leaders were instructed to prevent girls aged ten and older from attending classes below grade six. The same directive required girls in grades four to six to cover their faces on their way to school.

• March 31: Several educational centers for girls in Kabul were closed after registering students above the sixth grade.

• March 4, 2024 – Ban on criticism of Taliban education policies A Taliban official states that no one may criticize the regime.

• March 8, 2024 – Calls to reopen schools in Bamyan Local scholars and professors advocate for the reopening of girls’ schools.

• March 18, 2024 – China-Afghanistan joint institute established A technical/vocational cooperation agreement is signed.

• April 23, 2024 – Schools converted to religious institutions 25 public schools are transformed into madrasas in Takhar and Badakhshan.

• April: Kabul’s provincial education department issued a commitment form to private school administrators, agreeing to uphold the ongoing suspension of schooling for girls in grades seven through twelve.

• May 27, 2024 – Taliban takes control of educational aid distribution Centralization of assistance impacts school support.

  May 9, 2024 – Aid disruption affects students in Ghor 42,000 families lose assistance, impacting education.

• June 09, 2024 – No schools in Helmand district The Deshu district lacks any functioning school infrastructure.

• June 10, 2024 – Credentials exam results announced Evaluation of academic documents is conducted under the new system.

• June 2024 – Regulation of private school fees The Taliban enforces control over private school fees.

• June 4: The Bamyan education department mandated that schools teaching students from both the Hanafi and Jafari traditions must provide textbooks representing both jurisprudences, replacing single-tradition materials.

• July 5, 2024 – Female professors’ salaries reduced Policies discourage women from teaching.

• Aug 24, 2024 – Ban on online learning above grade 6 in Khost Restrictions are placed on radio and TV educational programs.

• Aug 25, 2024 – Suspension of foreign scholarships The Taliban blocks scholarships to prevent “brainwashing.”

• Aug 30, 2024 – Taliban expresses doubts about modern schooling ideology

• August 24: The Acting Minister of Higher Education signled that the ban of girls’ education might turn permanent.

• August 25: The Taliban have imposed restrictions on educational programs above grade six that are broadcast through local radio and television stations.

• September 29: The Taliban has introduced the propaganda book, “Emarat-Shenasi” (Understanding the Emirate), to school students.

• Sep 01, 2024 – Taliban leadership vows never to reopen girls’ schools An internal commitment is made not to reopen girls’ schools or universities.

• Sep 02, 2024 – UN Security Council disagreement on Taliban education law

• Sep 09, 2024 – Students’ tents destroyed in floods in Ghor Students in Firoz Koh lose temporary learning spaces.

• Sep 13, 2024 – Testimony: 95% graduate illiterate Public school graduates reportedly lack basic literacy skills.

• Sep 30, 2024 – Ban on foreign scholarships A Taliban leader orders a prohibition on all foreign studies.

• October 03: Students in Kabul have prevented the celebration of Teachers’ Day.

• November 13: In Uruzgan, community-based education centers run by international NGOs were ordered to close.

• November 27: Accelerated learning programs funded by UNICEF in Bamyan—designed for out-of-school girls below grade six—were shut down by provincial authorities.

• December 24: A letter from the Ministry of Education reiterated that girls above grade six remain barred from public and private schooling, referencing an earlier decree from the Emir and instructing Herat’s education officials to continue enforcing the suspension until further notice.

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References:
United States Institute of Peace. “Tracking the Taliban’s (Mis)Treatment of Women.” Accessible at: https://www.usip.org/tracking-talibans-mistreatment-women

Feminist Majority Foundation. “Taliban Edicts — Education.” Accessed at: https://feminist.org/our-work/afghan-women-and-girls/taliban-edicts/#education

Afghan intellectuals and secular thinkers—defined here as individuals who value scientific inquiry, human experience, rational reasoning, and critical thought, regardless of their level of education or place of residence—have historically encountered significant challenges in presenting coherent, evidence-based arguments and in maintaining effective public critiques against religious radicalism. This shortcoming is particularly noticeable in discussions about modern education, human rights, and democratic values. It is striking, especially considering the intellectual resources, institutional access, and support many in this group have had. Instead of leveraging these advantages to form a united intellectual front, they have struggled to effectively challenge an ideological movement that poses a threat to their intellectual and professional existence. Rather than developing a collective counter-vision, many have opted to accommodate the status quo, seeking security through alignment with ruling authorities for employment and protection, or have become mired in internal divisions based on ethnic, religious, and linguistic differences.

In contrast, religious radicals have consistently articulated a clear and adaptable ideological stance since the rise of the reformist movement, the first Afghan intellectual movement, in the early twentieth century. They effectively adjusted their discourse and strategies to changing social and political landscapes, allowing them to sustain momentum. Whether operating within the state apparatus during the Republic era or mobilizing against it during the Taliban insurgency, they seized every opportunity to expand their influence and promote their worldview. A key aspect of their agenda has been a continuous challenge to intellectual, egalitarian, and reformist ideas, particularly evident in their systematic opposition to public and modern education.

Religious radicals have systematically framed modern schooling as fundamentally incompatible with religious views, creating an ideological divide that positions their interpretation of religious learning as superior and more authentically “Afghan.” This narrative has fostered a long-standing tension—indeed, a deep-seated antagonism—between religious and modern educational models. Attempts to integrate religious teachings within modern frameworks have often faced radical backlash, reversing hard-won reforms, as seen in the prohibition of modern schools in 1929, the Taliban’s assault on education in the mid-1990s, and the current ban on girls’ schooling.

The historical evidence highlights a clear contest between two opposing worldviews. Religious radicals like the Taliban have remained steadfast in their anti-modern stance, persistently seeking to influence educational policy according to their doctrinal priorities. The Taliban era exemplifies this position: the movement has consistently expressed hostility towards modern schooling and resistance to free inquiry.

In contrast, Afghan progressive thinkers—both historically and during the Republic (2002–2021)—have often taken a defensive and reactive approach. Reformists advocated for the necessity of modern schooling but rarely engaged with the radicals’ claims within their religious, cultural, or intellectual contexts. Throughout the twentieth century, intellectuals operated under political volatility, maintaining rhetorical support for modern education while shying away from confronting the doctrinal arguments posed by radical actors, fearing that such confrontations could destabilize the political or social order.

This tendency persisted during the Republic, where policymakers and intellectuals often deflected responsibility for countering the Taliban’s extremist rhetoric or exposing its logical inconsistencies—particularly regarding women’s and girls’ education—by attributing resistance to “culture” or making concessions on schools and curricula to appease radical sentiments. Consequently, they failed to present a coherent intellectual response capable of challenging the foundations of extremist ideology.

The implications of this failure were profound. During the Republic, the reluctance to directly challenge radical narratives fostered a persistent vulnerability, as policymakers feared provoking backlash. Under the Taliban, this vulnerability has resulted in explicit, policy-driven attacks on modern education. The lack of a robust intellectual counter-narrative has allowed radicals to continue their assault on modern institutions without facing significant resistance. Thus, whenever the Taliban regained power, they acted decisively—dismantling modern learning structures and eliminating spaces for free intellectual inquiry.

While the current educational crisis can primarily be attributed to religious radicals, Afghan intellectuals must also recognize their own shortcomings. They had the historical opportunity, institutional space, and scholarly resources to critically examine and counter radical interpretations—whether related to seminaries, curricula, or the relationship between religious education and Afghanistan’s rich intellectual tradition. Yet scholarship became intertwined with political considerations, driven by the need for stability, compromise, and power. When intellectual inquiry is subordinated to political pragmatism, it inevitably reaches an impasse. In Afghanistan, this impasse left the field of educational ideology largely uncontested—allowing radical actors to define the narrative, shape policy, and ultimately determine the future of modern education.

All Afghan intellectuals—especially those in the diaspora who possess the safety and freedom to speak—now bear a moral responsibility to critique, challenge, and counter the Taliban’s radical ideology, as well as that of other extremist groups, and to contribute to freeing the nation from this form of ideological occupation.

This escalating conflict has ignited waves of nationalistic rhetoric in both countries’ tightly controlled media. Yet beneath the surface, a remarkable shift is taking place in Pakistan’s own public discourse. After years of denial, a growing number of Pakistani journalists, analysts, and even officials are beginning to acknowledge what Afghans have long claimed—that Pakistan’s powerful military and intelligence establishment, especially the Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI), spent decades cultivating extremist groups as tools of foreign policy. What was once dismissed as Afghan blame-casting is now echoing within Pakistan’s own walls, revealing a slow and uneasy reckoning with a policy that has come full circle.

Following the collapse of the Taliban regime in 2001, many senior leaders found refuge in Pakistan, where they reorganized with the help of sympathetic networks. This led to the gradual emergence of a new militant coalition. By 2007, the TTP was formally established as an umbrella organization uniting various jihadist factions operating along the Durand Line, the porous border between Afghanistan and Pakistan. The communities on both sides of this border share significant ethnic, linguistic, and religious ties, particularly among the Pashtun tribes, who have historically faced marginalization in both countries.

In Pakistan, most of these groups were concentrated in the Federally Administered Tribal Areas (FATA), which, until 2018, were governed by a colonial-era framework known as the Frontier Crimes Regulation (FCR). This system significantly restricted the reach of Pakistan’s civilian institutions, leaving the region without access to modern education, healthcare, and infrastructure. In this context, madrassas—religious seminaries often supported by political or external actors—became the main sources of education and social mobility. These institutions not only addressed the educational gap but also provided ideological frameworks that facilitated militant recruitment, particularly when influenced by powerful institutions seeking strategic advantage.

The TTP declared war on the Pakistani state in an effort to impose its interpretation of Sharia law. Over the years, it has conducted a campaign of terror throughout Pakistan, targeting civilians, soldiers, and schools. Its most devastating act occurred in December 2014, when gunmen attacked the Army Public School in Peshawar, resulting in the deaths of over 130 children. Two years prior, the group attempted to silence Malala Yousafzai, a young advocate for girls’ education in Swat Valley, whose survival and international recognition have come to symbolize resistance against the extremism that Pakistan once supported.

In response, the Pakistani government employed military force, designating the TTP as a terrorist organization and launching extensive operations like Zarb-e-Azb (2014) and Radd-ul-Fasaad (2017) to dismantle its networks. However, while Islamabad focused on combating the TTP domestically, it continued to support the Tehrik-i-Taliban Afghanistan (TTA) across the border, viewing them as a strategic asset for maintaining influence in Afghanistan. This contradictory approach—labeling militants as “good” or “bad” Taliban—has had significant repercussions. The TTP has not only persisted but has also gained strength, drawing ideological support and safe havens from its Afghan counterparts. In attempting to leverage extremism for geopolitical gain, Pakistan now finds itself caught in a complex situation of its own making.

The Radicalization Project

In December 1979, the Soviet Union’s invasion of Afghanistan led to millions of Afghans fleeing their homes, seeking refuge in Pakistan, Iran, and other neighboring countries, resulting in one of the largest refugee crises of the 20th century. Within Afghanistan, a jihad emerged, framed as a holy war against Soviet occupation and the communist regime in Kabul supported by Moscow. The Western allies recognized Afghanistan as a crucial front in the Cold War, prioritizing the defeat of the Soviets and initiating a significant covert operation to arm and fund the Afghan resistance.

Arab states, particularly Saudi Arabia, matched American funding and mobilized volunteers from across the Muslim world united under the banner of Islamic solidarity. Concurrently, a vast network of madrassas—Islamic seminaries established along the Pakistani-Afghan border—became centers for recruitment, indoctrination, and logistical support for the Afghan jihad. Many of these madrassas, following the Deobandi tradition, served not only as religious institutions but also as ideological training grounds where anti-communist and pan-Islamic narratives merged with militant fervor. What began as a strategy to weaken the Soviet Union ultimately laid the groundwork by ISI for a new generation of radicalized fighters, whose influence would persist long after the Cold War concluded.

The ISI played a crucial role in shaping the Afghan jihad during the 1980s. It initiated a comprehensive effort to radicalize Afghan resistance and mobilize fighters for the anti-Soviet war, turning what could have been a nationalist struggle into an ideologically driven holy war. Historically, Afghans had resisted foreign invasions through tribal and nationalist means without resorting to militant Islamism. However, the Pakistani establishment viewed Islamic radicalization as a way to align Afghanistan’s resistance with its regional ambitions, particularly against India. This strategy aimed to achieve three interconnected goals: to create a weak, religiously influenced Afghan state reliant on Pakistan; to establish a friendly regime in Kabul that would counter Indian influence; and to secure strategic access to Central Asia, while maintaining Pakistan’s dominance in the region.

Central to this geopolitical strategy was the madrassa system, which the Pakistani military and religious elites transformed into a tool for ideological engineering under the guise of religious education. Presented as a defense of Islam against communism, these madrassas became breeding grounds for a generation of young men who learned to associate piety with militancy and modernity with moral decline. What began as a Cold War alliance in the name of faith and freedom evolved into a self-sustaining system. Even after the Soviet withdrawal in 1989, the networks, doctrines, and loyalties formed during that time persisted—adapting to new adversaries and political landscapes.

Thousands of madrassas, many funded by Saudi Arabia and other Gulf donors, were established along the Durand Line and throughout Pakistan’s side of the Durant Line. The Deobandi tradition, exemplified by the Darul Uloom Haqqania in Akora Khattak, became the template for this initiative. Known as the “University of Jihad,” Haqqania produced many future leaders of the Taliban movement. By merging religious education with militant indoctrination, Pakistan’s establishment not only created a proxy army for its regional strategy but also fostered a transnational ideological movement whose effects continue to resonate across South and Central Asia today.

During the 1980s, the madrassa network expanded significantly, reaching refugee camps and impoverished border communities by providing free food and religious education to children. Many Afghan refugee families, unable to access public schools in Pakistan and eager to educate their children, inadvertently became part of a larger ideological movement. What started as a response to the Soviet invasion gradually evolved into a long-term indoctrination system. Even after the Soviet withdrawal, these madrassas continued to function under the oversight of ISI, aligning with the state’s strategy for “strategic depth” in Afghanistan. By the early 1990s, they had become self-sustaining entities—politically advantageous, financially backed by Gulf donors, and ideologically independent enough to continue their mission without direct control.

Over time, these seminaries spread throughout Pashtun-majority regions of Pakistan, enrolling not just Afghan refugees but also local Pakistani students. The distinction between host and refugee communities diminished as shared classrooms created a new generation united by a common militant identity. By the mid-1990s, thousands of these students—referred to as Taliban, or “students of religion”—crossed into Afghanistan to engage in jihad and restore what they viewed as Islamic order. Upon capturing Kabul in 1996, they established the first Islamist regime in Afghanistan’s history, shaped not by tribal traditions or nationalism but by a strict madrassa-based ideology.

In the following five years, the Taliban regime imposed an extremist societal vision rooted in the authoritarian, male-dominated culture of the madrassas from which it originated. Their interpretation of Islam positioned men and women as fundamentally unequal—men as enforcers of divine order, women as subjects confined to obedience and domestic roles. Under this doctrine, education for girls was prohibited, women were excluded from public life, and a comprehensive system of surveillance and punishment was implemented through the Ministry for the Promotion of Virtue and Prevention of Vice. The outcome was one of the most severe and systematic gender apartheid systems in modern history—a direct political manifestation of the ideology once propagated in Pakistan’s seminaries.

Following the Taliban’s fall in 2001, many of their leaders sought refuge in Pakistan, regrouping under the protection of supportive religious networks and elements within the security establishment. During this time, the TTP emerged in 2007, uniting various militant factions operating in Pakistan’s tribal borderlands. This development resulted in the formation of two distinct yet ideologically connected movements: the TTA and the TTP. The TTP pledged bay‘ah—a religious oath of allegiance—to the TTA’s leadership, reinforcing their shared objectives of establishing Islamic governance and resisting Western influence.

The Pakistani establishment made a strategic distinction between the “good Taliban”—the TTA, which aligned with Pakistan’s regional goals in Afghanistan—and the “bad Taliban”—the TTP, which directly threatened Pakistan’s internal stability. In practice, however, both groups maintained close ideological, operational, and tribal connections. Pakistan’s intelligence and religious institutions played a crucial role in facilitating the TTA’s resurgence, providing sanctuary and logistical support that enabled it to sustain a prolonged insurgency against the U.S.-backed Afghan Republic. The Taliban’s return to power in August 2021 not only signified the collapse of the Afghan Republic but also initially seemed to fulfill Pakistan’s longstanding strategy of achieving “strategic depth” in Afghanistan, a strategy that has since proven to be quite problematic. Many senior Taliban leaders, including the current Emir, Hibatullah Akhundzada, were educated in Pakistani madrassas, some of which they later managed madrassas in Quetta and other border regions.

When the Taliban took control of Kabul, many within Pakistan’s political and military circles celebrated it as a historic victory. The atmosphere in Islamabad was one of triumph; senior officials and commentators viewed it as the culmination of decades of strategic investment. The current Pakistani defense minister, Khawja Asif, famously stated, “You may have the power, but God is with us… Allah is great” referencing the Doha Agreement between the Taliban and the United States. Shortly after the Taliban takeover, the ISI chief made a high-profile visit to Kabul, a symbolic act highlighting Pakistan’s belief that it would have significant influence over the new regime. The expectation was clear: the movement Pakistan had nurtured for years would now help achieve its geopolitical goals and stabilize its western border.

However, the past four years have revealed a different reality. Instead of bolstering Pakistan’s position, the Taliban’s governance has strained bilateral relations. Islamabad had anticipated that the TTA would rein in the activities of the TTP, but this expectation has largely been unmet. After two years of intermittent negotiations, Pakistan has reported that talks have failed, claiming the TTP has found safe havens and tacit support within Afghanistan. Rather than being dismantled, the group appears to have gained strength, launching renewed attacks across Pakistan’s frontier provinces. While there are still occasional diplomatic contacts between Islamabad and Kabul, the fundamental structural tension—stemming from Pakistan’s long-standing reliance on militant proxies—remains unresolved.

Deradicalization: The Way Forward

In recent weeks, a subtle yet significant shift has begun to take shape within Pakistan’s political and military elite. Some policymakers and analysts are reevaluating the long-standing strategy of supporting Islamist militancy as a foreign policy tool, suggesting it may be time to pivot towards supporting a representative Afghan government. Several senior analysts have indicated that the establishment has recognized the need for a strategic recalibration, hinting that Pakistan may no longer back militant proxies. If this is accurate, it would represent one of the most substantial policy shifts in Pakistan’s modern history. However, there is still limited concrete evidence that this new direction has been fully institutionalized, and even if it has, the real challenge lies in execution. Dismantling a structure that has been built and nurtured over four decades will not be straightforward.

The ideology that Pakistan once promoted has now taken root within its own society. according to a 2015 survey, the country is home to approximately 35,000–40,000 madrassas, madrassas, with an enrollment of over three to four million students. However, a November 2025 press briefing by a spokesperson for the Pakistani Army indicated that the number has increased to 100,000, representing a more than 150% rise. Given this expansion, the total enrollment could now easily reach around 10 million students.

Over the past four decades, these institutions have graduated millions of students, many of whom now constitute a significant religious class that influences Pakistan’s social, political, and institutional spheres. Many of these seminaries remain unregistered and operate outside the formal education system, funded by private donations, religious charities, and foreign benefactors. Over the years, this extensive network has cultivated an influential clerical class that wields social authority and political leverage beyond the state’s control. Thus, deradicalization is not just a policy issue but a matter of societal transformation.

Meanwhile, across the Durand line, the Taliban’s regime has reignited the ideological project that originated in Pakistan’s madrassas. Since 2021, the number of religious schools in Afghanistan has reportedly increased more than fifteen-fold, according to estimates from the Taliban officials and education monitors. These new madrassas are reinforcing the same rigid, gender-segregated ideology that Pakistan’s establishment once helped to institutionalize.

A pressing question now faces Islamabad:

• what will become of the madrassas that were central to its strategic ambitions but are now contributing to domestic instability?

• Can Pakistan realistically reform these institutions—transforming them into genuine centers of learning rather than sites of ideological indoctrination?

Such reform would require not only changes in curriculum and teacher training but also a decisive break from the longstanding practice of using religion for geopolitical advantage.

There are indications within Pakistan’s leadership that such a transformation is essential. Yet the challenge is daunting. The madrassa system has evolved into a self-sustaining, financially independent, and socially entrenched entity, supported by powerful networks of alumni and clerical organizations. Even if Pakistan’s establishment genuinely seeks to reform the system, it may no longer possess the political capacity or societal consensus to manage the forces it once set in motion.

The Afghanistan Education Situation Report 2025, jointly published by UNICEF and UNESCO, aims to provide an overview of education under Taliban rule, addressing access, quality, and system performance across primary, secondary, and higher education.

The main concerns regarding the Report pertain to its scope and methodology. Substantively, the Report focuses primarily on identifying problems but lacks essential explanatory discussion. This is particularly significant when using the Gross Enrollment Ratio (GER) to assess the public schooling system’s ability to integrate out-of-school children into formal education. By not addressing the structural and contextual factors influencing GER trends—such as age-grade distortion, repetition rates, administrative practices, and demographic uncertainties—the analysis leans more towards description rather than a thorough analysis.

Methodologically, the weaknesses are even more evident. The Report relies predominantly on data from the Education Management Information System (EMIS), the Ministry of Education’s administrative database. EMIS has long struggled with issues of data accuracy, consistency, and verification. Under the Taliban’s de facto rule, independent access to and validation of EMIS data is nearly impossible, heightening the risk of systematic distortion, political manipulation, or administrative inflation. In this context, depending on a single administrative source without a transparent validation process raises significant concerns about credibility.

Additionally, the Report does not provide a clear strategy for data verification or validation. There is no evidence that triangulation with independent sources—such as household surveys, international datasets, or third-party assessments—was conducted to validate enrollment figures. The Report also fails to specify which indicators should be interpreted with caution due to known limitations in the numerator or denominator estimates. This lack of methodological safeguards prevents readers from assessing the reliability of the reported trends. As a result, the credibility of the enrollment figures—especially those related to secondary education and gender disaggregation—remains challenging to evaluate.

The following section will highlight key components of the Report for a detailed critical analysis, concentrating on both substantive interpretation and methodological integrity.

A Key Issue in the Report’s Evaluation of the Public Schooling System’s Capacity via GER

In this Report, the GER is a crucial metric for assessing the participation and capacity of Afghanistan’s education system. It is widely used by UN agencies and education researchers, making it a suitable proxy indicator in situations where reliable age-specific enrollment data is unavailable. The EMIS faces numerous shortcomings, particularly under the current regime, and does not provide students’ ages, which is essential for calculating the Net Enrollment Ratio. In such contexts, GER stands out as the relevant and appropriate measure for cross-provincial and longitudinal analysis.

However, this choice comes with significant caveats, particularly concerning the denominator. Afghanistan’s last national census was conducted in 1979, and since then, all population estimates from the National Statistics and Information Authority (NSIA) or international organizations are based on projections using assumed annual growth rates. These projections do not completely capture the effects of four decades of conflict, internal displacement, refugee movements, changing fertility rates, and uneven demographic shifts across provinces. Consequently, both the NSIA and the UN are producing different population figures, and estimates of the school-age population—the basis for GER calculations—are inherently uncertain. This uncertainty limits the interpretation of GER trends, especially at the provincial level where migration and displacement have been inconsistent.

There is some ambiguity surrounding the definition of “official school age.” While the Education Law indicates that the age range for entering first grade is between six and nine, the Report does not clarify whether the official entry age used is strictly seven years or aligns with the age range specified in the Law. This is a crucial issue, as it impacts approximately 30 points of the GERs, potentially lowering them if the age definition from the Education Law is applied. This inconsistency complicates the accuracy of the denominator in the Report’s data presentation.

On the numerator side, further methodological issues arise. The Ministry of Education has been known to keep students on enrollment lists for extended periods—sometimes up to three years—after they have effectively left school. This practice inflates enrollment figures and obscures actual dropout rates, particularly at the secondary level. Official EMIS data report over two million secondary students, including girls, despite documented restrictions on girls’ education beyond Grade 6 under the current regime. Thus, enrollment figures for girls in Grades 7–12 often exist in administrative records but do not reflect actual classroom attendance. Additionally, the Report does not clarify whether the total enrollment figures pertain solely to public schools or if they also include private institutions and non-formal education, such as community-based programs.

It is crucial to acknowledge these constraints on both the numerator and denominator. GER should not be viewed as a precise measure of age-appropriate access or actual attendance; rather, it reflects the reported enrollment capacity relative to projected population cohorts, capturing participation levels under imperfect demographic and administrative conditions.

The failure of the Report to clearly address these methodological limitations undermines its analytical credibility. In a politically sensitive environment where independent verification of EMIS data is severely limited, the lack of a well-defined validation strategy—such as triangulation with household surveys or independent evaluations—raises valid concerns about data reliability. A thorough analysis must therefore highlight these caveats, enabling readers to interpret observed trends with appropriate caution.

What are the reasons for the GER exceeding 100?

Another important issue that requires careful consideration is the interpretation of GER values above 100. While the Report views GER levels over 100 as a clear sign of increasing system capacity, this interpretation is somewhat simplistic. A more nuanced analysis shows that GER values above 100 come with various methodological and structural caveats.

First, GER exceeds 100 when students outside the official age range—both over-age and under-age—are enrolled in school. In contexts where delayed entry is common or grade repetition is prevalent, a significant number of over-age students can inflate total enrollment relative to the official school-age population. This does not necessarily indicate improved access or efficiency; rather, it may highlight age-grade distortion within the system. When GER rises significantly beyond 100—especially toward 150 or higher—it may indicate systemic inefficiencies such as delayed progression, high repetition rates, or administrative retention of students on enrollment lists.

Second, the dynamics of repetition and dropout further complicate the interpretation of GER. In systems where students repeat grades or where administrative records do not promptly remove dropouts, enrollment totals can remain artificially high. This situation creates a form of “silent exclusion,” where students are counted within the system statistically, even if they are not making meaningful progress or attending school. Such practices inflate the numerator of the GER while obscuring underlying issues in grade progression and completion.

Third, extremely high GER values may reflect overcrowding or strain on infrastructure rather than healthy growth. When total enrollment significantly exceeds the official-age population, the system may be absorbing students inefficiently, potentially compromising quality and instructional effectiveness. This is particularly relevant in public schooling systems, such as Afghanistan’s, where planning is influenced by both demand and supply, and demand analysis is based on the school-age population in the denominator.

These interpretive factors are crucial for scholars and professionals who use GER as an indicator of system performance. Without a transparent discussion of age-grade distortion, repetition, dropout recording practices, and uncertainties in the population denominator, GER trends can be misinterpreted as unqualified success. A thorough analysis must, therefore, go beyond descriptive reporting and critically examine the structural conditions that lead to GER values above 100. Only through such scrutiny can GER be a meaningful indicator rather than merely a superficial marker of expansion.

Identifying the Problem Without Addressing the Causes

The Report focuses solely on the problems at hand, without addressing the underlying causes or political factors that influence these issues. Although it includes the term “Situation” in the title, indicating a broader inquiry beyond the numerical data, it does not delve into the contextual meanings associated with the situation. One significant omission is the institutional aspect, specifically the changes in the national policy framework for education. For instance, the Report fails to examine how the notorious and discriminatory Law on the Promotion of Virtue and Prevention of Vice shapes and restricts education policy. It also overlooks how the policy-making process itself has changed. Decision-making that was once centralized in the MoE has now shifted, yet the Report lacks an analysis of how this restructuring affects educational governance. These changes in authority and scope are essential, especially if the Report aims to contribute to discussions on educational reform in Afghanistan. If the MoE is no longer the primary decision-making body for key education policies, fundamental questions arise: Who are the current decision-makers? How are policies now developed and enforced?

An important aspect missing from the Report is the role of school-based management and social accountability in the schooling system, which is essential in the current suppressive environment. Community involvement remains one of the few mechanisms that can protect schools from abuse, political interference, and arbitrary changes imposed by the regime. This raises the question of the role of civil society, local councils, and school councils in education governance. The de facto authorities have long prohibited school councils and community shuras, effectively excluding communities from school affairs. This move aims to transform schools into traditional authoritarian madrasa-style institutions, devoid of public participation, transparency, and accountability to parents. This represents a significant structural issue that directly impacts school governance and educational outcomes. The Report should have highlighted this gap and underscored the urgent need to restore and strengthen participatory school governance, drawing on successful experiences from the Republic era where community-based participation enhanced access, school safety, and accountability.

The recommendations section is a crucial yet absent component of the Report. While it thoroughly discusses the issues, it does not address the vital question: what are the solutions?

Although proposing solutions might seem outside the scope of a technical document, given the current educational crisis in Afghanistan, a forward-looking section is as important as problem analysis. Without a clear roadmap, the Report risks becoming just another descriptive document lacking actionable direction. UNICEF, UNESCO, and other UN agencies are expected to play a key role in shaping the educational aspect of the UN’s MOSAIC framework for Afghanistan, which remains one of the most significant international roadmaps for engagement in the country, despite its limitations. Therefore, the Report should include a clear set of policy recommendations and a separate annex on education that outlines not only the problems but also their causes and practical solutions, providing a credible path forward for both national stakeholders and international partners.

Despite these limitations, one section of the Report is particularly noteworthy for its clarity: it accurately identifies the Taliban’s education policies as a direct cause of systemic collapse. Unlike prior reports that attributed failures to conflict or economic crisis, this one recognizes the deliberate policy decisions driving educational decline. The Taliban have shifted the education system toward ideological indoctrination rather than genuine learning, significantly expanding madrasa-style religious instruction. They have implemented a unified curriculum for Grades 1–6 that allocates nearly half of teaching time to Islamic subjects, displacing essential subjects like mathematics, science, and social studies. Official communications to schools mandate reduced instruction in languages and social sciences in favor of religious education and selective STEM subjects aligned with the regime’s ideological agenda. This is not education reform; it is educational re-engineering.

The Report reinforces that girls are disproportionately affected by Taliban policies, with 2.2 million adolescent girls excluded from education, and an additional 397,000 losing access each year.

The Report uses the World Bank’s report, Afghanistan Learning Poverty Report, published last year, and reinforce that learning is not happening in Afghan schools – according to the Report, 93 percent of children completing primary school in Afghanistan cannot read a simple text, ranking it among the worst-performing education systems globally.

The Report notes that nearly half of schools lack basic water and sanitation, over 1,000 schools remain closed, and child labor and child marriage are on the rise due to educational exclusion. Over 90 percent of the Ministry of Education budget is allocated to salaries (Tashkīl), leaving minimal resources for textbooks, teacher training, classroom materials, school repairs, or winter heating. The education budget exists solely to sustain the system administratively, rather than to ensure academic functionality.

The Report identifies several key challenges and reiterates ongoing concerns regarding access, exclusion, and declining quality. However, it primarily remains descriptive and does not address the deeper structural, institutional, and policy factors contributing to the crisis. By not confronting the political and policy roots of educational repression or offering a clear framework for solutions, it risks reinforcing the issue rather than fostering a meaningful discussion on how to protect and rebuild education in Afghanistan.

The Taliban’s Minister of Higher Education, a close confidant of their supreme leader, has become notorious for his hostility toward academic freedom, modern scientific inquiry, and critical thought. His worldview mirrors, almost verbatim, the ideology of the Taliban’s supreme leader. For those who rely solely on surface-level media reports to understand this position, a careful reading of the Taliban’s Law on the Promotion of Virtue and Prevention of Vice provides a more direct entry point into their ideological foundation.

This law is heavily grounded in religious justifications, but specifically those stemming from the most radical schools of thought. It must be acknowledged that Islam has always contained multiple interpretive traditions, and across its history, scholars have debated, disagreed, and provided a wide range of opinions. These interpretations extend from moderate, reformist views to hardline extremist ones. The Taliban leadership and its senior officials, however, consistently select and institutionalize the most rigid and extremist readings.

The Law on the Promotion of Virtue and Prevention of Vice is the clearest illustration of the Taliban’s ideological choice to impose a gender-segregated and authoritarian social order. It codifies fundamentally different sets of rights and liberties for men and women, institutionalizing a sharp division between the public and private spheres. Men are assigned authority and responsibility for all matters outside the household—encompassing political, economic, and civic domains—while women are legally and physically confined to the domestic sphere. Placed firmly under the supervision of male guardians, women are denied the right to education, employment, freedom of movement, and participation in public life.

The enforcement of this vision is delegated to the Ministry for the Promotion of Virtue and Prevention of Vice (PVPV). The law explicitly empowers its enforcers (muhtasibīn) to monitor daily life, issue prohibitions, and mete out punishments for transgressions. Their mandate is sweeping: prohibiting social interaction between unrelated men and women, policing women’s dress and conduct, restricting contact between Muslim and non-Muslim women, and barring women from appearing in public without a mahram. Article 13 of the law defines “sharia hijab” as full-body covering, and Article 20 requires transport providers to refuse service to any woman not wearing such attire or traveling without a male guardian.

The scope of the law extends beyond gender restrictions to encompass cultural life more broadly. Article 22 lists “wrongful acts” to be eradicated, including men shaving their beards below a fist’s length, listening to music in homes or vehicles, and observing cultural festivals such as Nawruz or Shab-e Yalda. It also prohibits “making or possessing pictures or videos of animate beings on mobile phones, computers, or other devices.” This provision not only bans photographs and art but also underpins broader restrictions on visual representation, leading to the removal of images from government websites, universities, and public spaces.

In effect, the law establishes a state-supervised regime of moral policing. It strips women of agency, erodes cultural traditions, and suppresses ordinary social freedoms. By outlawing images, music, and mixed-gender sociality, it seeks to create a society governed by surveillance and enforced conformity. The provisions are not symbolic: they are tied to concrete enforcement powers that allow PVPV agents to inspect institutions, businesses, and even private homes. Universities, for example, have been ordered to eliminate images, expel women, and submit to regular inspections by religious police.

The result is not merely a restriction of rights but the legal entrenchment of a totalitarian vision in which Afghan society is remade through coercion, surveillance, and the suppression of diversity in religious and cultural expression.

In this context, the Minister of Higher Education—an extremist figure closely aligned with the supreme leader—has spearheaded the implementation of these principles within universities. His policies represent not only an immediate threat to higher education institutions (HEIs) but also a long-term danger to the intellectual and social fabric of Afghanistan.

Since imposing the PVPV, the minister has ordered the removal of all photographs from the Ministry of Higher Education’s website, including his own. More recently, he instructed universities to erase images, logos, and sculptures of human figures, as well as those symbols deemed incompatible with Taliban policies. In addition, he authorized religious police to enter university campuses to inspect and enforce compliance with the PVPV.

Underlying these measures is a deep antagonism toward modern education itself. On multiple occasions, the minister has explicitly opposed girls’ and women’s education, going so far as to suggest that the ban may be permanent. He claims there is no religious basis—within their selective interpretation—for allowing Afghan girls to attend schools. Soon after taking office, he abruptly barred women from universities, even in the middle of annual examinations.

His arguments are rooted less in technical or policy reasoning and more in ideological conviction. The minister persistently emphasizes the need to “re-doctrinate” Afghan youth with the Taliban’s ideological framework. In a recent speech at a madrasa in Kabul, he expressed open distrust of university students, portraying them as dangerously vulnerable to secular thought and anti-Taliban sentiment transmitted via social media and the internet. He divided society into three categories: elders unfamiliar with technology, religious actors who defend the Taliban’s ideology, and HEI students who, he claimed, are susceptible to “enemy brainwashing.” From this perspective, he has pushed, reportedly, for banning smartphones in universities and has supported broader restrictions on internet access.

Despite his efforts, the minister is acutely aware that technology and the free flow of information make it increasingly difficult for the Taliban to fully control or indoctrinate students. This recognition has become a source of concern for Taliban leadership, as it threatens the social engineering project entrusted to the higher education sector.

The impact on HEIs has been profound. Universities are being reshaped into sites of indoctrination, yet the pace of change has not met the Taliban’s expectations. Their ambition is to achieve full conformity within one or two years, with students and institutions embracing their ideology wholesale. Incremental progress is dismissed as insufficient—they demand immediate and total compliance, which has so far eluded them.

The policies now imposed on Afghanistan’s universities, grounded in the PVPV, are not temporary measures. The Taliban’s leadership has demonstrated its determination to use every available mechanism—excluding women from education, banning images of living beings, suppressing academic freedom, and dismantling institutional autonomy—to force universities into alignment with their ideological agenda. They recognize, more than anyone else, that coexistence between their version of religion and globally recognized norms of rights and liberties is impossible. It is this irreconcilability that drives their uncompromising policies in higher education and beyond.

• Images and Signs: The Ministry of Higher Education (MoHE) has officially banned the display of images of living beings, as well as signs deemed inconsistent with Taliban policies, within HEIs.

• Smartphone Use: Both students and faculty are prohibited from using smartphones on campus, a move justified by officials as a way to prevent “un-Islamic” practices.

• Internet Restrictions The Taliban has cut off internet access in several provinces, severely disrupting academic communication and learning. Authorities have indicated their intent to expand surveillance of online activities, including attempts to monitor even basic messaging platforms such as WhatsApp.

• Expanding Censorship of Books: Books authored by women have reportedly been banned from university classrooms and libraries. Earlier in mid-September, the MoHE also prohibited more than 650 books previously taught or cited in universities, directing institutions to replace them with materials aligned with Taliban policies. These bans extend to key scholarly theories, most notably Darwin’s theory of evolution.

• Oversight by the Ministry of Vice and Virtue: According to MoHE directives, the Ministry of Vice and Virtue has been granted supervisory authority to oversee implementation of these rules within higher education. This expands religious oversight directly into universities and solidifies the regime’s control over academic and intellectual spaces.

These bans were announced in the days leading up to and during the United Nations General Assembly (UNGA), a moment when many countries—including regional and Muslim-majority states—were calling on the Taliban to lift restrictions on education, rights, and liberties. The timing indicates that the Taliban’s actions were not coincidental but rather a calculated signal of defiance, projecting a deliberate disregard for international appeals and reinforcing their uncompromising stance on domestic control.

This week's decision on the list of topics banned from the school curriculum.

The scope of these revisions is extensive: they affect 51 subjects, representing the majority of social science materials from grades 1 through 12, and result in the removal of nearly hundreds pages of content. This constitutes the second major wave of curricular changes. The first occurred in 2022, when entire subjects such as Constitution, Civic Education, and Human Rights were eliminated and replaced with religious content, including the introduction of explicitly ideological material such as Jihad.

Although the Taliban initially planned to rewrite the entire curriculum, financial and logistical constraints—including the prohibitive costs of new textbook production and distribution—have slowed this process. The Taliban’s Minister of Education has publicly complained about the lack of international support for printing new textbooks and has suggested that external donors demanded the removal of “Jihad” from the curriculum as a precondition for assistance. In response, the current strategy has shifted toward a more incremental—though still sweeping—approach: systematically reviewing existing subjects and excising or altering specific content deemed incompatible with Taliban ideology.

Under this second wave of changes, entire categories of knowledge are being removed. Topics such as women’s rights, human rights, equality, freedom, democracy, constitutionalism, cultural pluralism, critical inquiry, and global outlook have been removed. In conceptual terms, this amounts to the deliberate elimination of all discourse related to rights, liberties, equality, and civic participation—an outcome entirely consistent with the Taliban’s laws and policies, which explicitly reject the principles of equal rights and democratic governance.

The ban extends beyond predictable categories such as human rights. For instance, International Teacher’s Day has been eliminated. The Taliban’s underlying position, conveyed implicitly through their curricular revisions, is that only religious teachers, or those under their direct supervision, should be recognized as legitimate educators. These figures, in their framework, must not be equated with secular teachers, as they are set apart by a distinct and elevated role. Acknowledging International Teacher’s Day would therefore suggest extending respect and legitimacy to educators outside Taliban control—something their policies seek to withhold.

Similarly, topics such as peace—crucial in a country scarred by decades of conflict—have been eliminated. In their place, the Taliban promote the doctrine of violent Jihad, which directly contradicts the notion of peace as a civic or moral value. Museums glorifying military artifacts and narratives of violent struggle underscore this shift.

Equally significant is the removal of topics on mass communication and public awareness in the subjects. In a country where communities are geographically and socially fragmented, such topics would have introduced students to the role of communication in building social cohesion and problem-solving. For the Taliban, however, independent communication and civic mobilization are unacceptable. Public discourse is to be monopolized by the state; civil society, political parties, and independent institutions are already banned.

The topics on traditional Afghan institutions such as the Jirga—historically central to governance, conflict resolution, and community representation—are also excluded. The Taliban seek to replace this centuries-old participatory mechanism with state-controlled religious councils, thereby dismantling community-based governance structures and consolidating power in a rigid top-down model. Likewise, cultural forms of expression such as poetry, drawing, and national anthems are restricted. The Taliban emphasize that their religious anthems played a decisive role in mobilizing fighters and sustaining morale during the insurgency. Precisely because they recognize the power of such symbolic tools, they now seek to monopolize the entire domain of collective expression.

Community-produced anthems, and cultural symbols—forms through which people articulate independent meanings and identities—are regarded as potential threats and eliminated from the curriculum, since they might generate narratives that counter Taliban ideology. For this reason, the institution of the anthem, like other cultural symbols, is being brought firmly under Taliban control. Among the few formal laws issued recently is a the Regulation of Poetry Recitation Gatherings Law, which explicitly prohibits any criticism of Taliban policies. By extending regulation to cultural and artistic expression, the Taliban demonstrate their intent to dominate not only knowledge production in education but also the broader symbolic sphere of Afghan society.

Even the celebration of Spring and Nawroz, which symbolize renewal and cultural continuity, is prohibited in the curriculum as it contradicts the Taliban’s ideological agenda.

These curricular changes are not isolated incidents but part of a broader campaign of ideological engineering. In recent weeks alone, nearly 679 subjects around 90% of the total subjects—primarily in the social sciences and humanities—have been removed. This curricular purge has been accompanied by repression: civil activists who criticize the changes have been detained, teachers’ and students’ associations have been dissolved, and educators who challenge Taliban policy face severe punishment. In one case, a school principal was sentenced to death for speaking on the value of modern education. Parallel restrictions on media and speech further reinforce this silencing.

Taken together, these measures provide compelling evidence that Afghanistan is rapidly moving toward a religious totalitarian system. This system rejects pluralism, equality, and critical thought in favor of indoctrination, obedience, and militant ideology. In place of human rights, democracy, and cultural diversity, students are now taught a fictitious narrative built on violence and the systematic erasure of Afghanistan’s civic and cultural heritage.

This piece reports the recent updates to the textbooks and the enforcement of the ban. These changes are being implemented under the guidance of the Taliban’s supreme leader, with his close associates translating his directives—set forth in the Law of Vice and Virtue and other regulations—into evaluation criteria.

At the start of this academic year, the Taliban’s Ministry of Higher Education formed a committee of religious clerics and university lecturers to review the textbooks used at both undergraduate and graduate levels. Unofficial reports indicate that this committee rejected only about 10 percent of the materials, which was below expectations. Unhappy with this outcome, the ministry appointed a second committee of 270 religious figures closely aligned with the supreme leader to conduct a more thorough review. According to a directive from the ministry, this committee was tasked with examining textbooks and curricula from ideological, religious, and policy perspectives that align with Taliban priorities.

List Of Ban Subjects

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This time, the committee reportedly rejected nearly 679 out of more than 700 (unofficially reported) textbooks—over 90 percent of the previously approved materials. Banned subjects included sociology, law, political science, research, history, diplomacy, public administration, the arts, literature, economics, and most other fields. In their place, the ministry mandated that only alternative books conforming to Sharia principles and the Taliban's policies be utilized in academic programs.

Upon reviewing the list of banned subjects, the reasoning and patterns behind the Taliban’s decisions become clear. Any information or academic discourse that could empower students to critically question, reject, or ultimately challenge Taliban ideology is targeted for exclusion. A key aspect of this pattern is the suppression of ideas that contradict their worldview, particularly regarding the unequal status of men and women and the strict division between believers and non-believers. Materials presenting alternative perspectives are systematically banned and substituted with content intended to reinforce the Taliban’s ideology and social structure.

This act is part of a broader campaign to ban books and control the production and circulation of knowledge in Afghanistan. The Taliban have already confiscated thousands of books from libraries and bookstores, claiming they contradict the group’s ideology and policies. These actions extend beyond censorship; they represent a systematic effort to reshape Afghan society and erase the intellectual and academic advancements made over the past two decades, replacing them with the Taliban’s own vision of social and cultural order.

In SSA, as in other parts of Africa and the world, mere enrollment does not guarantee learning. The impressive enrollment figures can be misleading when assessing actual learning outcomes for children. In some countries, while enrollment rates are high, significant disparities exist in progression from primary to secondary education, particularly along gender and wealth lines. Girls, especially in rural areas, are less likely to access secondary education, and this likelihood diminishes further for those from poorer backgrounds.

Quality of education is another critical aspect to consider alongside access. Not all students who enter schools achieve equitable learning outcomes. In the SSA context, silent exclusion and lack of functional skills hinder effective learning. For instance, in Zambia, 33% of primary school graduates cannot read, indicating high illiteracy rates. Gender remains an important factor; although enrollment numbers appear favorable—with Malawi achieving gender parity from 41% in the 1980s to equal enrollment by 2006—the statistics do not tell the whole story. The gains primarily benefit wealthier families, and dropout rates remain high, with survival rates in Nigerian schools dropping from 83% to 71%.

Family wealth plays a significant role in education across Africa, with the wealth gap often exceeding the gender gap. Findings from eleven African countries support this observation, showing varying impacts of wealth disparities across different nations.