‘A bad choice might seem better than a worse one’: Fatima Amiri (Part 1)

Fatima Amiri is an education and girls' rights activist from Afghanistan who made it to the BBC’s 100 Women in 2022. She is one of the survivors of the deadly attack on the Kaaj tutoring center in the Shittee Hazara neighborhood of Dasht-e-Barchi in western Kabul, Afghanistan, in September 2022 while she and dozens of other students were taking the practice public university entrance exam. She rose amidst the blood and ashes to fight for her dreams and those of her 150 fellow students who were killed and injured. In this interview, HerStory’s Program Director, Murtaza Ibrahimi, sat with Fatima Amiri and discussed her early life, advocacy for girls' education, the attack on Kaaj, her current status, and more.  The interview is being published in three parts.

Ibrahimi: Can you share a bit about your background, family, and the role your family has played in supporting your education? 

Amiri: I'm 18 years old, born in Ghazni province, which is next to Kabul. Education holds significant importance in my family, prompting us to relocate to Kabul from Ghazni for better educational opportunities a few years after I was born. I am the youngest among my five siblings, including two sisters and three brothers.

Despite the challenging security situation in Kabul in recent years, my family remained committed to my education. While concerns for my safety arose, they continued to encourage me, occasionally suggesting that skipping school might be safer. However, they never insisted on it. What's remarkable is that my mom, despite having the least formal education in our family, turned out to be my biggest supporter. I really cherish her constant encouragement; especially given the challenges we've faced in recent times.

Ibrahimi: Which school did you attend for your primary, secondary, and high school?

Amiri: When my family moved from Ghazni to Kabul, my sisters started attending Rabia-e-Balkhi Girls High School. My parents picked that school because we were always on the move within the city, and Rabia-e-Balkhi was in a spot that worked well for us, reaching different neighborhoods easily. Because of my strong interest, I joined with my sisters and started school before my legal age at six years old, and it made sense – I got to go to school with my sisters, making our daily routine much simpler and safer. As time went on and my sisters finished high school when I was in 4th grade, I had to figure out the daily commute on my own.

Even though my family thought it might be easier for me to switch to a school closer to our home in Dasht-e-Barchi, I stuck with Rabia-e-Balkhi. The familiar faces, the friendships I had built, and the feeling of belonging were more important to me than the hassle of a two-hour commute each day. In the end, I graduated from Rabia-e-Balkhi, holding onto the special connections I had made and appreciating the unique journey that shaped my school years.

Ibrahimi: You mentioned that your daily commute to and from school took around 2 hours. What made Rabia-e-Balkhi special for you? Is there a standout memory that you still carry with you?

Amiri: Rabia-e-Balkhi was different from other public schools because it had a sufficient number of teachers for its students – a rarity in public schools at the time. I vividly recall my brothers, who attended a public school in the Dasht-e-Barchi neighborhood, often complaining about the lack of teachers in their classes. What set Rabia-e-Balkhi apart was not only its curriculum, which mostly matched up to private schools but also the existence of extracurricular activities. We frequently had cultural events for various occasions, and I actively participated, delivering speeches and reciting poetry.

One lasting memory from my time at Rabia-e-Balkhi is the discovery of my talent for reciting and writing poems. It all began in the sixth grade when my teachers noticed my potential and started encouraging me. Until then, I had thought I was just like everyone else when it came to reciting poems. However, when I started reciting poems in the classroom and during school events, it turned out to be a pleasant surprise for everyone, and they truly enjoyed it. I owe my success as a dedicated student to the excellent teachers and wonderful friends I had at Rabia-e-Balkhi.

Ibrahimi: Rabia-e-Balkhi was one of the prominent public schools with students from diverse ethnicities and languages. Did you experience any form of discrimination at the school?

Amiri: When I first joined the school, discrimination was unfortunately quite prevalent. Despite my deep affection for my school, I cannot deny the existence of discrimination among the students, even if it wasn't originating from the teachers. Perhaps it was just the nature of kids, but these instances of discrimination were widespread across the country.

Allow me to share a memory that might shed light on your question. In the 4th grade, during breaks, students would gather for prayer as we attended the afternoon shift, leaving no time for prayers after I returned home. There was a small room we referred to as the mosque where we conducted our prayers. Most students were Sunni Muslims, praying with open hands, but I noticed one of my Shiite friends abstaining from prayer. Despite facing insults and criticism for my way of praying, I continued without being bothered. One day, when I asked my Shiite friend why she avoided prayer, she said that she feared revealing her sect of being a Shittee Muslim. While I may have been resilient, other students felt the impact of such discrimination.

As mentioned, discrimination was prevalent in the early years, including language differences. The school had both Pashto and Farsi-speaking students. However, I believe it was a part of our childhood, and it gradually diminished as we grew older. By the time I graduated, I had formed strong friendships with Hazara, Pashtun, and Tajik friends, many of whom I am still in contact with today.

Ibrahimi: When did you figure out what you wanted to study, and when did you start making moves to pursue that dream?

Amiri: Back in 9th and 10th grade, my classmates and I used to chat about our future. It was during those conversations that I confidently declared my interest in computer science. Despite the concerns from some about my eyes and the constant computer work, my decision stayed firm. I couldn't ignore the reality of our country lagging in technology, which became obvious whenever we had to deal with things like applying for a national identity card or a passport.

My love for mathematics played a big role in steering me towards computer science. I was pretty good at it, and I had great relationships with my math teachers throughout high school and in the prep classes for university entrance exams. During those practice exams, you could always find me acing the math questions, even if I stumbled a bit on chemistry or social subjects. The combination of my math passion and the clear need for tech progress in our country made computer science the perfect fit for me.

Ibrahimi: When did you start taking prep classes for the university entrance exam?

Amiri: My journey to prepare for the university entrance exam took a unique path. I began by studying at a madrasa, a religious school, and didn't attend a tutoring center, unlike my sisters. My routine revolved around going to both school and madrasa, with additional basic classes during the winter. I saved money specifically for these winter basic classes to ensure I was well-prepared for the upcoming academic year.

When I considered enrolling in prep classes, seeking advice from experienced individuals, including my cousins, initially discouraged me. They emphasized the importance of foundation courses, a step I hadn't taken. Despite feeling discouraged, I stood my ground, citing my strong foundation in school subjects. Starting the prep courses was tough—I had regular school, English classes, and university entrance exam prep all crammed into one busy day.

My daily schedule was a whirlwind – leaving for school at 6 am, returning at 1 pm, attending English classes until 3 pm, and then moving to another tutoring center for the university entrance exam prep until 7 pm. Throughout the day, I used breaks for assignments and quick study sessions. Evenings were allocated to reviewing the lessons from prep courses. The announcement of a special class for elite students in my tutoring center urged me to challenge myself, despite not having taken foundation courses. Persisting through late nights and firm determination, I surpassed expectations in my first practice exam. Securing a spot in the special class was a victory, especially considering the competitive requirement to maintain top scores in practice exams – a challenge I met, even with my hectic schedule.

As my journey progressed, I and my fellows faced numerous challenges, including the disruptions caused by the COVID-19 pandemic and the political changes in the country, marked by the Taliban takeover.

Ibrahimi: Could you share how life was for you before and after the fall of Kabul in August 2021? What noticeable changes have you experienced, especially regarding the challenges faced by women in Afghanistan?

Amiri: You know, life in Afghanistan wasn't perfect even before the Taliban came back. Back then, when we went to school, there was this constant fear of terrorist attacks, even though the Taliban wasn't officially in power. The education quality wasn't top-notch, but at least we could attend school. It was something, you know? A sort of freedom, even if it wasn't perfect but we were making progress and everything was getting better. We could go to public places, breathe freely, and just live our lives.

But now, everything has turned upside down. We don't even have the right to go to school anymore. People, especially women, can't even learn how to read and write, and that's a basic right we had even with the imperfect education before the Taliban. Despite the flaws, many of us managed to achieve things. Now, security is a mess, and hopes for the future are shattered. Forced marriages, restrictions on work and education, and even going to a park – it's all controlled. Women are told what to wear, and extremism has taken over, all in the name of Islam.

Before the Taliban, education might not have been great, but talented individuals could get scholarships to study abroad. Now, women can't even leave Afghanistan without a Mahram. It's a nightmare.

The situation in Afghanistan is heartbreaking, not just for women but for everyone. People are struggling economically, big time. In the past, even if you couldn't find a job, you could sell something as a street vendor. Now, even those who manage to earn a bit must give a huge chunk of it as taxes. It's tough to find anything positive in the stories my friends tell me from Afghanistan.

Male students can still go to school, but who are their teachers? This is the question! It makes me wonder if it's better for girls not to go to school, to avoid being exposed to extremist ideas. If this situation continues, I wouldn't be surprised if women end up resorting to suicide attacks because what is being taught is even more dangerous and worse than being illiterate. In such a grim situation, a bad choice might seem better than a worse one. Afghanistan is in a league of its own – you can't compare it to anywhere else in the world.