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.
Part 2: ‘People were afraid to lend a helping hand, but none hesitated to take my photo and video’: Fatima Amiri
Ibrahimi: Farhad Darya, a well-known singer from Afghanistan, started a fundraising campaign to assist you with your treatment abroad. Could you please tell us how he learned about you? How did it all start, and how did the process work?
Amiri: This was one of the positive outcomes after the attack. Many people came together to support the wounded of Kaaj. The attack brought about significant changes, leading to the creation of the #StopHazaraGenocide movement, aimed at raising awareness about the ongoing plight of Hazaras in Afghanistan.
To provide context from the beginning, I should mention that no country was issuing me visas. This problem may have been a result of my advocacy work for girls before the attack or, perhaps, intensified after the attack as I persisted in standing up for our rights
I remember that many of the wounded girls went to Iran for treatment. My name was at the top of the list of wounded students eligible to go abroad for treatment due to my deteriorated situation and pain—I couldn't even sleep at night. However, I was consistently rejected, and they moved on to the next person on the list. Many girls went to Pakistan, and the day I went to say goodbye to them was incredibly difficult for me because they were going to receive treatment, while I was left behind with my situation. I desperately wanted to begin my treatment.
With the help of one of my relatives, an Indian doctor sent me an invitation letter to commence my treatment. It was said that if I could urgently make it to India, they could restore my eye’s vision. However, when I went to the Indian embassy, even though I wore sunglasses, I was recognized and not allowed inside because Taliban fighters were stationed at the first gate.
The same process continued until Farhad Darya learned about me from my media interviews and articles. He decided to start the fundraising campaign, and I am grateful to the people who contributed, no matter how small or big. Many of them chipped in, and the needed funds were raised quickly. However, obtaining a visa became a significant issue. No countries were issuing me visas. The embassies had no problem with me, but the Taliban did. Their fighters didn't allow me into the embassies. I applied for a Pakistani visa in my absence, but even it was rejected. I became disappointed and hopeless about receiving treatment. I was being threatened due to my advocacy and media presence, speaking out about the facts.
Finally, I successfully connected with a Turkish organization and went to a branch of the Turkish Embassy in Kabul, where the Taliban were not as aware. There, I applied for my visa. Otherwise, they wouldn't have allowed me into the Turkish embassy, just like other embassies. I didn't let anyone know about leaving the country until I was at the airport to avoid potential problems.
Ibrahimi: What is your status in Turkey? And how are you doing there?
Amiri: I'm currently in Turkey, dealing with an uncertain status. The challenge is they won't grant me permanent residency. My journey in Turkey has been quite a ride. I initially came here on a three-month visa, and of course, had to go through the process of extending it. The doctors insist that I need more time for treatment, but getting the government on board with that has been a struggle.
I've been in touch with various authorities here, including the Turkish government, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the Ministry of Public Health, and the Afghan Embassy in Turkey. Despite the ongoing conversations, getting permanent residency seems to be an elusive goal.
For those initial three months, it was a routine of hospital visits in the mornings and navigating the bureaucratic maze at the Ministry of Refugees to extend my visa for another six months. This routine repeated itself each time. There were even fines thrown into the mix for visa-related matters. It's been a bumpy road, but here I am, still holding on.
Ibrahimi: Is your treatment finished in Turkey?
Amiri: I don't have a clear sense of how well my treatment is progressing. To be honest, it hasn't been very effective. The shrapnel is still in my face, my ear's hearing hasn't fully recovered, and they mockingly suggest that my eye's vision is irrecoverable due to the delayed medical attention. They claim it could have been restored if I sought help earlier, but unfortunately, I went to Turkey three months after the attack. I've lost vision entirely in my eye, and currently, we are only focusing on improving its external appearance. One significant issue was the contamination of my blood with microbes from the smoke and gunpowder during the attack, and we consulted three public hospitals for this concern. The visit to the third hospital has shown some positive results. It's exhausting to repeatedly explain this when people inquire, but yes, my treatment is still ongoing.
Ibrahimi: When did you start your advocacy work for girls? Can you walk us through this journey?
Amiri: My advocacy work started before the attack but may have gained notice after it. It began when the school doors closed for girls. Although my friends were telling me that I would receive my high school diploma when I graduated and not to worry about it, it was very heartbreaking for me. I envisioned myself as a girl in the 11th grade, eager to study her 12th grade and go to university. She had studied for 11 years and then was confined at home. Or a girl who had graduated in the sixth grade and couldn't continue. I advocated sometimes anonymously, sometimes revealing my identity, and occasionally appearing with a face mask. I also attended some protests. But after the attack, I could not stop and stay silent because of the friends I lost in the attack. Unfortunately, something that is agonizing, and I am reminded sometimes, is that they tell me that I was not the only wounded individual in the attack, and there were so many others who were not saying anything. But after the attack, the media reached out to all wounded people, and no one wanted to speak out; I don't blame any of them because it was really a bad situation. They couldn't and did not want to get out of the hospital bed and talk, also because of security threats. They survived the attack and did not want to put their and their family's lives at risk again by speaking out.
For me, I have not had any personal benefit in my advocacy work. Wherever I have gone and spoken, I have even paid for my transportation. I remember going to TV channels, and our house was in Dasht-e-Barchi, and none were there, and I was spending 500-1000 Afs for each trip while I could hardly pay for my medication. I spent money with no intention for personal benefit, only speaking for what was happening. It even put my life and my family's lives at risk, but I was not giving up on speaking out. I felt that I was responsible; I had lost many things and could not be silent anymore. And I had made a promise to my friends: this was the most important thing that made me not give up. Though my advocacy work puts my family members' lives at risk, I am stuck between two ways. I can neither stay silent nor can I speak out. Girls in Afghanistan contact me, crying and saying, "Fatima, you have to speak for us; no one is there to do it for us." I got a call saying, "Education was the only thing I had, which I don't have anymore." I get a call saying they are forcing me into a marriage. I can't hear all of this and stay silent only because of risks. Though I know no one would pay attention or listen to what I say, I can't stay silent either.
Ibrahimi: What is your message to women who are home-imprisoned in Afghanistan? For those who are not giving up even in this situation?
Amiri: The current situation is truly frightening, especially here in Afghanistan, unlike anywhere else in the world. When I look at the struggles faced by girls in Afghanistan and compare them to girls in other countries, it's disheartening. I'm convinced that if girls elsewhere were dealing with the same challenges as Afghan girls, they might not show half the resilience and determination.
I recall an interview I had with a Spanish media outlet where I highlighted that even though Afghan girls are forbidden from receiving an education, they refuse to give up. They find alternatives, a fact that surprised the journalist. She mentioned that if her daughter encountered something negative on her way to school, she would skip it, and she wouldn't allow her to go because they felt too vulnerable. The journalist was amazed that Afghan girls, despite having all paths closed to them, managed to find a way.
To all the girls out there, I want to express my happiness at being an Afghan girl, standing in solidarity with those for whom all doors are shut. Every time I hear about an Afghan girl achieving something, it fills my heart with joy. Despite facing stiff competition, Afghan girls have secured scholarships that seemed almost impossible.
Yes, I understand the struggles of all girls in Afghanistan because I'm in the same boat, no different from them. I, too, was in the twelfth grade when the Taliban came and I was the one whose school was closed and was denied access to university shortly after acceptance. I've experienced being banned from work. However, giving up is not the solution; it's what they want us to do. They want us uneducated to mold the next generation into terrorists. In this challenging situation, we must make use of the limited opportunities we have. We might be forbidden from attending school, but we can still study with the textbooks we have, without needing the internet or any device. If there's no light at night, we have sunshine during the day. If we lack school textbooks, we can borrow books from friends, but we should never stop learning. If learning is halted even in our homes, it would be a catastrophic loss.
Ibrahimi: The situation will not remain the same, and those who don't do anything will lose valuable time. Everyone should make use of their time so that they will be prepared when everything changes.
Amiri: When the situation changes, the winners are those who have made efforts and not given up today. We had a similar experience previously as well. During the first Taliban period, some people gave up on learning and became uneducated. However, some individuals continued their education in some way, and they became successful people following the first period of the Taliban.
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