In the northern regions of Afghanistan, a 19-year-old Khushi illustrates her feelings with a self-portrait: an image of herself, cloaked in a blue burqa, confined within a cage.
Khushi, a former law and political science student at Balkh province’s prominent university, has battled depression since the Taliban decided to bar women from tertiary education last December. As a result, she sought psychiatric help and was introduced to the healing world of art therapy.
“Realizing my deteriorating mental state saddened me. It felt like I was trapped, a caged bird that’s forgotten what joy feels like,” shared Khushi, choosing to disclose only her first name due to safety concerns.
“After the Taliban’s directive against women’s higher education, my emotional well-being worsened daily. I knew I needed professional help,” she added.
In December 2022, the Taliban’s move to shut universities for women ignited infrequent public dissent. This action succeeded in their decision to close most girls’ high schools and preceded a mandate that restricted many female humanitarian workers in Afghanistan from their professions.
The international community has vehemently criticized these restrictions on women. Western nations have declared these impositions significant obstacles in recognizing the Taliban regime, which assumed power as external forces withdrew two years prior.
The Taliban profess to uphold women’s rights, aligning them with their rendition of Islamic law and Afghan traditions.
Yet, numerous Afghan women, especially those in urban locales who had accessed education and employment opportunities during the two-decade-long foreign military intervention and a Western-supported government, now confront overwhelming despair and mental health issues, as reported by local women and mental health specialists.
“The current regime has imposed countless limitations on women, prohibiting them from universities, recreational spaces, and beauty parlours. It feels like they’ve taken everything away,” said Khushi’s psychiatrist, whose identity remains confidential for safety reasons. “Art studios have become our last refuge. They offer a sanctuary where these women can reconnect, find solace, forge new relationships, and immerse themselves in art.”
Khushi consults her psychiatrist bi-monthly. He shared that his patient count has escalated from a mere 4-5 per day to 10-15, primarily women. The rise became pronounced post the university bans for women.
While exact numbers are elusive, many health entities surmise that psychological distress afflicts half of Afghanistan’s 40 million inhabitants due to prolonged warfare and instability. Informal reports from doctors and humanitarian workers indicate an increasing number of women grappling with mental health issues since the education and work restrictions.
In a vibrant art studio in Mazar-i-Sharif, Balkh’s capital, Khushi and several other young women engage in a pencil drawing session. Mental health specialists have referred many here to counter their solitude, acquire new skills, and complement their therapeutic and medicinal treatments.
“When my depression peaked, I was advised to seek solace. This art studio became my sanctuary. I’ve forged meaningful connections here and discovered the therapeutic magic of art,” expressed another former university attendee.
For Khushi, art therapy has become a beacon of hope.
“Creating something endows me with a feeling of achievement and boosts my confidence,” she reflected. “Despite the challenges, I remain resolute in my hope for a brighter future.”
As Afghanistan undergoes socio-political transformations, the resilient spirit of its women emerges stronger, finding solace and strength in art. While the country’s future remains uncertain, spaces like the art studios in Mazar-i-Sharif symbolize hope, healing, and resistance against adversity. These women, like Khushi, with every brushstroke, illustrate their pain and unwavering hope for a brighter tomorrow.
