AHRDO

On September 18, 2013, Hasht-e Subh Daily Newspaper, a popular newspaper in Afghanistan, published a list of approximately five-thousand people who were killed in Afghanistan between 1978-1979. The people were killed by security services of the communist regime.

Another Human Tragedy Must Not Happen Again Narrator: Nik Mohammad Sharif (brother) Victim: Mohammad Dawood (28-years-old) Victim's occupation: Teacher at the Police Academy Date of arrest: August 5, 1979 Date of execution: September 1, 1979 Charge: Activity against the Afghanistan People's Democratic Republic regime and political and intellectual opposition against the regime Place and method of execution: Pul-e-Charkhi in Kabul, likely mass shooting and buried in mass graves on the site.

In May 1951, a child named Dawood was born in a home full of love for knowledge. In 1957, he started school at Bibi Mehro. From early childhood, he was serious-minded, honest, trustworthy, brave, intelligent, and committed to pursuing knowledge and education. Not only was he dedicated to his learning, but he was also a good teacher and mentor for his younger siblings. Dawood started his high school education at Ghazi High School in Kabul in 1963 and graduated in 1969. Those years were the peak of Afghanistan's intellectual awakening movement. He was conscious of injustices and considered silence in the face of injustice as a form of treason. To support himself and his family, he started different youth and adolescent sports teams, attracting many young people. He was so busy that he was rarely seen in public. His friends greatly cared for him, and he respected everyone. He was humble and debated those with opposing ideas with patience and an open mind. In 1970, Dawood entered the Police Academy. He was not happy with studying there. He had only taken the entrance exam to accompany a friend who was keen to get into the Police Academy. Surprisingly, Dawood passed the exam while his friend failed. Dawood had repeatedly assured his family he was not interested in attending the Police Academy. I remember when my father heard of Dawood's acceptance, he was so excited. A few days later, my father and I went to Kabul and talked with Dawood about continuing his studies there. At that time, unfortunately, there had been an altercation between students at Kabul University, leading to one death and causing the university to close. So, when we learned of his disinterest in continuing at the Police Academy, my father was worried about his educational future. To please my father and other family members, Dawood agreed to join the Police Academy. With his friend, who joined the following year, he graduated from the Academy in 1972. He then started working in the criminal section of a police district within Kabul. After less than a month, due to corruption in the district command, he disagreed with the head of the department and was transferred. In 1977, he was appointed deputy head of criminal investigations in Bamiyan Province. Once again, Dawood witnessed corruption. His boss, the provincial security commander, explicitly told him, "I did not come here to simply see the Bamiyan's Buddhas. So far, I have been lenient. But now we must take our due." This led to an altercation between my brother and the Bamiyan Chief of Police. That same year, he was appointed as the chief of Police Security command for Yakawlang District in Bamiyan. Unfortunately, a local influential elder named Mr. Ra'ees recruited someone to murder an innocent farmer. A few days later, my brother detained Mr. Ra'ees for his role in the farmer's murder. As Mr. Ra'ees had close connections with higher officials in Kabul, Dawood received many calls from the President's office and the Interior Ministry demanding Mr. Ra’ee’s release. Emboldened by his close ties to senior officials, Mr. Ra'ees told my brother, "You cannot keep me for even 24 hours." The next day, a telegram came from Kabul to my brother, ordering: "Release Mr. Ra'ees and return to Kabul within 24 hours!" This led my brother and our family to return to Kabul.

For a while, he struggled against the communist regime as he opposed their repressions and injustices. These activities led to his arrest on August 5, 1979, by the intelligence agency AGSA (Da Afghanistan da Gato da Saatane Adara, Afghan Agency for Safeguarding National Interest) for his ideas and political activities against the regime. We remember that he was arrested near the Radio Afghanistan building and taken away. First, he was transferred to Sedarat (premier house) in Kabul, then taken to the presidential palace where he was severely tortured. They tried to get him to identify close friends and anti-government activists, but he endured and gave no names. At the same time, my two other brothers, Aref and Shokor, and I were also held as political prisoners. I have a bitter memory of our accidental encounter in the prison. I don't remember the exact date, likely around August 10 that year, approximately 6 or 7 days after our arrest as four brothers. I coincidentally saw him as I walked passed in front of his cell. Hurriedly, he signaled me to come near his cell as we weren't allowed visits or to see each other, and our cells were far apart. I reached his cell with great effort so no one would notice our meeting or discussion. When I reached him, signs of torture and bruising were evident on his face. Without wasting time, he said, "If you show resistance during torture, they will release you. Under no circumstances mention anyone's name, not even close friends. Provide no information about them." This was the last time I was able to speak to Dawood. After that, I was no longer allowed to see or speak with him, and any effort to meet him was pointless since we were closely monitored. We were in prison for about a month. Our family knew nothing of our whereabouts or how we were treated. We were not allowed to write letters to our family or receive visits from them. Sometime later, I was released from detention with Aref and Shokor. But we had no information about Dawood's fate, and no one ever told us anything. The whole family, especially our parents, awaited his return. Our mother firmly believed that he was alive and that he would one day return home. On September 18, 2013, a list of 5,000 victims of the communist regime's atrocities was exposed and published by the Dutch government, with Dawood listed as victim number 4,102. I will never forget the day the Dutch government published that list. I was busy at the office that day when I suddenly read the news on the Hasht-e-Subh newspaper website. My mood dramatically changed, and I felt like I could see Dawood again. On one hand, I was worried to see his name on the list, anxiously checking victim names and the year of their arrest, until I saw Dawood's name. Severe grief and bitterness gripped my throat. I was completely overwhelmed. It felt impossible to have these two feelings simultaneously hit me. One feeling was happiness to finally know what had happened to him after 34 years, at least seeing his name on the list. On the other hand, I felt the old, unhealed wounds suddenly open as I saw his name among the victims list of the communist regime's crimes. I was sure my other brothers had also learned of the list's existence and its release. The next day, we were all invited to a family wedding feast. We were sitting around one table but avoided looking at or talking to each other. Maybe outwardly, we were at a happy wedding, but we were inwardly immersed in Dawood's tragic story and our family's past. Then, my eldest brother turned to the others and started speaking. He said it was good that we're together again, and said he knows everyone saw Dawood's name on the list. Instead of self-pity and silence, we should hold a memorial service in his memory and at least inform relatives and friends. We should let our mother learn that her waiting for Dawood's return was in vain. Perhaps his words were bitter and painful for all of us. But it led us to coordinate with other victims' families and, on December 10 in subsequent years, we go annually to Pul-e-Charkhi Prison, commemorating our victims' day so that history and future generations remember the past's atrocities and that this human tragedy must not happen again. We were never allowed to visit Dawood in prison after our release. He was executed by the intelligence agency AGSA in September 1979 in Pul-e-Charkhi, likely with other political prisoners, assassinated by bullets and buried in unmarked mass graves.

On July 23, 2016, two suicide bombers denoted their explosives among the protesters at Dehmazang Square in Kabul, the capital city of Afghanistan. The protesters, who were primarily Hazaras, were part of the Enlightenment Movement. They were protesting against the diversion of the TUTAP mega power project which would cause the project to bypass Hazara-dominated areas. At least 84 protesters lost their lives and 260-400 others were injured. The Islamic State of Khorasan Province (ISKP), the regional branch of ISIS, took credit for the attack. However, ISKP later refuted their involvement in the attack.

The Enlightenment Movement, also known as Junbesh-e Roshnayie, was a grassroots civil disobedience movement started by Hazaras in Afghanistan in response to a change in the Fichtner GmbH & Co. KG proposed Energy Supply Improvement Investment Program, unofficially called TUTAP project plans. The change in the project plans would cause it to bypass Hazara regions. The move was seen as perpetuating long-standing anti-Hazara discrimination. Throughout 2016 and 2017, the Enlightenment Movement coordinated large-scale demonstrations against discrimination both domestically in Afghanistan and abroad.

A Few Minutes Later, They Brought in His Coffin

Narrator: Sakina (sister)

Victim: Navidullah Bahadori

Date of the incident: 23 July 2016

Location of the incident: Dehmazang, Kabul City

My brother Navidullah attended school until 6th grade in the village of Bidshaki, in Ghazni Province, Jighato District. We then moved to Kabul, where he enrolled in the Abdul Rahim Shahid School. Besides school, he worked as a tailor’s apprentice. He was well-mannered and everyone liked him. He was sociable and friendly. Following graduation from 12th grade, he took an exam at the Afghan Korea University, where he took computer classes for six months. Later, he started learning dental prosthetics at the Razi Institute. On the morning of the incident, he was at home and had breakfast at 8 am. He intended to join in the demonstration, but my mother forbade him, citing the dire security situation and a possible incident. On that day, all my cousins went to the university to take an exam.

Around noon, he took a shower, changed his clothes, and ate lunch. He told us he wanted to go to university, but we all knew the university was closed in the afternoon, and that he intended to go and participate in the demonstration. At approximately 2:36 pm, when the second explosion occurred, my cousin called him to ask where he was. Someone else answered his phone and asked my cousin how he was related to the owner of the phone. He responded, “I am his cousin.” The man had told him that Navid was injured and my cousin had to get to Aliabad hospital immediately. My brother was alive until he was taken to the hospital but while being transferred to the emergency room, he died. My cousins searched all the hospitals and checked all the wounded but did not find him among them. Since the wounded had been transferred from Aliabad hospital to other hospitals, and because we thought he was only wounded, we continued searching the Barchi and Darul-Aman hospitals until midnight. Still, we did not find him among the injured. My father and cousins visited the 400-bed hospital the next day (day after the incident). When they got there, they saw his photo installed on the entrance gate of the hospital, and thus they recognized and found him.

They called home to say they found Navid. We were all delighted and told ourselves, as the man had reported, Navid had been taken to the hospital. Maybe his hand was severely injured or amputated, but thank God, he was alive. We went to my mother to give her the good news, but a while later, they brought in his coffin. Navid was no longer alive and this left my mother and me alone with a world of sorrow and yearning. Since Navid’s martyrdom/death, my mother is always sick. She cries in solitude and has lost her tranquility. We also cry in the other room at night, so my mother does not see our sadness. Navid, my brother, always encouraged us to get an education. When he returned home from work and school, he would always read and help us do our assignments until late into the night. Now, his absence is intensely felt. I always miss him and will never forget memories of him.

On July 23, 2016, two suicide bombers denoted their explosives among the protesters at Dehmazang Square in Kabul, the capital city of Afghanistan. The protesters, who were primarily Hazaras, were part of the Enlightenment Movement. They were protesting against the diversion of the TUTAP mega power project which would cause the project to bypass Hazara-dominated areas. At least 84 protesters lost their lives and 260-400 others were injured. The Islamic State of Khorasan Province (ISKP), the regional branch of ISIS, took credit for the attack. However, ISKP later refuted their involvement in the attack.

The Enlightenment Movement, also known as Junbesh-e Roshnayie, was a grassroots civil disobedience movement started by Hazaras in Afghanistan in response to a change in the Fichtner GmbH & Co. KG proposed Energy Supply Improvement Investment Program, unofficially called TUTAP project plans. The change in the project plans would cause it to bypass Hazara regions. The move was seen as perpetuating long-standing anti-Hazara discrimination. Throughout 2016 and 2017, the Enlightenment Movement coordinated large-scale demonstrations against discrimination both domestically in Afghanistan and abroad.

Abbas Was Martyred and Left Me Alone with Sorrows

Narrator: Zahra (mother)

Victim: Abbas Mohammadi

Date of the incident: 23 July 2016

Location of the incident: Dehmazang, Kabul City

Abbas always left for work early in the morning, but on the day of the demonstration, no matter how much I called him, he would not wake up. I attended to the house chores, but he still didn’t wake up. I called him again, but he told me he was tired and wanted to rest. When he woke up, he asked his wife for his white clothes, but his wife did not give him the clothes. He got angry and kicked her, saying, “Every day my mother ironed my clothes. Today she has washed clothes and is tired. ” I calmed him down. His wife ironed the clothes and gave them to him. Abbas called and said he wanted to wear the new slippers he had bought the day before. He called me and said, “Mother! If there is anything left from the Eid cookies, bring me some. I am very hungry for cookies.” I quickly brought him some cookies. When having tea, he said, “Mother, I don’t feel interested in work today.” I said it’s good for you to go to work. I gave him a new handkerchief as he was leaving the house. Around noon, we were sitting at the table and having lunch, and I told his sister in-law, “I feel very restless today. Please call Abbas.” When she called Abbas, he did not pick up the phone. A few minutes later, he called and said he was in Dehmazang waiting for the demonstration to come to an end.

We ate lunch and put away the tablecloth. At 1:24 pm, I got the news that there had been an explosion. I immediately called his number but he didn’t answer. I was beating myself and crying. His father wouldn’t let me leave the house because I could not control myself. I told him, “Let me go. My son has been martyred.” I kept crying and screaming until the next day, but it was pointless. The next morning, at 10:00 am, Abbas was taken to the mosque. I went there and saw Abbas. I passed out when I saw his body. When I regained consciousness, I asked everyone where Abbas was. They said they had taken him to the cemetery for burial. He has two children, a seven-year-old girl, and a two-year-old boy. His wife is also pregnant. Soon after Abbas was martyred, less than forty days after, his wife’s family came to find their daughter and took her away. I pleaded with her not to go. I said it is your house, and you are like my daughter, but she did not listen to me. She went and left her children behind. She said she would also bring us the new child after birth. She listened to her father, who wanted her to go to his house. We live in the same alley. Now, I feel hopeless for this innocent child crying at night and calling for his mother. I don’t know what my daughter in-law’s family told her to make her leave the children and go to her father’s house. Abbas was martyred and left me alone with such sorrows.

On July 23, 2016, two suicide bombers denoted their explosives among the protesters at Dehmazang Square in Kabul, the capital city of Afghanistan. The protesters, who were primarily Hazaras, were part of the Enlightenment Movement. They were protesting against the diversion of the TUTAP mega power project which would cause the project to bypass Hazara-dominated areas. At least 84 protesters lost their lives and 260-400 others were injured. The Islamic State of Khorasan Province (ISKP), the regional branch of ISIS, took credit for the attack. However, ISKP later refuted their involvement in the attack.

The Enlightenment Movement, also known as Junbesh-e Roshnayie, was a grassroots civil disobedience movement started by Hazaras in Afghanistan in response to a change in the Fichtner GmbH & Co. KG proposed Energy Supply Improvement Investment Program, unofficially called TUTAP project plans. The change in the project plans would cause it to bypass Hazara regions. The move was seen as perpetuating long-standing anti-Hazara discrimination. Throughout 2016 and 2017, the Enlightenment Movement coordinated large-scale demonstrations against discrimination both domestically in Afghanistan and abroad.

I can never forgive the blood of my brother being spilled. I will never forgive my brother’s killers

Narrator: Amena (sister)

Victim: Sayed Ishaq Hussaini

Date of the incident: 23 July 2016

Location of the incident: Dehmazang, Kabul City

I am the sister of Shahid (martyred) Ishaq. I don’t know his exact date of birth. He finished twelfth grade in the Waras district in the province of Bamyan. After he graduated from twelfth grade, he went to Iran for 13 months. Last year during Arba'ein (the fortieth day after Ashura), he was in Karbala. Five months ago, until Sizdah Bedar (Nature’s Day), he was in Iran, and after 13 days of the Nowruz holidays, he returned to the [Afghanistan]…from Iran. When he returned from Iran, he enrolled in some training courses.

Two days before Eid, he went to our home village to visit my parents and spent almost 12 to 13 days with them. I called and told him to come back and study for his courses as they had already resumed. On Thursday he returned from our home village and he came to our house on Friday afternoon. After greetings and prayers, we ate dinner together and chatted until midnight. Then we went to bed.

The following day was the day of the incident. It was Saturday. After he had breakfast, he said goodbye and told me he would go to his own room. Since he was a student, he had rented a room with friends. He didn’t tell me he was going to the demonstration. I followed the demonstrations on television up to the point when I saw the suicide attack. Each time I called him, he said he was in his room and hid from me…that he was actually taking part in the demonstration. After the suicide attack, I called him but someone else picked up his phone. When I ask the person where the owner of the phone was, he said the owner of the phone had been wounded and his hand was slightly injured.

By the time I found a taxi and went to the hospital, he had already been martyred (he had passed away). He was only 21 years old and had a fiancée. He would always tell me that his one wish in life was to go back to Karbala…one more time, after which if he died, he would not wish for anything more. On the night before his martyrdom/death, [my brother] related to me that he had had dreamt that he had visited Karbala. He died/was martyred the following day.

[My brother] would always offer his prayer and would always recite the Holy Quran. In the morning before he went to his room, he asked me after prayer to turn the light on for him, so he could read the Quran. When my maternal cousin learned that Ishaq had been martyred/killed, he told us that he was a faithful boy who cared about the afterlife. He was a son of the soil, and God would not let him sin. We all believe that Sayed ul-Shuhada (the Master of Martyrs) has accepted Ishaq’s pilgrimage [to Karbala]. Now, my old mother has asked us to provide her with travel expenses so she can go on pilgrimage [to Karbala] on behalf of her son.

He would not go out for no reason, and whenever he would go out, his head was down and he never harassed anyone. I have two other brothers and they are also the best, but God who created Sayed from earth, also took him back into the earth, away from us. I had already made embroidered clothes/shalwar kameez for his wedding. When he was chatting with me, he said he didn’t have enough money for the wedding ceremony and he would have to wait till the following year, though if his fiancée’s family insisted, he would have to hold the wedding sooner.

When I went to the Mowla Ali Hospital to find him, he was lying in his own blood. His head had been injured very badly. I was so heavy-hearted I didn’t know what to do. My husband and I took his body out of the hospital. None of our relatives were there and I felt very lonely. My parents are very old. We buried Ishaq alone; we had to bury our loved one among strangers. My mother still sheds tears and has become sick with grief because of losing my brother. My other brother cries when he is alone. My heart aches when I see him so restless and sad. No matter how much we console him, he cannot forget his sorrow over losing our brother (martyr) Ishaq. I myself go to the hill [the Hill of Martyrs] out of immense heartache and cry up there so that I don’t bother my husband. My brother was only 21 years old. He was martyred along with other youths. It happened as if by accident, though it may have been intentional. I can never forgive the blood of my brother being spilled. I will never forgive my brother’s killers. Ethnic leaders betrayed us and made our youths their political toys, and then they sacrificed them.

On July 23, 2016, two suicide bombers denoted their explosives among the protesters at Dehmazang Square in Kabul, the capital city of Afghanistan. The protesters, who were primarily Hazaras, were part of the Enlightenment Movement. They were protesting against the diversion of the TUTAP mega power project which would cause the project to bypass Hazara-dominated areas. At least 84 protesters lost their lives and 260-400 others were injured. The Islamic State of Khorasan Province (ISKP), the regional branch of ISIS, took credit for the attack. However, ISKP later refuted their involvement in the attack.

The Enlightenment Movement, also known as Junbesh-e Roshnayie, was a grassroots civil disobedience movement started by Hazaras in Afghanistan in response to a change in the Fichtner GmbH & Co. KG proposed Energy Supply Improvement Investment Program, unofficially called TUTAP project plans. The change in the project plans would cause it to bypass Hazara regions. The move was seen as perpetuating long-standing anti-Hazara discrimination. Throughout 2016 and 2017, the Enlightenment Movement coordinated large-scale demonstrations against discrimination both domestically in Afghanistan and abroad.

He was there Consciously, Decisively Seeking Justice

Narrator: Sultan (father)

Victim: Nabi Sultani

Date of the incident: 23 July 2016

Location of the incident: Dehmazang, Kabul City

I am the father of martyed Nabi Sultani. My son attended school up to grade 5 in Shahr-e Naw, in the Varas District, in Bamyan Province. Afterwards, we moved to Kabul, where he continued his studies until 12th grade at Sayed al-Shohada School and graduated as the top student. My son Nabi was an intelligent and diligent youth. He completed English courses and was very interested in athletics, becoming a kick-box trainer. He participated in the university entrance exam, successfully enrolled in Kabul University, and passed his first year. In his second year, he was killed during the July 23rd attack. He had earned several honours for the family. In addition to education and sports, he was also working and thus helped with some of our financial problems. He was a trainer in his own sports club, which was how we covered our expenses. However, the betrayal of ethnic elders has victimized our youth. We will never forget the blood of our youth.

His mother is still unsettled and crying. We can't do anything but be patient before God. He was a sociable and courteous boy and always tried to behave well with family members. Everyone loved him. His sisters are still grieving his loss. On the day he was killed, he was there consciously, decisively seeking justice. But his time had come, and God took his precious gift back from us. Martyr Nabi was 22-years-old. Like other young people, my child fell victim to the betrayal of our lying leaders.

On July 23, 2016, two suicide bombers denoted their explosives among the protesters at Dehmazang Square in Kabul, the capital city of Afghanistan. The protesters, who were primarily Hazaras, were part of the Enlightenment Movement. They were protesting against the diversion of the TUTAP mega power project which would cause the project to bypass Hazara-dominated areas. At least 84 protesters lost their lives and 260-400 others were injured. The Islamic State of Khorasan Province (ISKP), the regional branch of ISIS, took credit for the attack. However, ISKP later refuted their involvement in the attack.

The Enlightenment Movement, also known as Junbesh-e Roshnayie, was a grassroots civil disobedience movement started by Hazaras in Afghanistan in response to a change in the Fichtner GmbH & Co. KG proposed Energy Supply Improvement Investment Program, unofficially called TUTAP project plans. The change in the project plans would cause it to bypass Hazara regions. The move was seen as perpetuating long-standing anti-Hazara discrimination. Throughout 2016 and 2017, the Enlightenment Movement coordinated large-scale demonstrations against discrimination both domestically in Afghanistan and abroad.

I Will Stay and Serve in Afghanistan as Long as I Am Alive

Narrator: Abdul Wahid (brother)

Victim: Abdul Aziz Rahimi

Date of the incident: 23 July 2016

Location of the incident: Dehmazang, Kabul City

I am going to share the story of my martyred brother with you. He was born on the 11th of March in 1990. In 1996, he was enrolled in school in Islam Qala in Pol-e Khomri. We lived in Baghlan Province for almost ten years, after which we moved to the centre of Bamiyan, where he completed his studies in under three years.

When he took the university entrance exam, he was admitted into the Faculty of Literature of Kabul University. He began his studies in the Spanish department. He graduated from university in 2012. After graduating from university, he spent two years trying to find a job. By late 2010, the Spanish forces asked the faculty to introduce to them a few students who knew the Spanish language in order to serve in the national army. The program, led by the faculty professors, lasted for six months. During this time, my brother served in provinces such as Kandahar, Farah, and Herat. By late 2011, he returned to the university to continue his studies. He graduated from the university in 2012.

Before he graduated from university, the Spanish Embassy suggested to ten individuals, including my brother, that they could take them to Spain, give them permanent residence, and pay their expenses for six months. A month later, I asked him what had happened to that process. I told him Spain would take him there for free, so he could improve his life there. He told me: “I have studied and worked hard for 16 years while my compatriots have served us. It is not fair to abandon our people and our country to work for other countries. I will stay and serve in Afghanistan as long as I am alive”.

They had given them some money. I asked him to give us some of it to buy tires for the truck we had and to service the vehicle. He said, "I'm sorry, I can't give you even one Afghani because I am planning to get my master's degree.” In 2016, he was close to completing his master's. His thesis was focused on the environment. His work has remained incomplete and is on his computer. He wanted to publish it as a book, but death did not give him time. He was martyred in the heartbreaking attack on July 23rd, 2016.

On July 23, 2016, two suicide bombers denoted their explosives among the protesters at Dehmazang Square in Kabul, the capital city of Afghanistan. The protesters, who were primarily Hazaras, were part of the Enlightenment Movement. They were protesting against the diversion of the TUTAP mega power project which would cause the project to bypass Hazara-dominated areas. At least 84 protesters lost their lives and 260-400 others were injured. The Islamic State of Khorasan Province (ISKP), the regional branch of ISIS, took credit for the attack. However, ISKP later refuted their involvement in the attack.

The Enlightenment Movement, also known as Junbesh-e Roshnayie, was a grassroots civil disobedience movement started by Hazaras in Afghanistan in response to a change in the Fichtner GmbH & Co. KG proposed Energy Supply Improvement Investment Program, unofficially called TUTAP project plans. The change in the project plans would cause it to bypass Hazara regions. The move was seen as perpetuating long-standing anti-Hazara discrimination. Throughout 2016 and 2017, the Enlightenment Movement coordinated large-scale demonstrations against discrimination both domestically in Afghanistan and abroad.

The Third Body Was My Father

Narrator: Shafiqullah (Son)

Victim: Abdul Shakoor Karimzada

Date of the incident: 23 July 2016

Location of the incident: Dehmazang, Kabul City

My father was born in 1942 in Qoluj Village of Qarabagh District in the province of Ghazni. My father was martyred in Dehmazang at the age of 74. My father has four sons and two daughters. My brothers and sisters are married and all live separately. My father always encouraged me to get an education and improve my life. He encouraged my sisters to have good relations with people. To perform the prayer, he would always go to the mosque. My father had five brothers, one of whom was killed during the wars. He spent his childhood in the village. Almost 50 years have passed since my parents got married. Their eldest child is 34-years-old. My best memory of my father is related was when I managed to pass the university entrance exam. When I told him about it, he had tears in his eyes, hugged me, and was very happy. He had many dreams for his children and always said he wanted all of us to succeed. He even encouraged his daughters to get an education and said they should go to school, get good grades in university, and achieve their dreams. We moved to Kabul in 2009, following which he never returned to Ghazni. My father was a social and good-natured person who was very fond of his children and grandchildren.

My father and brothers, Najib and Zabihullah, worked for ten years in Iran. He had a cow, and he would always look after it. Later, he sold the cow and bought a cart to work as a vendor. Sometimes he would do construction work. He had become interested in the activities of the Enlightenment Movement and frequently attended their meetings. He believed that our people should stand up for justice and raise the voice of the oppressed.

On July 23rd, he left home at 9 am. I also went to Kot-e-Sangi. I did not know my father, too, would be taking part in the demonstration. When I got there, I felt that the security situation was not good, so I returned home. The university exams were coming up, so I was studying at home. The night before the incident, Negah TV announced that the next day’s demonstration had been cancelled. However, when my father heard from the Movement's announcement that the demonstration would happen anyway, he went to Dehmazang the next day.

At 2:30 pm, when I turned on the TV, news of the explosion in Dehmazang was being broadcast on the 1TV network. My mother was distraught. She came to me and wanted me to call my father immediately. She explained that he had gone to Dehmazang. When my father left the house in the morning, no one stopped him; he was participating in the demonstration of his own free will. I called his number, but he didn't answer. I called him again, and somebody else picked up his phone and said: “I am a doctor, the owner of the phone is seriously injured, come to Ibn-e Sina Hospital.” I didn't know what I was doing. I took a taxi and immediately went to Esteqlal Hospital. I called my father's number and said I had arrived at the hospital. The doctor again told me that I should come to Ibn-e Sina Hospital. The road was closed, and the police would not allow anyone to pass. With difficulty, I made it to the hospital. I searched everywhere, but I could not find my father. A doctor called me and told me to follow him. I was in a terrible mental state and told myself my father must be injured. The doctor would take me to him. Then I realized that he was taking me to the morgue. When I got there, there were other martyrs too. The third body was my father’s. My world fell apart. I broke down and felt lost and I didn't know what to do. It was a difficult moment.

My father was transferred to the Emergency Hospital. The next day, we brought his body home. After bathing him, we buried him in the cemetery of Nawabad in Deh Qabil.

I am not asking for anything from this government because this is the same government that killed our people. I am requesting human rights institutions not to let the blood of our martyrs be wasted in vain, since they gave their lives for justice. Our loved ones did not take part in the demonstration for electricity, but because the government discriminates against some of the people of Afghanistan. We must follow in their footsteps and not let their voices be silenced.

On July 23, 2016, two suicide bombers denoted their explosives among the protesters at Dehmazang Square in Kabul, the capital city of Afghanistan. The protesters, who were primarily Hazaras, were part of the Enlightenment Movement. They were protesting against the diversion of the TUTAP mega power project which would cause the project to bypass Hazara-dominated areas. At least 84 protesters lost their lives and 260-400 others were injured. The Islamic State of Khorasan Province (ISKP), the regional branch of ISIS, took credit for the attack. However, ISKP later refuted their involvement in the attack.

The Enlightenment Movement, also known as Junbesh-e Roshnayie, was a grassroots civil disobedience movement started by Hazaras in Afghanistan in response to a change in the Fichtner GmbH & Co. KG proposed Energy Supply Improvement Investment Program, unofficially called TUTAP project plans. The change in the project plans would cause it to bypass Hazara regions. The move was seen as perpetuating long-standing anti-Hazara discrimination. Throughout 2016 and 2017, the Enlightenment Movement coordinated large-scale demonstrations against discrimination both domestically in Afghanistan and abroad.

That Afternoon, They Brought His Body Home

Narrator: Gholam Abbas (uncle-in-law)

Victim: Ali Ahmad Hamdard

Date of the incident: 23 July 2016

Location of the incident: Dehmazang, Kabul City

Martyr Ali Ahmad was a decent and well-mannered boy. He attended school up to 8th grade. Afterward, he served in the National Army for almost 12 years. He moved from Bamyan to Kabul nearly 13 years ago. He was from Bamyan province, Takht Varas region, and was nearly 23-years-old. He was a faithful boy and was martyred in the Dehmazang incident. A year had passed since his marriage, but he had no children. The living conditions of his wife are not good, but she has honored their ties and is still living in Kabul.

He has a brother who is in Iran. Everyone is busy with their own lives, and that's why his wife is living a difficult life with a salary of 5 thousand Afghanis and a rented house. However, because of the her husband’s kind treatment of her, she continues to endure all the problems on her own. We have lovely memories of the martyr. He kept everyone happy and satisfied by treating them well. He never spoke loudly or frowned at anyone. Even on the day of the demonstration, he left the house smiling and joking. But later that same day, in the afternoon, they brought his body home.

On July 23, 2016, two suicide bombers denoted their explosives among the protesters at Dehmazang Square in Kabul, the capital city of Afghanistan. The protesters, who were primarily Hazaras, were part of the Enlightenment Movement. They were protesting against the diversion of the TUTAP mega power project which would cause the project to bypass Hazara-dominated areas. At least 84 protesters lost their lives and 260-400 others were injured. The Islamic State of Khorasan Province (ISKP), the regional branch of ISIS, took credit for the attack. However, ISKP later refuted their involvement in the attack.

The Enlightenment Movement, also known as Junbesh-e Roshnayie, was a grassroots civil disobedience movement started by Hazaras in Afghanistan in response to a change in the Fichtner GmbH & Co. KG proposed Energy Supply Improvement Investment Program, unofficially called TUTAP project plans. The change in the project plans would cause it to bypass Hazara regions. The move was seen as perpetuating long-standing anti-Hazara discrimination. Throughout 2016 and 2017, the Enlightenment Movement coordinated large-scale demonstrations against discrimination both domestically in Afghanistan and abroad.

His Clothes and Face Were Covered in Blood

Narrator: Zaher (uncle)

Victim: Reza Akbari

Date of the incident: 23 July 2016

Location of the incident: Dehmazang, Kabul City

I am Zaher, uncle of the martyred Reza. I was working in Iran and learned through the television that a suicide bomber had attacked protestors in Dehmazang.

My nephew Reza lived with his grandfather. We live separated from my father. When I watched the news, I became agitated. I quickly called my father and asked if anyone from our family, relatives, or friends had participated in the demonstration. My father said everyone was at home except Reza, who had come home but had gone out again around noon to join the demonstrators. “I tried to prevent him from going, but he forcefully left the house and would not listen to me." He added that before leaving the house, he told him, “I participated in the previous demonstration, and nothing happened; this time, too, God willing, nothing will happen.”

About eight months ago, my father assigned Reza to be an apprentice in a car repair shop so that he could stand on his own feet and not be dependent on anyone, learn a trade and provide for his expenses and not be a simple laborer like me. Reza had lost his father in a traffic accident at the age of 8 and had suffered a lot. When my father said that, I got even more worried, hung up the phone, and called my friends and acquaintances. I was apprehensive because Reza was the eldest son of his family. I did not get news until the following day. Finally, on Sunday, my cousin called me at 10:00 am and said, "We found someone in the 400-bed hospital, who looks a lot like Reza, but I don't recognise him. If you have a picture of Reza, send it to me so I can identify him.” I immediately shared his photo. Those were terrible moments. At 11 am, he called me again and said that the body was Reza’s and that he had been killed.

That same day, I went to my employer, got some money, left my following payments unsettled, and immediately left for Afghanistan. About eight months earlier, my brother and I had travelled to Iran for work. None of us have good living conditions. Since Reza's martyrdom, my father and his family's living conditions have deteriorated too. I am now unemployed and not in a good financial situation.

Reza had been born in the province of Bamyan Province, Varas District, Shui Qol Village by Payeen Aab. He had yet to start experiencing the taste of life when troubles afflicted him and his family. Reza lost his father in a car accident and was orphaned at the age of 8. At the time of the accident, his sister was two-years-old and his brother was still in his mother's womb. Following that incident, they lived with their grandfather. Reza studied in his village up to grade 7. He moved to Kabul in 2015, worked as a hawker for a while, and then became an apprentice at an automobile repair shop and learned the job well. Some time ago, he told me, “Uncle! If possible, please tell my grandfather to get me a shop so that I can work independently.” Since I noticed his hard work, I decided to get him a shop in autumn so his business would improve.

On the day of the demonstration, his workplace was closed and he had not gone to work. My father explained to me, “No matter how much I told Reza that he shouldn't participate in the demonstration, he wouldn’t listen to me and went to Dehmazang. When I called Reza, his phone was switched off, and the roads were closed. I kept waiting for him until the evening. After we heard about the suicide bombing, I went out with three other people to look for Reza; we searched everywhere until midnight, but we could not locate him. By early morning, after the prayer, we went out again to look for Reza. We finally found Reza at 10:00 am in the 400-Bed Hospital. He was unidentifiable; his clothes and face were covered in blood. Reza came home but with his eyes shut. He has grieved me, his mother, his little brother, and his sister.” My father now lives with my other brother's family. My brother's financial situation is terrible, and my parents are old. My father is 70.

On the 40th day after the death of the martyrs of the Light Movement, which included Reza, my father was seriously sick for almost a week. He was very distressed by Reza's death and would frequently pass out. I called Mr. Behzad to explain that our situation was not good, and he called Motahari, but my father was given no help. Now, my brother has to provide for nine people. I have been unemployed since I returned from Iran, and I cannot help them. I cannot even care for my own family properly. Losing Reza was painful for all of us. My father continues to shed tears and talk about him, may his memory be a blessing. I have asked Reza's heirs to follow in his footsteps so that his blood was not spilled in vain.

On July 23, 2016, two suicide bombers denoted their explosives among the protesters at Dehmazang Square in Kabul, the capital city of Afghanistan. The protesters, who were primarily Hazaras, were part of the Enlightenment Movement. They were protesting against the diversion of the TUTAP mega power project which would cause the project to bypass Hazara-dominated areas. At least 84 protesters lost their lives and 260-400 others were injured. The Islamic State of Khorasan Province (ISKP), the regional branch of ISIS, took credit for the attack. However, ISKP later refuted their involvement in the attack.

The Enlightenment Movement, also known as Junbesh-e Roshnayie, was a grassroots civil disobedience movement started by Hazaras in Afghanistan in response to a change in the Fichtner GmbH & Co. KG proposed Energy Supply Improvement Investment Program, unofficially called TUTAP project plans. The change in the project plans would cause it to bypass Hazara regions. The move was seen as perpetuating long-standing anti-Hazara discrimination. Throughout 2016 and 2017, the Enlightenment Movement coordinated large-scale demonstrations against discrimination both domestically in Afghanistan and abroad.

I Wish the Light Movement Turns into An Influential Force

Narrator: Mohamad Yaseen Dawlat Shahi (uncle)

Victim: Ahmad Sharif DawlatShahi

Date of the incident: 23 July 2016

Location of the incident: Dehmazang, Kabul City

On 23rd July, I was preparing to take part in the demonstration. We live upstairs and Ahmad Sharif and his family lived downstairs; we all lived together. When I went downstairs, Ahmad Sharif was also ready. He had bathed, recited the Holy Quran, and offered prayers. We sat together at the table. My wife had prepared some french fries and we both ate a small amount. His mother put the remaining amount inside the bread and placed it in a plastic bag. She told Ahmed Sharif to take it with him because we would need it later. I put it in my bag, and he brought five bottles of frozen water. He joked with his mother, "Mom, do you think we are going to the desert that you put five bottles of water in the refrigerator for us?"

His mother said, “It is ok, you are not alone; others, too, may need water and drinking water may not be available at that time, so it is good to take these water bottles with you.” So, we put the water bottles in our bag and left the house. We had walked only a few steps away from the house when Ahmad Sharif looked back at me and said: "Uncle! The situation is not so good today. Try to stay close to us and not go far away." What I remember well is that he was talking like he had received information from someone indicating that the situation would turn bad that day. He even talked about death. I told him okay, Ahmad, do not worry, I will not leave your group today. We both arrived near Mosala. People had already gathered there. We were separated because someone from the People's Council of the Enlightenment Movement was looking for a person to oversee the generator they had set up for the stage.

No one accepted the responsibility Mr. Qalandari offered them, because everyone wanted to be actively involved in the demonstration. No one wanted to be inactive. I really felt sorry for him, so I went to him and said I would like to be in charge of the generator. I was stationed on the Kamaz truck from the beginning to the culmination of the demonstration, and up to the time of the explosion. It was parked close to the Dyna truck. The Kamaz truck moved two minutes after the explosion. During the demonstration, he would come to me, sometimes to drink water. Ahmad Sharif came to me about 15 or 20 minutes before the explosion and said, "Uncle, give me water." He even joked with his close friends and said, “We brought water for ourselves and we will not give it to you.” He and his friends drank the water. The event organizers were also sitting on the truck. He went towards them and said, “You sit here, all sides have been abandoned and the police have left. People are entering from every direction, and it is not clear who is who. The ice cream cart has entered the crowd. It's better that you get up and start enforcing order. God forbid, someone may get inside and decide to do something.” It was the last time I saw him. It was prayer time and Mr. Behzad passed by the Kamaz truck. Music was playing from inside the vehicle. He wanted them to stop the music and call people to gather for prayer.

Because it was very hot, there was not enough mineral water for everybody, and that's why the group suggested bringing a water tanker. They insisted that Ahmad Sharif should go for the water tanker, but he refused it because he didn't want to leave the impassioned stage of justice. Finally, they called someone else to deliver a tanker of drinking water. The water was not yet delivered when the incident happened; he was distributing food and water. When the explosion happened, some people were inside the truck. When they heard the explosion, they wanted to jump out. I told them to wait for a few minutes. God forbid, but another explosion could happen when they jumped out. People waited for a minute or two while others fled the scene. When we got out of the vehicle, an injured person near the vehicle was in critical condition. He said to me, “Please help me, I am dying.” I told him, God forbid, you won't die. I went to him, took him under his arm, and moved him to a different location, and helped him lean on something. I told him to wait there and that I would go get an ambulance for him.

I was helping the wounded and had no idea about the fate and condition of Ahmad Sharif. I was sure he had pulled himself out of that situation. After some time, I thought it would be good to call him to see how he was doing. I kept calling him, but the network said it was busy. Since he didn't answer my call, I got suspicious. I got a call from home. They said, “there was an explosion in Dehmezang, where are you?” I told them that I was helping the wounded at the site of the explosion. They asked about Ahmad Sharif. I told them I tried calling him, but he did not pick up his phone. After a while, the wounded and martyrs were picked up from the road and transferred to different hospitals. We went to Esteqlal Hospital. When I got there, I called his number again. Someone answered the phone, and I realized that it was one of the administrators of the hospital. He asked me how I was related to him. I told him that I am his uncle. He asked me to go meet him. When I went to see the person, he informed me of Ahmad Sharif's martyrdom.

Ahmad Sharif was a member and co-founder of the Afghanistan Victims’ Families Organization. He had lost his father for earning freedom. During the former Soviet reign, he graduated from one of the police academies as the top performer. Under Hafizullah Amin’s reign, he was pulled out of his house with his hands and feet tied and then killed. At that time, Ahmad Sharif was in his mother's womb and his older brother was just two-years-old. He had never met his father. The same thing happened to Ahmad Sharif’s daughter; she never got to see her father. Ahmad Sharif's 40th day of martyrdom had passed when his daughter was born. She did not get to see her father. He was the head of Afghanistan's Young Elite Generation. He was a sociable and friendly person. He was my main source of motivation in civic activities. To be honest, he would force me to attend meetings and encourage me to work for justice and peace.

Ahmad Sharif had obtained a master's degree. He studied at Ibn-e Sina and Kateb universities. It was almost three months since he had been appointed as a specialist in the Literacy Department of the Ministry of Education. After his martyrdom, all his colleagues shed tears for him even though he had just been appointed. This is the life of our people. But we are all proud, and even his mother is proud and says she is happy that Ahmad was martyred in the way of justice, freedom, and righteousness. He has two daughters named Setayesh and Parastesh. One of his friends showed me their private conversation in which Ahmad Sharif had told him, “I wish the Enlightenment Movement turns into an influential force in our society. Then, I won’t regret it if I am martyred or killed.”

On July 23, 2016, two suicide bombers denoted their explosives among the protesters at Dehmazang Square in Kabul, the capital city of Afghanistan. The protesters, who were primarily Hazaras, were part of the Enlightenment Movement. They were protesting against the diversion of the TUTAP mega power project which would cause the project to bypass Hazara-dominated areas. At least 84 protesters lost their lives and 260-400 others were injured. The Islamic State of Khorasan Province (ISKP), the regional branch of ISIS, took credit for the attack. However, ISKP later refuted their involvement in the attack.

The Enlightenment Movement, also known as Junbesh-e Roshnayie, was a grassroots civil disobedience movement started by Hazaras in Afghanistan in response to a change in the Fichtner GmbH & Co. KG proposed Energy Supply Improvement Investment Program, unofficially called TUTAP project plans. The change in the project plans would cause it to bypass Hazara regions. The move was seen as perpetuating long-standing anti-Hazara discrimination. Throughout 2016 and 2017, the Enlightenment Movement coordinated large-scale demonstrations against discrimination both domestically in Afghanistan and abroad.

He Never Tasted Peace and Tranquility in His Life

Narrator: Marzia (mother)

Victim: Mohammad Zaki Nayebi

Date of the incident: 23 July 2016

Location of the incident: Dehmazang, Kabul City

I am the mother of martyr Zaki Naibi. He was born in 1991 in Maidan Wardak Province, Hessa Du, Behsud District, in Qol Khesh Village. We moved to Kabul when he was seven years old. He started going to Ismail Balkhi school in Sarkariz and attended this school until 9th grade. Then, he enrolled in a school in Karte Se, where he completed the 12th grade. Due to our bad economic situation, he worked in a metal workshop at the same time as he was going to school. His workplace was in Dehburi.

During his school years, he was a diligent, calm, well-mannered, and talented student. He couldn't attend his school certification process, because of his work at the metal workshop. But since he was a calm and kind boy, his teacher, along with the top student in the class, who liked Zaki, completed the admin work and obtained his certificate. He never spoke in a loud voice to me or his father at home. He and my other son who is 14-years-old were very calm compared to my other children. I am very happy with him.

We lived in poverty and destitution. He aspired to become a helpful person to assist himself, his family, and his people in the future and to improve our living conditions, but his wish did not come true. His death left me and his father in pain. Another son of mine is now in prison because of a conspiracy by some people. He doesn't even know about his brother's martyrdom. Zaki was the breadwinner of the family. When his brother asks about Zaki, I say Zaki has gone to Turkey. I say some people donated money, and we sent him to work in Turkey. He insists we should give him his phone number so that he can talk to him on the phone. I make excuses, saying he lives in an area without mobile network coverage. His salary was 1,800 Afghanis. He used to take 300 Afghanis to pay for his education and the rest he would give to me. When I remember the hardships he went through, my heart burns because he never tasted peace and tranquility in his life.

On holidays, his cousins and friends would go out on excursions, but he said he had to work to make our lives better, and that work was fun. On Fridays, when they would call him to go somewhere to have fun, he would say, “I only have Friday. You go. I can't come because I'm very tired and I don't have enough time for fun.” He always made excuses. Talking to me, he would say, "Mother, where should one go to have fun when one has no money?" When he would return home from work, he would not sleep until 10 o'clock at night. When the 10 pm news hour was over, he would have a chat with his father and then go to sleep.

My son had many dreams but in his life, he never achieved any of them. He got engaged to his cousin almost three months before his death, but this dream never came true and he left us alone, filled with sorrow. On the day of the demonstration, before he left home, he took a bath, put on his clean pants and blouse, said goodbye to me, and then he left the house. I did not know that he was going to attend the demonstration because when I asked where he was going, he said he was going to work and would not take part in the demonstration. The night before, he had talked to his cousin and friends until 11:00 p.m. and encouraged them to participate in the 23rd July demonstration. He went with his cousin. At lunchtime, his cousin went to have lunch, but Zaki did not join him. He spoke with me until 1 pm; he even said we should do something to get Zia released. I didn't know when the incident happened. His aunt called me and asked if my sons were home. I said everyone was at home except Zaki who is at work. His cousin and aunt knew that he had gone to Dehmazang. Following the suicide bombing, his cousins and aunt left their house to look for Zaki. When they called me, they only mentioned Zaki's name and then hung up the phone. I kept calling them, but they did not answer the phone.

A few minutes later, my daughter received a message. She told me, “Mother, Zainab says Zaki does not answer her calls, I am worried.” My little son and I left the house and visited Zaki's workplace. The owner of the shop, who was Zaki’s boss, said, “He did not come to work today.” I saw my nephew leave the shop, and asked him, “Hamid Jan, did Zaki come to the shop today?” He told me, “To be honest, today Zaki did not come to work.” My nephew stopped his car in front of the shop and said, “Aunty, come and get in my car.” He dropped us off at Kot-e-Sangi. His father who was a porter had gone to work that day. My nephew called Zaki's father and said, “Uncle, get home.” My husband, Zaki’s cousins, and I all searched for Zaki until 2:30 am. I saw martyrs, but my son was not among them. We searched all the hospitals until almost 3 in the morning, but did not find my son. So we returned home. After taking a cup of tea, the others rested for a bit, while I offered prayer. My husband and his nephew also stayed up till dawn. Then early in the morning, his father and I went to visit Abul Fazl pilgrimage and returned home.

His father asked Zaki's sister, “What was Zaki wearing yesterday?” She said he was wearing a blouse with English writing on it and white pants. That night, his father knew that Zaki was martyred, but he didn't tell me anything and told me that he was arrested and imprisoned by the police. Together, we left the house for Wazir Muhammad Akbar Khan Hospital. Everyone already knew my son had been martyred. When we arrived at the hospital, his father did not enter. I was waiting a little further away. When I noticed everyone's unusual condition, I started crying. Zaki's cousin informed my husband of my son's martyrdom when he came out of the hospital building. My husband started beating himself when he heard the news. My other nephew grabbed my husband’s clothes and tried to console him, and said, “Uncle it is a lie; Zaki is alive.” I was in a terrible condition; I was screaming and crying. My two sisters who were with us held my arms and tried to calm me down. I was crying and telling them that I will find my Zaki, he cannot be dead.

One of the soldiers felt sorry for me and said, “Your son is wounded; you are not allowed to meet him, please calm down.” I kept screaming and crying. I checked the list but could not find Zaki’s name. Together with my sister, we went to another section of the hospital. When I entered, there were too many martyrs. My son was not among them. They had printed pictures of the martyrs. Looking at all those young martyrs, I too hit myself and then I fainted.

When I came to, they had laid me on the grass and were pouring water on me to bring me back to consciousness. When they noticed my distress, one of the soldiers asked for martyr Zaki to be brought to his mother. We took him to the mosque first to give him a bath. In the mosque, I learned that his head and back were injured and he was bleeding severely. One of his sisters didn't know about Zaki's martyrdom, she was still at home. When she heard, she cried a lot. Even now, when I remember our terrible, difficult living conditions, my heart burns, thinking that my son did not live a good life. He said to his father, “You should not work as a porter anymore; you have done enough.” His father always takes painkillers before going to sleep due to the huge loads he carries in his job. He used to tell his father, “I wish I had enough money to treat you.” He always said, “Mother, I wish to continue my studies so that the future will change for all of us.” But his wish was not realized.

Zaki studied up to 12th grade but could not continue his education because of economic problems. First, he was an apprentice at a carpet weaving workshop, then he started doing metal work. One day, he injured his eye while working with an electric wire and screwdriver, and lost his eyesight in that eye. He would always say he could not do manual work because of his eyesight. He believed he had to study so he could change his life. He was very fond of sports and played football with his friends. He participated in the demonstration to defend the rights of his people and said that the people’s rights should not be violated.

Since my son was martyred, I have not been feeling well; I have become forgetful. His sister, who was close to Zaki, doesn't cry. She doesn’t even talk about her brother, she just says, “I should eat pepper to forget Zaki's sorrow.” The night before the incident, when Khalili withdrew from the demonstration, Zaki was very angry and said Khalili abused his own people by leaving them alone like this. After his martyrdom, Khalili went to everyone's house to offer Fatiha, but he did not come to our house. Mohaqeq came to our house and this made us happy. My husband said, “Khalili, despite being from my tribe, did not visit us and did not offer Fatiha for my son, I will never forget this and it hurt me.” Zaki was a kind-hearted boy. We buried him in Pul Khashak cemetery. And so long as I remain alive, we will follow in his pathway, will not sit quietly, and will raise his voice. We thank you for remembering the families of the martyrs and keeping the memories of our martyrs alive.

On July 23, 2016, two suicide bombers denoted their explosives among the protesters at Dehmazang Square in Kabul, the capital city of Afghanistan. The protesters, who were primarily Hazaras, were part of the Enlightenment Movement. They were protesting against the diversion of the TUTAP mega power project which would cause the project to bypass Hazara-dominated areas. At least 84 protesters lost their lives and 260-400 others were injured. The Islamic State of Khorasan Province (ISKP), the regional branch of ISIS, took credit for the attack. However, ISKP later refuted their involvement in the attack.

The Enlightenment Movement, also known as Junbesh-e Roshnayie, was a grassroots civil disobedience movement started by Hazaras in Afghanistan in response to a change in the Fichtner GmbH & Co. KG proposed Energy Supply Improvement Investment Program, unofficially called TUTAP project plans. The change in the project plans would cause it to bypass Hazara regions. The move was seen as perpetuating long-standing anti-Hazara discrimination. Throughout 2016 and 2017, the Enlightenment Movement coordinated large-scale demonstrations against discrimination both domestically in Afghanistan and abroad.

No statement

On July 23, 2016, two suicide bombers denoted their explosives among the protesters at Dehmazang Square in Kabul, the capital city of Afghanistan. The protesters, who were primarily Hazaras, were part of the Enlightenment Movement. They were protesting against the diversion of the TUTAP mega power project which would cause the project to bypass Hazara-dominated areas. At least 84 protesters lost their lives and 260-400 others were injured. The Islamic State of Khorasan Province (ISKP), the regional branch of ISIS, took credit for the attack. However, ISKP later refuted their involvement in the attack.

The Enlightenment Movement, also known as Junbesh-e Roshnayie, was a grassroots civil disobedience movement started by Hazaras in Afghanistan in response to a change in the Fichtner GmbH & Co. KG proposed Energy Supply Improvement Investment Program, unofficially called TUTAP project plans. The change in the project plans would cause it to bypass Hazara regions. The move was seen as perpetuating long-standing anti-Hazara discrimination. Throughout 2016 and 2017, the Enlightenment Movement coordinated large-scale demonstrations against discrimination both domestically in Afghanistan and abroad.

Because of the Severe Shock, He Completely Lost His Nerve

Narrator: Mohammad Reza Nazar (cousin)

Victim: Khodadad Karimi

Date of the incident: 23 July 2016

Location of the incident: Dehmazang, Kabul City

On the day of the demonstration, I was unable to go to Dehmzang due to my university exams. However, after finishing my exam, I decided to join my friends who were already there. Since I had a car, I drove towards Dehmazang. However, because of the large crowd, they did not allow me to cross the main road, so I tried to take a side road instead. As I began driving, I heard a loud explosion. It frightened me, so I immediately stopped the car.

People were running and I couldn't move my car. I left the car door open to be able to escape if the situation worsened. After two explosions, the sound of bullets gradually became silent. Some people were leaving the area while others returned to help the wounded and martyrs. I joined a group of people and we made our way to the explosion site. It was a terrible day, with many people injured and killed in Dehmazang Square. I tried contacting my friends to ensure they were safe, but some of their phones were switched off. To name one, Aref Shaygan's phone was off, and Mr. Mohammed Hossein Saramed did not answer my calls. The only person who responded was Mr. Jalil Tajlil. He arrived at Degmazang and together, we went to help the wounded. I took some of the injured to the hospital in my car. Later, I went to the hospital to visit one of my friends who was injured. At that point, I had no information about the martyrdom or injuries of Khodadad Karimi. A friend of mine called to inform us that two people from Patu had been martyred and were in Aliabad Hospital. At the time, I only knew about the martyrdom of Inayatullah Asil. It was only later that I found out that Arif Shaygan had also been seriously injured.

As I was about to head to the hospital in Aliabad, I received a call from an unknown number. The caller asked, "Who are you?" I was surprised and introduced myself. The caller then asked, "What is your relationship with Khudadad Karimi?" I replied, "He is my cousin." To verify my identity, the caller gave me his details. I became very worried and asked if something had happened to him. The caller replied, "Unfortunately, he has been martyred." I was shocked to hear this news and didn't know what to do. The only thing on my mind at that moment was that he was the sole breadwinner of his poor family, and I wondered what they would do now. Together with Khaliq Azad and other friends, we headed to Aliabad Hospital. I dropped them off and then went to Imam Ali Mosque.

When the incident occurred in Dehmazang, he was seriously injured. His friends took him first to Aliabad Hospital, but unfortunately, he was martyred soon after and later taken to the mosque. My mental state was terrible; I called all my friends and acquaintances to inform them of this tragic event.

We consulted with our other friends, and we decided that it was best to inform his family because his mother had already been informed that he was seriously injured. His mother had gone to the hospital herself, but his father was seriously ill and had not noticed his son's martyrdom due to his mental and emotional problems. Two days later, he found out that Khodadad had been martyred. When his father heard the news, he cried a lot and completely lost his nerve due to the shock.

Khodadad was the sole breadwinner of his family, and his siblings were young. Additionally, his father was already disabled. After his martyrdom, his two children were enrolled in Marefat High School and Pegah High School without paying any fees. According to a person who was with Khodadad when the incident happened, it was during lunchtime, and some people had gone to eat while others were sitting in the square and enjoying their lunch. Khodadad was standing when the explosion occurred. The two people who were sitting down were safe, but unfortunately, Khodadad was martyred and his body was severely damaged. As his family did not have the financial resources, we covered the expenses of his Fatiha and memorial ceremony.

On July 23, 2016, two suicide bombers denoted their explosives among the protesters at Dehmazang Square in Kabul, the capital city of Afghanistan. The protesters, who were primarily Hazaras, were part of the Enlightenment Movement. They were protesting against the diversion of the TUTAP mega power project which would cause the project to bypass Hazara-dominated areas. At least 84 protesters lost their lives and 260-400 others were injured. The Islamic State of Khorasan Province (ISKP), the regional branch of ISIS, took credit for the attack. However, ISKP later refuted their involvement in the attack.

The Enlightenment Movement, also known as Junbesh-e Roshnayie, was a grassroots civil disobedience movement started by Hazaras in Afghanistan in response to a change in the Fichtner GmbH & Co. KG proposed Energy Supply Improvement Investment Program, unofficially called TUTAP project plans. The change in the project plans would cause it to bypass Hazara regions. The move was seen as perpetuating long-standing anti-Hazara discrimination. Throughout 2016 and 2017, the Enlightenment Movement coordinated large-scale demonstrations against discrimination both domestically in Afghanistan and abroad.

No statement

On July 23, 2016, two suicide bombers denoted their explosives among the protesters at Dehmazang Square in Kabul, the capital city of Afghanistan. The protesters, who were primarily Hazaras, were part of the Enlightenment Movement. They were protesting against the diversion of the TUTAP mega power project which would cause the project to bypass Hazara-dominated areas. At least 84 protesters lost their lives and 260-400 others were injured. The Islamic State of Khorasan Province (ISKP), the regional branch of ISIS, took credit for the attack. However, ISKP later refuted their involvement in the attack.

The Enlightenment Movement, also known as Junbesh-e Roshnayie, was a grassroots civil disobedience movement started by Hazaras in Afghanistan in response to a change in the Fichtner GmbH & Co. KG proposed Energy Supply Improvement Investment Program, unofficially called TUTAP project plans. The change in the project plans would cause it to bypass Hazara regions. The move was seen as perpetuating long-standing anti-Hazara discrimination. Throughout 2016 and 2017, the Enlightenment Movement coordinated large-scale demonstrations against discrimination both domestically in Afghanistan and abroad.

It Is Our People’s Right to Have Electricity

Narrator: Nasrin (wife)

Victim: Amir Mohammad Rahimi

Date of the incident: 23 July 2016

Location of the incident: Dehmazang, Kabul City

In the name of God,

I am Nasrin, the wife of the martyr Amir Mohammad. I have 5 children, two girls and three boys. We come from Bamiyan Province, in the district of Shibar, from Shanbal Village. We currently live in Kabul. Amir Mohammad was 45-years-old when he was martyred. However, I found out his age was recorded as older than that on his Tazkira (National ID Card).

Hamed, The Martyr’s Son:

My father was born in Kabul in 1970. He attended the Asif Mayil High School in Qala Nazer up to the 12th grade. My father had very good manners and morals and always encouraged us to do good deeds.

The Martyr's wife:

He studied up to the 12th grade. After that, he did not continue with his studies because of his difficult financial situation, and he started working. Sixteen years had passed since our marriage. He behaved very well with everyone and was a sociable and friendly person. He was very benevolent and calm. At home, he treated me and my children well. He always told us that we should defend our rights. Before the 23rd July demonstration, he would go to Mosala to participate in social events, especially those related to the Movement. He used to participate in the early meetings of the Movement and when he came home, he would talk about the right of our people. He used to say: “Electricity is a right of our people and we will stand up against the government if it violates our rights.”

He was self-employed. In the winter season, he worked with his cousin who had a store, selling Turkish stoves in Qala-e Nazer. My husband was literate and his cousin was illiterate, that's why he managed the finances of his cousin’s store. His cousin was the store owner and Amir Mohammad managed the store’s financial affairs. His dream was for his children to get an education. He was always kind at home and believed that there should not be a tense environment at home when life was already so difficult. When the issue of the 23rd July demonstration came up, I did not consent to him going to Dehmazang. I told him I did not want him taking part in the demonstration because an attack might happen. He answered, “We belong to this land and it is the right of our people to have access to electricity. We must defend the rights of our people and stand up against injustice.”

Hamed, The Martyr’s Son:

At first, it was decided that he would not go and take part in the demonstration. We tried to prevent my father from going, but his enthusiasm and his love for the people made him go to Dehmazang. We were watching the Dehmzang demonstration live on TV when the suicide attack happened. We immediately called my father to know where he was. He said he was in Dehmzang and had been injured. He was taken to Imam Ali Hospital. We got to the hospital. Since it was very crowded at this hospital and it was not possible for the staff to take care of all the patients, we transferred him to the Imam Zaman Hospital in Barchi.

The Martyr's wife:

His back was wounded, but he was not hurt severely. When we took him to the Imam Zaman Hospital, the doctor could not operate on him properly. At first, we didn't notice anything. But after a few days, his condition worsened. He suddenly had a seizure. We took him to the Rahel Hospital. They explained that all the fluid in his head was leaking into his body, and this was causing a problem with the lack of fluid in his brain. He was operated on again, but did not recover. The bullet had hit his back, but his spinal cord was not hurt.

Hamed, The Martyr’s Son:

First, we took him to Naser Khosrow Hospital. They told us there was a good specialist at the Imam Zaman Hospital in Barchi who could operate on the wounded, that's why we took him there and the doctor at this hospital operated on him.

The Martyr's wife:

When we visited him, Amir Mohammad said, "A police pick-up truck came in Dehmazang and I got on the back of the truck.” There were other wounded with him and that is how he got to the hospital.

Hamed, The Martyr’s Son:

At that time, his condition was not so serious. His legs were hurt, one leg was fractured, but it was not severe. In the Square, he wanted to find my cousin who was there at the demonstration, but he could not find him, and so he managed to get into the pick-up truck and get to hospital.

The Martyr's wife:

We took him to another hospital. Following the surgical operation, his legs stopped moving. Before the first operation, his leg was simply fractured due to the blast that had thrown him onto the ground. The doctor was dishonest; he didn't tell us before the operation that he didn't have the ability to perform the surgery. It would have been better if we could have transferred him to a better hospital or take him to Pakistan or India for the operation. After the operation, Amir Mohammad remained in a coma for four days. He never again opened his eyes. He repeatedly had seizures, and his brain fluid leaked through his back. He was hospitalized for four days in Rahel Hospital.

Hamed, The Martyr’s Son:

Preparations were made for taking him to India; we wanted to take him abroad for treatment, but he died before that could happen.

The Martyr's wife:

After my husband’s martyrdom/death, I went to the doctor to file a complaint. I asked him why he had performed such a critical operation when he lacked the know-how. He had nothing to say. When he met me, he held his head down; he was clearly embarrassed. I said to the doctor that he should have told us to take him to India or Pakistan for treatment. “Why did you do something that was beyond your ability?” Every time he examined my husband, he said, “It is okay, let this fluid come out of his body, because this is pus.” White fluid like milk came out of his back. Sometimes he could not straighten himself up easily; his back could sometimes not move. My husband died because of the negligence of this doctor. His leg was slightly fractured in the incident, and if the operation had not been done in that hospital, he could still be alive today.

I will never forgive this doctor because he ruined our life. After my husband’s martyrdom, my brother-in-law has been helping us because my son has to go to school; he can’t work. Now we have no other choice. God took my husband from us and we cannot do anything other than remain patient.

I ask the government to pay attention to the families of the Martyrs. The independent human rights commission should investigate this crime. My children are all young; my youngest son is just three years old. Now they are helpless. Their uncle can only help us for one year. The economic situation in the entire country is already bad without one family having to support another family for a long time. Since my children are young, I can't work and leave them alone. So, if there is any sewing or embroidery opportunity that I can do from home, I will definitely start working. My children must get an education and have a bright future.

On July 23, 2016, two suicide bombers denoted their explosives among the protesters at Dehmazang Square in Kabul, the capital city of Afghanistan. The protesters, who were primarily Hazaras, were part of the Enlightenment Movement. They were protesting against the diversion of the TUTAP mega power project which would cause the project to bypass Hazara-dominated areas. At least 84 protesters lost their lives and 260-400 others were injured. The Islamic State of Khorasan Province (ISKP), the regional branch of ISIS, took credit for the attack. However, ISKP later refuted their involvement in the attack.

The Enlightenment Movement, also known as Junbesh-e Roshnayie, was a grassroots civil disobedience movement started by Hazaras in Afghanistan in response to a change in the Fichtner GmbH & Co. KG proposed Energy Supply Improvement Investment Program, unofficially called TUTAP project plans. The change in the project plans would cause it to bypass Hazara regions. The move was seen as perpetuating long-standing anti-Hazara discrimination. Throughout 2016 and 2017, the Enlightenment Movement coordinated large-scale demonstrations against discrimination both domestically in Afghanistan and abroad.

No statement

On October 24, 2020, around 4:30 p.m., a suicide bomber detonated an explosive device inside the Kawsar-e Danish Educational Center in the western area of Kabul City's PD-13 neighbourhood in the Pol-e-Khoshk District. The educational institute provided coaching for high school students preparing for university entrance exams. The attack resulted in the deaths of at least 43 students. 72 others were injured. The attack occurred in a primarily Hazara neighbourhood in Dasht-e-Barchi; the majority of students attending the tuition centre were Hazara. The Islamic State of Khorasan Province (IS-KP) claimed responsibility for the attack.

The Shoes Were the Same but His Face Had Turned Pale

Narrator: Jan Ali Yousofi (victim’s cousin)

Victim: Mustafa Anwari Date of the incident: 24 October 2020

Location of the incident: District 13, Kabul City, Pul-e Khoshk, Dasht-e Barchi, Kausar Danesh Educational Center

I am Jan Ali Yousofi, cousin of martyr Mustafa, from Ghazni Province, Malestan District, Paye Jolga Village in Pashi. I spent almost my entire life with Mustafa. I believe Mustafa was born on November 3rd, 2002. Martyr Mustafa would have graduated this year from high school. He had come to Kabul to prepare for the entrance exam. Mustafa's father lived with his family in the countryside, in our village, Paye Jolga, Pashi, while my family lives in Kabul. Mustafa was considered a member of both our family and when he came to Kabul, he lived in our house.

The last time he came to prepare for the entrance exam - his initial trips to Kabul were for foundational courses since the education quality is not good in the countryside — he lived in our house while he attended classes. But lately because of the number of guests in our house, he said it would be better for him to live somewhere else to ensure he stayed focused on his studies. It had been less than two months since he rented a room for himself to live with his friends, who also attended the same classes. Mustafa would only visit our house on Thursdays and Fridays.

Coincidentally, he was at our house that last Friday, the day before the incident took place. He had been away for a long time, about two weeks, and we all missed him. When he came home, I was mad at him and jokingly slapped him on the back, asking why he hadn't visited us. I told him he had forgotten home and only cared about his studies. Mustafa had become a different person compared to his last visits. He had become handsome. He came to our home on Friday, and on that same night, a Saturday night, at around 4 pm, I was supposed to go somewhere and I noticed his hair. It was so beautiful. I could not imagine Mustafa looking like that. I picked up my mobile phone and asked him if he had found a girlfriend. It was just a joke between us. I told him to let me take a photo of him. I insisted, but he did not allow me to.

The next morning, I went to work and he stayed at our home until noon. He had helped with house chores like washing carpets. He had been reluctant to go, but did not want to miss classes even for one day. That is why he got such good marks.

He left the house at 1 pm to attend classes. It was about 4 pm on Saturday, October 24th, and I was on my way back from Kot-e Sangi where I had some business to do. On the way, I heard there has been an explosion. I thought it was an explosion somewhere far from us; nobody imagined it would impact us so much.

People said the explosion had happened at the entry of the Kawsar Danesh Educational Center. They said the suicide attack did not cause too many fatalities. I felt somewhat hopeful, not wanting to imagine the worst but my brain was frozen. I received a call from home. They asked me to call Mustafa to see why his phone did not connect. It rang but nobody picked it up. I became worried, thinking about why Mustafa would not pick up his phone when he had used this phone number for two or three years. I called and someone said it was his phone, not Mustafa’s. He told me his name and said he was a friend of Mustafa. He said Mustafa was inside the center but they were far from each other and he did not know more about Mustafa.

It took me a long time to get there; the roads were closed and I got down in Tanke Tel and walked the rest of the way up to the entrance of the Center. The situation was horrible; many cars were being used to transport the wounded and killed and many people were gathered there. I wanted to get inside but someone said there is a chance of a second explosion. So, we all ran away and then came back. My brother arrived and we decided to check the hospitals, Imam Zaman, Alimi, Imam Ali, Imam Reza, Sayed ul-Shohada, Watan Hospital, etc. We found him nowhere. In Watan hospital, we saw one of Mustafa’s friends who was wounded. He had a minor injury but it made me sad when I saw him. I kissed and comforted him. I was crying for Mustafa but was happy the boy had survived. We then visited Muhammad Ali Jinnah Hospital and checked the martyrs and wounded lists. Mustafa’s name was on none. There were some corpses left in the waiting hall. I could not imagine that Mustafa could be one of those.

I got a taxi to go to the Emergency Hospital and three or four other hospitals to check the deceased. I was arriving at the Emergency Hospital when I received a call and was told Mustafa had been located. I asked if he was okay, and they said yes. Drowned in fear and anxiety, I left. On the way back, someone called and told me to return. I asked again about Mustafa; he answered “you will know.” I was anxious and shaking. I suspected something was wrong and he might have been caught in the attack. Upon return, when I saw Mustafa, I was shocked. I could not believe it when they said it was Mustafa. The person who was with me yesterday at 4 pm was now laying on the ground. I guess it was around 8:30pm when we found Mustafa. There was another relative of ours, Martyr Maleka, you have interviewed their family members as well. They said she was in the emergency section but she was doing well.

Well, when we arrived at the hospital, we saw a scene that I could not believe. It was around 10 pm, I tried to keep our relatives searching, as my brain could not accept this was Mustafa. But his shoes were the same and his face had turned pale. Mustafa used to be brown. His hair, as we call it in Hazargi, had turned into ashes because it was burnt. In short, my mind could not accept that it was our Mustafa.

That night, we discussed what to do. The road to our village was very dangerous, most parts are controlled by the Taliban, especially Dasht-e Qarabagh, nicknamed the 'doomed desert.' We were exploring other options but his parents said he should be sent to his hometown. They didn't want to let me go with his body, as they said the road was too dangerous and I was young. Considering my education and my age, they did not allow me to join. It was three o'clock in the morning when my parents left Kabul to take our martyr to his hometown. They arrived at Mustafa’s village by 4 pm on October the 25th and buried him.

It is so hard to talk about this incident. He was 18, in 12th grade. That was a sad part of Mustafa’s life. I will share my point of view about Mustafa. When he was 10 or 12, we lived together. We lived and ate together in our village. We shared whatever we had. My uncle and my father were very close.

Mustafa began school in 7th grade. When I was at home, I was his teacher. My uncle had two sons: Mustafa and Murtaza, who was two years younger. He also has a daughter, Zahra, but she is married. So, I was homeschooling his three kids and a child of my other uncle. Apart from homeschooling, they also went to school and the mosque. So, I developed a close relationship with Mustafa. I could say there have been occasions when he would have loved me more than his father, as I was also giving him freedom when his father did not, like playing football. He was a kid and he had to do what he liked.

For instance, in April 2020, I visited the village with my family during quarantine. During this visit, I taught him how to drive a motorcycle. His father had previously not allowed him to do it, out of care and love for him. I taught him secretly during my two week stay there. When I was in the village, he spent most of his time with me. We worked together with my uncle.

So, the relationship I had with Mustafa was close. It is so painful and I am hurt to loose such a person with whom I had a sincere relationship. Mustafa had two brothers and four sisters. My uncle had seven children. Now that Mustafa is gone, two sons are left, one of his daughters is married and three daughters are at home. My uncle would take Mustafa to work after school. Parents are not be able to earn a livelihood without their children’s help. As they raise livestock and cows, it requires a lot of work. Mustafa was his father's main support; he was the one who could help his father. As a teacher, he could only earn 7 or 8 thousand AFN. Most of the time, it included payments such as overtime. This was all his monthly income and he had to feed the entire family.

Mustafa was his second child. His first child was his married daughter. Before his daughter got married, she could work. In the countryside, girls do a lot of heavy work. There is a lot to be done. He could ask Mustafa to collect the livestock feed, do that work, serve as his messenger, and so on. His father could handle the rest of his work with peace of mind. His father also served as an Imam in the winter in a village that required him to walk for two hours or more. During this period, Mustafa would be the caretaker of the house. His father served the entire winter season to earn 15 000 AFN. The job required him to stay in that remote area and could only visit home during weekends. This heavy reliance on Mustafa also explains why his death is such a huge suffering. Truly huge. His father has aged suddenly. As he is a clergy and he does not want to show his feelings. Furthermore, because he has so many people dependant on him, he does not want to show any sign of grief, but in his heart... The truth is that he is weaker now, physically and mentally.

Whenever we talk to his mother, she is crying. Mustafa’s mother and the rest of the family members, including the children, are hurt even more. For example, his younger brother does not dare visit Kabul. We ask him to come here to go to school or on vacation but he does not dare to do it. This is because residents of Kabul go through such attacks on a daily basis. Think about the attack that happened there the other day, it was some 500 meters away from my brother. This may seem normal to us but they see Kabul as a monster. A burnt child dreads the fire.

Another good thing about Mustafa was that, like me, he was passionate about teaching his mother and siblings at home. His little sister and brother are top performers at school. All children of my uncle have attended school, except the youngest one who is yet to enrol in school. She has learned Farsi well though she has not been to school. At the mosque, they study one entire book in the winter season; they have sharp minds. Mustaf had the biggest impact on the younger children. He was the home school teacher; he taught his mother who was illiterate. Now, she can read thanks to Mustafa.

In terms of mental and psychological effects, it is true that God takes away the good ones. He was a good one. He would help at home and teach family members. His father is a clergy. Clergies are very traditional-minded. He did not allow his elder daughter to go to school. Mustafa had to insist and now, she is studying at Herat University. This shows what a positive influence Mustafa was.

Well, such incidents are common in Afghanistan; we have been affected by losing my cousin and other young people. You can’t control your emotions when you lose an educated man with whom you had a close relationship. Following this incident, there is something in my mind. It may be wrong but I strongly hate the Muhammad Ali Jinnah Hospital. I know, I ask myself how this hate benefits me, the hospital has not done anything to me, this is what criminals have done to us. But I witnessed the most horrible scene of my life in that place and I cant get it out of my mind. When I pass by the hospital in a vehicle, I look away. This is because of the image it created in my mind on that particular night. I don’t remember what happened but the family members say I passed out. It was so hard for me to accept that it was Mustafa. It was only his shoes that made me think it was him but my brain could not process it. For three days, I could not believe it was Mustafa.

As an educated person, I should understand things. I have done my best to understand that such things could happen in anybody’s life. My brain tells me to admit that but it has changed my life. After the incident at Sayed ul-Shohada, I had spooky dreams for two nights in a row and I am taken back to the Kawsar Danesh attack. Before, I was not affected by such event. For instance, in the Enlightenment Movement, I lost a student, and it impacted me too. It was painful for me to be out of the country when the incident happened. Then, losing Mustafa made me suffer so much that it reminded me of my student and made me feel that I did not grieve enough for him. Now the Kawsar Danesh attack is a link that connects me to so many other attacks.

I have studied and graduated from the Chinese language and literature department at Kabul University. I got my Master’s degree from China and for about three years, I worked at Marefat High School as head of the Academy of Languages. So, my profession is education. So, when a man with a higher education degree and with work experience in the education sector goes through this level of mental pressure, how would a mother with a simple living experience cope with it? I mean, I am trying to understand the reality in Afghanistan that it is not only our Mustafa but there are hundreds of thousands of Mustafas in Afghanistan who go through the same experience every day. But a mother whose entire life is dedicated to her children, home, and living condition, how could she cope with it?

I am coping with mental pressures and I find it difficult. As an educated man, I do not expect people to come and comfort me in this situation. On the financial help matter, the government and some institutions have provided assistance. I have transferred every single penny of the assistance to my uncle, whether in cash or in goods. I have followed up on all the assistance for my uncle. This is the government’s responsibility but the government has failed to provide security for the people in Afghanistan, the same way they failed to protect Kawsar Danesh. Afghanistan Human Rights and Democracy Organization’s continued efforts have given me hope. There have been some other organizations that provided some support. More importantly, I am optimistic about the association of families of Kawsar Danesh victims; they sometimes hold meetings. There are some friends at the association of families of Kawsar Danesh victims who leave no stone unturned so people don’t forget the incident. What is significant to me is to act responsibly towards the wishes and needs of the victims and follow up on the matter. That gives me hope, even if we don’t see the fruition of our efforts. That gives me a sense of calmness. Every martyr of Kawsar Danesh incident has been like Mustafa who had high ambitions.

Well, they say they are investigating the attack. I suppose the president or someone else issues an instruction to investigate the incident; that is it. They have not told us who was behind the attack. Was it ISIS, the Taliban, a circle within the government, or someone else? They have not determined that. The government suffers from shortcomings. If the government shows us who was behind the attack, and what they did in response, for example, caught, imprisoned or hanged someone or launched an airstrike, we would be reassured; we will tell Mustafa he can rest in peace now, he is no less than a martyr who loses his life in the battlefield because he fought in the educational front and they were in the war. He did not give up and my soul is tranquil because the government took action for his loss.

The current situation could be interpreted as Mustafa growing up like a plant, a storm came and uprooted the plant, and no one asks how the storm happened or whether it was controllable. If it was not controllable, what actions are taken to prevent other plants from falling?

We come from the same clan as Maleka Ibrahimi’s family but are not closely familiar with them. We come from the same area; we hold joint ceremonies, like Fatiha, and we share the same local association. I wish no more attacks like this happen. May there be no family going through our experience. We may not have suffered so much if we had lost someone else. Looking from different aspects, I first hope the incident does not happen to anybody else and may the wickedness of perpetrators get back to their own. Enough is enough. They must keep the security of western Kabul where such incidents are happening again and again. If not more is being done, they should, at least, improve the security situation in western Kabul. Other regions do not see as many attacks; there could be some magnetic bombs as result of personal rivalries. The concern is about these incidents happening again, such as the attack on Sayed ul-Shohada High School. I wish the government and our people get the ability to restore peace and prevent such horrific attacks and people like Mustafa who have hopes and talent accomplish their dreams. Mustafa had such a unique talent that he learned three books in a winter season. We spent three to four years learning Hafiz; he completed Quran, Hafiz, and Panj Ketab in a single winter. Afghanistan should not lose such talents; we should not lose anybody, irrespective of their talent. Such incidents should never repeat themselves.

آنطوریکه راوی داستان حسن یعنی خدیجه عزیزی میگوید حادثه برای آنها نامعلوم است و قبر حسن هم نامعلوم است.

مردگیش درگ نداره راوی: خدیجه عزیزی (دختر کاکا) قربانی: حسن زمان حادثه: ۱۳۷۷ مکان حادثه: مزار شریف [نامم] جدیجه [و تخلصم] عزیزی [است] آری. [شهید نامش] حسن [است]. پسر کاکایم می‌شد و ایورم. یگان ۲۵ ساله بود که شهید شد. در خود یکاولنگ، در قریه زارین متولد شده بود. [حسن] غریب کار بود دهقانی نمی‌کرد، گاهی وقت دهقانی هم می‌کرد، مقصد کار می‌کرد در شهر ملک‌ها کار می‌کرد. گاهی به مزار می‌رفت گاهی به کابل، بامیان [برای کار کردن می‌رفت]. [محل شهادتش] مزار [شریف است]. حسن وقتی که به شهادت رسید همرایش یک بچه خاله‌اش و یک بچه عمه من یک بچه تغه/طغه من هم بود همه‌اش در مزار غرق شدند. 1 [در حمله طالبان به مزارشریف] شهید شد. کارگری، آری در مزار برای کارگری رفته بود. [حادثه] سرِبهار بود، آری سربهار. [همان سال ۱۳۷۷] البته، من آنقدرش را نمی‌فهمم. نه، درس نخوانده بود فقط یک سیاهی خوان بود، درس نخوانده بود. آری [خانه‌اش در] سرآسیاب بود. نه، نه قبرش سرگُم رفت ما ندیدیم. (نامفهوم) ما دیدیم که شهید شد، خیلی کسان [دیگر هم شهید شد] همان بچه خاله‌شی همین بچه عمه من همین‌ها هیچ مردگی‌اش درک ندارد. خیلی دیر بعد قوم‌ها جمع شد گفت ما به چشم خود دیدیم کشته شد. آری گفتند طالب‌ها کشته بچُوم که چه رقم کشته. خبر داشتیم یک عکس سیاه و سفید از کابل روان کرده بود، همینطور یگان نشانی روان می‌کرد احوالش را یگان دکاندار می‌آورد، گاهی خودش می‌آمد. تیرماه [خبر شدیم] و پدر و مادرش را شنواندیم. مادرش سهو شد از آن پس خیلی دیوانگی می‌کرد، گپ‌های ایله کاله می‌گفت بیچاره. آری از خاطر همان [مرگ نوجوانش] آب یخ می‌خورد دیگر چیزی خورده نمی‌توانست. بیخی شب در خانه نمی‌آمد روز تا بیگاه و شب تا صبح را می‌گشت و می‌گفت دلم سرخ می‌آید؛ همینطور می‌گشت بیچاره. پدرش خوب بود، غنیمت بود به اندازهٔ مادرش کُوتو نمی‌کرد. [وقتی پدر و مادرش را خبر کردند بعد از آن آنها هیچ سرقبرش نرفتند چون] او گم شد، هیچ قبر نداشت. خیلی آدم خوبی بود، کارگر بود، زحمتکش بود، یگان کَرَد می‌آورد، ما خیلی... آنطور که... گاه چیز نبود یک روغن نباتی ایلفی بود در همان دوره، برنج پرمل بود، کار که می‌کرد از آنها به ما می‌آورد، خوب بود، خیلی بچه قاش‌واز بود. خانه نمی‌نشست. آنجا کار کردن می‌رفت، گاهی غزنی می‌رفت، گاهی کابل گاهی بامیان. آری مجرد بود، خانه دار نبود. دایم او را ازبک می‌گفت، سید و هزاره به نام اوزبک می‌شناخت، قد بنلد داشت و خوبشی بود. او دایم کوله پکول سر می‌کرد. پَک گُم شد. یکدانه قاشق داشت، قاشق قدیمی ارمنه که از او بود. یک ساعتش تا بعدها بود [اما] خراب، اگر بچه‌ها بیرون نینداخته باشند. [پدرش] آری دو سال شده فوت کرده، مادرش یک دو سال پیش [از پدرش فوت کرد] یعنی چهار سال می‌شود. آری [مادرش تا آخر عمر] یادش را می‌کرد. مادرش از همان خاطر مریض شد، پای درد شد، کم فکر شد، خیلی کم فکر شد. آری [وقتی زنده بود با پدرش خرج خانه را فراهم می‌کردند]. پدرش که ماند هم در گردن او(شوهر خدیجه عزیزی) بود و مادرش هم. زیاد نفر که قتل شد هیچ کس هم جستجو نتوانست که پیدا شود، از هیچ کس پیدا نشد. نه، نه هیچ چیزی نگفت [روزی که طرف مزار می‌رفت] او که می‌رفت از دشت می‌رفت و هیچ در قصه‌اش هم نبود که خبر کنم یا نکنم هیچ در غمش نبود، می‌رفت همانطور. آری [نترس بود] هیچ در غمش نبود. ما آنجا را ندیدیم، می‌گفتیم کجایه؟ [می‌گفتند] کابله! کابل را ندیدیم، مزار را همین حالا هم ندیده‌ام، کابل را هم آنطور ندیدیم یک بار همانطور گذری رفتیم. می‌رفت همانجا، ما دیگه سیاسریم ندیدیم که کجا می‌رود یا نمی‌رود. باز می‌آمد، می‌رفت، قدیم یک خط می‌آمد. تلفن نبود، نه برق بود نه تلفن بود هیچ چیز هم نبود. در اول [حکومت] کرزی جنراتور پیدا شد که برق آمد. خانه که می‌آمد هیچ قصه نمی‌کرد، هیچ چیز نمی‌گفت.

On August 7, 2015, an attack occurred in the Shah Shahid area of Kabul. Many houses and shops were destroyed in the attack. At least 15 people died and more than 400 others were injured.

The Curse of Incidents Always Hit the Poor

In the dark midnight, all were sleeping. That night when the explosion took place, I imagined our home upside down. Those scenes of horror and darkness still haunt my dreams. In the dark, I tried to move and look for my family members to see who was fine and who was injured, but I couldn’t get up and move. Then I noticed that my leg felt wet. I was injured by broken glass from my house. I had lost one leg in 1989 in mine explosion. This time, my other leg was injured.

All my family were terrified. The floor was covered with broken glass. We could not see anything in the dark. After the first incident when I lost my leg, my family behaved and liked me like before. But it was painful for me because I sometimes feel that I can’t do enough with my disability. When I was injured the first time, I was treated at the government hospital. We were also provided with other assistance. After I got out of the hospital, were provided with monthly coupons along with 4000 Afghanis in cash. But the assistance our current government provides is not sufficient. I ask the government to bring peace and not forget war victims. We were disabled in this land and we are its citizens. Sometimes I hear very unfair words. They say that people like me were culprits or perpetrators and that's why we were disabled. When I hear these words, it makes me sad and my heart breaks.

The Taliban slaughtered at least 300 Sayyid and Hazara people during an attack on the Yakaolang District of Bamiyan province on January 7, 2001. Witness accounts state that once the Taliban troops retook Yakaolang, they started to arrest and ruthlessly kill individuals. In late December 2000, they had lost Yakaolang to Hezb-e Wahdat, an anti-Taliban party that claimed to be supported by the Hazara minority. Additionally, witnesses reported to Amnesty International that Hezb-e Wahdat soldiers executed at least four people in broad daylight during the few days they occupied Yakaolang in late December 2000.

No statement

In the dark midnight, all were sleeping. That night when the explosion took place, I imagined our home upside down. Those scenes of horror and darkness still haunt my dreams. In the dark, I tried to move and look for my family members, those who were fine and who were injured. But I couldn’t get up and move. Then, I figured out that my leg felt wet and I was injured by broken glass from my house. I had lost one leg in 1989 in a mine explosion. This time, my other leg was injured.

The Curse of Incidents Always Hit the Poor

Name and Last Name: Kabalsha Aghajan

Date of Birth: 10 November 1968

Date of Injury: 22 March 1989

Type of Arm: Mine

In the dark midnight, all were sleeping. That night when the explosion took place, I imagined our home upside down. Those scenes of horror and darkness still haunt my dreams. In the dark, I tried to move and look for my family members, those who were fine and who were injured. But I couldn’t get up and move. Then, I figured out that my leg felt wet and I was injured by the broken glass from my house. I had lost one leg in 1989 in a mine explosion. This time, my other leg was injured.

All my family were terrified. The floor was covered with broken glass. We could not see anything in the dark.

After the first incident when I lost my leg, my family behaved and liked me like before. But it was painful for myself because I sometimes feel that I can’t do enough with disability.

When I was injured the first time, I was treated at the government hospital and also provided with other assistance. After I got out of the hospital, I was provided with monthly coupons along with 4000 Afghanis in cash. But the assistance our current government provides is not sufficient.

I ask the government to bring peace and to not forget war victims. We were disabled in this land and we are its citizens. Sometimes I hear very unfair words. They say that people like me are culprits or perpetrators. That’s we are disabled. When I hear these words, my heart breaks and it makes me sad.

Ramazan Ali Sanger was detained in the last years of Dr. Najibullah's administration due to his support for jihad in opposition to the government supported by the Soviet Union. Ramazan was married to Rahima, and the two of them had three children. In Pul-e-Charkhi jail, Ramazan was slain in early 1992 after being subjected to harsh beatings and torture by his interrogators.

Victims of Jihad

Narrator: Rahima

Victim: Ramazan Ali Sangar

Date of the incident: 1993

Location of the incident: Kabul, Pul-e-Charkhi Prison

Ramazan Ali was very excited about Jihad. He felt that Jihad is fighting for the way of God, a way that leads to happiness. He would call himself a true follower of God. Rahima was supporting her husband because of her love for him. She did not know much about Jihad. She came to know about it through her husband and wanted to help her husband in this “holy war.” But taking part in Jihad had severe consequences for Ramazan. He was imprisoned because of his ideology, was badly tortured, and eventually gave his life without having been prepared for martyrdom.

No one knows how he was killed. Perhaps, he died from the effects of torture. After Ramazan Ali’s death, his wife and three children were left behind without any support or financial means. From morning to night and night to dawn, they were in search of a piece of bread. Rahima knocked on door after door to find work as she did not want to see her children living in chronic poverty. But no one seemed to care. No one invited them to their wedding parties. Though people easily talked of compassion, their lack of such mercy in practice came down on Rahima like a hammer on her head. She sacrificed her entire life to provide for her children.

It is this aspect of holy war that Ramazan seems to have failed to consider. His excitement about taking part in Jihad turned him blind to its severe implications for the rest of his family. If he were alive today, he could listen to the suffering of his wife and children. He could intimately familiarize himself with their untold story. If he was alive today, perhaps, he would choose another way of attaining prosperity.

The Story of Ramazan Ali

It was the last year of Dr. Najibullah’s government during the month of Ramadan. Shortly after dinner, my husband began praying. We did not know that our house was under surveillance. Suddenly, we heard suspicious movements. When we came out of the house, the yard was full of people. More than 50 soldiers came into our house. They started to beat my husband.

They beat him because he was a Mujahid. They arrested him and took him away. He was detained in Sadarat and we were not allowed to see him. We could go there only to deliver his clothes. I went to Sadarat and waited for days to see my husband but they did not allow me to see him. I even begged each and every soldier and officer to make an exception but to no avail.

After six months, he was transferred to Puli Charkhi Prison, where he spent another year. Once again, I was not allowed to see him. After one year, he wrote us a letter and sent us his ring and some other things. In that letter, he mentioned that he had been transferred from the second floor of Block 2 to Block 3. He also indicated in his letter that if he was no longer found in Block 3, we should stop looking for him. He suggested that his children should be sent to learn the holy Quran.

After we received his letter, I went to Puli Charkhi Prison on several occasions. Every time, the prison officials told me that nobody with his name was imprisoned there. Then, the last time I went there, they told me that my husband had been executed and handed over his personal belongings to me. We never saw his dead body. He was killed seven years after our marriage. It was after his death when our truly bad days began and I was obliged to do all kinds of hard work including cleaning, washing, and ironing to support my family and children. We also lived for 13 years as refugees in Iran.

I still preserve my memories of Ramazan, the worst being when I was told that he had been executed. Coming back home, I was so desperate and sad. My younger daughter asked me what happened and I told her that her father was no longer alive. She began to shout and cry for a long time. Since then, I have never seen her cry again. In those days, I was working day and night while continuing to mourn the death of my husband. Some nights, my younger son and I cried together. Sometimes my son cleaned my tears and told me that I could be his father too.

Another sad moment in my life was the day when my husband was arrested and handcuffed. There was a place in our home where he hid but the soldiers found him. He was handcuffed and beaten up in front of me and the children. My husband told me not to worry and that nothing would happen to him. When he was taken away, I saw the tears in his eyes. Afterwards, I never saw him again. I will never forget that moment.

Many Mujahidin factions waged a civil war throughout Afghanistan in the 1990s, killing thousands of people, including women and children. Some were forced to flee their homes and subjected to various forms of violence like rape, extortion, abuse, harassment, abduction, and arbitrary detentions. Safia lost three members of her family during the bloody civil war, including her mother, her cousin, and her brother in-law, when a mortar shell was thrown into their home by the hostile group in the western suburb of Dasht-e-Barchi, Kabul.

When Homes Turn into Graveyards

Narrator: Safia

Victim: Shirin Gul

Date of the incident: 1993-1996

Location of the incident: Kabul City, Dashte Barchi

Shirin Gul is not the only woman whose house was destroyed over the past three decades of war in Afghanistan, though all houses destroyed in Kabul resemble that of Shirin Gul. The injuries visible to the walls of the houses mirror the injuries inflicted onto the bodies of its residents.

During the various conflicts, particularly the one between the different Mujahidin factions, the houses in Kabul were no longer people’s shelters. Rather, they were their graves prepared in advance. There was always the possibility of a rocket or artillery shelling destroying someone's home. None of the houses were beyond the reach of violence, nor were they durable enough to protect their inhabitants against the persistent attacks. These ruined houses became a refuge for Death, making his home among the many people buried in the rubble of their own homes. The whole of Kabul was turned into a gigantic graveyard.

Shirin Gul was one of those people whose house was bombed and took her life during the civil war in the 1990s. It happened on an evening when she attempted to defy the terror of war by holding a small reception to bring back the happiness of former times to what had by then become a city of ghosts. She did not expect that her home would one day become a slaughterhouse, and that her reception would end in terrible tragedy. Shirin Gul had invited her son in-law and brother in-law to an evening reception. They had just begun their supper when a stray rocket fired by the Taliban hit the exact room where the reception was taking place, immediately killing Shirin Gul and her two guests. The death of Shirin Gul marked the end of happiness for her children. Her husband did not marry again and dedicated himself to taking care of his mother-less children.

The Story of Shirin Gul

My name is Safia and I am 42-years-old. I am living in the Dugh Abad area of Dashte Barchi. During the war, I lost three members of my family: my mother, my cousin, and my brother in-law. My whole family, including my son in-law and my cousins, were in our home when a rocket hit our house and killed them. I was not personally present when the incident happened.

According to my family members, their bodies were ripped to pieces and it was almost impossible to identify them. My cousin had a two-month-old child who died soon after his father’s untimely death. His wife had no option but to return to her father’s home. My mother left behind six children, two sons and four daughters. Today, my father is old and my sisters are mentally unstable. One of my sisters left her husband and children because of these mental problems.

Now she does not recognize anyone anymore. I am not mentally stable either. I was desperate after the death of my mother. She loved me a lot.

The worst moment in my life was when I heard about the death of my mother. After she died, no one ever properly welcomed me in my father’s home anymore, and this made me so disappointed.

Many Mujahidin factions waged a civil war throughout Afghanistan in the 1990s, killing thousands of people, including women and children. Some were forced to flee their homes and subjected to various forms of violence like rape, extortion, abuse, harassment, abduction, and arbitrary detention. Ghulam Hazrat was killed in the civil war between several Mujahidin groups while serving as a soldier in the Mujahidin Islamic State Government. After Ghulam Hazrat passed away, his wife Halima and their four children were left in the midst of a devastating civil war that claimed thousands of lives and uprooted millions, with no one to provide for them.

About Happiness

Narrator: Halima

Victim: Ghulam Hazrat

Date of the incident: 1992-1996

Location of the incident: Kabul

Halima’s list of dreams is neither very long nor very ambitious. Her dream is to be happy. Certainly, many people in war torn societies like Afghanistan have similar dreams of happiness. For them, happiness is not about prosperity, wealth, and power. Neither is it about having stylish and luxurious mansions, or expensive cars. In short, they do not have as sophisticated an understanding of happiness as ordinary people in other countries have.

On the contrary, their world is extremely small and their expectations are very modest. For Halima and people like her, happiness means bread. It means being able to provide a piece of bread for their children to sleep at night with their bellies full, so that they can dream of other things than something to eat. At best, happiness means having a home and that one’s children sleep under a roof in which they can grow up in peace. In addition, for people like Halima, happiness means being looked upon as a normal member of society. As long as the community does not humiliate her and her sons and they can live without fear and intimidation, she is content.

Halima does not desire much more than these simple things. Unfortunately, war has denied her even the simplest of dreams. Six years after getting married, she lost her husband and was left alone with four children, with the fourth one being born six months after the death of Ghulam Hazarat. For three years, they survived thanks to the assistance of the Najibullah government. However, after the Mujahidin took power in Kabul, the situation changed and government funding was no longer available to them. As a result, Halima had to sell her home utensils, one after another, to feed her children. When there was nothing left to sell, she had no option but to wash and clean people’s clothes and homes. Other times, she worked as a sewer. She remembers many days when she could only provide dry bread for her children. Today she is 45-years-old, has heart disease, and can no longer operate the sewing machine. The nightmare of poverty has returned. She does not know whether a day will come when she can finally feed her children properly. If such a day were to arrive, she would finally consider herself happy. Such is Halima’s modest understanding of happiness.

The Story of Halima

When I first got married, it was my father in-law who was the main breadwinner for our family. He was a carpenter. Later on, my father in-law stopped working due to old age. Therefore, my husband joined the army as an ordinary soldier. My husband did not have a good salary. Since he was deployed in another province, it was difficult to send money home. In those days, together with my sister in-law, we were doing embroidery work at home and then sold it at the local market. Eight months later, my husband returned on home leave. With the small salary he brought, we bought flour and oil. He stayed with us for a few days and then went back to the barracks. After eight months, he once again sent money to us through one of our relatives. Then, after two years, my husband finally came back and we had two more children. He began working at a bakery. In those days, our living conditions were relatively good.

After a while, he was recalled by the army. Eighteen months later, he was killed. It was just a few days before his home leave. We waited for him to come home but he did not come. On the 18th day, I woke up and told his mother that I was going to prepare bulani for her son today. I prepared everything and then fell asleep. My mother in-law came and woke me up and I returned to my preparations. I had prepared only three bulani when I heard someone crying outside the house. I went out and saw two soldiers standing at the main door. They inquired if this house belonged to Hazrat Khan and when my father in-law affirmed, the soldiers told him that Hazrat Khan had been injured and hospitalized.

Together, they went to the hospital where they discovered that Hazrat Khan had died. They came back home around 4pm. I was calling my father in-law Baba, so I asked Baba how Hazarat Khan was. He answered that he was slightly injured and that he would bring him home the day after. My younger son did not sleep the whole night and asked to go and see his father. That night a lot of people came to our home. They brought big dishes. I heard my uncle asking for the Quran. I told my father in-law that he was trying to hide something from me and that perhaps Hazrat Khan had died. I began to cry. My mother in-law tried to make me understand that they needed the Quran for a different purpose.

The next morning, my father in-law asked me to clean my room, saying that he and his friends would like to sit there. I went and cleaned the room. Later on, my sister in-laws came in. They hugged me and said that Hazarat Khan had passed away. I was six months pregnant. After the news, I fainted and remained unconscious for a long time. Later, when I regained consciousness, I saw a coffin covered with red cloth. My six-year-old daughter came and asked me who she should call father from now on. She hid under the bed and began to cry.

Over the next few weeks, the fire of war spread everywhere, including Chihil Sotun where we resided. Everyone was forced to leave their homes and we moved to Shur Bazaar. There, my mother in-law died. Then, I went to live in my father’s home in Jade-Asmayi where we had nothing to eat. Next, I stayed with my sister in-law for three months before we finally found a place to stay, though we did not even have a carpet to sit on.

Later, someone donated military blankets and a bag of flour, but I had no utensils to make bread for my children and I was forced to borrow a small cooking pan from my neighbor.

My children slept most of the time as there was nothing for them to eat. In the evenings, we had nothing to light and heat our home with. We spent three months like this. When the fighting finally came to a halt, I borrowed a sewing machine from my father and began sewing for others in order to feed my children. Gradually, I managed to buy little things for our home including three cups, spoons, and a plastic blanket.

The worst moments were those days that I had no food to give to my children, except a piece of bread. Nowadays, I wash clothes and tailor. Although this is increasingly difficult to do as I have a heart problem.

My son was only 18-years-old when he was taken to military service under Babrag Karmal’s rule. He was killed a year later. First, he used to serve in Kabul and then transferred to the Panjshir Valley. He spent two months there and was then killed. During a year of military service, he came home only once. He always reassured us that one day his service would end and he would come back home. Two days before his official end of service, he was killed. He was buried in Khaja Bughra before we even came to know about his death. Later, we opened his grave and saw him one last time.

A Wedding Ceremony That Never Took Place

Narrator: Kobra

Victim: Mohammad Sarwar

Date of the incident: 1979-1980

Location of the incident: Salang, Parwan

When war becomes widespread, no one is immune to it. War reserves a share for everyone and those who survive it have many stories to tell. What all these stories have in common is that they happened in a situation of absolute emergency.

In those times, nothing is normal and chaos reigns. At the same time, people’s pains and suffering are not fully equal. Similarities can be drawn but each victim of violence has their own distinctive story. Some are hurt because their children were killed, while others were subjected to forced displacement. Many are left behind without any support, suffering in solitude. War retains a different fate for different people.

The story of Mohammad Sarwar is that of all those young men and women whose wedding ceremony never took place. Mohammad Sarwar was 20-years-old when he was forcibly conscripted during the government of the last communist president, Dr. Najibullah. He was deployed to Panjsher Valley. There he served for a year and later came back home to spend his holidays with his family. During the visit, Sarwar got engaged. He happily returned to military duty hoping to come back soon and hold his wedding party. He even bought all the things needed for the ceremony. Exactly 20 days after he had reassumed his military duty, his family was informed of his death. It was shocking news for everyone. His father later fell off the roof of his house and remained severely handicapped for the rest of his life. Hence, his mother was forced to carry the pain of both her deceased son and her handicapped husband. Ever since, the death of her young son has occupied her entire being and she never again attended any wedding party of friends or family members as these reminded her of her son’s premature death.

The Story of Sarwar’s Mother

My son was only 18 years old when he was taken to military service under Babrag Karmal’s rule. He was killed a year later. He first served in Kabul and was later transferred to the Panjshir Valley. He spent two months there before he was killed. During a year of military service, he came home only once. He always reassured us that one day his service would end and he would come back home. Two days before his official end of service, he was killed. He was buried in Khaja Bughra before we even came to know about his death. Later, we opened his grave and saw him one last time.

The death of Sarwar has severely affected our lives as he was our only son and breadwinner. We have suffered a great deal and I have been crying for my son day and night ever since he died. For a while, my husband was able to work and sustain the family but he had to stop working 9 years ago due to old age. Now, we have no one to support us.

I still hold on to my son’s spoon and plate as well as his old blanket, a watch, and a ring. I have kept these objects to remember my son, especially the ring. When his clothes were returned to us after his death, his ring was attached to them.

One of my sons was killed in Chehil Sutun and the other one in Logar Province. I had not seen the latter for three years when I was finally told to go to Logar to see him. I was taken to a cemetery and informed that my son was buried there. As I could not afford to transfer his body to another graveyard, I accepted for him to remain there.

About The Futility of Using Words to Describe War

Narrator: Mah Jan

Victims: Abdurrafi, Abdul Wahid

Date of the incident: 1992-1996 (Estimated)

Location of the incident: Kabul City and Logar

War is full of irrationality. It causes deep injuries to the hearts of mothers and fathers, and makes them eternally grieve for their lost children. It takes away a happy and prosperous life and replaces it with pain and suffering. Afghanistan is the country of pain, torment, and injustice. Its people have become prisoners of the inhumane logic of violence. Here, horrendous atrocities have occurred one after another for many years in every corner of this country, subsequently breaking the spirit of its population and causing serious, unhealed wounds in people’s hearts. With every day that passes, more people lose their lives while the hope for a better future dies a painful death. Why is this happening to this beautiful country? The secret of this puzzle is yet to be found and the dark cloud that has cast its shadow over the population has yet to be removed.

The story of war in Afghanistan is the story of pain and suffering. One of the people who understands this intimately is Mah Jan. She is the perfect image of a war victim. She has lost everything and her mind is like an archive of the endless suffering of the Afghan people. An archive as thick as an encyclopedia that contains every existing story of war ever told.

Mah Jan could be considered the perfect and complete Afghan. She has experienced it all. Only people like her know exactly what tragedy means and what kind of life war brings about. Only people like her can distinguish whether war is something good or bad. She is the face of the Afghan people. She hardly speaks about her pain because she does not trust anyone is interested in listening to her. However, in the few moments when she does speak out, it is not just words that come out. Mah Jan takes you to another world where the word loses its intermediate role. She makes you encounter the naked truth. The words in her mouth lose their verbal nature and her entire body speaks with you. Her face of sadness reveals all the hidden secrets. There is not even a need for her to open her mouth. Her facial lines and languished hands, her hollowed eyes and crushed spirit, they all speak to you. She speaks in thousands of languages to tell you about her pain. The words are limited exclusively to express her suffering.

Her disturbed soul does not fit into the framework of words. In her speech, words do not connote any meaning beyond their most basic implications. Her story resembles the metaphor of the ‘speechless dreamer and the deaf.’ Neither is she capable of communicating her painful story nor do we have the ability to truly absorb it.

The Story of Mah Jan

My name is Mah Jan. During the war, I lost two of my sons, my husband, my brother in-law and a number of my cousins. I lost everything. I was living in Chehil Sutun, Kabul. Later we were displaced to Logar and Khair Kahan. We could not afford to leave the country. One of my sons was killed in Chehil Sutun and the other one in Logar Province. I had not seen the latter for three years when I was finally told to go to Logar to see him. I was taken to a cemetery and informed that my son was buried there. As I could not afford to transfer his body to another graveyard, I accepted for him to remain there.

My first son, Abdurrafi, was killed in 1997 and the second one was killed the following year. When I came back from Logar, we first moved to Shiwaki but later we returned to my home in Chehil Sutun, as I loved my home. When we moved back, we saw that nothing was left. Everything had been taken including the doors and windows. Apparently, the people from the checkpoint took them. It was during the Taliban time. One day, I decided to clean the home. I had yet to finish my cleaning when a rocket landed. I became worried about my son as I had just sent him out to buy some things. A few minutes later, my neighbor came and told me that my son had been injured and that I should go to the hospital. It was in the afternoon. I saw my older son on the street and he asked me what had happened. I told him that Abdul Wahid had been injured. He began to cry and the two of us went to the hospital in Allawoddin. As we entered the main corridor of the hospital, I saw a dead body. I stopped and uncovered his face. His shoes were placed under his head. I realized that it was my son. I cleaned his blood with my chadari and we took him home. It was late afternoon. The whole night I cried and cried. I lost two of my sons. Two months later my brother in-law was killed in Ghazni. He was working there. My husband buried his sons and brother. He was going every now and then to cry over their graves until he got paralyzed. For six years he could not move until he finally died. I took care of him. I washed him two times a week and gave him food every day. I lost two of my sons, my husband, and my brother in-law. A widowed woman married my third son and then they disappeared.

I never saw him again. I now have only one son with whom I currently live. He has a shop. Every day he works hard to feed us. I used to work in other people’s homes as cleaner and caretaker. I did all kind of work to support my family. My first son was 18 or 19-year-old when he was killed. The second was only 16-years-old. The younger one used to work in a shop and sometimes he collected food from the trash cans and brought it home for us to eat. After coming back to our home, we used to live in a home without doors and windows. We were in Chehil Sutun when the war intensified. There were checkpoints everywhere. Therefore, we went to Shiwaki.

My situation further deteriorated when my husband was handicapped after he suffered a paralysis. In his last days, I swear to God that we had nothing to eat. Once I cleaned the flour bag and prepared some bread for him. I mixed it with oil and put in his mouth. Now there are three people left in our home, my son, my daughter, and myself.

There are very few things left behind from my sons. An old shoe from my older son, which is very valuable to me. I have also kept his hat. One of my sons did not even have proper clothes. I am not lying. When he was killed, I bought 7 meters of fabric to cover his body. I took it everywhere but no one accepted to sew it. His clothes were full of blood. When the people took it, he was totally naked.

Abdul Jalil, my elder brother, was born in 1977 in the Panjshir Province. He used to work as a guard in Sarai Ahmadzai in the Shah Shaheed area. One summer night, when Abdul Jalil was sleeping in his room, a huge explosion occurred and destroyed the entire market. It killed and injured many people. He was severely injured when we took him out of the debris of the shattered building, but he lost his life on the way to the hospital. We took his body to his birthplace in Panjshir and buried him there.

The Story of Fazl Ahmad Khan (brother)

Victim’s Name: Abdul Jalil

Date of Incident: July 8, 2015

Place of Incident: Shah Shaheed, Kabul

Abdul Jalil, my elder brother, was born in 1977 in the Panjshir Province. He used to work as a guard in Sarai Ahmadzai in the Shah Shaheed area. One summer night, when Abdul Jalil was sleeping in his room, a huge explosion occurred and destroyed the entire market. It killed and injured many people. He was severely injured when we took him out of the debris of the shattered building, but he lost his life on the way to the hospital. We took his body to his birthplace in Panjshir and buried him there.

Abdul Jalil was only 38-years-old when he was killed. He had gotten married just a few years back and left behind his young wife and a three-year-old son who are now living with us. His wife is now suffering from depression since his death. Abdul Jalil was the only breadwinner of his family. I do everything I can to take care of and protect his son but he still feels his father’s absence. The older he gets, the more he feels the void. It will probably take him a very long time to accept his father’s death. I will always try to help and support them, but I don’t think I will ever be able to fill Abdul Jalil’s empty place. His death and absence will never be forgotten.

Hedayat was imprisoned for six months. Then we were told that they would release him in exchange for 350,000 Afghani. I did my best to find the money. I sold our house. I borrowed money from my brother and took money from people, promising to pay the money back with interest. I finally gathered the money and paid the authorities. They promised to release him the following Sunday but several Sundays passed without his release. After forty days, I went there again and asked two guards, Shah Wali and Mudir Abdurraham, whether Hedayat would be released today. They said that they did know now and asked me to wait. Shortly after, the gate was opened and a body was brought out on a footstool. I thought that someone had fainted but it was Hedayat’s body. I began to scream and curse at everyone and threw away my chadari. I was totally out of my mind.

A Story of Never Ending Pain

Narrator: Nargis

Victim’s Name: Sakhidad Hedayat

Date of Incident: November 22, 1999

Location of the Incident: Kabul City

If there had been no war, Nargis could have been one of the happiest women on earth. She is a strong and good woman, full of courage and determination. In spite of all the difficulties that she has faced, she always has a smile on her lips. At the same time, she is dejected and disillusioned by all the things that happened to her over the years: successive displacements, homelessness, and most of all, the death of her husband, Sakhidad. When the Taliban arrested him, she was forced to sell her house in order to bribe the Taliban to release Sakhidad, but all she received in return was his dead body. She alone had to transport the corpse all the way from the eastern part of Kabul to Dasht-e-Barchi. Since then, her life seems like a never ending journey of suffering, in which Nargis plays the role of both father and mother for her five children for whom she hopes that a better tomorrow will eventually arrive.

The Story of Nargis

My name is Nargis and I am 40-years-old. I live in Dasht-e-Barchi. I am originally from Bamyan Province. When we lived in Bamyan, we had a decent life as my father in-law had a great deal of land. My husband Sakhidad, known as Hedayat, was the only son of his family. When the Taliban attacked Bamyan, they looted our properties and we were displaced to Kabul. We had to walk all the way and my youngest child was only 40-days-old. Once in Kabul, my husband opened a shop in Sar-e Kariz. However, some people did not like my husband and reported to the Taliban that he was a member of the opposition.

The Taliban came and arrested him in May 2000. When we learned that he had been arrested, my cousin searched everywhere but could not find him. After four days, we came to learn that he had been detained in Department No. 11 but that no one was allowed to meet him. He was first taken to the Intelligence Department and then to Department No. 6 where he was detained for six months.

We know that the Taliban tortured him daily without giving him any food. When my cousin tried to deliver food for him, he was not allowed to meet my husband.

One day, I was sitting at home when my cousin came. It was early morning and I was very worried that something might have happened to Hedayat. When I saw him, I was full of fear because he usually did not visit us in the morning. He held a letter in his hand and told me not to worry. He said that Hedayat had sent a letter through the ICRC and that we were now ensured that he was alive and where he was held captive.

After a great deal of effort, I found out that Mawlawi Abdul Haq was the director of Department No. 3. I asked him to give me permission to visit Hedayat in prison and after paying him a huge amount of money, he allowed me to meet my husband. From then on, every two weeks my youngest son and I visited him in prison, even though sometimes the Taliban made excuses and denied us entry. Every time we went to the prison, I prayed to be granted permission to see my husband. Every time I went to see him, I had to walk all the way from Cinema Pamir to Department No. 3 with my child in my arms and food and clothes in my hands, hoping to meet my husband. Every time I saw him, he gave me little gifts for the children.

Hedayat was imprisoned there for six months. Then we were told that they would release him in exchange for 350,000 Afghani. I did my best to find the money. I sold our house. I borrowed money from my brother and took money from people, promising to pay the money back with interest. I finally gathered the money and paid the authorities. They promised to release him the following Sunday, but several Sundays passed without his release. After forty days, I went there again and asked two guards, Shah Wali and Mudir Abdurraham, whether Hedayat would be released today. They said that they did know now and asked me to wait.

Shortly after, the gate was opened and a body was brought out on a footstool. I thought that someone had fainted but it was Hedayat’s body. I began to scream and curse at everyone and threw away my chadari. I was totally out of my mind.

I was running around like mad until I found a taxi. I told the taxi driver to take us home. He accepted and put my husband’s body inside the car. When my brothers saw me in the car, they thought that Hedayat had been released. They all came to my home. I told them that the Taliban had informed me that Hedayat was dead but I still thought that he might be unconscious.

I asked my brothers to fetch a doctor. He eventually came and said that Hedayat had passed away a long time ago. We then buried him in Tap-e Shuhada.

When my husband died, he was 33-years-old and I was 28. We had nothing left at home as I had sold everything to pay for the release of Hedayat. We had five children and my oldest son was only 10-years-old, with the youngest no older than 8 months. After my husband’s death, we had a very hard life. No one helped us. We lived in a tent as no one was willing to rent out his home to a widowed woman. I was indebted and the government did nothing to address my suffering.

Today, no one listens to our stories of sadness. I voted for Karzai to help the victims’ families but he has done nothing so far. I also voted during the parliamentary elections, hoping that the Members of Parliament would do something for us but they have not done anything either. As soon as they reach a position of power, they forget us. They just make vague promises and then do nothing. No official has ever asked us about our problems or listened to us.

Earlier, I used to receive 300 Afghani. This year, they have removed the names of my sons from the list of beneficiaries.

My husband’s most valuable souvenirs are his five children. The most important object that he left for us is his blanket. It is the same blanket with which we covered his coffin. Another object is the letter that he sent us from prison, as well as some gifts that he had given us. Most importantly, I have kept the veil that he gave me for our wedding ceremony. Finally, there are some photos and clothes of him that help me to always remember him.

I have included these objects in my Memory Box so as to make my husband’s memory live forever. I wanted to share his story with the wider public. I also hope that in the future, the government will use these objects to build a museum so that the people become aware of the pain and suffering our county has endured, and to finally learn how to live in peace.

A deadly blast rocked a Shia mosque in Puli Khumri City, Baghlan Province, on October 13, 2023, killing and injuring dozens of people. The Imam Zaman Shiite mosque in the second district of the city was packed with worshippers for Friday prayers when the explosion happened. Witnesses told local media that the blast was caused by explosives hidden inside the mosque. Some residents claimed that it was a suicide attack aimed at the Shia and Hazara communities. The attack left at least 20 people dead and 66 others wounded, according to ground records conducted by AHRDO.

No statement