News Desk
KABUL — Twenty years after the U.S. invasion of Afghanistan, a war fought under the banner of democracy and women’s liberation, the Taliban have reclaimed power, ushering in a new era of oppression. Women have been erased from public life, banned from schools and work, and subjected to restrictions unseen in the modern world.
Human rights activists are now pushing for the recognition of “gender apartheid” as an international crime, demanding that the world take action against the regime.
Yet, beyond the headlines and the righteous fury, a question lingers: is this call for justice a genuine commitment to Afghan women, or just another geopolitical tool wielded by Western powers who failed them before?
When the U.S. invaded Afghanistan in 2001, women’s rights were cynically co-opted into war propaganda. Laura Bush emerged as an unlikely champion of Afghan women, declaring that the fight against terrorism was also a fight for their dignity. Western media eagerly amplified stories of unveiled women and music playing in the streets of Kabul, framing the invasion as an act of care, not conquest.
But for many Afghan women outside Kabul, the war was not a liberation but an occupation. Reports from journalists like Anand Gopal revealed the stark reality: the rural women of Sangin and Pan Killay saw the U.S. military as a force of destruction.
“They are giving rights to Kabul women, and they are killing women here,” one Afghan woman remarked. Another stated bluntly: “This is not ‘women’s rights’ when you are killing us, killing our brothers, killing our fathers.”
When the Taliban retook Afghanistan in August 2021, the U.S. swiftly imposed sanctions and froze $7 billion in Afghan central bank reserves. The economy collapsed, and millions of Afghans, including women and children, faced starvation. Even Nobel laureate Joseph Stiglitz condemned the move as “morally condemnable and politically reckless.”
If Afghan women’s suffering is truly the concern, why is their economic survival held hostage? The answer may lie in a different form of warfare—one fought with sanctions instead of soldiers, banking restrictions instead of bombs.
Now, international activists and Western governments want the Taliban convicted of “gender apartheid.” Countries like Canada, Germany, and Australia are leading the charge, despite their unwavering support for Israel, which faces its own accusations of apartheid. The term, borrowed from South Africa’s history of racial segregation, is a rhetorical device meant to provoke global outrage.
Yet, as Austrian academic Anthony Löwstedt points out, the Taliban do not fit the traditional apartheid model. “In real apartheid, people are ethnically cleansed and replaced,” he explains. “In Taliban-ruled Afghanistan, old power was extended.”
Would this legal crusade be as fervent if Afghanistan were a strategic ally rather than an enemy? The selective application of justice raises uncomfortable questions about Western motivations.
Amid the calls for condemnation, some voices advocate for engagement. Hassan Abbas, in his book The Return of the Taliban, argues that isolating Afghanistan only empowers the hardliners. Instead, he suggests working with moderates within the Taliban, using diplomatic channels to reopen schools and reintroduce women into public life.
This approach may be unpalatable to those who view the Taliban as irredeemable. But after decades of failed military intervention, it is worth asking: Is the goal to help Afghan women or simply to punish their government?
If the latter, then perhaps gender apartheid is not the crime at play—but rather, the enduring hypocrisy of those who claim to champion women’s rights only when it suits their interests.
