Witness 21 In-person Testimony

I am Atefeh Hamidi. I have come today to testify, in just fifteen minutes, about the realities of my four years of struggle and the days the Taliban inflicted upon me and my family. I am not guilty for covering my face today; I am not a criminal. However, for my own safety, because I am dealing with a terrorist group, I fear I might become a victim again later. For security reasons, I will not disclose the names of my family members, my place of residence, or more of my identity. But I need a guarantee for their lives and security.

Since August 2021, when the Taliban came to power and deprived women of all their rights, I have been active in gatherings, demonstrations, civil work, and wall-writing for my rights and those of my fellow women. In addition to participating in protests, public rallies, and civil advocacy, I organized protests to gain our suppressed rights. I chanted slogans of justice in the streets, saying “Freedom, equality, work, education,” and I spoke at many gatherings. I participated in many interviews and always spoke in the media about the rights of women and girls in Afghanistan and my own lost rights, which had been suppressed by the Taliban.

In September 2021, when I participated in a protest on the streets, simply chanting “We want our rights” and “We don’t want to be prisoners of the house,” many journalists came to cover our protest. They threatened us with weapons, even Kalashnikovs. They activated the sirens of their vehicles so that our voices would not be heard and our slogans would be muffled. They used aerial and ground firing to the extent that leaves fell from the trees, creating intense fear. A reporter from France gave me shelter, taking me to a corner because one of the Taliban members even wanted to shoot me in the chest.

That situation ended with great difficulty, and I wanted to escape the scene because we were all completely surrounded and threatened with death. We were not even allowed to take refuge in a car or a shop for our safety , because they drew weapons on shopkeepers and drivers and even shot at car tires and windows to prevent people from sheltering us. My mobile phone was taken there by a member of the Taliban. Since the journalists were allowed media coverage, I wanted to secretly film the Taliban’s terror. But once my phone was in their hands, I was no longer safe , because they could track my friends, comrades, and colleagues through the phone. I cried and pleaded to get my phone back but was unsuccessful.

However, I managed to escape that area, but I was followed all the way to my workplace. When I arrived, a reporter called me and said the Taliban had entered their media studio and showed them a picture of me from one of my interviews. The reporter told me to be careful of my security and to keep silent or change my location if possible , because the Taliban had said they were in contact with the media and could definitely expose my location and arrest or detain us.

During this time of activity, I received numerous threatening calls. I received many papers and writings with symbols and signatures associated with the Directorate of Intelligence and the Haqqani Network, the largest terrorist network, which stated that I must stop my activities or I and my family would be killed. They stopped several of our protests with threatening calls. In these calls, they introduced themselves as Taliban intelligence and said, “Tomorrow, we will carry out a suicide attack among you and your protesting crowd”. They spoke of explosives and said that if anyone was killed, the responsibility would be mine for allowing people to take to the streets.

Participating in all protests, we were repeatedly threatened physically and electronically: with batons and leather cables, and by using cold and hot weapons. I and other girls suffered great harm: slapping, being hit with rifle barrels, and intense fear felt from just a meter away, as shooting could happen at any moment.

One day, a person entered my workplace. This person only came to confirm I was there, and without my noticing, he informed his colleagues so they could enter. After him, his colleagues entered my workplace; there were more than seven of them. They wore civilian clothes—shalwar kameez—had beards and hats, and concealed their weapons under vests. When I resisted and said I wouldn’t go with them, they forced me to follow them at gunpoint. They asked everyone around us to keep quiet and not tell anyone that the Taliban had come to the workplace or that I had been taken with them. They collected everyone’s phones to confirm which ones were ours, to track us or trap other girls through them. They repeatedly pressured my colleagues and the girls nearby at gunpoint to remain silent. They emphasized several times that this matter should not be publicized. I was precisely kidnapped by a terrorist group.

When they threw me into the car to take me where they wanted, the driver had hidden his face. On the way, someone sat behind me, holding a weapon to my back. The driver wore a frightening mask, with only his eyes and mouth visible, and I will never forget that scene. The people inside the car were different from the seven who came to the workplace. They spoke Pashto and insulted me with vulgar language and numerous profanities. They repeatedly called me “wicked” and a “prostitute,” saying I should be ashamed of my voice and questioning why I had taken such actions. They repeatedly mentioned the “dishonor of my family’s men” and said my place was at home, and my only duty was to bear children, nothing more. They said many ugly sentences that I do not want to repeat.

The driver sped toward an unknown location. Along the way, they called their colleagues and communicated via radio. They asked them to move all the cars parked around our workplace. In Pashto, they said, “The operation was successful,” and their behavior was as if I were a major mafia figure they had successfully arrested. At that moment, I realized that many groups had come just for my arrest.

I begged them to drive slowly. They had thrown a men’s cover over my head. They shouted commands that I must keep my head down, forcing me to hold it down so that no one in the street, despite the tinted windows, would notice the Taliban had arrested someone. They blindfolded me, and even with my eyes closed, they confiscated my phone and called someone who had been inside my workplace earlier. They asked and repeatedly insisted that the incident should not be publicized, or they would kill me. I asked the driver to slow down because I felt a condition—never experienced before—where I might be harmed if the speed was high, and I couldn’t tolerate the car’s intense movement.

They took me to an unknown place. I didn’t know where I was, but when I entered the place, they guided me by gripping my arm (sleeve) and told me to follow them. On the way, they aimed a red, hot laser at my forehead and eyes. I later realized this was a weapon, so if I tried to escape, I would be targeted and killed.

When I entered the room they took me to, they opened my eyes and told me to sit. I saw a new group—men in the same shalwar kameez, with beards and hats, and frightening faces. They spoke Pashto and even with an Urdu accent. They brought me a prayer mat and the Quran, believing I was a “sinner” and needed to become Muslim, be purified, and repent.

They guided me with a chain in a hallway and took me to a room with a camera. It was a cold and terrifying space. They repeatedly demanded that I tell them which Western country supported us and whose money funded our protests. They tried to imply that our protests were organized with Western money, and I had to reveal the names of the countries.

Today, I am even wearing a belt here because I have a back problem. They hit my back, and at that moment, I became paralyzed. I couldn’t even control my urine. They brought me a “tablet” (pill) in a plastic packet, along with a drink in a plastic bottle. They probably thought they could calm me down with that medicine, but I didn’t trust them. I was afraid it was a sedative or something to kill me.

They inflicted spiritual torture many times. They brought my phone and demanded to know the girls’ location. Besides that, they tormented me by showing pictures of my family and loved ones, saying, “We know their location. It is very simple for us to shoot them in the head”.

I couldn’t sleep at night for fear of rape and torture. Even though my room was solitary, they would knock on the door every one or two hours, shouting that I must perform wudu and be at prayer. Despite the toilet in that room having no light and being very dirty, I couldn’t wash myself or splash water on my face. Nevertheless, I read the Quran and prayed.

After a while, they brought me a Pashto book. They said I must pledge allegiance to the Taliban leader; otherwise, if I died, I would die an unbeliever. I found it interesting that the book mentioned two names: Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi (the leader of ISIS) and Haibatullah (the leader of the Taliban), and it was written that I must pledge allegiance to one of them. This itself showed the connection between ISIS and the Taliban. They repeatedly called me an unbeliever, insulted my ethnicity because I am Tajik, and insulted my language, Farsi. They mocked and humiliated me.

During the detention, my communication with my family and relatives was completely cut off. This action is contrary to the most basic principles of prisoner treatment. I repeatedly asked them to allow me to call my family, but in response, they said they would bring my family next to me and threatened to kill them too. I spent all those nights without sleep, without food, and in fear and anxiety. The only thing I was allowed to use was water. Sometimes during torture, they would bring me medicines in a plastic packet or bottle, but I never knew what was in them and, out of fear, I didn’t take them.

They repeatedly asked me to write on papers that my path was wrong and that I regretted my activities. They forced me to sign and fingerprint those papers. In the interrogation sessions, a person whose face was hidden always entered with a knife. The presence of such an object in the interrogation room clearly indicated a threat to my life. I attempted suicide several times with the same knife because I had no hope of survival. The cuts on my hands are still visible.

Before the torture began, they always played a specific piece of music. It was a song in Pashto that the Taliban usually used during suicide operations. Every time I heard that music, I was certain that it might be the last moment of my life, and they would enter the room to kill me.

After the music played, a person with a covered face entered the room. His speed was so fast that I had no chance to react or defend myself. I couldn’t raise my hand or even curl up. He wore tall, heavy shoes, like military boots, and held a sword in his hand. I was so shocked at that moment that not a sound came out of my mouth. Without any reason, without any question or warning, he beat me.

My only crime was being a woman—a woman who demanded her rights, a Tajik woman, a Farsi speaker, and an activist for freedom. They did this only because of my identity and gender. The blows were so severe that my ribs (chest bones) broke. Due to the intensity of the pain and pressure, I couldn’t breathe. They hit my neck, my shoulder, and my back. I screamed, but my voice was choked. That torture might have lasted only three or four minutes, but its effects remain on my body and soul to this day. Four years have passed, but I still live with the nightmares of those moments; I still feel the pain. That day, a part of me was broken forever. I am no longer that young girl; I am a woman who carries the pain of old age in a young body.

I tried not to cry many times. I wanted to stay strong because we were strong to protest. We showed courage that no one else had. We stood against armed terrorists, only with our language, our slogans, with paper and pen.

They demanded that I record a forced confession. They wrote on paper that I had to say I engaged in protests and advocacy with money and support from Western countries. Additionally, they recorded a video of me and wrote many questions on paper for me to sign and promise not to do any “bad work” again.

After that, they called my family using my phone. They demanded that they bring my and my family’s identity documents, business licenses, and the deed to the house property. Imagine if a poor girl, instead of me, was in that prison—how could she provide a valid business license or a house deed? They gave my family various routes to deliver the documents to the Taliban, something I learned later.

In the morning, they told me I would be released, but I never trusted the Taliban. I was sure they were taking me for execution. But eventually, I was released at night. When they entered my room, they again asked me to close my eyes—this time, I closed them myself. Right there, I saw other girls who were still in prison. I asked why only I was being released, and not them. They said the decision was only about me. They didn’t say whether they would be released or not. They didn’t allow me to say goodbye to my comrades and friends. I only knocked on the wall of my neighbor’s cell in the end to let her know I was free, so she would know that if she didn’t survive, someone outside would be her voice.

The night they handed me over to my family, the Taliban kept them in different locations. They wanted to ensure no one filmed the scene, and no one could prove that I was truly in a Taliban prison. When I closed my eyes, this time I acted consciously. I closed my eyes in a way that allowed me to see the route, but I pretended not to see anything. The area around the prison was full of their forces: individuals with terrifying skeleton masks, military clothes, and weapons in hand. They left the doors of the car that picked me up open and shined bright lights into my eyes to ensure I didn’t see anything. But I pretended not to see anything. I told them my heart was racing; I said I was suffering from severe anxiety due to intense fear and the car’s speed, but they paid no attention. The car moved with the same speed and terror. Along the way, under the black, dark lights, I could only see parts of the surroundings. Later, when I left that place and told others what I had seen, they told me that was the Taliban’s Directorate of Intelligence, a place where if someone is killed, no one ever finds out their fate.

When they released me, they said I was banned from leaving the country (mamno’ol-khoruj), banned from being photographed or filmed (mamno’ot-tasvir), and no one was allowed to film or photograph me. On the day of my release, several people entered my room and warned me not to tell even my closest relatives that I had been freed. In any case, they wanted the Taliban’s command to be enforced, our voices not to go out, and for me to accept this injustice.

Later, I managed to escape; I was able to leave the country. I left my homeland, a place full of good memories, where I studied hard and worked hard. But I also experienced difficult days on the way out. I have bitter memories of the border crossing—the same Torkham border that many complain about today. I suffered for three or four days on that route. I was surrounded there and was about to be killed. We were shot at there, and again, fortunately, I survived to tell this story , to say that many girls and I were there. After that, my loved ones were arrested or harmed. They didn’t want to publicize this situation because they feared more harm would come to the families. During my detention, there was no female police officer there to handle our situation.

This is our experience, and I am ready to support these claims with documents and evidence. If necessary, I will provide all documents and papers to the honorable authorities.

But I have one request for this court: Please investigate these cases transparently and independently. Those responsible for our detention and torture must be prosecuted. Provide immediate and effective protection for my family. Allow me to provide the supporting documents, evidence, messages, and testimonies.

We were threatened here, in a safe environment, by the Taliban spokesperson. They even insulted me and threatened, “I can kill you with a knife”.

In conclusion, I ask this court and all of you to listen to the voices of those who have been subjected to aggression and violence because of their identity, gender, ethnicity, or civil efforts, and to execute justice. I have given this testimony for justice and to put an end to the crimes committed daily against the women, girls, and civil activists of the Afghan people. I hope justice will be served. Please hear our voice and execute justice.