Silenced but unbroken: Afghan girls fight back with art as education ban continues

In a modest classroom tucked inside a quiet Kabul neighborhood, the hum of creativity has replaced the once-familiar sound of school bells. Colored pencils glide over paper with purpose, each line telling a story of resilience, loss, and hope.

For a growing number of Afghan girls, art has become more than a pastime — it is a lifeline.

Since the Taliban's return to power and the subsequent ban on female education beyond the sixth grade, informal art workshops have emerged as one of the few sanctuaries for girls seeking self-expression and connection. At one such educational center in Kabul, enrollment in art classes has surged dramatically.

“Art is my new language,” says 17-year-old Mahdia, her eyes steady as she sketches. “It’s how I express what my generation has endured. Through every stroke, we send a message: stay strong, don’t give up on education.”

Mahdia is one of dozens of girls who gather daily at the center, seeking refuge in color and creativity. While books and classrooms are out of reach, canvases offer a powerful alternative. “We have been away from school for four years,” said Manizha Ahmadi, 16, gently outlining a portrait in pencil. “These drawings carry the words we’re no longer allowed to speak in class.”

For many of these young artists, the emotional weight of lost opportunities has been channeled into their work. Umm al-Banin Mostafawi, another student, calls her art “a mirror of silent pain”—a reflection of stolen dreams and unyielding strength.

According to Sayed Hossain Mohseni, head of the workshop, the number of girls participating has doubled in recent months. “The ban left a deep psychological impact. But when these girls paint, they heal,” he said. “They’ve found a way to communicate with the world despite being silenced.”

Instructors like Sayed Rasoul and Zarin Mohammadi emphasize the importance of public exhibitions and the potential for selling the girls’ artwork. “Art has little value here culturally or economically,” Rasoul admitted. “But we want to change that. We want these girls to be seen, their stories to be told.”

Across Kabul, similar workshops are quietly multiplying — safe havens where art is activism and creativity is courage. In a country where access to education has become a battleground, these girls are wielding brushes as tools of resistance.

Their message is clear and unwavering: they may be denied classrooms, but they will not be denied a voice.