What it’s really like being a female journalist covering the Taliban
When Arpan Rai from The Independent heard that the Taliban’s foreign minister would be visiting her city of New Delhi, India, she couldn’t resist the opportunity to interview him. But while her male colleagues entered the embassy without issue, she and her female co-workers were forced to wait outside the gates
When a “former” UN-sanctioned terrorist comes to your city for a hush-hush visit – complete with red carpet treatment and a tour of the Taj Mahal – it makes for one hell of a story. Even more so when he’s part of a regime that oppresses millions of girls and women, preventing them from acquiring an education and having access to even the most basic human rights.
So, on hearing that Amir Khan Muttaqi, the Taliban’s so-called “foreign minister”, was set to arrive in New Delhi, India, this week, I couldn’t resist the chance to quiz him over his antiquated and abhorrent views.
Little did I know what was in store.
Trying to secure an interview in the weeks leading up to his visit got me nowhere. Good morning texts to Indian authorities asking about details of his arrival were met with monosyllabic “nopes”.
“I really want to cover this visit, even if an interview isn’t possible.”
Two minutes later, “Nope.”
“Nothing at all?” I asked.
“Nothing at all,” was the reply.
“How could an off-the-record chat over coffee harm someone who has handled suicide bombers, ended Nato’s rule in Afghanistan and led the jihad against American invasion?” I thought. I am still stumped.
My only option at that point was to show up where this Taliban leader was set to be hosted in the city, since this was a formal visit. I picked up the most conservative white salwar kameez in my closet and bolted out of the door.
Outside the venue of the high-level visit, a fellow photojournalist and I realised that her being in jeans and an edgy black tunic was not going to help our cause. It was a real possibility that we’d be thrown out of the room for not wearing headscarves and dressing the part, so to speak.
So we scrambled to find cover-ups in the local market. There, we purchased long-sleeved clothes and dupattas to cover our heads, before jumping back in the car and changing into our new outfits – simultaneously haggling with the embassy to let us do our jobs.
Except we were to find out that our attire would not present an issue – not when our mere existence was a problem.
As we waited outside the embassy for the press conference with the Taliban minister, I watched as my male journalist friends waltzed into the venue without any issues.
My female colleagues and I, meanwhile, ran our throats dry, asking the Afghan embassy staff to let us in, waving our press IDs in their face.
At one point, it felt so tiring to shout my requests over the embassy wall, that I had to rise up on my tiptoes and make my face visible. The Delhi police security personnel angrily asked us to back off.
That the Taliban hate the idea of an educated, financially independent Afghan woman – banning them from parks, from speaking in public or even being visible through windows – no longer carries shock value. For years, I have listened to stories from Afghan girls and women who make calls to me in private to share how they avoided a gun to their head for seeking an education, or being raped in prison detention.
But the idea that the Taliban can make India bend to their will is a new low – one I wasn’t ready for. I did not imagine they had the power to exile me on my home soil – to create a mini-Kabul before my very eyes.
The men were allowed to do their jobs, but us women, reduced to our gender, were banned. It hit me: they didn’t want us women there all along. Even if Indian authorities had the list of journalists attending the press conference, they knew women would be banned – and they agreed to it.
After checking with the men who were allowed to be a part of the press conference if there was anything important said on geopolitics terms, wars or jihad behind those closed doors that shouldn’t have fallen on our delicate, tiny, feminine ears, I took off the head scarf and left, embittered by the events of the day.
Even for reporters who are used to chasing, requesting and begging even for quotes, this felt like the lowest of the lows.
I went to bed and thought about how badly I had been played. I felt a wave of anger and disgust in my stomach.
The Taliban managed to dictate what women were allowed and not allowed to do – even beyond Afghanistan’s border. India watched in silence.
Backtracking after pressure from global press, we have since been invited to a separate press conference with Muttaqi today. I couldn’t help but feel it was too little too late – a strategic move to save face.
My question now is: will the US and Europe continue to engage with this misogynistic regime? And how many more women will have their rights infringed upon?
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