Why They Hate Us: On Being an Outspoken Afghan Woman Online

 

Ugh. This was emotionally draining. Being an outspoken Afghan woman online has brought me my share of misogynistic pigs who will try anything to silence me. Mind you, my social media accounts are fairly typical of someone my age, but the thing that REALLLLLY pisses off men (mostly Afghan men) is the fact that I use my brain to form thoughts that I then share with my followers. Now THAT’S the worst thing you can do as an Afghan woman. Exercise your self-agency.

It is extremely frustrating fighting for the liberation of Afghan lives when countless Afghan men want to erase me and other Afghan activist women.

& it’s so disturbing in every aspect. Some of these men initially hit on me, and when they’ve been rejected, find it SO appalling, SO damaging to their egos – that they go from wanting my attention through bullshit compliments to then DEMANDING my attention by verbally assaulting me. See male privilege is precisely this, resorting to hyper-sexualizing a woman through insults like “slut”, “whore”, etc., when they have absolutely nothing else to say.

& some of these men simply found my accounts and just find a problem with me existing. An Afghan woman, who is proud of her background, who partakes in the beauty of her culture, yet refuses to acknowledge the patriarchal boundaries normalized therein. Yes, I can do both at the same time. This is what angers them.

I am whatever the fuck I want to be. I do not need to acknowledge your existence. My DMs, my phone number, my email, those are avenues for you to contact me. I might have even given you permission to do so at one time. But none of those avenues require a response. I will respond how I please. My existence is not to make your world beautiful. I won’t smile when you tell me I look more beautiful that way. I won’t shutup when you say I’m a whore who brings shame to our culture and religion because I call your bullshit out. I am not your poor mother who perpetuated misogyny and never had a voice in her own home. I am not your sister who you shield so ferociously while you lead doe-eyed non-Afghan women into your bedroom. An Afghan woman must be a fresh dish cooked only for you to devour, but those Mexican girls are disposable right? Your double-standards and treatment of BOTH Afghan & non-Afghan women is what makes you lesser than the “kafirs” you pretend to hate so much.

& I am not the complacent Afghan woman who, in an attempt to please YOU, pretends to hate women like me. Because the most insidious form of patriarchy is that passed on by a woman.

I might message you back one day & not the next because I fucking can. Yes, I’m from Los Angeles and I am American. Yes, my heart is in Afghanistan and I will go to give back. I can wear a hijab while I pray and a skirt while I party, I can act like a bimbo at a club & lecture at a conference the next day. I know it’s frustrating and shocking that I can do all this and still thrive, while you live a double-life because you are so fragile and weak that if you were exposed, you would crumble.

You do not own Afghan women. We are not a commodity, we are not cattle. We’re not better or worse than women from other cultures. When we are in diaspora, we may become “Westernized”, how scary and sad to you that we are losing those “values” that kept you in control. But don’t worry because we will be fetishized in the cultures we assimilate in; men have created the world to work that way, our oppression is universal whether in Kabul or California.

I am tired. It’s not something that’s easy to ignore when it happens. Every time I am verbally attacked by a man hiding behind a phone screen, I am reminded of EVERY OTHER time a man tried to take away my agency. EVERY OTHER time I was NOT given a choice.

So you see it might look like an online “troll” to you, but it is reliving trauma for me, and for my sisters, and for every woman of color who has to sacrifice a little piece of their souls while doing this work.

If my existence is a radical form of protest than so be it. I won’t shrink anymore to give you space. I won’t watch my tongue to make you comfortable. I won’t be complacent while you suffocate my sisters. Misogyny will no longer be normalized in my life.

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stop killing Hazara people

How long can a nation

Survive when

It sustains itself

Off of pain

My motherland has dirt that is only nourished with tears
The branches of trees that reach far into the earth trickle with blood 

I don’t know how we can be such a proud people when
We perpetuate dishonor and hate 

When our brothers suffer and we 

Turn a cheek 

If this nation wants to live up to its reputation 
Then mourn for the Shia like you do the Sunni

Remember your Hazara mother like your Pashtun 

Do not let them die in vain

If this is to be a wataan for us all

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the Afghan woman

Feminine pain.

I remember my mother 

And her mothers mother

Until they all blend into

One tired heart 

A pair of wrinkled hands

Shattered dreams and 

Wombs taken for granted

This is my feminine heritage

Broken promises and 

Fleeting dreams.

But the Afghan woman

Is the most resilient brilliant creation

humming of the strongest heart

That beat that jumps out of your chest

The one right before what you thought was your dying breath

Walking across borders 

Moving mountains

Crying in silence but beating our drum 

To make the most beautiful song you have ever heard 

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there was no honor for them 

I often think of the women of my tribe 

That came before me 

High born women called

Bebe and

Khanum 

And how my relatives today revel in the fact that

We came from nobility 

From honor.

But

If my mother did not choose my father

And if my grandmother was widowed and given nothing

And if my aunt was punished for loving a man 

Nobility or not

High rank, daughters of generals

There was no honor in their upbringing.

No.

You treated my ancestral females like

Porcelain dolls and 

Cattle.

Beautiful to look at

But only valued for fertility. 

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How The Sociopath Keeps Winning

Sociopaths, narcissists, drug addicts. Whoever it was that you dated, they all have one thing in common: making you believe you are the scummiest person on earth who doesn’t deserve shit. & that the only person who would ever be with you is them and their sick hearts.

This is exactly what I went through. I dated a drug addict who did everything he could but physically harm me: gaslighting, emotional and verbal abuse, the whole gamut of asshole things. I was told I was ugly, a whore, immoral…& that I even contributed to his drug addiction. And I believed it all. I beat myself up thinking I negatively influenced this person and I was responsible for his downfall.

I am a working graduate student in the field of mental health. I am able-bodied, I am educated, and pretty much have my shit together. But the way the sociopath keeps winning is with the repeated negative self-talk that plays in my head. His put-downs sometimes make their way into my mind and its absolutely debilitating.

& this manifests in other ways as well. A common factor I see in many females post-narcissist partner is this idea that we are undeserving of love. That we are damaged goods and that a good man doesn’t “deserve” to be with a baggage-mess like us. Just recently I spoke to a friend who had a similar past relationship, and was terrified because her new man was the total opposite.

“I’m so scared. He doesn’t deserve someone like me. It’s not fair for him. I’m not a whole person. He should be with someone fresh and alive”.

& in my friends voice I recognized my own. I myself tried to avoid the good things that would come my way. I was completely shut off to the idea that a good man would come into my life and actually WANT to handle me. But this is how these mothereffers keep winning. Even after they’re long gone.

Do not let the words of an empty shell of a person get in your head like this ladies. You are all deserving of whatever amazing things God puts in front of you. If you weren’t, it wouldn’t come your way. And maybe it hasn’t yet, but when it does, please accept these small gifts from the universe. I know its hard and I know we have so many systems and people telling us we are undeserving. People thrive off putting others down. But do not let the old words of a broken man carve into you and dictate whatever blessings were meant for you.

Uplift your sisters. Keep your eyes on the prize. And exude love. The rest will fall into place.

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place your heart back in your chest 


You are there and 

I am here but

My heart rips into pieces

I run into the street
With my heart in my hands 

With tears streaming down 

My face 

I tell them 

Look what is happening
Look at the children

Look at the terror but 

No one stops or
Turns a cheek

They just glance at me like 

Foolish girl don’t you know
Your people

Here and there 

Are used to this and

They don’t love our children like we do and 

Don’t they want to be martyrs? And 

What value do they have for life anyways so foolish girl

Don’t be so dramatic 
Place your heart back in your chest

You are so lucky to be here 

Count your blessings because if you don’t like it here then you can leave 

And go cry and die with your precious people in your broken motherland 
Foolish girl 

Afghan lives are not lives they are just 

Reminders of how superior we are.

We are chosen.

& they are unfortunate.
This is how the world works. 

Place your heart back in your chest. 

This is how the world works.

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selective compassion 


Why do your 

Eyes look so tired 

Like you lived

One million lifetimes 

Like you loved

And lost everything 

Like you hoped

And the world collapsed on you 

Why do your eyes look like stone

Like what they saw 

Was pure evil

Hate reincarnate 

Ungodly 

How can we breathe life

Back into you 

We cannot 

So we say 

This is what your culture is used to

A grave your people dug themselves

We make you so small

That when we see your dull eyes 

We say you do not know any better

It was supposed to be this way. 

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Phoenix Woman 

Every time you call her stupid

A whore

You tell her she’s nothing

And that she is weak

Every time you remind her 

She is nothing without you

And that you gave her everything
You are fueling the fire

You are digging your own grave

You are planting seeds

You are the dirt she will push through
To become the most brilliant

The most powerful

The unstoppable

The unbreakable
Resilient Queen Mother
Phoenix from the Ashes
Something you couldn’t imagine

A story never told before
A creature so majestic

They don’t even have a name for it
Keep tormenting this caterpillar

You are helping her build her cocoon 

And watch how quickly she will crush you

After she rises to full bloom

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for my sisters who suffer

The ones who

Smiled and were given nothing in return

Who wore perfume

And were walked through like air

The ones who

Tried so hard but got so little

I wish I could

Give you the stars in the sky

I wish I could wipe the mascara from your eyes

I know how it is

To make them want to stay

I know how it is

To extend your heart

To the depths of their rejection

Do not make a home in these hearts

My sisters

If you are suffering

Please come to me

I will make you a cup of tea

We will sit on my rug

We can cry if you want

Or we can sing through the night

We will do anything and everything but

Allow you to be walked all over

again.

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year one at USC

today was my last day on the USC campus until fall semester. what a whirlwind for my first year.

former MSW’s told me that the first year would be challenging. so much of being a good mental health provider is working through your own traumas. in the words of my favorite professor: “you gotta own your own shit before you can help someone else”

oh man was she right. the intersectionality of being a woman, an afghan, a muslim, the child of refugees, a survivor of trauma, depression & anxiety. i pathologized the sh*t out of myself and learned to name the feelings and experiences that i’d been suffocating because of social stigmas. and my alopecia came back this month with a vengeance – as a reminder that being mindful is the only healthy way to cope with stress.

but as social workers we always strive towards a strengths-based approach. towards promoting resilience. towards empowering ourselves so that we can empower our clients.

the afghan-american conference could not have come at a better time. this weekend i’ve been given the opportunity to yet again engage my community. to pose challenging questions that force us to examine ourselves as diaspora children. i’ll be seeing all of the AAC attendees in Washington, DC. please attend the roundtable discussion on afghan-american identity! i am looking forward to seeing you there. & also can we collectively egg the White House? k cool thanks. (JK … i think)

to my professors, colleagues, roommates, family & friends: thank you so much for your support this year. i know i could not have done it without you. to my little clients who have no way of reading this because they’re elementary school kids, (lol) i learned so much from you. these children were some of the most resilient, optimistic, kind little souls i’ve ever met. i am so sad to terminate my time with you but am confident in your success.

cheers to being 365 days closer to my social work degree <3

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