"Come, Oh Sky, and Weep With Me"

Banning women from studying at medical institutes in Afghanistan is femicide in action—a slow, calculated policy that condemns women to die, one by one.

Somewhere in Badakhshan, on the morning of 3rd December 2024, young women gathered outside their medical institute, unaware of the decree that had been issued just hours earlier in Kabul. By the time they reached the gates, the Taliban’s decision had already been implemented. They were told to go home. Videos began appearing on X and other social media platforms —not just from Badakhshan, but from Kabul and Faryab as well. In each, the same devastating scenes: female students standing outside their institutes, pleading with Taliban officials, only to be turned away.

One woman wept and screamed, "You told us to wear the mandatory hijab, to cover ourselves, and we obeyed. What more do you want from us? Should we just kill ourselves? Give us poison and let it be over."

The ruling was clear and absolute. During a meeting the previous day, Mullah Haibatullah Akhundzada, the Taliban’s supreme leader, had ordered all private educational institutions to cease female medical education. The decree bars women from studying midwifery, dental prosthetics, nursing, and laboratory sciences—professions that are lifelines for Afghan women. As of 3rd December, female students could no longer step foot inside their classrooms. By the time the news broke, it was already reality.

In Badakhshan, the students refused to leave in silence. Outside their locked classrooms, they stood together and sang in Persian, “Bia Ba Man Asmaan Geria Kon,” which translates to “Come, oh sky, and weep with me” in English.

This Persian song, heavy with sorrow and longing, was their act of resistance, made even more poignant by the Taliban’s recent ban on women singing in both public and private spaces. Their song is more than just music; it is a CRY for freedom, for dignity, for the right to dream.

My heart aches as people just scroll past these videos circulating on social media without any outcry—when this is clear evidence of a systematic campaign to erase women completely from society.

The Taliban’s cruelty lies in the precision of their policies. They have banned women not only from becoming doctors but from seeing male doctors as well . The result is devastatingly clear: Afghan women and girls are being sentenced to die from treatable conditions, unattended childbirths, and preventable illnesses—not because they lack resources, but because they are women.

For over three years, Afghan girls above the age of 11 have been banned from attending school. For more than two years, women have been prohibited from studying at universities. The Taliban’s regime has methodically chipped away at female education, stripping it piece by piece, under the guise of their so-called Islamic rules and restrictions.

Until now, one sliver of opportunity remained: medical education. Women were still permitted to study medicine, not out of generosity, but necessity—so they could tend to female patients in an extreme form of segregated healthcare system. It was a faint, fragile line holding together the possibility of women’s roles in society.

But this latest ban is the final straw. By prohibiting women from studying medical courses altogether, the Taliban have extinguished even that faint light. The ban doesn’t just close classroom doors; it slams shut the possibility of a healthcare system that can support half the population (49.5 per cent). Approximately 20 million women.

It denies women not only the right to study, but the right to survive.

In this moment, I think of the poet and philosopher, Nasir Khusraw, the Ruby of Badakhshan, who wrote:

"Be resolute, like the mountain,

Unyielding to the tempests of time.

He who seeks the truth with bravery

Finds light amidst the darkest of nights."

The women of Badakhshan, Kabul, Faryab and beyond embody his philosophy.

But courage alone cannot undo these injustices. It demands action, solidarity, and a global response that matches their bravery.

This ban is not just an attack on education—it is an act of femicide. By dismantling the healthcare infrastructure that relied on female professionals, the Taliban are ensuring that women and girls across Afghanistan will suffer and die.

What happens to a young girl in Faryab who falls ill with a life-threatening fever and cannot access care because there are no female doctors left? What happens to a pregnant woman in Uruzgan who goes into labour prematurely, hours away from the nearest clinic, no transport, and can’t find a midwife? These are not hypothetical tragedies—they are the inevitable outcomes of policies designed to obliterate women’s presence in society.

The world, meanwhile, remains largely silent. Videos of these women—pleading, singing, weeping—appear on our screens, but the response has been muted. There was a time when the international community vowed never to abandon Afghan women.

Where is the outrage? Where is the action? Afghan women are not asking for pity; they are demanding justice. They are asking us to hear and raise their voices, to refuse to let their fight go unnoticed.

The women of Afghanistan are walking the path Nasir Khusraw spoke of, even as obstacles rise before them. Their voices carry a message: Do not sit idly by. Their song is a call to action, not just for Afghanistan but for humanity. Bia Ba Man Asmaan Geria Kon—Come, oh sky, and weep with me.

But the sky should not weep alone. It is up to us to ensure that their cries for justice are answered, that their resistance is not in vain, and that their courage finds the solidarity it so desperately deserves.