On this day, four years ago, the Afghan Republic collapsed. In an instant, the foundation that had supported millions of young Afghans’ dreams disintegrated. I was born in 2001, the year the international community entered Afghanistan—bringing with it a new system called democracy, and a promise called “liberation,” especially for Afghan women. I grew up in a country shaped by that promise, where youth were encouraged to think big, dream boldly, and believe in change. So, I dreamed of becoming president. Not because I was naive, but because, for a time, it felt possible—even achievable. My generation was told we were the future, the changemakers of Afghanistan. But that future collapsed. Kabul fell, and with it, something far more personal crumbled: the dreams of Afghan youth.

What followed was not a return to history, but something worse: the chronic, crushing erosion of hope. The pages of history we once read about in our classrooms—thinking they belonged to the past—are now unfolding in real time, and Afghan youth are trapped within them.

Today, Afghanistan faces a multi-layered crisis—from economic collapse and widespread human rights repression to mass poverty and the systematic exclusion of half the population. According to UN Women, since August 2021, more than 70 decrees have targeted Afghan women and girls: school closures, workplace bans, and near-total erasure from public life. Afghan women now live under a regime that the

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