10 Questions For Mariam Solaimankhil
The Parliamentarian Who Refused to Be Silent
1.) What was the moment you knew you had to enter politics—not just as an Afghan woman, but as a fighter for change? And how did growing up between Afghanistan and the diaspora shape your sense of justice and identity?
It wasn’t about power. It was the people who pushed me—their belief, their hope. I was terrified of letting them down. That responsibility still weighs on me. I entered politics because I saw where our pain came from: the instability forced on us, the destabilization rooted in Pakistan’s interference. Once I saw that clearly, I couldn’t stay on the sidelines.
Growing up between Afghanistan and the diaspora gave me a split vision—one eye on how things are, and one on how they should be. I saw Afghan women surviving with strength most Western feminists only write about, and I saw the hypocrisy of global powers preaching human rights while enabling our suffering. It made me unshakably clear on who I am—and who I’ll never serve.
2.) Did you face pressure to stay silent in Parliament—especially as a woman? How did you resist it, and how do you define your role in public life today?
Every day. Parliament is built to absorb women but silence them. I was told to “respect protocol,” “avoid controversy,” “be grateful.” But I didn’t run for office to decorate their democracy. I ran to expose it. And every time I spoke out, I knew silence was the bigger danger.
I consider myself all three: Lawmaker by title. Dissident by necessity. Voice of the voiceless by choice—because too many of our sisters never got the mic, and far too many died trying.
3.) Looking back, do you think the Afghan Parliament was ever a real vehicle for reform—or just a donor-funded performance?
It was both. There were genuine fighters in that room, but we were performing inside a structure built for optics. Real power was held elsewhere—by warlords, donors, foreign embassies. Still, I don’t regret being there. I used and still use that stage to speak truths they couldn’t mute.
4.) What drives you now that Afghanistan has fallen to the Taliban? And what kind of country would you return to—realistically, not romantically?
The girls who text me from inside. The mothers sending their daughters to secret schools. The men who refuse to be silent bystanders. They didn’t disappear when the world moved on. Neither did I.
I’d return to an Afghanistan where women are not ruled by fear. Where our freedom isn’t seen as a Western import, but as our rightful inheritance. A country that doesn’t beg for international approval to protect its daughters—and one that knows the difference between peace and submission. An Afghanistan built by the people, not foreign intelligentsia.
5.) Do you believe global humanitarianism is broken? And how do you see your social media presence—as advocacy or battleground?
It’s broken. Not dead. But driven by short attention spans, white saviorism, and performative diplomacy. What it needs is not new branding—it needs moral courage. And women from war zones should be leading that shift, not posing in side events.
Social media is both advocacy and battleground. It’s a weapon. The battlefield may be virtual, but the damage—and the impact—is real. I’ve seen tweets save lives. I’ve seen silence kill stories. I don’t waste the platform.
6.) Who are your heroes in politics and history? And what legacy of Afghan resistance do you draw strength from?
My heroes are the Afghan people—especially the women who resist every single day without headlines, protection, or applause. The ones raising children in refugee camps, teaching in underground schools, and marching for justice despite knowing the cost.
I think of my grandmother, who was educated in Kabul because my great-grandfather—an elder from conservative Katawaz, Paktika—believed she deserved that chance. That decision changed the future of our family. She raised her children with strength and dignity after her husband’s death. But what she did is no different than what Afghan women are still doing across this region: surviving, building, and refusing to break.
7.) You’ve spoken about Pakistan’s ISI. Do you believe Western governments are complicit in shielding it from accountability? And what would your one demand to the UN be today?
Absolutely. The ISI is the godfather of regional terror. Yet Western governments feed it aid, arms, and diplomatic cover. The West didn’t just tolerate Pakistan’s double game—they bankrolled it.
If I could make one demand to the UN, it would be this: Recognize gender apartheid as a crime against humanity. Stop treating it like a cultural nuance. Codify it. Name it. Prosecute it. But more importantly, hold Pakistan accountable—not just for harboring the Taliban, but for decades of protecting terrorists. These groups haven’t just destabilized Afghanistan—they’ve turned the entire region into a war zone. The UN cannot claim to support peace while ignoring the state that has made terrorism its foreign policy.
8.) Has Qatar played a double game with the Taliban? And do you view the current Taliban as more of a Pakistani proxy or a domestic force?
Qatar made itself the velvet couch for violent men. They call it diplomacy; I call it laundering extremism with air conditioning and hotel buffets. The Doha talks were never neutral. They were stage-managed surrender.
The Taliban began as a proxy. Now it’s a hybrid—a Frankenstein monster with ISI bones and local flesh. But the command chain still ends in Rawalpindi. Let’s stop pretending otherwise.
9.) What role do Iran and India play in Afghanistan’s future? And has the OIC failed Afghan women in holding the Taliban to Islamic accountability?
Iran weaponizes minority suffering while pretending to defend it. The Fatemiyoun Brigade is built on the backs of Afghan Hazara refugees. Iran’s regime doesn’t protect Shias—it recruits them, uses them, and discards them for regional leverage.
Delhi has both opportunity and responsibility. If India limits its engagement to countering Pakistan, it will fail us. If it listens to Afghan civil society—not just strongmen—it could become a true partner.
The OIC doesn’t just fail us—it insults us. It claims Islamic unity while watching Afghan women be whipped for learning. If they won’t condemn gender apartheid now, they’ve chosen cowardice over creed.
10.) Is regional autonomy a path to stability or fragmentation? And are Western powers once again prioritizing counterterrorism over human rights?
If regional autonomy is imposed top-down, it’s just another divide-and-rule tactic. But if it comes from within—through genuine local consensus and equality under law—it could help decentralize tyranny. Still, nothing works without women’s full participation. Regional autonomy without gender inclusion is just a prettier prison.
And yes, the West has gone back to treating Afghanistan like a security file. If women are being beaten in the street but no bombs are going off, they call it “stability.” That moral trade-off is the reason we are here.
