By Reema Kumari
In many cultures, marriage is described as a partnership — a bond built on trust, shared responsibility, and mutual respect. Yet under the Taliban’s interpretation of law in Afghanistan, marriage has increasingly been framed not as a partnership, but as a structure of control. Policies and decrees introduced since their return to power have raised deep concerns among human rights observers, particularly those that define a wife’s role in terms that resemble obedience and ownership rather than equality.
At the heart of the controversy is the idea that a husband holds near-total authority over his wife’s movement and behavior. Reports and legal interpretations emerging from Afghanistan suggest that a woman may require her husband’s permission to leave the house, pursue work, or even visit family. In such a system, refusal to comply is not treated as a disagreement between partners but as disobedience. When the law sides almost exclusively with one spouse, marriage shifts from companionship to command.
The emotional weight of such policies is difficult to measure. Imagine a life where stepping outside your home, speaking freely, or making personal decisions depends on someone else’s approval. For many Afghan women, this is not theoretical. It is a daily calculation — whether an action will invite punishment, shame, or worse. When authority is concentrated in one individual, it narrows the space for dialogue and eliminates the balance that healthy relationships require.
Supporters of the Taliban argue that their rules are grounded in their interpretation of religious and cultural values. Critics, however, say these measures blur the line between guardianship and ownership. The language used in certain rulings — emphasizing obedience and male control — reinforces a hierarchy in which women’s autonomy is secondary. The concern is not only about individual freedom but about the broader message such laws send: that women are dependents rather than equal participants in society.
The consequences stretch beyond the household. When women are restricted from education, employment, and public life, the entire nation feels the impact. Economies weaken when half the population cannot contribute fully. Communities suffer when mothers and daughters are denied opportunities to learn and grow. Children raised in environments of inequality may internalize those patterns, continuing cycles of limitation.
Perhaps most troubling is how normalization occurs. When restrictive practices become embedded in law, they gain an appearance of legitimacy. What might once have been questioned becomes routine. Over time, the extraordinary becomes ordinary. In that shift, the concept of partnership fades, replaced by a system in which power defines relationships more than compassion does.
Yet even in restrictive circumstances, stories continue to surface of resilience — women quietly teaching girls in private homes, families supporting daughters’ ambitions despite risks, and individuals advocating for dignity in small but meaningful ways. These acts may not always make headlines, but they reflect a deep desire for recognition as equal human beings.
The debate over women’s status in Afghanistan is not merely political; it is profoundly personal. It concerns the meaning of marriage, the boundaries of authority, and the definition of dignity. When a legal system frames a wife as something closer to property than partner, it reshapes not only laws but lives.
(The views expressed are solely those of the author.)
