Sahar Sana: We Fight on Our Own Ground!

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FutureSheLeaders (9)

Sahar Sana; a young woman with towering dreams—her steps filled with hope and her eyes set firmly on a bright, purposeful future.

Started school at the age of 5; At 15, together with her classmates at Marefat High School, launched the Peace on Earth Game by 2030 and led a team of 80 visionary girls and boys in Kabul.

Her belief in change is simple yet profound: transformation begins with one person.

Today, she is a Project Management graduate and a certified PMP professional in the United States. She aims to connect technology, innovation, and social change.

For Sahar, leadership means standing between hope and fear, carrying a torch of faith for tomorrow.

And she has a message for the girls of Afghanistan:
 “Do not surrender to the night—dawn always follows darkness!”

Stay with us and listen to her story—a story that can transform the way you see the future.

Royesh: Sahar jan, hello. Welcome to the “Leaders of Tomorrow” program.

Sahar: Thank you, may you be well and happy. How are you?

Royesh: How does it feel to see yourself among the “Leaders of Tomorrow” and speak from this position to your peers today and your audience in the future?

Sahar: I feel really good. I believe that “Leaders of Tomorrow” — especially when it comes to women — is something the world urgently needs everywhere, in every aspect.

Royesh: Let me ask again — how does it feel knowing that we live in a world mostly shaped by male perspectives and male leadership models, while the idea of a female lens and female leadership is still new? When you see yourself as one of the pioneers of this movement that might redefine the world in the next 15 to 20 years, what do you feel inside?

Sahar: A sense of strength mixed with fear. Strength because I believe that women — through their ability to give life — reflect something of the Creator’s perspective. And fear because, no matter where you are in the world, there are still many layers that restrict women. These two feelings coexist, but I believe the strength in me outweighs the fear.

Royesh: This year, you had two important experiences marking a new stage in your life: graduating from university — although I think your studies aren’t fully complete yet — and also taking a new, specialized exam, which I heard you passed successfully. This exam is apparently for a select group in academic circles. I’d love to hear more about both of these academic milestones.

Sahar: My major is Project Management, and just about a month ago, I participated in my graduation ceremony. I’ve nearly completed all of my coursework — there’s one main component left called the “Practicum,” which is the practical work part of the degree. Students are only allowed to take it during the fall semester, which is why it’s still pending for me.

My university here holds only one graduation ceremony per year, and because I had completed all my core coursework — with only a few minor things left — I was allowed to participate in the graduation ceremony.

Royesh:  We can talk more later about what that experience was like. As for the PMP — Project Management Professional exam — it’s a global certification for people in this field. Only about six percent of project managers have it. It’s a difficult test that not only requires academic knowledge but also practical experience in project management. It includes 180 questions and lasts four hours. It was a really tough exam — but it was on my to-do list for this year, and I’m proud to say that my list of “things I want” turned into “things I’ve achieved.”

From an academic or professional perspective, in the field you’re currently focused on, what do you hope to become? In which direction are you heading?

Sahar: As I mentioned earlier, my field is Project Management — a discipline I truly love. In the future, I want to work at the intersection of technology, innovation, and social change — combining all three within the scope of Project Management. I believe that especially for people like us from Afghanistan, integrating these three elements through project work can create new pathways to help our communities. In the age of AI and technology, extremist groups can’t suppress people to the same extent they used to — and that gives us a unique opportunity.

Royesh: How applicable is your field — specifically Project Management — to Afghanistan, especially the Afghanistan of tomorrow?

Sahar: Project Management is a very strong and versatile field, which means it can be applied in many areas. Whether we’re looking at technology or social change, the perspectives and methodologies within Project Management allow you to combine these domains and move forward in a structured way — toward a specific goal or outcome.

Royesh: Are you currently working on any practical projects?

Sahar: Right now, I’m working on an automation project — systems that previously took someone hours to complete are now streamlined through the project that I’m managing. I’m also working on another project related to artificial intelligence, though it’s still in the ideation phase so I won’t share the details just yet. But it focuses on combining AI with social change, especially in the area of migration.

Royesh: Do you plan to complete a master’s degree as well, or are you heading straight into the job market from here?

Sahar: Both work and education are equally important to me, and I plan to focus on both moving forward.

Royesh: With these two stages behind you, you’re also wrapping up a long academic journey. How many years has it been since your first day of school up to now, when you’ve just passed the PMP exam?

Sahar: I think about 17 years.

Royesh: ​​And how old are you now?

Sahar: 22             

Royesh: Can we go back now — from age 22 to your childhood? Tell us about your early years: where you were born, your family, and what kind of environment you grew up in.

Royesh: I was born in Kabul. I have an older sister, younger siblings — a younger sister and brother — and also older brothers. I started school when I was five. Before school, my first teachers were my parents. I already knew how to read and write by the age of four, so when I was five — even though in Afghanistan you usually start school at seven — they enrolled me directly into school. That created a different atmosphere for me. Up until 10th or 11th grade, I was always the youngest in my class. People would notice how young I was, though after a while it became less obvious.

Sahar: At home, both of my parents have been major role models for me — especially my father. I’m closer with him. There’s a term in English: “Grassroots leadership,” and I’ve both worked in that area in Afghanistan and am deeply interested in it. The biggest inspiration for that has been my father.

Royesh: From what you’ve said, it sounds like you were born during the republic era. As I know, your father was a mujahid — someone who had a resistance background. Do you think he carried over aspects of that jihadi mindset into the republic period, and do you believe that influenced you as a child? Looking back now, do you see traces of that era in how he raised you?

Sahar: I think the biggest part of it was his social awareness — a true gift and blessing, in my view. During the time of internal conflict in Afghanistan, my father worked first as a judge and later as a colonel general — but in both roles, he worked on the civilian side. His work was about resolving disputes and making reform-oriented decisions among people who were facing real problems.

Royesh: That perspective of his meant that even during the republic, many friends, relatives, and community members would come to him for advice. He always had a very empowering — even feminist — perspective, especially regarding women, and that played a huge role in shaping who I’ve become.

Sahar: One thing my father always told me and my older sister was: In Afghanistan, a woman is always treated as second-class — and the only way that can change is if she invests in herself. A woman must get an education, work, and build an identity of her own.

Royesh: Because even when a woman has a personal identity, she still faces more challenges than a man. But when you build a strong individual identity, you are not as easily influenced.

Sahar: That worldview — both personal and social — shaped how I thought about the world as I grew up. I’d observe how people did certain things and realize, “This isn’t the right way; this needs to change.” That awareness came directly from my father’s influence.

Royesh: It’s fascinating that your father developed such a view — especially considering that people with religious motivations who came to jihad often didn’t hold these kinds of beliefs about women. In fact, one of the only people in the Hezb-e-Wahdat party (which your father was a part of) who spoke publicly in support of such ideas was Mazari. I’d love to know more — how much of your father’s perspective came from his own studies, and how much was influenced by Mazari?Did your father ever mention how much of this perspective came from his own studies, and how much was inspired by Mazari’s views?

Sahar: In our family, we talked about both of those things a lot. It was normal for us to discuss the time before the republic as well as the things my father had studied. He read a lot of books — our home in Afghanistan was filled with them. He had many religious books, and I believe the reason he held such progressive views was because he had truly studied religion. His beliefs didn’t come from other people’s interpretations — they came directly from the core teachings of Islam. I believe it was his personal study of religion that gave him a spiritual understanding that most people in Afghanistan simply didn’t have.

Royesh: When it came to this perspective, how much did your father talk about it at home? Did he ever warn you to be careful — that the broader society may not share these views, and that expressing or living by them could bring challenges?

Sahar: Honestly, I think it was the opposite. One of the biggest lessons my father taught me was this: when you see something wrong or hear something that’s not right, you shouldn’t stay silent. You have to act against what’s wrong — and do it in a way that’s just and principled.

Royesh: I remember a story about you — we came to observe your 10th grade class and evaluate a new teacher who was supposed to teach religious studies. He was explaining concepts like revelation, the Quran, and intellectual vs. traditional interpretations. That day, for the first time, you raised your hand and said, “If a person can’t understand something, they can’t believe it. And if they can’t believe it, they can’t act on it. What you’re saying about God — I simply can’t understand what God is.” You said you couldn’t grasp the concept of revelation — how it came to the Prophet — and all those interpretations, both rational and traditional, didn’t make sense to you. I’m sure you remember that moment. How, at such a young age, did you have the courage to question such a deeply sensitive religious issue?

Sahar: I think I was 14 that year, in 10th grade. I was in a very curious phase — I wanted to understand things. If someone said “the sky is blue,” I wanted to know why they said that. That’s a simple example, but the environment at Marefat School encouraged that kind of questioning. Asking difficult questions was seen as something good, and you were supported in trying to understand the answers. That played a huge role in shaping my identity. The reason I asked that question specifically was because the teacher (Mr. Sedaqat) had painted a picture of God as someone far away. A being who only speaks to the most elite of humans. The idea was that you had to pass through several stages before you could connect with or understand God.That wasn’t the understanding of God that I wanted. A human being can’t live inside a small box and claim to fully grasp what’s beyond. That box must expand. Humans are free beings — and God created us with that freedom. That’s why I asked the question.

Royesh: You mentioned your older sister, who was also influenced by your father’s values and attitude at home. What kind of impact did she have on you? And how’s your relationship with her now?

Sahar: My sister is one of my biggest role models. There’s a story from my childhood that she remembers — even though I don’t. It was during the early years of the republic. I don’t exactly remember where my father worked, but there was a meeting with Hamid Karzai, the former president of Afghanistan, and my father was present at that meeting. ​​That night, the national television aired the footage, and I think I was about four or five at the time. My sister said, “I wish I was there to see President Karzai.” And apparently, I said, “I wish I was the president myself.” Even now, whenever they tell that story, I still can’t wrap my head around how a 4- or 5-year-old Sahar could’ve had such a thought or said something like that. But my sister always brings it up whenever I feel pressure or face challenges. She reminds me of that moment. She says, “You were four or five years old when you said you wanted that — so whatever challenge you’re facing now, you can absolutely handle it.”

Royesh: During your childhood, did you have any leadership role models? Was there someone specific — in school, life, or work — who inspired you?

Sahar: One of my biggest inspirations was Mazari — and I still deeply admire him. I appreciated his perspective. And among women, my greatest role model was Zaynab bint Ali, the granddaughter of the Prophet Muhammad. Especially when I was around 14 or 15 — and even now — she remains my most significant female role model. The way Zaynab saw the world, the conditions she endured — they were extremely difficult. Yet she embodied what we call in English “leadership in crisis.” When nothing around you is normal, her perspective and way of acting inspire me deeply.

Royesh: Mazari was, after all, a man. Now you’re talking about female leadership. What do you think Mazari’s leadership model had that resonated with you? Was there something at a higher level — a universal quality of leadership — that you found inspiring?

Sahar: What inspired me most was Mazari’s resilience. After the genocide of the 19th century, the Hazara people were left without collective leadership for a long time. His ability to bring a broken people together — to gather them around a vision — is something not everyone has. That’s a rare and powerful trait. And especially now, with the situation in Afghanistan, I believe our generation needs that kind of leadership more than ever.

Royesh: Where did you attend primary school? Which school, and what memories do you have of your teachers, classes, or classmates during that period?

Sahar: I don’t quite remember the name of the school — it was a very small one. I attended that school for the first three years, and classes were in Pashto. I had some kind classmates and friends. I was very young, and some students would often say, “You’re too young to be here.” But there were others who were kind and supportive.

Royesh: What year did you start at Marefat School? And what made you choose that school?

Sahar: I joined Marefat in 2014. One of the main reasons I chose it was the high quality of education. But also, the personal growth environment there was much stronger than in other schools in Afghanistan.

Royesh: How did you first hear about Marefat? How did you learn about the school and its academic environment?

Sahar: I have a younger brother who was attending kindergarten at Marefat. During that time, my mom would take him to and from school, and she really came to like the environment. So she wanted both of us to be at the same school — especially because Marefat offered a better learning experience.

Royesh: When you started at Marefat, what kind of environment did you encounter that felt different from the school you had attended before, or any others you knew?

Sahar: Marefat was bigger than the schools I’d been to before. But more than that, the atmosphere was completely different. In previous schools, going to school meant just attending class, learning the subjects, and going back home. Marefat focused heavily on personal growth, mindset, and extracurricular activities. That was the biggest difference compared to other schools — alongside, of course, its stronger academic quality.

Royesh: What was the most important lesson you learned at Marefat — something you think you wouldn’t have learned in any other school?

Sahar: Empowerment. (Your classes.)

Royesh: What was special about empowerment for you?

Sahar: It was about knowing yourself, understanding the world, and creating connections between the two — maintaining those connections, and finding your role within the larger structure of how the world works. One of the things that really stuck with me — and that I still use today — was SMART goals. Setting goals that are Specific, Measurable, Achievable, Relevant, and Time-bound. That concept was so valuable to me. And alongside that, the encouragement to ask questions was equally important.

Royesh: How much influence did your classmates at Marefat have on you? Did your circle of friends inspire you or motivate you in any way?

Sahar: I think my circle of friends at Marefat changed a lot over the years. In some areas, especially when it came to friendships and social things, I tended to prefer individual effort over group collaboration. In the early years, we had a large friend group, but later it became smaller — especially after class reshuffles. But every one of them had an impact on me in different ways.

Royesh: When you first came to Marefat, you were more of an introverted girl. What changed that? What helped you become more outgoing and socially engaged? What drew you to group activities and collaboration?

Sahar: I think a big part of it was that the environment itself encouraged — almost forced — you to interact and work with other students. Marefat was much bigger than the school I attended before, and that made group work more essential. Many activities were done in groups, and those friendship circles played a big role in helping me open up and engage more socially.

Royesh: You mentioned that at Marefat, certain personal skill-building practices — like public speaking and social interaction — were especially encouraged. What specific activities or programs helped you strengthen those skills?

Sahar: I remember that in the final years at Marefat, we had many extracurricular activities — things like debate competitions and events involving students from other schools or special guest-led programs. There were a lot of such events, and they pushed us to work with people. While doing the actual work, you were also naturally building connections and strengthening relationships.

Royesh: Some said that Marefat’s environment overly supported girls, while boys were somewhat sidelined. At times, this was even called discrimination against boys. As a girl, did you ever feel that such bias existed in your favor at Marefat?

Sahar: I don’t think so. Girls and boys had access to the same classes and programs. Both were included in all school activities. Maybe I didn’t notice because I was a girl myself, but honestly, I don’t believe there was discrimination. Still, I can’t speak for everyone.

Royesh: Did you ever feel there was negative competition between girls and boys? For example, in student councils or during joint activities — did you sense jealousy or rivalry, or times when one side tried to block or hinder the other?

Sahar: There was definitely a lot of competition — but I don’t think it was negative. That competition actually encouraged both sides to work harder, put in more effort, and ultimately produce better outcomes. In my view, the competition at Marefat was healthy — not harmful.

Royesh: What was something missing or a negative point about Marefat that used to bother you?

Sahar: I think it was the overall environment in Afghanistan — and that influenced Marefat too — this negative cultural attitude toward girls. It came both from outside the school and from some of the students within Marefat. Of course, it depended on the individual — I wouldn’t say that this atmosphere defined Marefat as a whole. But there were people at the school who didn’t really follow the ideology Marefat taught — things like asking questions, thinking independently, or developing a personal identity.

Royesh: Do you remember the very first time you spoke in front of an audience? How did that make you feel?

Sahar: I don’t remember exactly when it started, but I think my confidence in speaking with other students and people really grew after participating in the Peace on Earth game.

Royesh: In the Empowerment class, aside from the SMART goals concept you mentioned earlier, what other ideas or concepts were exciting or eye-opening for you?

Sahar: One of the biggest takeaways for me was the concept of vision — having a life vision. I think that’s still a major part of my life today. When, as a human being, you carry a greater dream for your life and actively work toward it, you begin to explore different paths and see the world through your own lens. One example you gave in class — I don’t remember the exact wording — was how the world looks different when seen through a woman’s eyes compared to a man’s, or through the eyes of each unique individual. That’s something I’ve never forgotten — because no matter how much the world changes, two people in exactly the same situation can still see two entirely different worlds. A person’s worldview strongly influences what they choose to do — or not do — in reality.

Royesh: Given this unique perspective you describe, how much do you think it set you apart from your classmates — in how you engaged with your environment and the opportunities presented to you?

Sahar: Even though we were all in the same class, I think each of us had our own perspective. The one I had pushed me not just to think about things — but to act on them. It helped me make more friends, build stronger connections. Looking back, I see that it was the right approach. That belief — of taking steps to shape my dream — kept me grounded in action while still holding on to my vision.

Royesh: When you were introduced to the concept of individuality in the Empowerment class — which is both one of its most sensitive and central themes — how much do you think it created challenges for you, either within your family or among your classmates? Because emphasizing the self can sometimes make it difficult to form or maintain relationships with others.

Sahar: Without a doubt. I think there’s always a boundary — a point where individualism is good, and a point beyond which you have to start considering those around you as well. I believe that individualism led me to grow distant from some of the friends I had during school. As I became more familiar with the ideas of individuality and personal growth, I realized people find themselves in different situations — they follow the path they believe is right for them, and that path isn’t always something they can share with others. Because what I might find meaningful and valuable may not hold the same value for someone else. And those values — they’re what deepen some human connections, but they can also be the reason others fade away.

Royesh: The individual and the collective often come together — or are separated — through two other key Empowerment terms: Vision and Ambition.As an individual, your ambition drives you forward. But when you enter a collective space, you need vision — because vision allows you to create a broader space, to recognize and relate to people in different situations. Do you think you’ve been successful in balancing ambition and vision?

Sahar: That’s a tough question. I think I’ve always tried to find a 50–50 balance between the two. My ambition has always been important to me — right alongside vision. But I’ve always tried to make sure that my ambitions were ultimately steps toward achieving my vision.

Royesh: Let’s take it further — with two other Empowerment concepts you worked with often in Peace on Earth: competition and cooperation. How much do you compete, and how much do you cooperate?

Sahar: I think I do both — I compete and I cooperate in different parts of life. I believe that when you cooperate, you learn more, you work with others, and together you can reach better positions and create something greater. But at the same time, I do compete — because I’m an ambitious person.

Royesh: That’s a very important point. If you can frame your competition within cooperation, you generate a powerful energy for the collective. Because while you’re collaborating with your team, you’re also striving to be ahead — to lead — compared to others in the group. That doesn’t mean separating yourself from the group. You’re cooperating, but you also aim to be the one in front. And that inspires the rest of your team to move forward with you. What matters most is preserving your vision — so that you can build and maintain relationships with your team members. So I’d like to ask again — Sahar, in your classroom or team groups, how much do you really protect the dignity of others during collaboration? How much do you truly cooperate?

Sahar: My major is Project Management, and one of the things that’s both essential in project management and very true to my personality is the ability to work well with others. There’s a concept in project management called a servant leader — someone who leads by serving, who connects people and fosters collaboration. That kind of teamwork with your team members is incredibly important. As a servant leader, and as a project manager, you’re the one holding the big picture — the vision of where you want to get at the end of the day. When you work with a team, you bring together different skills and perspectives so that achieving that goal becomes easier and more effective. For example, if we have a five-person team, maybe one person is really strong in self-awareness, another is excellent with computers and software, another shines in communication. Each person has their own strengths, and while those strengths are valuable individually, when combined, they allow you to build something even better. That’s the mindset I carry with me in my personal life too, not just work — because I might be great in one area, and the person I work with might need support in that same area. If I give my all to be the best in what I do, and the other person gives their all in their area, by the end of the day, we’ll have a team made up of strong, capable individuals — a group that can build something truly meaningful. That’s why what you said earlier really resonates: when we align our ambitions, we’re far more likely to reach our shared vision.

Royesh: One of the most powerful experiences you had in developing your leadership and management skills was the creation and implementation of the Peace on Earth game. Could you talk about that experience — especially considering how difficult things were in Kabul in 2018, when the city was facing a wave of terrorist attacks and the security situation was extremely bad — and yet you and your peers proposed and launched this game. Could you describe that experience in more detail?

Sahar: What personally motivated me to want to start this program and be a part of it was what happened in 2018. First, there was a suicide bombing at the Mawoud center — students from Marefat, our friends, were killed in that attack. Then, I think a week or two later, there was another attack at Police District 13 Headquarters, which was about ten minutes away from Marefat — without traffic. An attacker had entered the compound, and that day things were really terrible. I remember I was in 11th grade at the time, and my younger brother was in grade 2 or 3. The whole school was filled with panic and fear. The driver who used to take me to and from school was desperately looking for me. We weren’t allowed to have phones at school, so both of us were really distressed.

Those two events left a huge mark on my mind. Even before that, something had been bothering me deeply — why did we have to go to school every day in fear? Why did we have to return home in fear? That day it became clear to me that I didn’t want to live in that kind of environment. I didn’t want the people around me — those I knew and loved — to live with that kind of fear either.

The ones who put us in that situation — the extremist groups — they lived in a completely different battlefield. Their battlefield was filled with guns and violence and terror. And I was 15 years old at the time — just a 15-year-old Sahar — along with the people around me. We could never win in that kind of battlefield. It wasn’t a world we belonged in.

The biggest lesson I took from that was that I didn’t want to live in those conditions — I wanted to live in a better one. But then the question became: how do I help create that better world?

One option could have been to go fight the Taliban and extremist groups directly — but that was never my fight. My fight was never with guns, because the real problem wasn’t a specific person. The problem was the ideology that could make someone so cruel they’d believe that bombing a school and killing students was somehow justified.

My battlefield was different — mine was to study harder, to work with my classmates, to build something of my own. Let them have their battlefield — I would have mine.

For us, our actions in the Peace on Earth game were our battlefield. Especially during winter, when the mornings were still dark — we chose to show up in that darkness, to participate in that program at Marefat. That was our ground.

Or take Fridays, for example — as a student, I could’ve gone to a party, gone out, relaxed. But instead, I chose to show up, lead workshops, work with students on Peace on Earth. That crisis taught me leadership in crisis. It gave me a way to act, to claim my own battlefield.

Royesh: In this experience of creating your own battlefield — your own space — you also took part in other beautiful practices. For example, alongside you, other girls started a girls’ football team. You also began writing letters to people in other countries who became aware of your work. You went beyond Marefat — you found people, formed groups, and began collaborating. Amid all this, what change did you feel was created in the public space as a result of your actions and activities? How much did the morale of those you worked with shift?

Sahar: I think it created a lot more hope. In 2018, it was just me. But by 2019, I had started my own organization, Peace Builders, and between 2018 and 2019, we grew from just one person to a team of 80. This 80-person team included kids as young as 10 and university students in their early 20s — 21, 22 years old. Our members came from different schools: Sayed Al-Shohada School, Abdul Rahim Shaheed School, the American University of Afghanistan, Kabul University — from all over. What united us was a shared dream, a belief in change, and the faith that we could create that change. That belief brought people from different places together week after week to work and build something side by side.

Royesh: The Peace on Earth game that you pioneered at Marefat was later theorized by David Gershon and turned into a global game. What kind of relationship did you have with this network — the one managed by David Gershon? How did you connect with them? How did you hold your meetings?

Sahar: I believe we held meetings every two weeks. These meetings were at Marefat. Because of the time difference between the U.S. and Afghanistan — which I think is around eight and a half hours — the meetings, which were usually in the afternoon in the U.S., would be at 6 a.m. for us. So we had to be at Marefat very early in the morning for the meetings. Not all the team members could attend those sessions because of the timing — it wasn’t feasible for everyone. So most of the time, I attended those meetings myself, along with a few people who led their own teams. Each week, we would continue to implement the programs with them. The workshops we held were usually on Fridays. Later on, in addition to our weekly workshops, we hosted a final two-day event that had about 80 participants. That event included project management, peacebuilding activities, music, and a variety of other elements.

Royesh: While you were advancing the Peace on Earth game, you also faced two other very painful experiences: the COVID-19 pandemic and the fall of Kabul to the Taliban. How much did the beginning of the COVID-19 outbreak affect you?

Sahar: COVID, in its early days, brought a huge shift. The entire world suddenly came to a standstill — everything changed at once. We could no longer meet with the students and team members in person, and we also didn’t have experience connecting with them virtually — we didn’t really know how to communicate online. Tools like Zoom and other platforms only became widely used in Afghanistan after 2020. It was a very difficult time. But the approach we took was to begin writing articles. Students from different parts of Afghanistan — especially from Kabul and those in our teams — started writing essays, and we would publish them. Meanwhile, I stayed in touch with our core team of team leaders and we’d talk about what we wanted to do once the situation improved

But even before that, I think the biggest challenge I personally faced in the Peace on Earth game was in March 2020. It was around March 4th or 5th — we had organized a two-day program at Marefat. Participants from all over Kabul had joined. On the second day — which happened to be the anniversary of Martyr Mazari at Mosalla-e-Mazari — a suicide attack happened. Two armed individuals had gone into the gathering and opened fire on people. That moment was deeply difficult for me. We were just 15 minutes away from that incident. The location, Mosalla, was along the main road you had to take to reach Marefat — so the area had become incredibly unsafe.

It shook me to my core, because while we were holding a peace program, just 15 minutes away people were being killed. I also carried a heavy responsibility — because if we canceled the program, there was a risk that people heading home, especially those who lived outside of Dasht-e-Barchi, might be harmed along the way. But if we didn’t cancel it, and the situation worsened, everyone would be trapped in Barchi.

I think that moment shook me even more than COVID itself. It was one of those moments where I stopped for a second and asked myself, “What am I really doing here?” But thankfully, that day passed safely. We decided to continue the program And from that day on, I became even more determined — because if those violent groups were continuing to move forward, it meant we had to work even harder in response

Royesh: One of your most successful experiences was that, in a city torn apart by hatred, violence, and division — where even language, ethnicity, religion, and region had fractured people — you were still able to bring together an incredible group of young people. Girls and boys from every corner of the city trusted you and came together to form teams, work side by side. What kind of feeling did that create for you? In the gatherings you held together, what kind of vision did you see for the future?

Sahar: It was exactly the belief that comes from the Social Change Top framework — the same framework behind the Peace on Earth program and the Grassroots Leadership initiative. The idea is that real change begins at the most local, smallest level. If you can shift the beliefs of even one person, if you can work with one person in a meaningful way, then that one person can go on to do the same with someone else. Over time, the transformation you envisioned begins to take shape.

That’s exactly the belief I held in the Peace on Earth game. With everyone we worked with, our belief was: if even one person changes, if one person begins to believe that change is possible, their perspective will begin to shift — and they will go on to share that transformation with someone else. At the end of the day, the path we were walking may have been a long one — but one day, whether soon or far off, we would arrive at a society where people live together in peace and mutual respect.

Royesh: Among the young people in your group — especially the youth — how much did you feel they truly believed in what you were trying to do? How serious did it seem to them?

Sahar: I think we had a really amazing group — a group that genuinely believed in the work. I saw this more in their actions than in their words. Because if someone lives 40 to 50 minutes away from Marefat but still shows up every single Friday to be part of the program, to work with the team — even if the activities are simple — and still wants to contribute, that shows that person truly believes in change. It means they believe that what they’re doing will lead to results — maybe not today or tomorrow, but one day.

Royesh: What was the fall of Kabul like for you? When the Taliban came, what new experience did you face?

Sahar: I was extremely angry — and one of the reasons was because a part of me felt like all the work we had done from 2018 to 2021 had been erased. That was deeply upsetting to me. But later, I came to the realization that the work wasn’t erased — work like that never truly disappears. Still, on August 15, the day the Taliban entered Kabul, I remember calling Maryam because our house wasn’t in the Barchi area, and I thought that if anywhere in Kabul might resist, it would be Barchi — that maybe people there would stand up and resist a little before the Taliban could take over the city. I was talking with Maryam and Sakina, and all three of us were in complete shock. I remember that Maryam and I had several more conversations about it afterward. That day, while I was speaking, my voice was trembling — from both fear and rage. I kept thinking our generation was suddenly in the exact same situation that the generation before us had been in more than twenty years ago. I was furious because I kept asking myself, “How could such a thing happen? How could it be that everything I’ve done — all my work — could end here?”

Royesh: In many instances, whether during your time at Ma’refat or after coming to America, you have introduced yourself as a religious, faith-driven person and portrayed your relationship with God as something with a special meaning. Can you explain what your understanding of God and faith in God truly is? What does the peace you gain from faith in God mean to you?

Sahar: I believe that human beings, in essence, return to their origin—because the experience of being human is not the entirety of our life experience. There’s a phrase I read somewhere just a few hours ago that said: “A human is not a being that has a soul; rather, you are a soul experiencing being human.” And that soul has a source, and the source of the human soul is God. Just as a tree must be connected to its roots in order to grow and bear fruit, it is the same for a human being. When you are connected to your root and source—God—you are able to know yourself better, understand your purpose, and figure out what you should and shouldn’t do in life in order to fulfill that purpose.

Royesh: In the society you live in, the religion you believe in—like Islam—holds, particularly toward women, a very degrading view. It is from this very outlook that a 14-century-long history of the oppression of women has emerged. It is from this same outlook that, for example, the Taliban are currently enforcing their extremely strict laws against women. How is it that, despite all this, you are still able to search within this very religion, within this very faith, for a God who creates in Sahar a sense of companionship, a sense of oneness? Don’t you think, for example, that the men of Islamic societies are stealing God away from you, or are depriving you of closeness to this God?

Sahar: That’s a very difficult question you’ve asked. The problem is that in a society like Afghanistan, most people have believed whatever the person in power said—and unfortunately, people didn’t go and look for themselves to see whether God actually said such things or not. The issue is that the same interpretation that a man used to try to restrict women—like throughout history, when men wanted to limit women—that same interpretation was believed by women too. Women also didn’t have the opportunity—or people in general didn’t have the opportunity—to go and see for themselves whether God really said that women shouldn’t go outside, and so on.

I don’t believe that extremist groups have anything to do with religion, because human belief and interpretation can turn something very good into something very negative. These restrictions that currently exist in Afghanistan—or have existed throughout history in various societies—are in no way the responsibility of religion or God. Rather, they are the result of human interpretations of different beliefs.

Royesh: Sahar-jan, I respect your viewpoint, because it’s an interpretation—especially when you say that the male interpretation of the Qur’an has shaped a male-dominated understanding. But the Qur’an itself, on the surface, contains many verses and expressions that clearly reflect an anti-woman spirit, and the interpretations that have been made are also based on those verses. How can you say that within the heart of the Qur’an there is respect, love, and compassion for women, and that men are not considered superior to women in the Qur’anic view?

Sahar: I think one of the main reasons people hold on to such shallow beliefs is because they read the Qur’an very superficially and do not engage with its deeper meanings and verses. For example, when you look at the dynamic between Prophet Solomon and Queen Bilqis and weigh their positions equally, you see how Bilqis is portrayed as a noble figure—a creator, a compassionate and wise leader. And in contrast, when you examine the position from which Solomon speaks and the way Queen Bilqis responds, I think you can see that not only in this instance, but in many parts of the Qur’an, if men want to construct a belief, they must read it deeply.

Royesh: What kind of feeling does being a girl and a woman in the context of Afghanistan create for you? In Afghan society, does being a girl give you a sense of pride, honor, peace, and strength—or does it create feelings of weakness, powerlessness, and defeat?

Sahar: I think all of those feelings exist together, because without a doubt, being a girl and a woman in Afghanistan is not easy—and this is something the whole world is currently witnessing. But I’m a very hopeful person, and at the same time that I am full of hope, I also strongly believe in individual effort and action.

Royesh: Eighteen years from now, when you’re 40 years old and in a position of authority within your society, do you really think you’ll be able to present a different model of female leadership to your community and to the world?

Sahar: I think—yes. Because our generation is a different generation, and I personally, in these 22 years of life so far, have always believed that if circumstances are not the way you want them to be, you can change them—and you change them through action. One of my beliefs is about purpose in the moment. For example, if you’re in a situation where the only thing you can do is offer someone a glass of water, then in that moment you must do just that. And in another situation where you have the ability to create a greater change, then you create that greater change. And I live with this belief—and I think that this belief will help me become a positive role model.

Royesh: Sahar, everything you have in your hands today as an achievement—as you’ve shared in your story—has come from your own individual effort. You pulled yourself out of helplessness and despair through your own strength and hope and brought yourself to where you are now. For the millions of other girls who are still in Afghanistan and might think that Sahar succeeded as an exception, that she studied as an exception, and that she has now reached this level of hope for the future as an exception—what is your message to them?

Sahar: After every long night, there is a morning. That’s one thing. And the other is that I don’t believe I’m an exception. I truly believe that each one of our girls is either as capable as I am or even more capable than me. The circumstances are not easy—especially when I see girls who, despite all these harsh conditions, are still studying, still pushing forward… That same drive—as we once discussed in an empowerment session—that same approach is still there. They continue to study, to work. Perhaps they are even stronger and more resilient than I am.

No long night comes without a dawn. And there is a verse in the Holy Qur’an, in Surah Al-Baqarah, where God says: “La yukallifullahu nafsan illa wus‘aha”—God does not burden a soul with more than it can bear. That means no one is tested beyond their capacity. And I am sure that this chapter, too, will eventually come to a good end.

Royesh: Sahar-jan, has there ever been a time when you cried because of hardship or difficulty

Sahar: Without a doubt, absolutely. I think crying—shedding tears—is one of the best and healthiest ways for a person to express their feelings during moments of sadness. You shouldn’t suppress your emotions.

Royesh: If you had a message—one final message—for your parents, who have been the role models in your life and supported you, and for your older sister, what would you say to them?

Sahar: I would say: Thank you—for being my pillars of strength when I felt weak, for believing in me when I had doubts, and for loving me unconditionally. Everything I am today is because of the seeds of courage, kindness, and resilience that you planted in me. To my parents, your sacrifices and values are the foundation of my journey. And to my sister—you’ve walked ahead of me, making the path a little clearer, and I carry your strength with me every step of the way. Whatever good I do in this world, a part of it belongs to you.

Royesh: Sahar becomes 40 years old, becomes the President. According to the Constitution of Afghanistan, there is another girl in Afghanistan who is 15 years old—the same age Sahar was at that time. What would you say to that girl.

Sahar: That she is stronger than she thinks she is.

Royesh: Thank you, Sahar-jan. I’m truly very happy to have seen you again after so many years—as a friend, as a student, as a companion—in such a beautiful life story, still inspiring, still full of hope.

Sahar: Thank you. Wishing you a long life. Always.

Royesh: Goodbye!

Sahar: Goodbye!

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