The Taliban's crusade against love and red color

Kabul“I will bury you right here”. That is what a Taliban officer told me on Valentine’s Day in Kabul. It has been nearly two weeks since February 14, but I am still carrying that day inside me.

In Kabul, especially in Shahr-e-Naw area, where I was that day, the Taliban presence on Valentine’s Day was heavier than usual. What I witnessed there was not isolated. Photos and videos circulating on social media showed the same scene in other parts of the city: multiple Ministry for the Propagation of Virtue and Prevention of Vice officers stationed outside restaurants, stopping people, searching them, questioning them.

In Shahr-e-Naw, they stood directly at the restaurant entrances. Before anyone could enter, they were inspected. Couples were interrogated. Men had to prove that the women beside them were their wives. I saw officers tell one man to “change your wife’s red chador [scarf]” before they would allow them inside.

That day, four of my closest friends and I had planned something small. We wanted to exchange simple gifts and sit together in the women’s section of a restaurant. Nothing political. Nothing provocative. Just friendship.

When we reached the door, they stopped us immediately. "Why are you here? Who are you meeting?". We told them we were all girls. Just friends. They searched our bags anyway. They placed our belongings on a table outside the entrance, lining them up as if documenting seized contraband. Hair clips. Lip gloss. Nail polish. Earrings. Wet wipes. Small, harmless gifts. Most of them red. They told us: you can enter, but these stay here. They confiscated not only our gifts, but red flowers from other people too. No red items were allowed inside. No symbols of celebration.

One of my friends protested. She asked why we could not bring our own gifts into a women’s section. An officer called her “indecent” and “ill-mannered.” Then he said, “Don’t raise your voice at us, or I will suffocate you.”

We were afraid, but also furious. I remember thinking: where in the world have we been born? As girls, we are forbidden from interacting with men. But now even sitting with our own female friends on a particular day feels suspicious.

Inside the restaurant, things were not better. Photography was forbidden. Taliban officers were inside as well, accompanied, as always by an armed soldier. When one of my friends briefly took out her phone to capture a photo of us sitting together, an officer immediately took her phone. He deleted the photos she had just taken. We were too scared to object; the armed guard stood only a few steps away.

Violation of Privacy

But it did not stop there.They scrolled through her gallery. I lost my temper. I said, “You are non-mahram. Why are you looking at a girl’s private photos? Don’t we have privacy?” One of them responded in a harsh tone in Pashto: “I will bury you right here”.

In that moment, it was clear: this was not about red. Not about Valentine’s Day. Not about morality. It was about control.

The pressure that day was not limited to restaurants or to women. It extended to flower sellers and shopkeepers across the city. Kabul’s famous flower street, where colorful bouquets are usually displayed in long rows, was also monitored by Taliban officers. Later, reports emerged that some flower vendors had been warned, harassed, or even forced to close their shops. Red roses, once openly sold in bundles, suddenly became suspicious merchandise.

Reversing social changes

Yet this was not always the case. Although I never personally celebrated Valentine’s Day, I remember how different Kabul felt on February 14. The day was sometimes criticized from a religious perspective; some conservative clerics described it as a Western practice and “haram,” arguing that it did not align with Afghan or Islamic traditions. However, those objections mostly remained in sermons and media debates and were not accompanied by searches or intimidation, but in the capital it had gradually become part of urban life. The atmosphere in the city would change.

Large shops decorated their windows with red balloons. Restaurants offered special menus. Young couples,  engaged or married,  went out together without fear. I even remember a street fashion show held on February 14, 2020 . It was organized by a local fashion group and took place outdoors in Kabul. Young women in elegant red dresses walked on a red carpet alongside their male colleagues. The event was visible and public, but it was held under tight security measures with special security forces ensuring the safety of participants and the audience. It was visible. It was public. It was normal.

Security forces were present in the city in those years, but not to prevent people from celebrating. I do not remember the previous government sending officers into the streets to stop flowers from being sold or to search women’s bags for red lipstick.

The day after this year’s Valentine’s Day, the spokesperson of the Ministry for the Propagation of Virtue and Prevention of Vice publicly expressed regret over the promotion of Valentine’s Day in Afghanistan. He stated that during the past twenty years the holiday had spread and “taken deep roots in society,” to the point that “today a young Muslim man or Muslim woman celebrates it.”

His words revealed something important: this is not just about one day. It is about erasing the social and cultural changes that took root over two decades. It is about reversing what had already become part of everyday urban life.

In today’s Kabul, love is monitored. Color is suspicious. Friendship is inspected. Privacy can be invaded without consequence.