By Salma El-Sakka
Since the Taliban banned all but religious music in 2022, Afghan musicians have been forced underground, risking arrest to preserve a cultural heritage that spans generations.
Ban enforced by morality police
The prohibition is enforced by the Ministry for the Propagation of Virtue and Prevention of Vice. Spokesperson Saif ul Islam Khyber stated that music is forbidden in Islam, calling it a means of joy to Satan that leads to vice. No one is permitted to listen to, record, or perform music, he said.
Musicians driven underground
Many performers fled the country after the 2021 takeover. Those who remained sent instruments abroad or hid them to avoid destruction. In Kabul's historic Kucha-e-Kharabat district, music shops now sell groceries and household goods instead of instruments.
Secret performances persist despite danger
A rubab player and a singer, both speaking anonymously for fear of arrest, described playing in hidden rooms. The rubab player said he will never allow the traditional lute-like instrument to fall silent, calling it a cultural duty. The singer, who once performed at concerts, keeps his rubab, harmonium, flute, tabla, and keyboard covered, saying life without music feels like death.
Livelihoods lost, poverty deepens
The rubab player, from a family of musicians, previously earned about 10,000 afghanis ($150) daily from teaching and his instrument shop. After the ban, the shop closed and his father died of a heart attack, which the musician attributes to the loss. He now earns roughly 100 afghanis ($1.50) as a laborer, struggling to support his family. The singer spent two years unemployed before friends helped him start a small business.
Underground concerts too risky
Secret gatherings that continued initially have ceased. The singer said government agents actively searched for musicians, and he has not performed secretly for four years. The rubab player escaped a raid on a gathering after an attendee sent photos to authorities; many were arrested.
Tradition at risk of dying out
Despite the dangers, the rubab player plans to teach his eldest son, calling the art a legacy from his grandfather. The singer believes music cannot be erased from Afghan society, describing it as inseparable as a fingernail from flesh.
