Taliban Ban Forces Kabul Musicians Into Poverty and Secrecy

For many residents of Kabul, the cost of a four-year music ban is now measured in daily wages. One musician, the son and grandson of performers, once earned roughly 10,000 afghanis, or $150, per day from teaching and operating a shop. Today, he survives on about 100 afghanis, or $1.50, from manual labor while supporting a wife and children.

The Taliban, who took power in 2021, officially banned playing or listening to music in 2022. The only exception is religious vocal chanting. The Ministry for the Propagation of Virtue and Prevention of Vice enforces the rule with its morality police. Spokesperson Saif ul Islam Khyber stated that music is forbidden in Islam because it serves as a means of joy to Satan and often leads to other vices.

In the Kucha-e-Kharabat neighborhood, which was once a hub for the capital's musicians, instrument shops have largely vanished. The stalls now sell food, groceries, clothes, and household goods. Many performers fled the country after the takeover, while others sent their instruments abroad or hid them to prevent authorities from smashing them.

Those who remained often play in secret. In a narrow street, a rubab player cradled a hand-carved wooden instrument and performed in a small home. Speaking on condition of anonymity, he said he would continue playing even in secret to keep Afghan traditions alive. He described the silence as unacceptable for a culture that relies on musical heritage.

A local singer expressed similar determination, noting that music cannot be erased from the hearts of the people. He hid a rubab, harmonium, flute, tabla, and keyboard in his home. He described covering the instruments with a tarp as feeling buried alive. He said he sometimes stands before his hidden gear and weeps, begging for forgiveness for not playing them.

The risk of performing underground has increased. The singer has not performed at a secret gathering for four years because government agents are actively searching for musicians. He said the risk of prison is too high given his young children. The rubab player also stopped performing in secret after a raid led to arrests. He escaped because a participant sent photos to the authorities before the police arrived.

The rubab player plans to teach his eldest son to ensure the family legacy continues. He views the instrument as a heritage passed from grandfather to father to him, and now to his son. The singer believes music is inseparable from Afghan society, comparing the bond to a fingernail and flesh.