A Personal Reflection and Analysis of Five Years of Economic and Human Loss
Manizha Wafeq
August 15th, 2026

It was early morning in Virginia on August 14, 2021. I woke up and rushed to my phone and computer to see what was happening in Afghanistan, to check on my colleagues and the women business owners I worked with as the leader of the Afghanistan Women’s Chamber of Commerce and Industry.
I had returned from Afghanistan only two weeks earlier, after spending two months there. Those first two weeks of August were among the most difficult, incomprehensible, and frightening days I had ever experienced. Every day, another province seemed to fall. My WhatsApp messages, calls from colleagues, what I was seeing on social media, and the news made me panic. I remember feeling as though my heart was being wrenched inside my chest.
Yet I kept telling myself to stay calm. People were depending on me. My colleagues were looking for answers. Women business owners were frightened. My family was frightened. And I needed to understand what was happening so I could make the right decisions for the people I felt responsible for.
For almost eight hours that day, I called people, exchanged messages, and searched for answers. At around 2:00 p.m. Virginia time, I remembered an international contact in Kabul whom I trusted. It was already around 11:00 p.m. there, so I texted him. He immediately offered to call.
As soon as we said hello, I wasted no time.
“What is really happening?” I asked.
His response was immediate.
“Manizha, the Republic is finished.”
I sat down.
For a moment, I was silent. I could not process what he had just said. And then I screamed:
“But how? How is this possible?”
This was not the 1990s, when the Taliban took Kabul amid civil war. This was 2021. The international community had been there for twenty years. Afghanistan had a government, a constitution, and institutions. We had built schools, universities, businesses, civil society and media. Women had become ministers, parliamentarians, judges, journalists, professors, entrepreneurs, artists, athletes and community leaders.
He told me there was little time: the Taliban were outside Kabul and could enter within 24 to 36 hours.
I had hundreds of questions, but only one mattered: What should I tell my colleagues to do tomorrow?
He advised me to evacuate the office early Sunday morning, August 15, and send everyone home.
I ended that call carrying a sentence I was still unable to accept:
“The Republic is finished.”
For twenty years, Afghan women had fought their way into spaces from which they had once been completely excluded. We had studied, worked, built institutions, created businesses, employed other women, advocated for laws and policies, entered government offices and boardrooms, and claimed a place in our country's economic and public life. I had spent years telling women that their businesses mattered, that their voices mattered, that their participation in Afghanistan's economy mattered.
And now, from thousands of miles away in Virginia, I had only hours to figure out how to tell my colleagues to leave the institution we had worked so hard to build and go home.
I did not know then that the next morning—August 15, 2021—would divide our lives into a before and an after.
By the afternoon of August 15 in Kabul—early morning for us in Virginia—the government had collapsed. The president and his close aides had fled, and cabinet ministers and other senior officials had either left or were making their way to Kabul airport. Suddenly, everything changed. I found myself calling everyone I could reach, checking on their safety, collecting passport numbers, and trying to find ways to evacuate them from Kabul. I left my family with my older sister to take care of them.
Only days earlier, I had been planning with 60 Afghan businesswomen to take them to the Dubai Expo that October. We were planning two or three fashion shows and exhibitions to showcase women’s clothing, jewelry, home décor, dried fruits, carpets, and other products made by Afghan women-owned businesses. We had been thinking about markets, buyers, international exposure, and opportunities for these women to grow their businesses. Then, almost overnight, I went from planning their participation in an international expo to trying to keep them safe in their own country or evacuating them.
That sudden shift from planning for growth, opportunity, and a place for Afghan women in the global marketplace to searching for ways to get those same women to safety was a traumatic experience that I do not think I will ever fully heal from.
There is so much more to that long August 15th, and the rest of the month to share, but right now I can't help but feel compelled to highlight what that day meant for the country and its women and what Afghanistan painfully lost in the dark half a decade.
It was by no means a perfect country. Poverty, corruption, violence, insecurity, and inequality were widespread. Women had not achieved equality, and progress was uneven between provinces, cities, and rural communities. But the gains were real, and Afghan women had fought hard to build them.
Over two decades, millions of Afghan women and girls had entered schools, universities, workplaces, businesses, courts, newsrooms, government institutions, elected bodies, sports federations, and community leadership structures. These were not abstract policy achievements. They represented an accumulation of human capital, professional experience, businesses, institutions, legal protections, networks, and economic productive capacity that had taken twenty years to build.
Here is an overview of where Afghanistan started when the Taliban were first overthrown, the progress made over the following 20 years, and what has happened during the past half-decade under renewed Taliban rule.
After the Taliban’s takeover in 2021, the collapse of international assistance, banking disruptions, political isolation, drought, declining investment, and other shocks have all contributed to the human and economic crisis in the country, but the economic cost of excluding women can increasingly be measured.
The ILO estimated that by late 2022, female employment had fallen 25% from its pre-takeover level, compared with a 7% decline for men. Home-based self-employment became the predominant form of women's labor market participation.
UNDP estimates that the continued social and economic exclusion of women will cost Afghanistan approximately $920 million between 2024 and 2026 alone.
Education carries an even larger future bill. UNESCO estimates that if women's exclusion from higher education continues, Afghanistan could lose $9.6 billion in economic potential by 2066. More than 100,000 women were already prevented from resuming university studies, creating the risk that the country will be unable to replace around 600,000 women leaving the workforce over the coming decades. Afghanistan could lack replacements for more than 11,000 female teachers by 2030.
These figures should not be added together; they measure different losses over different periods. But together they reveal the scale of what is happening.
Afghanistan is paying once for excluding women from the economy today, and it will pay again for decades because girls are being prevented from becoming the skilled workers of tomorrow.
What the statistics do not show!
Yet this five-year story has another side.
Afghan women did not stop working because the environment turned against them. Many created home-based and underground schools for girls. Female lawyers in partnership with their male counterparts continued to serve women clients. Women's civil society, networks, and media continued underground. Entrepreneurs brought their businesses into their homes. They shifted toward food production, handicrafts, tailoring, and other activities they could continue under restrictions. Entrepreneurship became one of the few remaining pathways to economic participation.
In my recent national research with women entrepreneurs across Afghanistan, I saw both the damage and this extraordinary determination: women reported declining revenues, difficulty accessing finance and markets, and mobility restrictions—yet overwhelmingly told us they still wanted to expand.
We should be careful not to romanticize that resilience. Women should not have to demonstrate extraordinary courage simply to earn a living.
But neither should we describe Afghan women only as victims.
They are still building, teaching where they can, producing, selling, employing others, offering health and other services, and finding ways around barriers designed to confine them.
Today, when I look back, what pains me most is not only what Afghan women lost.
It is what Afghanistan lost.
A country's economy can eventually rebuild roads, restore trade, and recover GDP. Human capital operates on a different clock.
The doctor who was never trained, the teacher who never graduated, the entrepreneur whose business was never established, the salaries never earned, the jobs never created, and the taxes never collected do not appear neatly in today's economic statistics.
They appear years later as the economy that could have existed but never did.
That is why what has happened to Afghan women and girls should matter to all of us.
This is not only a women's-rights crisis. It is the systematic underutilization of half of a country's human capital—and no country can sustainably prosper that way.
Five years of exclusion do not create only five years of loss. They can shape Afghanistan's economic and human potential for generations.
Manizha Wafeq is a Program Director for Peace Through Business, a legacy program of the Enterprising Women Foundation. To learn more or support Peace Through Business, please visit www.enterprisingwomenfoundation.org. More than 2,000 women entrepreneurs have graduated from the Peace Through Business Program since its founding 21 years ago.
References and Data Sources
Education and higher education
Political participation
Employment and labor market
Economic cost of excluding women
Additional sources used in building the baseline
For the complete article, I would also retain these institutional/source categories from our earlier research:
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