A stone’s throw from Portugal’s oldest cathedral and buzzing bakeries serving up pastéis de nata, the complex notes of a sitar fill the ground floor of an unassuming building in the northern city of Braga.
The soft strumming belies the radical nature of the mission that has taken root here: to preserve Afghan music and use it as a tool to counter those who want to eradicate it.
“The Taliban tried to silence us,” said Ahmad Sarmast, the director of the Afghanistan National Institute of Music, in his new office in Braga. “But we’re much stronger and much louder than yesterday.”
Launched in 2010 under the US-backed government in Kabul, the institute once stood as a powerful sign of the changes sweeping Afghanistan. Young male and female musicians – several of them from poor backgrounds – performed together in ensembles that ranged from a national symphony orchestra to Zohra, the country’s first all-female orchestra.
They toured the world, offering up a singular blend of Afghan and western music as they reclaimed the country’s music traditions and directly challenged the years of silence enforced by the Taliban. “It was a symbol of progress, of human rights and of women’s empowerment,” Sarmast said.
The institute’s future, however, and that of its young musicians, went dark in August 2021 as the Taliban returned to power.
Ramiz Safa, 20, was in a shop in Kabul, waiting for his rubab – an Afghan stringed instrument – to be repaired when news broke that the Taliban were back. “Everyone was running. Someone came to us and said: ‘You have to get away, because this is a music shop,’” he said. “I took my rubab and I ran.”
He hid his instruments as soon as he got home. Soon after, he went one step further, heading to a barber shop to change his appearance as much as possible. “It was really scary,” he said.
The Taliban’s return came as Sarmast was on holiday in Australia. From 6,000 miles (9,500km) away, he scrambled to figure out how best to protect the 280 or so people affiliated with the institute.
“Our school was on the top of the Taliban’s hit list,” he said. For years the institute had been targeted by the Taliban, who went as far as to plant a bomb at a 2014 concert, killing one person and leaving Sarmast badly injured.
Sarmast feared there was little chance the musicians and staff would be spared. Working in tandem with the US-based foundation that supports the institute, he contacted everyone he could think of, pleading with politicians and heads of state for help.
Only one country responded immediately: Portugal, setting off a months-long struggle that would eventually allow 273 people, including musicians, instructors and staff, to make the 4,000-mile journey to western Europe.
They arrived during the Covid pandemic, forcing Portuguese officials to pile on restrictions and confinements as they worked through the logistics of settling the large group. “They did everything to receive us warmly,” Sarmast said.
The young musicians, most of whom had been evacuated without their families, reeled from homesickness and culture shock as Portuguese courts wrangled with the question of how best to handle the unaccompanied minors.
“At first it was really hard,” said Farida Ahmadi, 15. “A new culture, new home, new language.” To her, Lisbon seemed large and confusing, and the task of learning Portuguese daunted her.
As initial plans to house them for a few weeks in a Lisbon military hospital stretched to eight months, morale plummeted, Sarmast said. “The kids were extremely disappointed, frustrated, facing cultural conflicts and the trauma of being separated from their families.”
Many were haunted by what they had left behind. “Every night I had dreams about the Taliban,” Safa said. “Now, day by day, it’s getting better.”
Several musicians and staff decided to leave, hoping to find better opportunities in places such as Germany, or to reunite with extended family further afield.
Citing the lack of accommodation and cost of living in Lisbon, Portuguese courts eventually decided the group should be moved to northern Portugal, Sarmast said.
About 70 musicians and staff now live in Braga, Portugal’s third largest city. The unaccompanied minors are in the care of two institutions and attend local schools, while those aged over 18 attend classes at the music conservatory. Weekends are spent at the conservatory, honing the institute’s various ensembles.
On a Thursday evening this spring, a dozen or so students drifted through a set of rooms rented by the institute, gathering in groups to practice the sitar and rubab, study music theory and – during breaks – enthuse about the music of Ed Sheeran or finish homework assignments.
More than two years after arriving, Farida said she had become used to the sights, sounds and smells of Portugal and could speak the language. “Now we are progressing,” the violin player said. “And it’s something really amazing for us.”
Even more exciting is what lies ahead: last year the institute obtained approval from the Portuguese government for the families of the musicians to join them. While a timeline has yet to be set, it is a tantalising possibility after years of separation. “We are waiting for that,” Sarmast said. “All the kids will be reunited with their families.”
In August the students will perform at Carnegie Hall, in New York, and the Kennedy Center, in Washington DC. The mention evokes a bittersweet smile from Sarmast, who points out that the last time they performed in those halls was in 2013, heralding an Afghanistan where hope, freedom and women’s rights were beginning to make headway.
“This time I’m going there with a different message,” he said. “To let the world know about what’s happening in Afghanistan and to call on the international community to make sure the Taliban are not recognised.”
Since the Taliban regained power, the country has deteriorated into what Sarmast described as a “gender apartheid”, with women’s access to education, work and public spaces steadily curtailed. Earlier this year, the Taliban announced it would resume publicly stoning women to death.
Many of the country’s musicians and artists have fled, while those who remain live in terror. “Afghanistan is a totally silent nation,” Sarmast said. “Today, learning music is a crime. Playing music is again a crime. Listening to music is again a crime.”
The crackdown has amplified the importance of the institute and turned Braga into one of the few places in the world where Afghanistan’s rich music history is being preserved. “If the Taliban remains in power long enough, within five, 10 years, many of these musical traditions will be lost, because Afghan music is an oral tradition,” Sarmast said.
The situation has lent new importance to the institute’s performances around the world. “So now these kids are not just playing music,” he said. “They’re serving also as the voices of the Afghan people.”
