At first, it was a small museum in a nondescript office building in Kabul, with a seemingly mundane collection — like a 14-year-old's schoolbooks and black sandals. The teenager had died in Kabul in a 2015 attack on civilians by a branch of the Islamic State, ISIS-K, which has been responsible for several deadly campaigns in Afghanistan and Pakistan.
The schoolbooks and sandals were among hundreds of items that belonged to Afghans who died in the many conflicts that have roiled the country.
The physical facility — known as the Afghanistan Memory Home Museum — no longer exists. Because the Taliban had threatened the museum's organizers, they decided to close when the Taliban marched into Afghanistan's capital city in 2021 and took power.
But the museum still survives. Documents and artifacts were hidden, buried and smuggled out of the country. And eventually a virtual incarnation emerged. In addition, some of the rescued artifacts were displayed at the U.N. Convention for the Afghan War Victims, held in The Hague, on December 3. "Truth telling and bearing witness are important ... helping to acknowledge, honor and memorialize what victims have suffered — and their resilience as survivors," said Volker Turk, the U.N. high commissioner for human rights, addressing the event.
Making 'memory boxes'
The idea for the museum came from a nonprofit group: the Afghanistan Human Rights and Democracy Organization (AHRDO). "We started contemplating what to do with these stories, how to share them widely, and we realized that survivors often made reference to certain objects and personal belongings," said Hadi Marifat, executive director of AHRDO. "For instance, when a dead body was delivered to [the family], they would describe the clothes he was covered in. They would save these items to remember their loved ones."
The idea culminated in a permanent physical exhibit of personal items from various individuals. The items are displayed in containers that the museum calls "memory boxes," alongside a note written by loved ones that describes the individual's personality, hopes and dreams.
One memory box held a scarf, colorful pens and pages of drawings by 15-year-old Asadullah Shafaie, who was killed along with his brother in 2016 by a suicide bomber who pretended to sell ice cream. The note, left by his mother and teachers, describes Shafaie as a "very talented and hardworking boy, the pride of the school."
When the Taliban returned to power three years ago, AHRDO made the decision to shut down the museum and hide its collection.
Marifat remembers the night in August that he called his colleagues, a small team of activists and researchers based in Kabul. As the Taliban marched toward the Afghan capital, with the government on the verge of collapse, they discussed the fate of their organization and the museum.
They had reason to be worried: In previous years, AHRDO had been vocal in their advocacy for war victims and survivors — "a large constituency in Afghanistan," said Marifat — which earned them the ire of the Taliban.
The organizers feared that because some of the victims had died in Taliban-related attacks, the Taliban might target the museum or confiscate evidence that might one day be used in war crime trials.
They worked overnight, smuggling out some documents and artifacts and hiding the rest, many wrapped in plastic and buried in volunteers' yards.
"We were able to remove everything from the building, including the archive," said Marifat. "We were still taking some of the materials out when we heard from colleagues the Taliban had entered the city."
"Not a single document or material reached the hands of the Taliban," he said, "despite the fact that they came to our office [the next day]."
Amid the Taliban's chaotic takeover, many of Marifat's colleagues were forced to leave the country. Marifat himself soon went to Canada, his ambitious project dismantled after years of hard work.
But AHRDO members, many in exile, envisioned a virtual museum. They began to create a digital record of the things they had saved: photographing artifacts, scanning documents and organizing case details for each person. Some of the collection remains inaccessible, hidden away in Afghanistan.
Another major hurdle was reconnecting with the families who contributed to the memory boxes. "Not being in touch with the victims or their families worries us about the security for the people that have shared their story. We chose not to publish anything deemed risky to survivors," said Sophia Milosevic Bijleveld, who helped with the project. She's a researcher at the nonprofit group swisspeace and focuses on memorializing those who suffered in conflict.
Marifat said he feels war victims have been neglected. "For them, just to be acknowledged that they have suffered, lost loved ones, is important," he said.
Projects such as these have a real impact in building empathy toward victims, said Valerie Higgins, who directs the Sustainable Cultural Heritage Program at the American University of Rome. "People can relate to everyday objects," she said. "They understand that people are people, just like them."
Higgins said the objective is to "re-sensitize people" in order to "counter this narrative of apathy and hostility by saying: 'They're real people.'"
Milosevic Bijleveld hopes the project will remind the international community of its duty to hold perpetrators accountable for their crimes. "Justice must not be sacrificed for the sake of peace," she said.
Bijleveld realizes this could take decades or even longer. In the meantime, she said, "symbolic justice is important in the absence of criminal justice."
Ruchi Kumar is a journalist who reports on conflict, politics, development and culture in India and Afghanistan. She tweets at @RuchiKumar
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