Five years after the Taliban returned to power, Afghanistan’s Hazara and Shia communities are confronting a political and religious environment in which questions of representation, worship, property and public expression have become increasingly intertwined. What makes the present situation particularly troubling is that the pressure is no longer confined to isolated disputes or individual incidents. Restrictions involving religious ceremonies, educational institutions, private property and media organisations increasingly appear as parts of a wider pattern in which minority communities have considerably less space to participate in Afghanistan’s public life.
That concern was articulated directly by Hizb-e-Wahdat Islami Afghanistan in a statement issued on 6 September 2026. The party accused the Taliban authorities of having abolished recognition of the Ja’fari school of jurisprudence and claimed that roughly ten million Afghans had consequently been deprived of meaningful political participation and representation in the state structure. The precise population figure is difficult to verify because Afghanistan lacks a recent comprehensive census, but the underlying question of representation is harder to dismiss. A February 2026 UK government country assessment, drawing on multiple sources, noted the absence of Hazara or Shia members from the Taliban cabinet and described their representation elsewhere in the administration as very limited.
Religious policy has added another layer of anxiety. Human Rights Watch reported in August that a criminal procedure code issued in January 2026 defines Muslims through Hanafi jurisprudence and that a new law regulating preachers similarly requires clerics to adhere to Hanafi jurisprudence. HRW argued that these provisions institutionalise discrimination against religious minorities, including Shia Muslims. Whatever justification the Taliban authorities offer for religious uniformity, a sustainable Afghan political order cannot easily be built by narrowing the religious space available to citizens whose traditions have existed in the country for generations.
The consequences have become especially visible during Muharram and Ashura. Reports from June described restrictions on public mourning processions, religious flags, mourning symbols and the use of loudspeakers outside mosque compounds. The European Union Agency for Asylum has likewise documented restrictions on Muharram and Ashura observances in several provinces, including limitations on open-air ceremonies and removal of religious symbols. These measures are significant because Ashura is not simply a ceremonial event for Afghanistan’s Shia population. It represents religious identity, collective memory and community belonging. Restricting its public expression therefore carries consequences beyond the administration of a particular gathering.
Property disputes have produced equally serious concerns. Hizb-e-Wahdat’s September statement alleged that actions concerning the No Abad township in Ghazni and Omid-e-Sabz in Kabul had placed thousands of Shia families in uncertainty. In Herat, meanwhile, local reporting in September said around 100 shops in Jebrail had been closed amid a dispute over land ownership. Because some of these cases involve competing claims and incomplete publicly available records, each dispute requires transparent adjudication rather than assumptions about ownership. But that is precisely the point. Property disputes affecting large communities require accessible courts, credible documentation and procedures in which residents can defend legally acquired rights. Administrative force cannot substitute for due process.
Recent developments surrounding Shia institutions have deepened those fears. Afghanistan International reported on 7 September that Taliban forces cleared the Khatam-al-Nabiyyin seminary in western Kabul after surrounding the institution for several days. The outlet described it as Kabul’s largest Shia seminary and reported that its officials confirmed the clearing of the institution, while noting that Taliban authorities had not commented at the time of publication. Such incidents inevitably raise questions about the space that remains for independent religious education and community institutions.
The pressure is also visible in Afghanistan’s shrinking media environment. Tamadon TV, known for Shia religious programming, was forced off air when armed Ministry of Justice personnel raided and sealed its Kabul offices in June. The Committee to Protect Journalists reported that two staff members were subsequently detained. Rah-e-Farda TV has faced repeated intervention as well. On 6 September, Taliban security forces again raided the broadcaster, forced it off air and detained its owner, according to CPJ. The organisation said the raid followed pressure over the station’s reporting on measures affecting Afghanistan’s Shia community.
Taken individually, Taliban officials might describe some of these episodes as questions of land ownership, religious regulation, licensing, security or law enforcement. Taken together, however, they generate a much larger governance problem. When one community repeatedly encounters obstacles across political representation, religious practice, education, property and media, the cumulative effect matters just as much as the stated justification for each individual measure.
No government demonstrates durable authority merely by reducing the space available for dissenting voices or minority identities. Political stability depends on citizens believing that institutions belong to them as well. Afghanistan is a multi-ethnic and multi-sectarian society. Hazaras and Shias are not temporary guests within it, nor can their religious and civic identity be treated as an administrative inconvenience.
The Taliban authorities therefore face a consequential choice about the character of governance they are building. Protecting property rights, permitting peaceful religious observance, ensuring due process, allowing independent media and widening meaningful participation would not weaken public institutions. They would give those institutions greater legitimacy among communities that have substantial reasons to fear exclusion. Continued restrictions, by contrast, risk widening mistrust between the authorities and a significant section of Afghan society. A country already burdened by decades of conflict can ill afford another fault line built around religious identity and political exclusion.
