The Business of Deception: Zahid Safi and the Liberal Party's Rotten Pitch

The rotten stench is rising from the corpse of the Australian Liberal Party’s pitch for the division of Bruce for the upcoming federal election. In a recent exposé for The Age, journalist Charlotte Grieve uncovers a disturbing truth: Zahi Safi, the man being paraded as a "successful businessman" by the party, is little more than a fraud. Many of Safi’s businesses appear to exist only on paper, at best.

Take Willow Support Services, an NDIS provider supposedly owned by Safi. When Grieve visited its listed address, she found not an office or facility, but a private residence. It gets worse: multiple Safi-affiliated businesses have been deregistered since March for failing to pay basic fees. His websites are padded with fake reviews, featuring photos recycled across countless unrelated pages. The so-called reviewers? Their LinkedIn profiles list them as being overseas and spread across hundreds of pages on the web.

Faced with this mountain of fakery, Grieve wonders the obvious: "My detailed questions included whether the Liberal Party was satisfied that Safi’s businesses were legitimate, why stock images, fake reviews, and outdated addresses had been used, and whether this raised any concerns for the party."

The appalling part is the response from the party's spokesperson in response to Charlotte Grieve's concerns:

“The Liberal Party is very proud to support a candidate whose family fled the violent conflict in Afghanistan and chose to make Australia his home. Like many people in the electorate of Bruce, Zahid runs his own small business while raising a family. Like many small business owners, Zahid acknowledges that his administrative paperwork isn’t always up to date and has taken steps with his accountant to rectify.”

It appears the Liberal Party is willfully ignoring both the glaring evidence of fraud surrounding its candidate, Zahid Safi, and the growing outrage from members of the Hazara community in Bruce. Community organizers and members have repeatedly called on the party to disendorse Safi, citing his 2021 parliamentary submission, in which he openly vilified Hazara Australians in a display many have condemned as racist.

The Afghans Who Bring the Persecution of Hazaras to Australia

Here are the six individuals, along with some background, who co-authored the 2021 parliamentary submission (see page 3, document number 43) targeting the Hazara community—an inquiry widely criticized for its blatant racism, distortions, and falsehoods.

The submission resurfaced recently after The Guardian Australia revealed that one of its authors is none other than Atal Zahid Safi, also known as Zahid Safi, the current Liberal candidate for Bruce, an electorate with one of Australia's largest Hazara populations. The irony is hard to miss.

In their submission, the authors attempt to frame Hazaras as a national security threat to Australia (see page 14). At one point, they even write: “The Australian Government should work closely with key stakeholders from the Afghan Diaspora, including the authors of these submissions.” In other words, they’re positioning themselves as the authoritative voices of the community, people to be consulted, reconciled with, and trusted. The implications are as concerning as they are revealing.

1) Atal Zahid Safi

At the center of this controversy is Atal Zahid Safi, one of the authors of a 2021 parliamentary submission that vilified the Hazara community in Australia. When you read his biography and then look at his actions, you’re left asking: What exactly is going on in this man’s mind?

Safi, born in 1987 in Laghman Province, Afghanistan, was an infant when his family fled to Pakistan. He spent his formative years there, growing up far removed from the lived realities of Afghanistan. At 16, he and his family sought asylum in Finland, where he learned Finnish, attended university, and built a life. A decade later, in 2013, he moved to Australia. He married a woman named Zinab Husseinkhil, and they have six children together. Fast forward to 2021, and Safi co-authored a submission to the Australian Parliament, an appalling document that paints Hazaras as a national security threat. In it, the authors claim Hazaras have never been persecuted in Afghanistan, dismissing years of documented violence, systemic discrimination, and the ongoing genocide against them. They had the audacity to tell Parliament: Don’t believe the Hazaras, they’re lying. And now, at age 36, Safi has nominated himself to run for Parliament, under the Liberal Party banner, no less, in the seat of Division of Bruce in the state of Victoria, one of the most Hazara-populated electorates in Australia. This is a man who publicly delegitimizes your trauma, denies your history, and casts your community as dangerous and as a threat to Australia. And now, he wants to represent you? It's like "Hazaras! I hate you, but I need your vote." What the hell is this man thinking? What are we supposed to make of this? Is it hypocrisy? Opportunism? Deep-seated racism masked as political ambition? How does someone co-author a submission steeped in hatred and Hazara-phobia, and just three years later, ask for the votes of the very people he tried to harm? This is more than political irony. It’s a troubling contradiction, an oxymoronic dilemma that deserves answers. A man who has never seen what Afghanistan looks like, and is far removed from its reality, suddenly emerges to persecute Hazaras in the diaspora?

2) Tamkin Hakim

Tamkin Hakim, the sister of famous journalist and philanthropist Yalda Hakim, works as a mental health counselor with Allied Health Professionals. Following the withdrawal of U.S. troops and the subsequent collapse of Afghanistan into Taliban control, Hakim joined a coalition of volunteers that presumably rescued 200 Tajik women, according to her interview. While Yalda is widely recognized for her advocacy for girls’ education and her commitment to humanitarian causes, including the recent launch of a foundation offering scholarships to Afghanistani girls, her sister appears to stand in stark contrast.

Recently, a submission co-authored by Tamkin Hakim and five others was presented to the Australian Parliament. The document reportedly downplays the ongoing genocide of the Hazara people, distorts findings from reputable sources like Human Rights Watch, and troublingly frames the Hazara community as a national security threat to Australia. Such a stance is not only factually flawed but also deeply harmful and discriminatory.

Understandably, this raises serious concerns. How can two siblings, raised in the same environment, hold such opposing views, one championing human rights, and the other seemingly undermining them? While Yalda Hakim cannot be held accountable for her sister’s actions, in times of rising hate, public figures must take clear stands. Where does Yalda stand on this issue, especially when her sister’s statements contribute to the trauma of an already persecuted community?

The Hazara people have endured systematic persecution since the 1890s. In search of safety and the chance to rebuild their lives, many sought refuge in Australia, a country that promised protection and opportunity. They have worked tirelessly to establish a sense of belonging in their new home. Yet, the recent submission to Parliament echoes the same dangerous narratives that once endangered and persecuted them in Afghanistan, this time, disturbingly, from fellow Afghans who, despite having grown up outside the country, are now perpetuating the persecution of Hazaras in Australia.

It is deeply troubling that someone in a mental health profession, someone entrusted with the well-being of others, would contribute to rhetoric that marginalizes a vulnerable group. What kind of mental health support can be expected from someone who spreads such hateful views? And what experiences shaped Tamkin Hakim's perspective, leading her to harbor such hostility toward the Hazara community?

These are not easy questions, but they are essential. Especially when hate is given a platform in the name of national security, we must question its origins, challenge its narratives, and seek the truth.

3) Arezo Zoe Safi

Arezo Zoe Safi is a lawyer and the founder of Safi Law Firm in Sydney. It is said that she is a close relative of Zahid Safi, and both are presumably the niece and nephew of Mohammad Masoom Stanekzai, a prominent Afghan politician who formerly led the National Directorate of Security (NDS) and later served as the acting Minister of Defense. During his tenure as head of the NDS, Stanekzai has been accused of overseeing the suppression of the Enlightenment Movement protests of the Hazara people. Arezo was apparently born and raised in Australia and, like Zahid Safi and Tamkin Hakimi, has been far removed from the realities in Afghanistan. So, where does her hatred toward the Hazara people come from? How did it form? She maintains a significant presence on social media platforms. I encourage people to search her background, business, online presence, write a review, and contact her clients about her disturbing behavior.

4) Dr.  Sayed Mirwais Amin

Sayed Mirwais Amin (goes by Sayed Amin), received his MD from Kabul University, and has two MA degrees from La Trobe and Monash, respectively. He is based in Melbourne and runs a consulting company that receives donations in Australia and spends them in Afghanistan. He is in his 50s and appears to be socially shy and very religious but behind the scenes, he is a very active person in the Afghan community. He is currently working for DjirraVIC, a non-profit organization for the Aboriginal Community. How does he engage with Aboriginal community members in Australia, while at the same time promoting hatred against Indigenous Hazaras from Afghanistan, people who are now part of the very community he lives in? In addition to his professional role at a non-profit organization, he actively participates in a range of volunteer initiatives. Alongside nearly a dozen Afghan colleagues, he co-founded the Wardak Education and Developmental Organization (WEDO), which also engages in advocacy and lobbying efforts. On January 24, 2025, the group met with Evan Mulholland, Deputy Leader of the Liberal Party in the Legislative Council, to further their mission.

5) Naseer Shafaq

He is currently a Senior Technical Officer and Acting Team Leader at the Australian Taxation Office. For a while, he was jobless and went through vocational training and capacity building. He is an active member of his community and a pro-Pashtun ethnonationalist on both sides of the border. Note how he positions himself in his 2017 interview with Aliya Doctor. Before migrating to Australia, he worked as a coordination officer for UNAMA in Afghanistan and later at the British Consulate. While it's unclear exactly when he migrated, he recalls, “I began looking for jobs in early 2015, and made no progress in 18 months during which I applied for over 700 jobs and didn’t get a single interview.” He says that he had a well-paid position back in Afghanistan. Then, oddly, he adds: “I came to Australia on a skilled immigrant visa, not on a boat, but we’re all painted with the same brush.”

With this statement, he draws a sharp distinction between himself and Hazara asylum seekers who risked their lives fleeing atrocities, occasionally arriving in Australia by boat. Rather than expressing solidarity, he invokes a harmful stigma, distancing himself from those who are already marginalized. The phrase “on a boat” is loaded with racial and political connotations in the Australian context, and he seems to weaponize it as a marker of shame, hoping to elevate his own social standing by disassociating from others in his community. By emphasizing the "skilled" nature of his migration, despite lacking any verifiable higher education credentials or qualifications that would distinguish him from well-educated Australians, he performs a kind of class and racial exceptionalism. It’s in these subtle choices of language, “immigrant,” “on a boat,” that the reproduction of racism becomes visible.

6) Raz Mohammad Pirzoy

Australian Defense Force Former Interpreter - he worked as an interpreter with Australian troops in Afghanistan and was recently resettled with his family in Australia. He is currently a security officer at MSS Security and a gym maniac.
This individual has recently posted the following on his Facebook: “We stand by the accuracy and intent of our submission and remain committed to shedding light on the experiences of those affected by the events of that time.” This person blatantly spreads Hazaraphobia on Facebook with a whole crew of Safi families.

How do we combat racism in Australia?

One of the most effective ways is to hold individuals accountable, especially those actively spreading hate or misinformation.

• Start by researching these individuals:
• Where do they work?
• Do they own businesses?
• Are they active on social media?
• Are their businesses represented on social platforms?
• What kind of content or engagement are they involved in?

Once you have this information, take action:

• Contact the organizations that employ them. Reach out to Human Resources departments or senior leadership.
• Raise your concerns respectfully but firmly. Provide clear, concrete evidence of the individual’s behavior, whether it's discriminatory, harmful, or rooted in misinformation.
• Let them know you’re deeply concerned about this person representing their company or working while promoting hate.
• If the individual works in the public sector or a government organization, contact those agencies directly and ask for transparency and accountability.
• Share the background and context: explain how these individuals are not just expressing hateful views, they’re perpetuating persecution and discrimination against the Hazara community, bringing dangerous ideologies from abroad into Australian public life.

This isn’t about cancel culture. It’s about community safety, accountability, and standing up against racism, wherever it shows up.

Radion Azadi: Sexual Harassment and Abuse of Power (Part V)

In my previous posts, I discussed corruption within the RFE/RL bureau, specifically Radio Azadi, in Kabul. I also alluded to another serious issue: sexual harassment. In this post, I want to share a few specific examples to shed light on what occurred during the bureau’s early years.

At the time, and still, Radio Azadi broadcast its programs in two major languages: Farsi/Dari and Pashto. Each language section operated under a separate editor, and every report or segment created by journalists had to pass through these editors before being sent to Prague for broadcast. While the editorial review process was intended to ensure quality and consistency, it was frequently misused by certain opportunistic men to exploit their female colleagues. Many of these men were married, yet that didn’t stop them from making inappropriate advances toward the women they worked with.

One of the more insidious methods of control was the misuse of editorial authority. Let me explain how this played out.

Each journalist was responsible for producing their own reports. Once a piece was complete, it would be submitted to the section editor for feedback and approval. Only then would it be forwarded to Prague for airing. This gave editors significant power over their colleagues’ work, and some used that power to manipulate and pressure female reporters. There were times when a female reporter would have to wait for days for her story to be reviewed. The delay was deliberate but there was nothing that could be done from reporters side. They have to wait and wait and they knew the reason why they had to wait that long but again, they didn’t have much power to question it. The specific editor whom I know used to call it quality control. In the meantime, pressure was mounting on reporters from frustrated editors waiting in Prague for the news/story to come. It prompted senior editors to question whether the reporters were being fit enough for their jobs. At the same time, in Kabul, this condition was driving reporters to frustration.

My office was located in the basement, tucked between two studios. I was responsible for managing the technical infrastructure: installing and maintaining the equipment, and ensuring our reports were recorded and transmitted to Prague. Later, we transitioned to live broadcasts, but in those early days, everything was pre-recorded. My small office housed two computer servers, and I was in frequent contact with our technical team in Prague. I spent most of my time down there.

One day, I got a call about a computer issue, something had stopped working or been disconnected from the network. I went upstairs to the second floor, where the main newsroom was located. As I climbed the marble stairs, I heard someone crying behind a closed door. I paused, then cautiously opened it. Inside, I saw R.M. with a woman wiping tears from her face. Most of the staff had already left, and the workday was over. While it wasn’t unusual for some reporters to stay late, what I walked in on felt disturbingly out of place.

Amidst the woman’s sobs, I heard R.M. say, in a low but insistent voice, “I told you already… you won’t accept it…” I quickly did what I had come to do and left the room. I don’t know what happened afterward, or how long she stayed there. But that moment stuck with me. The way R.M. spoke, his presence there at that hour, it all felt deeply wrong. I couldn’t stop wondering what he was trying to force her to accept.

And it wasn’t an isolated incident.

I knew R.M. had previously exploited another female colleague, Z.M., a married woman with two children. Even the guards at the building talked about it: “I swear to God, I saw Z.M. in R.M.’s car, sitting in the front seat, and his hand was between her legs.” These weren’t just rumors. People saw what was happening, but no one dared to speak up. R.M was looked at as a sexual predator by his colleagues, particularly female. 

Eventually, the situation escalated. In a desperate attempt to reclaim his honor, Z.M.’s husband threw acid on R.M.’s face. That’s how far things had gone.

There were other incidents, too. Once, I got a panicked call from a female reporter while I was in my basement office. “Come up, hurry!” she shouted over the phone. I rushed upstairs and found her frantically trying to cover her computer monitor with her hijab.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

She asked me to wait until she had left the room. Then she told me to lift the scarf. When I did, I saw pornographic images set as her desktop wallpaper. She didn’t know how to turn the monitor off, so she had tried to hide it instead.

I removed the image and checked the system logs. It was clear that someone had accessed her profile, someone who knew her username and password and had stayed late to do it. I knew who it was; the same person had done similar things before. I warned her.

Sadly, this kind of harassment happened more than once. Each time, it was carried out by male colleagues. And each time, the women were too afraid to report it. The culture of silence, fear, and impunity made it nearly impossible for them to speak out.

A translated version of this post is published on my Farsi blog
Related previous posts
Radio Azadi: The Hazara Exclusion (Part IV)
Radio Azadi: Amplifying Hazara Discrimination in Afghanistan (Part III)
Radio Azadi: an Office Enmeshed in a Heist (Part II)
Radio Azadi: An Organization Mired in Moral and Financial Corruption (Part I)

Spring is here

This morning, I was walking along a winding path through the university campus until I reached the bottom of the hill. From there, I followed the serpentine path upwards. Along the way, I saw a beautiful butterfly adorned with red and black spots. I knelt down quietly to take a short clip and share it with my nephew, Amir who is in fifth grade. The emergence of such a beautiful butterfly was mesmerizing. I didn't move for a minute, just to appreciate its beauty and presence in such an early spring. I haven't seen a butterfly yet. Just as I was gingerly prostrating over the grass while filming, it flew off timidly. Without hesitation, I shared the short clip with Amir. "Hey Amir, check out this surprise of mother nature," I texted, accompanied by a smily emoji. He immediately called, and we briefly video-chatted, after which I continued.

As I was meandering through the hills, a not-so-distant memory suddenly rushed to my mind—the moment when I had walked this same path with a friend. Again, I reached into my pocket, took out my phone, and took a picture. "Spring rolls down from up there, twisting and floating over the stones and through the grass, and the gentle breeze brings a familiar scent," I texted. 

Radio Azadi: The Hazara Exclusion (Part IV)

It would have been better if Radio Azaid, the Afghanistan Service, had been renamed Radio of Pashtuns. Radio Azadi, which means a free radio, is a misnomer for a radio that is strongly controlled and catered towards Pathun ethnonationalism. Radio Azadi not only amplified through its biased programs but also discriminated against hiring Hazara applicants and employees. This post is in a series of blog posts that I have decided to write about Radio Azadi, reflecting on my experience and the experience of others who worked in this organization.  

When Radio Azadi opened its bureau in Kabul, it hired four Hazara employees; the rest were mostly Pashtuns and Tajiks, except the administrative manager and a guard who belonged to the Turkman ethnic group. Two Czech technicians from Prague hired me; had they been Pashuns or Tajiks, I had zero chance of employment. A year later, I was fired just because I was a Hazara. 

A year later, only one Hazara remained. The rest were pushed out using various methods, including systemic discrimination, denial, trickery, and deceit. Ahmad Takal, an ethnonationalist Pashtun from Wardak province, was leading the Kabul bureau at that time. Along with a group of senior editors, mostly Pashtuns, in Prague, Czech Republic, he promoted a Pashtun-centric and Hazara-phobic view. They had no interest in hiring Hazaras.

One of the most successful journalists in the Farsi/Dari section of Radio Azadi was Basir Bigzad. He was a Hazara and was one of the most fearless journalists, traveling to unsafe areas to gather news. His reports had depth and complexity, dealing with detailed specifics and examining various perspectives, which showed a profound understanding of the subjects.

Once, Basir came from Herat to Kabul. That year, the salaries of all journalists, especially those who reported from unsafe areas, were raised. One day, the director, Ahmad Takal, invited him to his office and said, "Basir, you are one of our best reporters, and no one can replace you. We want to appreciate you more. Ask for your salary to be doubled. In your request, write that you will resign if this request is not accepted. This will force the radio to comply because we do not want to lose you."

Later, Basir confided, "I was confused about what to do, but in the end, I wrote the request and sent it." The next day, he received an email saying, "We have accepted your resignation. Goodbye." Basir was dumbfounded; he was unaware that the Pashtun director in Kabul and Prague had come up with chicaneries to boot him from his position.

The last Hazara working at Radio Azadi in Kabul was Ahmad Behzad. He was one of the most educated journalists in the Farsi/Dari section of the radio and had an excellent command of Farsi/Dari literature, distinguishing him from many of his colleagues.

One day, the Pashtun director in Kabul and the senior editors of Radio Azadi in Prague decided to dismiss Ahmad Behzad. On what ground? He had left a comment on a post on a blog. What he had written didn’t matter. They had told him, "You are not allowed to post comments on blogs because you are an employee of Radio Azadi." He was nearly fired without any reason, but that didn’t happen. Later, Behzad ran for parliament from Herat province and served as a representative for two terms.

This was the condition at Radio Azadi's Afghanistan service in Kabul and Prague offices, where everything from moral and financial corruption to discrimination, deceit, and trickery was pandemic.

I recently heard that only one Hazara currently works at Radio Azadi, and the rest are mostly Pashtuns and Tajiks. Even Radio Azadi Afghanistan's Farsi/Dari section is run by those whose first language is not Farsi/Dari.

A translated version of this post is published on my Farsi blog
Also
Radio Azadi: Amplifying Hazara Discrimination in Afghanistan (Part III)
Radio Azadi: an Office Enmeshed in a Heist (Part II)
Radio Azadi: An Organization Mired in Moral and Financial Corruption (Part I)