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 the reporter's 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 the females.
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. Here is a series of blog posts in Farsi by a journalist who investigated R.M's sexual assault case. Later, he faked it, went to India, and applied for asylum at the Australian embassy, claiming Iran tried to kill him. It was actually a poor husband who tried to bring some honor to himself and his family. When the husband went to jail, R.M fled to India and there applied for asylum. Had he not escaped, he could have been killed by another family member of the female he had assaulted.
Another time, I was on the second floor of the building, walking through the corridor towards the west side where there was a large empty room, only used for workshops and such, I saw R.M. coming out of the bathroom with a female journalist colleague. I was like, huh, what is going on? Well, no one could do anything. He was in control of the situation.
One of my colleagues told me that he boldly asked women for sex. That is why he was called a sexual predator.
At the Afghan Pen Association in Kabul, he told stories of his affairs with married women. A fellow friend and writer used to go to the association often, once said to me that in a poetry gathering, R.M. had bragged to everyone that he doesn't remember when he last slept with his wife because of so many affairs he had. Another time, he bragged that Z.M. knows how to have sex, she knows the culture of it. I wrote all this in Farsi five years ago, just before the fall of Kabul, and said indirectly to women who were victims of him to file a complaint against him in Australia. Some of those women are now living in Europe and North America.
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)
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