On a recent morning in the provincial capital of Maimana, in northwestern Faryab, a quiet but significant gathering took place. The room was filled with journalists, media managers, writers, university lecturers, local officials, and young people who cared about the power of words. There was the particular energy that comes when people who watch power are invited to sit down with power. Some journalists had left their newsrooms before sunrise, carrying worn notebooks and voice recorders. Others came from smaller districts, where a single radio station might be the only source of news for hundreds of families. The occasion was a one-day seminar organised by the Ministry of Information and Culture, with a long and deliberate title: “Enhancing Intellectual, Ideological and Professional Capacity.” The title mattered. In a country where media has grown quickly but has also faced enormous difficulties, the seminar seemed to say that being a journalist is not simply a job. It is a craft that requires knowledge, moral grounding, and a clear sense of purpose. For those who attended, it was a chance to be seen, to be heard, and to measure their own experiences against the expectations of officials and academic leaders. The atmosphere was respectful but not passive. People listened, but they also thought about the problems they carry with them every day: shrinking salaries, unanswered phone calls, and the heavy responsibility of reporting in a country that has suffered from more than four decades of conflict. This was not just a training event. It was an attempt to build a bridge between media and government, between faith and professionalism, and between what journalists are allowed to say and what they feel they must say.
The first voices came from local officials, and their message was rooted in both morality and social duty. Mawlawi Shamsuddin Mohammadi, the provincial director of Information and Culture, opened the programme with words that many journalists had heard before but rarely heard spoken with such conviction. He said that programmes like this one play an effective role in improving journalists’ intellectual development, strengthening religious and Islamic values, increasing professional knowledge, and improving media activities. He described the media as important tools for public awareness, social reform, cultural development, and reflecting realities. This was more than official praise. It was an invitation to think of journalism as a social service, not merely a trade. The director went further, reminding those present that journalists have a responsibility to provide people with accurate and useful information—and to do so with honesty, integrity, and strict adherence to professional principles. In a region where faith and tradition shape everyday life, these words carried weight. The idea that a journalist must be truthful is not a foreign concept imported from abroad; it is a value that resonates deeply in Afghan culture. For the reporters in the room, many of whom have faced accusations of spreading propaganda or, conversely, of being too critical, this message offered a middle path. It suggested that professional journalism and Islamic ethics are not enemies. They can and should support one another. The director’s speech set the tone for the day: serious, respectful, and focused on the idea that information has the power to heal a society if it is handled with care.
Then came the main speaker, Mujahir Farahi, the Deputy Minister for Information and Culture. He had traveled from Kabul to be with the journalists of Faryab, and his presence alone was a signal that the central government wanted to listen. Farahi spoke directly about the responsibilities of journalists and the media. He said that the media should convey to the public the decrees of Amir al-Mu’minin issued for the welfare of the people, and that they should introduce the achievements of the Islamic Emirate to people both inside the country and around the world. This was a clear statement of expectations: the government sees the media as a channel between leadership and the public, as a mirror of progress, and as a voice for the country’s message abroad. But Farahi did not stop there. He turned to the other side of the relationship, and what he said was perhaps the most important sentence of the day. He declared that officials and government spokespersons are obliged to cooperate fully with the media and to pay serious attention to journalists’ access to information. His reason was simple and direct: this is necessary to prevent the spread of fake news. When journalists cannot get correct information, they cannot verify facts. When officials hide behind silence, rumours fill the vacuum. Farahi’s words acknowledged a painful truth: misinformation does not only come from careless journalists. It also comes from a government that is unwilling to be transparent. By insisting that officials must open their doors, he was not just giving journalists a courtesy. He was defining a professional relationship. Journalists are not enemies of the state; they are partners in the difficult work of helping a society understand itself. But for that partnership to work, officials must answer questions. They must share documents. They must treat journalists with respect rather than suspicion.
Other speakers reinforced these themes with a practical edge. Qari Habib Ghufran, the head of Public Relations and spokesperson for the Ministry of Information and Culture, spoke with the calm authority of someone who spends his life communicating with the public. He told journalists that they should verify the accuracy and truth of every report before publishing it, and that they should refrain entirely from publishing false or baseless material. This may sound obvious, but in a world of social media, where a single unconfirmed report can spread across the country in minutes, it is a profound challenge. Ghufran did not present verification as a limitation on journalistic freedom. Instead, he framed it as the core of professional identity. A journalist who checks the facts is not less creative; he is more credible. A media outlet that pauses to confirm a story is not weak; it is trustworthy. He added that journalists play an important role in raising public awareness, and that the media have a responsibility to contribute to creating an informed society and to the country’s development. Mawlawi Abdul Haq Hammad, an adviser to the Deputy Ministry of Publications, also spoke, along with several local officials and university lecturers. Together, they wove a consistent message out of two strands: Islamic values and professional standards. They spoke about the ethics of communication, the dangers of rumour, the importance of honesty, and the moral weight of the written word. For the younger journalists in the audience, these lectures were not abstract. They were tools. In a country where false reports have on occasion caused public panic, deepened ethnic tensions, and put lives at risk, the demand for accuracy is not just bureaucratic caution. It is a matter of survival. The speakers were essentially saying: before you inform, you must understand. Before you publish, you must verify. Before you criticise, you must be certain.
But the seminar was not a one-way lecture. The journalists in the room were not passive listeners. They had come with notebooks full of questions and with memories of difficult days. One of them, Firoz Ghafoori, the director of Radio Afkar-e-Mardom in Faryab, welcomed the seminar and then used the opportunity to speak honestly about the obstacles facing media outlets. He said that the problems faced by media were discussed during the programme, and he listed them plainly. Economic problems are severe: advertising revenue has dropped, equipment is ageing, and journalists are often underpaid or not paid at all. Access to information remains limited, despite official promises to the contrary. Some media outlets have had their broadcasts suspended. There are also restrictions on the use of images, a sensitive issue that in the current environment confuses many editors who want to obey the law but are unsure exactly what the law requires. Ghafoori expressed hope that the problems would be addressed. His words hung in the air. For the government officials in the room, they were a reminder that a seminar is not a solution. It is a beginning. Journalists need more than advice; they need an environment in which they can survive. They need access to officials who answer phone calls and provide documents. They need clear, written rules about what they can show and what they cannot. They need economic support or at least a regulatory environment that allows them to generate income. They also need to know that their willingness to engage in such dialogues will not be mistaken for weakness. By speaking up, Ghafoori and his colleagues were doing exactly what the seminar was supposed to encourage: they were being honest. That honesty was itself a sign of trust. They believed that the officials would listen, and perhaps, one day, act.
Looked at from a distance, the seminar in Maimana was a small event in a provincial city, far from Kabul’s centres of power. But its meaning was larger than the room in which it took place. It was about how a society learns the truth, how leaders speak to citizens, and how a new governing system presents itself to the world. The title of the seminar promised something ambitious: enhancing intellectual, ideological, and professional capacity. That is not a task that can be completed in a single day. It is a long and difficult process, requiring patience from all sides. The conversations in Maimana produced no dramatic announcements. There were no promises of new funding, no new laws, no immediate decisions about suspended broadcasts. But there was something that cannot be measured in headlines: an hour of dialogue between people who are often separated by suspicion. Journalists left with notes and, perhaps, with a slightly clearer sense of what is expected of them. Officials left having heard the frustrations of the people who report on their activities. Both sides used the word cooperation, but they also used the word truth. If the Islamic Emirate wants the media to convey its achievements and decrees, then it must also accept that journalists will sometimes ask difficult questions. If journalists want better access to information, they must also be willing to check their facts carefully and correct their mistakes. Neither side can escape this mutual obligation. For the people of Faryab, and for Afghanistan as a whole, the hope is that seminars like this one are not isolated events. They must lead to change: more training, more open communication, more economic support for independent media, and a clearer legal framework for images, broadcasts, and access. The road is long, and the work is hard. But in a country that has known so much war and distrust, a room where journalists and officials sit together, disagree with respect, and leave with a shared sense of duty is not nothing. It is a fragile hope, but a real one—and it deserves to be carried forward.