By Shahzad Mudasir
The Rhythm That Refuses to Die
Afghanistan’s rulers may silence instruments, ban melodies, and punish dancers — but they cannot kill rhythm. Across the country, hidden communities of artists, musicians, and dreamers continue to create in secret. In bedrooms, basements, and on smuggled phones, they build small digital worlds where freedom still moves to a beat.
On a gray afternoon in Kabul, the city hums with the faint clatter of motorcycles, the occasional shout from a street vendor, and the distant wail of an ambulance. In a small, dusty courtyard, a smartphone rests precariously on the branch of a leafless tree, recording a performance that the world may never fully see, at least not safely.
A slender boy prepares himself. A pair of black surgical masks hides his face, yet they cannot conceal the fire in his eyes. He presses “play” on his headphones, letting the pulsing beat of K-pop music fills the space, and begins to move.
He calls himself Vantace—a fifteen-year-old dancer, painter, and activist who refuses to be silent. Under Taliban rule, where music and art have been branded acts of rebellion, he risks his life every time he moves to a beat.
Every step, every spin, every exaggerated gesture carries weight far beyond the rhythm. These are not just dance moves; they are declarations. Defiance. Survival.
Last December, in one of Kabul’s poorest districts, Vantace and his friend Novara filmed themselves dancing in public. They smiled, but they were alert — aware that their joy was dangerous.
“What they are doing is madness,” a bystander whispered. “The authorities are hunting them.”
Passers-by threw stones. Some shouted curses. Yet their videos — filmed in parks and empty streets, brief moments of stolen freedom — spread quickly online. Through Instagram and Afghan exile newspapers, they became symbols of defiance. Sometimes Novara even danced in a burqa, transforming a garment of control into a costume of resistance.
Each clip he uploaded, carefully edited and shared on Instagram, became a spark of resistance—a glimpse of life in a country where joy itself has been criminalized. He created an Instagram page that grew to more than twenty thousand followers. The more he danced, the more visible he became —and the greater the danger.
“The threats and insults started. I received messages from the Taliban and anonymous accounts. One day, I even got a letter saying I would be killed if I didn’t stop.”
Dancing as Defiance
His fame, though reluctant, spread. International media took notice. Le Figaro called him a “resilient adolescent whose joy challenges oppression.” TF1 and France Inter shared clips of his choreography, emphasizing that these videos, while celebrated globally, are strictly forbidden in Afghanistan.
And the Taliban, vigilant and relentless, began tracking down such displays, using denunciations to identify young dancers. Suddenly, Vantance was no longer dancing for himself or even for the small courtyard audience. He was performing under the watchful eyes of a regime that could punish him severely for moving, for being visible, for existing.
“The Taliban arrested my father,” he recalls. “They called it a sin, a shame. For days, we didn’t know if he was alive. He was only released after signing a forced pledge. From that day, my life changed. Every knock at the door, every sound of a car makes my heart race. I’ve developed panic attacks and OCD. Sometimes I can’t even look out the window.”
Every movement became an act of calculated defiance. He dances on rooftops, among ruins, in abandoned courtyards—places where shadows might protect him and his cousin from the ever-present threat of the Taliban. The danger is constant. Every passing vehicle, every unusual noise, becomes a potential signal that the authorities have discovered him.
“Men shouted at me in the street—‘shameless,’ ‘faithless,’ ‘gay.’ In a place full of hatred and patriarchy, those words can become a death sentence.”
His family has begged him to stop. But he cannot. “One day,” he whispers, “we will perform on a stage for millions.”
Living Under Threat
The risks are not only physical. Vantance’s identity as a Hazara makes him doubly vulnerable in Kabul. Hazara communities face systematic persecution, and any act of visibility—even in art—can provoke violence. The boy understands this, yet he persists. Each performance is a deliberate assertion that he refuses to be erased.
Even within his own neighborhood, reactions are mixed. Some neighbors, fearful of Taliban retaliation, urge caution. Others, silently supportive, provide cover and encouragement. Vantance recalls moments when he danced in parks, feeling the mixture of public scrutiny and awe. Strangers shouted warnings, yet some watched quietly, captivated by a performance that dared to exist. For him, dance has become a form of communication—a message to the world, to his peers, and to his oppressors.
Rooftops as Symbols of Freedom
Rooftops are more than a perch; they are a symbol. Every leap, every pivot, every turn is a reclamation of space, identity, and freedom. Vantance has learned to balance the exhilaration of creation with the terror of exposure. He moves with the knowledge that the Taliban have the power to punish him, his cousin, or his family. Yet, in the act of dance, he finds liberation. His choreography is a language of resistance, one that transcends words and speaks to the universal human desire to be seen, to be heard, to exist without fear.
Vantance’s story is part of a broader tapestry of resistance. Across Afghanistan, young people and women have used dance, music, and performance as quiet yet powerful forms of protest. Rukhshana Media tells the story of Roya, a 16-year-old girl who danced in a Kabul park as a solitary act of defiance against Taliban restrictions.
Despite the fear, Vantance dreams vividly. He imagines stages far beyond Kabul’s rooftops, audiences that can appreciate his skill without threat, and a life in which music and movement are not criminalized. He envisions a world where art exists freely and children like him are allowed to grow, to explore, to express.
Each performance is a rehearsal for that future, a preparation for a life that has yet to exist but for which he fights with every beat, every spin, every gesture.
The courage of Vantance reminds us that resistance can be quiet and rhythmic, personal yet powerful. It does not always roar in the streets or demand attention; sometimes, it whispers through choreography, through movements that defy fear, through the persistent assertion of identity in a city bent on erasure.
In telling Vantance’s story, the world is given a rare glimpse into the resilience of Afghan youth, the dangers faced by minorities under Taliban rule, and the vital role of art as protest. Supporting voices like his—through international visibility, advocacy for artistic freedom, and solidarity with persecuted communities—is essential.
The Spirit That Cannot Be Silenced
Even as fear shadows his every move, Vantance continues to dance. With each step, he declares that the human spirit cannot be contained. With each beat, he defies those who would silence him. And in doing so, he does not merely survive — he inspires, reminding us that even in the darkest corners of Kabul, youth, creativity, and courage can shine.
