Meet Zahra Nader, Editor-in-Chief of Zan Times

How did you get started in journalism?

I grew up as a refugee child in Iran, where I was denied the right to education. That experience made me dream of becoming a teacher one day. When my family returned to Afghanistan and I finally went to school, everything changed.

One day in high school, I accidentally walked into the office of a weekly newspaper in Kabul. Inside, I overheard a conversation about publishing, which immediately caught my attention. At the time, I was writing short stories and poems, so I asked if they might be interested in publishing one of my pieces. They said yes. The following week, when I saw my name printed on the page, it was a transformative moment.

I realised that journalism could allow me to create conversations, to connect with people, and to share ideas even without being in the same room. That small newsroom became my first experience in journalism. I started as an intern there, and that moment marked the beginning of my journey as a journalist.

Why did you want to become a journalist?

The reason I wanted to become a journalist was because I rarely saw women like me from my community, sharing our stories or speaking about our daily realities. I felt that so many of our experiences were invisible.

In my early writing, I wrote about the crowded buses in Kabul that made it difficult for us to reach places on time, or about the lack of electricity in my neighbourhood, and the government’s unfulfilled promises to fix them. These were small, everyday struggles, but they mattered deeply to me at the time.

Through journalism, I discovered a way to bring attention to those realities, to highlight what was wrong and to hope for change. That sense of purpose, of giving voice to issues that mattered to my community, is what drew me to journalism and still keeps me in it today.

How did you learn to navigate newsrooms and what advice would you give?

Since I began my career in a small Afghan weekly newspaper, I have learned so much about both the power and the challenges of journalism. Early on, I began to feel the heavy weight of discrimination - both gender and ethnic - that shaped much of Afghanistan’s media landscape. I knew this existed, but facing it personally was painful, especially when I saw how little was being done to change it.

Later, when I joined international media, my last position being with The New York Times in Kabul in 2016, I was fortunate to work with brilliant Afghan journalists like Mujib Mashal and other great colleagues who supported and guided me. Those experiences helped me grow, but they also deepened my belief that journalism, at its heart, is about telling the stories that are often left untold.

Many of us come to journalism because we carry a story in our hearts - stories of our people, our communities, our struggles.

My advice to young journalists is this: find your way into telling those stories. Learn how to show editors why your story matters, why your community’s voice deserves to be heard. And above all, don’t give up. If a story is truly important to you, you will find a way and a place to tell it.

How does your heritage influence the journalism you do?

As a woman and as a Hazara, I have lived with discrimination for much of my life. These experiences have shaped how I see myself, as someone coming from the margins of Afghan society. And from that place, I’ve always felt a responsibility to tell the stories that emerge from the margins.

Throughout my career, my work has focused on the layered discrimination that Afghan women face - how it defines, confines, and sometimes breaks us. In the past four years, I have been reporting on human rights violations under the Taliban, with a particular focus on women and LGBTQ+ Afghans. These are the people whose voices are most silenced, whose stories are often ignored.

Because I come from that same margin, I understand what it means to be unheard. That is why I see my role as a journalist not just as a storyteller, but as a bridge, someone who helps bring the voices of the marginalised to the table, to ensure they are seen, heard, and remembered.

What does it mean to be "unbiased" and "impartial"?

This is a very important question because the idea of being “unbiased” or “impartial” is often misunderstood. Many believe that impartiality simply means giving equal space to all sides of a story. In some contexts, that might make sense. But in Afghanistan today, equating the voice of Afghan women with the voice of the Taliban and calling that “balance” is not impartiality, it’s distortion.

As a woman journalist, I know that if I were inside Afghanistan, my very existence would be considered illegal. My work, my voice, my identity - all of them are outlawed under the Taliban. So I cannot pretend that both sides stand on equal moral ground. To me, being unbiased means being faithful to the truth not to power. It means seeking and presenting facts as they are, not as those in power want them to appear.

The Taliban’s actions speak for themselves. For nearly four years, they have consistently lied about women’s rights and their governance. Our responsibility as journalists is not to amplify their propaganda but to expose the reality of what they are doing through verified facts and evidence.

In my work, I strive to let the facts speak for themselves. Because in a time of lies and censorship, truth itself becomes a form of resistance and that, I believe, is the highest form of journalistic integrity.

Why did you start Zan Times?

We created Zan Times to give Afghan women journalists a chance to continue their work, to keep reporting from inside a country where the Taliban have waged a war on women’s rights: the right to education, to work, and to simply exist in public life.

When the Taliban returned to power, we already knew what was coming. This was not the first time we had experienced their rule. We knew that women would be their first target and the media would be next. So Zan Times was born out of urgency, out of the need to create a safe space for journalists, especially women, to document what was happening and to expose the Taliban’s crimes.

I could have continued working with international outlets and published a few stories here and there. But that was never enough. I wanted to build something that gave Afghan journalists - especially women - the power to be authors of their own stories, not subjects of someone else’s narrative. Too often, international media portray Afghan women only as victims. But that’s not the whole truth. Afghan women are also fighters and resisters, they are running secret schools, organising book clubs, and finding quiet, courageous ways to keep hope alive under oppression.

Zan Times exists to tell those stories, the stories of defiance, resilience, and courage from the perspective of Afghans themselves. For me, it’s not just a newsroom. It’s a platform of resistance, a collective act of reclaiming our voices and defining our own narrative.

How do you cope when the issues you cover directly impact you and your community?

Covering human rights in Afghanistan is deeply traumatising work. The emotional weight is immense, especially for my colleagues who are still inside the country, living through the very horrors they report on. For them, the trauma is not just professional; it is personal and constant.

I wish I could say that I have found a way to cope with it, but the truth is, I haven’t. There is no easy answer to how one deals with witnessing so much pain and injustice. What I do know is that journalism - truthful, courageous journalism - is never easy, especially in times like these. Whether it is Afghanistan or Gaza, telling the truth, exposing wrongdoing, and standing by the victims of violence all come at a cost.

But as journalists, it is our duty to bear witness, even when it hurts. We may not always be able to change the reality we report on, but knowing that we have done our part, that we have helped the world see what is happening, brings a small measure of peace. For me, that sense of purpose, of having done what I could, is what helps me carry on.

What advice do you have for those starting out?

My advice is to start where you are with a story that truly matters to you. Begin with what is close to your heart. Find a platform or publication where you’d like that story to appear, reach out to the editor, and start building that connection.

You will hear many no’s - that’s part of the journey. But don’t let rejection stop you. If your story is honest and told with passion, it will eventually find its home. What matters most is resilience, the willingness to keep going, to keep writing, even when doors close.

Remember, if you don’t tell the story that is burning inside you, there may be no one else who will. So persist. Fight for your story. Because your voice, your truth, might be exactly what the world needs to hear.

Why is it important for people like us to keep working in the media industry?

This question is very important, because despite everything being against us, I believe we still have power. We have skills, we have voices, and we have the ability to make truth speak for itself. If we don’t do it, there may be no one else who will.

The work we do is hard. It’s exhausting, and often deeply traumatising. But it also matters because truth matters. A single story can touch hearts and open eyes. Many stories, told over time, can build momentum and bring real change. I truly believe that.

That belief keeps me going, the hope that one day, the Taliban will be held accountable for their crimes. I dream of a future where Afghan women and men can live freely, with their rights protected, where girls can go to school, and everyone can participate in shaping our own society.

For journalists of colour, for those of us who come from the margins, the systems of power are often stacked against us. But we cannot give up. We deserve to be in these spaces - to tell our own stories, from our own context, in our own voices. We are the authority of our experiences, and we must keep pushing, keep speaking, and keep believing that our voices can change the world.

What brings you joy and how do you protect your energy?

Witnessing the stories I tell come to life and knowing they help others feel seen and heard, brings me deep fulfilment. To preserve my energy and stay true to my purpose, I’m learning to decline opportunities and environments that don’t align with my commitment to journalism.