Hazara Culture Day

May 19, the day that is recognized in the cultural calendar for Hazaras as “Hazara Culture Day.” A day that should remind us of roots, identity, history, art, language, music, and everything that keeps a nation alive. But this year, like many years we have passed, this day for me is not just a date in the calendar; it is a deep lump in the throat, a heavy silence, and an unanswered question that repeats in the hearts of thousands of people: how can we speak of culture when a human being in their own land does not even have the space to breathe peacefully?

Outside the borders of the country, perhaps events are held, perhaps people gather, wear traditional clothes, music is played, and Hazara culture and identity are remembered. This is certainly a good and valuable act. No culture survives without being preserved, and no nation will have a bright future without remembering its past. But inside Afghanistan, in the very soil from which this culture has risen, for many Hazaras even the simple possibility of celebrating does not exist; sometimes even the simple possibility of living in peace does not exist.

Personally, on such a day, when I think in the true sense, I do not want everything to be reduced to dance, music, and repetitive ceremonies. Not because these are bad—no—but because in the face of the heavy reality of today’s life, this form of celebration feels incomplete to me. When in some corners of this land families live in fear, poverty, forced migration, or uncertainty, how can we limit ourselves only to outward joy and not speak of inner pain?

If Culture Day is to have real meaning, it must be seen beyond symbols and appearances. Culture is not only traditional clothing, music, and celebration. Culture is the collective memory of a nation; it is pain and resistance; it is standing against forgetting; it is narrating truth even when it is difficult to say. Culture means that a nation, despite all its wounds, has not forgotten itself.

The Hazaras throughout history have faced narratives of suffering, migration, discrimination, and exclusion. Today as well, many analyses and reports about their situation in Afghanistan speak of systemic discrimination, insecurity, deprivation, and gradual exclusion from some social and political structures. These are not just words; behind each of them lies the life of human beings whose day begins with hope but ends with fear and an uncertain future.

In such conditions, when we speak of Culture Day, a more serious question arises: how should culture be celebrated? Is culture only for moments of joy, or does it also have meaning in difficult moments? Is culture only for display, or is it for solidarity, awareness, and responsibility?

Perhaps today more than ever, this day needs to take a different shape—not to remove joy, but to deepen it. Perhaps alongside music and celebrations, the voices of those who live in silence must also be heard: the voices of mothers who have lost their children in migration, the voices of young people who see their future as uncertain, and the voices of children who have not yet experienced the meaning of safety.

If Hazara Culture Day is not to remain merely a symbolic occasion, it must become a day of reflection, a day for asking difficult questions, a day of real solidarity, and a day to ask: where do we stand in history today? What responsibility do we have for tomorrow?

Amid all these thoughts, a simple but profound truth remains: culture remains alive when its people remain alive, live with dignity, and feel belonging and security. Without human beings, no culture has meaning, and without justice, no celebration is complete.

Perhaps this year we cannot celebrate this day as it should be inside the country. Perhaps many voices remain silent and many gatherings are scattered; but this does not mean the culture is silenced. On the contrary, perhaps this silence itself is a kind of cry—a quiet but deep cry that says: we are still here, we still remember, and we have not forgotten.

If Hazara Culture Day is to truly have meaning, it must bring us closer together—not only in joy, but also in pain and joy together. It must make us think about shared responsibility and remind us that culture is not only a heritage of the past, but also a commitment to the future.

Perhaps the most important part of this day is this: that amid all hardships, there are still those who write, think, narrate, and do not allow the story of a nation to be lost in silence.