Art and music are ways to create community, to transport cultural values, to form networks, mobilize and build solidarity. That is exactly why art and cultural actors are often targeted by oppressive regimes fearing their power. In Afghanistan, under the Taliban regime, music has been banned entirely, forcing artists into exile or underground. Sarkash سرکش Underground Festival in Berlin provides a space for the music from the region and its diaspora to survive, live and grow.

The festival is organized by a collective of alternative Afghan subculture artists, musicians, and cultural project managers Baran Hashemi, Zolfar Hassib, Pari Ludin, Mine Nang, Armeghan Taheri. Their work extends beyond national borders and uplifts voices of Afghan, Baloch, and Kashmiri artists from hip-hop, rap, trap and experimental sounds. With concerts, DJ sets, workshops, and collaboration Sarkash سرکش Underground aims to be “a space of resonance where music becomes the starting point for transformation, opening new paths for collectively created futuristic sound approaches.”

Defying not just bans on music but also the stereotypical and racist images projected onto the region by the West, music becomes a language of protest against silence, repression and erasure. We spoke to Armeghan Taheri from the festival team about the idea behind the festival, the responsibility to speak up about the situation in Afghanistan, and creating networks of solidarity through music.

On Our Own Terms

Ilo Toerkell: Armeghan, you are part of the team behind Sarkash سرکش Underground – a newly launched festival for hip-hop, rap, and experimental sounds from Afghanistan, Balochistan and Kashmir. What does the name “Sarkash” mean and how does it relate to what you are doing? 

3D art by Petus Studio

Armeghan Taheri: Sarkash means rebellious or defiant in Dari, one of the main languages spoken in that region. We chose it because that is what hip-hop and rap is and what we are trying to do: stand in defiance and rebellious against what is happening in Afghanistan.

Sarkash is a political and social statement. We’re here. We’re going to speak. We’re going to protest, and honor those who risk everything in Afghanistan. 

What does that look like in the context of Berlin? 

In Germany it is also about creating networks of support, resisting the image that gets projected onto us, and claiming visibility on our own terms. Afghanistan is a country that is either invisible or hyper-visible in stereotypical ways that confirm narratives of the West. Afghan women instrumentalized as the vulnerable needing protection from the Afghan men. As is it mostly young men coming to Germany looking for asylum, this narrative serves the German government in their harsh migration politics by demonizing them. It creates division and puts us in opposition to Afghan men – our brothers, fathers, friends – when we are not. In the end, most people care very little about Afghanistan, so we have to support each other. That makes spaces, where people in the diaspora can come together even more important.

Sarkash is organized by Roshā e.V. and Afghan Punk Zine, which you started. Can you tell me about both initiatives and how they connect?

Roshā e.V. is a Berlin based non-profit organization set up by first generation Afghan women committed to creating spaces for empowerment and community led change. First and foremost, the aim of Roshā was to support Afghan women in strengthening literacy, overall well-being, health, confidence, and self determination. Afghan Punk Zine is an experimental platform established in 2018 for alternative Afghans, those rejecting white normativity, while at the same time feeling like outcasts in their own community. For me it was about creating an emancipatory space to find people with similar experiences to mine. Since then, the platform has evolved into physical space doing youth programs, workshops, and now this festival. The platform’s vision is to continuously find new paths to mobilize and (re)envision, transform and map out our collective imaginaries through creative expression beyond the confines of what art is and what it can do. 

Beyond National Borders

What sparked the idea to do this now?

Cultural movements and art have become so highly politicized for Afghans because there is a systematic erasure of it. Music is banned now in Afghanistan. We wanted to do something and not stand still living in this very privileged situation.

We want to use our platform and privilege here to raise voices and find ways to use music as a language of protest and support the artists doing so. 

Why did you choose a regional focus beyond Afghanistan? 

The Afghan identity in and of itself is made up. There is no such thing as the Afghan people. We are multi-ethnic, so we try to break free from this nationalism and colonial border thinking. We don’t want to exclude based on national borders but invite our siblings into this as well. Our solidarity goes beyond borders and we want to embody the plurality of the region through music. 

There are so many different languages spoken in the region. Does that create difficulty, and can music be a tool to bridge that?

Seeing language as such a heavy border and division is a very Western way of thinking. A lot of people are used to speaking multiple languages, to not only having one “national” language and engaging without perfectly speaking the language of the other. In Afghanistan, we have mostly Dari and Pashto, and most people speak or understand both or have found other ways to communicate. Of course, I don’t want to completely diminish language barriers as a concern. But there is a different culture of being more forgiving about using correct grammar than Germany, for example.

Do you feel like music in the diaspora is a connecting factor already, or is that something you want to establish with this festival?

It is hard to answer. One thing I can say from teaching young people, also those in Willkommensklassen [classes for children, who recently migrated to Germany], is that music always functions as a connector regardless of background and language. For a country like Afghanistan that is already fragmented and divided, you have to go back to ways of basic human connection to reconnect and to not reproduce fracture. When things fracture through a legacy of war, you have to come back to the very essence of humanness. And I believe music can do that.

Against False Narratives of Hopelessness

Why did you choose the hip-hop focus?

Hip-hop is the OG journalism. It creates consciousness, documents and critiques systems of injustice in ways that are accessible, relatable, and that people love to hear. It is like a collective way of making political content accessible. All you need is to be good with your words. And Afghans are known to be very quick with their words. We also knew that a lot of people were already interested in that. We see it as a start. Aside of performances, we will have workshops like a rap workshop by Hosein0093 and vocal activation by Pari Ludin.

Photo by Tansu Kayaalp

The festival draws inspiration from the long-standing tradition of Black diasporic music culture, using hip-hop as a vehicle for truth-telling and defiance against false narratives of hopelessness.

What role does music, or hip-hop in particular, play for the new generation of the diaspora?

The new generation of young Afghans expresses themselves differently, sees things differently, plays a massive role in transforming their culture. The focus is often on traditional art, but many of us have been forced to become diasporic people and we cannot go back. Hip-hop grew out of Black communities in the USA, who are also grappling with a history of displacement. We grow up here and have to find new ways to interpret our tradition and deal with what we experience. Music and art can be ways to re-envision and reimagine our identity contrary to the image projected onto us and that we are forced to internalize. We are taking control of our narrative: “This is how we see ourselves in the future. This is who we fucking are.”

A lot of the new generation of Afghans is not giving fucks about the way we are supposed to speak and how the outside wants us to behave.

That oppressive regimes crackdown on music, musicians, and creative expression also shows the power of music. It brings people together and creates spaces for exchange, that can spark collective resistance. 

Exactly. We forget about that. We forget about that the origins of all these things are so deeply political and are so deeply tied to liberation. Especially in hip-hop.

Have you able to be in touch with artists still living in Afghanistan underground? Is that even a possibility in the current situation? 

Obviously, we cannot work with them or reach out to them, because they have to stay underground for security reasons. Many of them also got imprisoned and deported from Iran. Of course, we’re thinking about ways to support artists underground in Afghanistan, uplift their voices and connect what we do here directly with is happening there. But finding ways without putting them in danger is difficult. 

At Sarkash سرکش Underground people from many different realities are coming together. What challenges and opportunities come with that and how do you plan on navigating them? 

We need to keep in mind that because we are living in the West, there are many power dynamics at play. The Berlin leftist, progressive bubbles have created a reality that leaves very little space for learning, discussion and repair. There are so many codes how to talk to each other, what is right and what is wrong. Of course, this is important, but people might not get them right away. That doesn’t mean that we cannot strive for a collective goal and that they should be cancelled. I think this is a big problem in general: we’re not able to handle people from different realities, with different concerns and ways of speaking. We have to keep questioning our privileges, like passports for example, and decenter ourselves in favor of collectivity.

At Sarkash سرکش Underground this means, we have to rethink awareness and security and find measures of de-escalation that consider the realities and experiences of everyone. We want people to feel safe. But also allow discomfort, trusting that if there is conflict, there is going to be repair through holding each other accountable and speaking to one another. And overall hold on to the fact that we have a shared vision of why we are here.

Connecting Across Generations

Who is someone you are especially looking forward to seeing at Sarkash سرکش Underground?

I am looking forward to everyone, honestly. But one of the most exciting acts is the DJ Aria Khalil. He is someone we owe a lot of things that we do now to. He was a radio host and musician in Afghanistan and did a lot of archiving, re-envisioning traditional music, and recording of the underground rap scene. After getting evacuated, he now lives in Berlin. Sure, for us here it is also difficult, because we face discrimination and we don’t have a lot of representation. But Aria Khalil kept going under opposition and threats. I think it is really important to create that dialogue and exchange between his experiences and the younger artists we have on the line-up. It is an honor to have him.

What is your larger vision for the festival? 

The vision of what we want to do goes beyond Europe. We want to support and reach the people actually doing the work on the ground right now. We are constantly reminding ourselves that what we do here is because of what’s happening there. This is not just a fun little party: this has political meaning. 

Sarkash سرکش Underground takes place on 1st of August at Marmorbar & Oelgarten in Berlin. You can get your tickets here and follow the festival on instagram to stay up to date.