Dr. Ahmad Sarmast:

For Dr. Ahmad Sarmast, founder of the Afghanistan National Institute of Music (ANIM), music has never been just art; it’s been a form of resistance, a reclamation of culture, and a bridge to the soul of a nation that has fought to hear itself again.

When he speaks about music, it’s with the reverence of someone who’s seen it both thrive and nearly disappear. His story begins in a different Afghanistan, one that feels distant today. “Kabul was once a vibrant city,” he recalls. “There was freedom, equality, and a thriving music scene.” In those years, before the wars and bans and displacement, Afghan radio filled homes with melodies that connected generations. For a young boy surrounded by rhythm, the dream of making music felt natural.

Sarmast’s earliest fascination came from a local band called The Four Brothers, whose sound reminded him of the Beatles. But what began as childhood curiosity became a lifelong calling when his father, Ustad Salim Sarmast, himself a renowned composer and conductor, encouraged him to pursue formal music training. In a family of seven siblings, he was the only one to choose that path. His father, understanding both the beauty and the burden of a musical life, supported him fully.

A Return Against All Odds

After years abroad studying ethnomusicology in Australia, Sarmast could have chosen the easier path of safety, stability, distance. But in 2008, he made a decision that would redefine Afghan cultural history. With the encouragement of his family, he returned to Kabul to rebuild what had been silenced.

At the time, music education in Afghanistan was almost nonexistent. Decades of conflict had erased institutions and driven musicians underground. Instruments were destroyed, and a generation grew up without hearing live performance. Sarmast envisioned a national institute where boys and girls could study side by side, learning both Afghan and Western traditions.

The Afghanistan National Institute of Music (ANIM) opened as a pilot project for disadvantaged children, orphans, street workers, and those from marginalized backgrounds. “I wanted to create opportunity through art,” Sarmast said. “To give children not only an education, but a voice.” It wasn’t only about reviving melodies but about rebuilding dignity. The classrooms echoed with tabla rhythms and violin practice, instruments once banned now symbolizing hope.

As the school grew, so did its impact. Concerts by the Afghan Youth Orchestra captured global attention. Students toured internationally, performing at venues like the Kennedy Center and Carnegie Hall. For the first time, the world saw a different image of Afghanistan. This time it wasn’t rooted in war, but in unity and harmony.

Zohra Orchestra

In 2015, Sarmast and ANIM introduced another bold idea: the Zohra Orchestra, Afghanistan’s first all-female ensemble. In a country where women had long been excluded from public performance, this was nothing short of revolutionary. The young women of Zohra didn’t just play music, they redefined what was possible.

Their performances carried not only melodies but messages of women’s voices belonged in every space, that culture could lead social change. For Sarmast, this wasn’t a political act but a deeply human one. “Music is a human right,” he says.

But such defiance came at a cost. In 2014, a year before Zohra’s founding, Sarmast survived a suicide attack during a school concert in Kabul. The explosion targeted him directly with a message from extremists who saw his work as a threat. He spent months recovering, but returned to the classroom as soon as he could. “If I stop,” he said, “then they win.”

Exile and Advocacy

The Taliban’s return in 2021 shattered the fragile progress Afghan musicians had made. Instruments were banned again and artists went into hiding. The sound of silence returned but this time, heavier than before.

For Sarmast, the fall of Kabul was both a personal and collective heartbreak. Yet, within weeks, he organized one of the largest evacuations of musicians in modern history that helped more than 270 students, teachers, and their families escape. Among them were the members of the Zohra Orchestra and the Afghan Youth Orchestra. Their departure marked not just a physical journey, but the continuation of a mission in exile.

Today, ANIM operates across several countries, continuing its classes and performances virtually and abroad. Its orchestras play in global concert halls, carrying with them the melodies of a homeland they can no longer freely perform in. “We are now the voice of the silenced,” Sarmast says. “Our music is our protest.”