“Music is something that no one can take from you”

For Marko Kölbl, the study of Afghan music began unexpectedly. Growing up in Austria with music as an integral part of his life, Kölbl trained as a classical pianist before becoming interested in ethnomusicology and the ways music creates belonging within communities. His own connection to Austria’s Croatian minority led him to think more deeply about disappearing musical traditions, minorities and migration. In 2015, as Europe’s public conversation centred on the so-called “refugee crisis,” Kölbl began working with Afghan refugees in Vienna. What started as a university project grew into nearly a decade of research, friendships and collaboration with Afghanistan’s musical community in Europe. He became particularly interested in how Afghan music was evolving in exile—and how younger generations were using music to maintain a connection to home.

That connection, Kölbl says, is powerful precisely because music is so accessible. You do not have to be a musician to participate in it. You can listen, sing, dance or simply recognize a song and the memories attached to it. For people living in the diaspora, music can become one of the simplest ways of holding on to cultural belonging. Kölbl has also observed how Afghan communities in Europe have created new musical spaces of their own, including Afghan club nights and concerts. In some cases, these spaces have developed in response to discrimination and exclusion from mainstream European nightlife. The result is not simply a preservation of Afghan culture, but the creation of something new—an Afghan musical and social culture shaped by life in Europe.

The importance of those spaces becomes even clearer when considering what has happened inside Afghanistan. Kölbl believes the Taliban’s restrictions on music serve multiple purposes, including reinforcing its image as a radical, anti-modern regime, while also restricting a form of expression that can carry emotions, cultural identity, resistance and resilience. But the consequences extend far beyond whether someone can listen to or perform a song. Afghanistan’s recording industry, music scholarship and systems of music education have all been disrupted. Kölbl points out that the country’s musical traditions were transmitted not only through institutions but through generations of teachers and students—and that this transmission is now under threat.

That crisis follows Afghan musicians beyond Afghanistan’s borders. Kölbl’s recent fieldwork in Pakistan showed him how dramatically conditions have changed for musicians who once found refuge there. As deportation policies targeting Afghan nationals intensified, musicians he had worked with in Peshawar began contacting him in despair. For Kölbl, the concern is not only the survival of individual musicians, but an entire musical tradition. He describes the situation as devastating economically, psychologically and artistically, particularly for hereditary music families whose younger generations have extraordinary talent but increasingly few places to develop it. In Vienna, Kölbl has tried to create one such space. An Afghan music education in exile program has brought Afghan students to his university, allowing them to continue their musical education after the closure of Kabul University’s music department. It is a small project, he acknowledges, but one that demonstrates what is possible when spaces for Afghan music are deliberately created.

And despite everything, Kölbl remains hopeful. He points to the Afghan students now studying in Vienna and to similar programs created for musicians displaced by the war in Bosnia, many of whom later helped rebuild their country’s cultural institutions. He believes the work being done across the Afghan diaspora today can eventually contribute to rebuilding Afghanistan’s musical infrastructure. The Taliban may restrict performance, education and artistic expression, but in a digital world, Kölbl argues, complete silence is impossible. Music continues to travel through phones, recordings, memories and communities. “No one can take” that connection away. For Kölbl, that is where the future of Afghan music begins—not with forgetting what has been lost, but with keeping the music alive until there is once again a place for it to return to.