The idea of confining woman within the four walls is deeply embedded in Afghans’ tradition. She is born to deal with domestic issues and household chores. Her dignity lies in nourishing the children and being subjugated to her spouse. Her nobility lies in swallowing her pride with accepting her servile position – especially in connubial life. In another item, the epitome of a modest woman in Afghan family is the one who endures the vicissitudes of life, the mistreatment of her in-laws and domestic violence with great patience. These traditional frames of mind make women highly susceptible to violence.

Involving in social issues jeopardizes women’s life and liberty across the country. Engaging in social activities, Afghan women would be exposed to the venom spew forth by local traditionalists and Taliban militants. In some rural villages the custom, which roots in warped beliefs, trumps religious values and moral norms. A Talibanic attitude towards Afghan women is yet practiced widely in some remote areas – particularly in Pashtun-dominated villages. For instance, the elopement of a teenage girl, who was supposed to marry against her choice, would be ensued by death. To put it succinctly, being a daughter is tantamount to being a slave to her father’s wishes.

Joining women to Afghan police is considered an iconoclastic move in the society and their freedom is curtailed to a large extent. They live in great anxiety and under severe psychological pressure. Afghan policewomen encounter manifold problems such as being threatened or killed by the Taliban militants, disturbed by their male colleagues and being treated coldly by their neighbors. As a result, a report says that a policewoman was on her way home from a visit to her parents in a remote corner of eastern Afghanistan with her children by her side and a small group of women. Two men, their faces covered by kaffiyehs, pulled up on a motor scooter. “Who is Parveena, daughter of Sardar?” said one, looking at the group of women, their faces hidden behind blue burqas. No one answered. One of the men took his Kalashnikov and used the muzzle to lift the burqa of the nearest woman — in conservative Afghan society, a gesture akin to undressing her in public. It was Parveena, who like many Afghans used only one name. She grabbed the muzzle and said, “Who is asking?” But the gunmen had seen her face, and they fired 11 bullets into her.

It was said that Parveena’s cousins were involved in her death. The provincial police accused the Taliban, but local Taliban commanders denied involvement. After the killing, the family quickly called relatives who were in the Taliban and they heard there had been a spy, a person they knew in the community who had tipped off the Taliban to her visit to her home district.

The stigma of being a policewoman remains so powerful that even after Parveena’s father and brothers picked up her body, they could find no mullahs in their village who would bury her or say the funeral prayers.

“There were six mullahs in our village, and after she was killed they disappeared intentionally,” her brother Wali is quoted to say. “The Taliban had told the mullahs, ‘Don’t do a funeral ceremony for those people,’ and not one would say the prayers for my sister.”

This story reflects the dangers and difficulties of Afghan policewomen and the broader Western effort to engineer gender equality in Afghanistan. The plight of women under the Taliban captured the Western imagination, and their liberation became a rallying cry. A flood of money and programs poured into Afghanistan, for girls’ schools and women’s shelters and television shows, all aimed at elevating women’s status.

But these good intentions often foundered against the strength of Afghan sexual conservatism. As the tale of Afghan policewomen shows, repressive views of women were not just a Taliban curse, but also a deeply embedded part of society.

Afghan policewomen, struggling to maintain good reputations, face a legion of logistical problems poorly understood by Western donors – a need for separate changing rooms in police stations, for example, since women are afraid to wear their uniforms on their way to work. After a decade and millions of dollars, even the modest goal of recruiting 5,000 policewomen remains a mirage. In fact, only 2,700 are on the force, less than 2 percent of the 169,000 members, according to the United Nations’ office in Kabul based on numbers from the Afghan Interior Ministry.

“Policewomen have been branded as little more than prostitutes, dishonoring their families. That stigma means that mostly desperate women, usually illiterate and poor, have joined the force. In a society where coercive sex is a frequent tool, many endure sexual harassment for fear of losing their jobs.”

According to a report, a United Nations report given to the ministry in 2013 but never publicly released — in part because of fears of possible reprisals against policewomen — found that 70 percent of the 130 policewomen interviewed had experienced sexual harassment, with smaller numbers reporting rape or more explicit pressures to have sex.

We have to change our attitude towards women and rectify our culture on the basis of religious law and ethical code. The policewomen, who devote to protect our life and land, have to be respected and viewed honorably. Involving in social activities never put one’s personality under question. Our citizens, the policemen in particular, are supposed to hold policewomen in due respect.