By Sardar Khan Niazi
On January 4 this year, the Taliban regime in Kabul promulgated what it calls a new Criminal Procedure Code for Courts — a 119-article legal framework intended to govern criminal justice across Afghanistan. However, far from embodying principles of law and justice, this document amounts to a radical regression: it institutionalizes inequality, enshrines arbitrary power, and deepens the suffering of ordinary Afghans. The core premise of a penal code in any state is simple yet profound: bring uniformity, fairness and predictability to the application of criminal law. It should protect the weak, restrain the powerful, and provide a clear baseline for adjudication and punishment. What the Taliban have unveiled achieves exactly the opposite. At the heart of the controversy is Article 9, which formally divides Afghans into four legal classes: religious scholars, the elite, the middle class and the lower class. Punishments are no longer determined by the nature or severity of an offence, but by the offender’s caste-like status. A crime committed by a cleric elicits mere “advice”; the elite may receive a warning or summons; the middle class faces imprisonment; and the lower class is subject to both incarceration and corporal punishment. Such stratification serves not justice but domination, undermining any claim that the law functions for the common good. Perhaps the most alarming aspect of the code is its open use of the term ghulam — a legal category that human rights groups warn amounts to the recognition of slavery within the justice system. This contravenes international norms and the absolute prohibition of slavery, making the code an outlier even by the standards of repressive regimes. Critics, including members of the European Parliament, have described the code as codifying gender apartheid — because it entrenches severe discrimination against women and girls, and imposes heavier penalties on them for static roles in public and private life. These provisions, they argue, render normalization of ties with Kabul untenable so long as such legal discrimination exists. Women in Afghanistan have already borne the brunt of a litany of rights violations since August 2021. This penal code reinforces a system in which women’s autonomy and basic freedoms are subordinated, deepening a crisis that has seen vast numbers of girls barred from education and women from meaningful participation in society. From Geneva to Kabul, observers have repudiated the penal code. Afghanistan’s own mission to the United Nations called it discriminatory and grossly incompatible with modern governance, warning that it erases women from public life, criminalizes diversity and undermines the very idea of citizenship. Within Afghanistan, human rights defenders and legal experts have underscored that what the Taliban call justice is a mechanism to stifle dissent, terrorize communities, and legitimize broad arrests without cause. Ordinary citizens — especially ethnic and religious minorities — risk becoming targets simply for failing to adhere to an ever-expanding catalogue of vaguely defined transgressions. The penal code declares that power, not justice, will be the defining metric of law in Afghanistan. This shift carries consequences that extend well beyond Afghan borders. For regional neighbors like Pakistan, such normative regressions complicate cooperation on security and governance, strain diplomatic engagement and increase the risk of long-term instability. Moreover, for the international community, continued engagement without principled insistence on human rights may amount to tacit acceptance of a system that violates the basic dignity of millions. History reminds us that laws that enshrine inequality and privilege rarely produce stable societies. Legitimacy without justice is brittle, and obedience imposed through fear eventually corrodes the very order it seeks to enforce. Afghanistan today faces not just political isolation, but a profound moral crisis — one that this new penal code only deepens.
Afghanistan’s New Penal Code: Regression, Not Reform
Published: February 1, 2026
Afghanistan’s New Penal Code: Regression, Not Reform
Published: February 1, 2026
By Sardar Khan Niazi
On January 4 this year, the Taliban regime in Kabul promulgated what it calls a new Criminal Procedure Code for Courts — a 119-article legal framework intended to govern criminal justice across Afghanistan. However, far from embodying principles of law and justice, this document amounts to a radical regression: it institutionalizes inequality, enshrines arbitrary power, and deepens the suffering of ordinary Afghans. The core premise of a penal code in any state is simple yet profound: bring uniformity, fairness and predictability to the application of criminal law. It should protect the weak, restrain the powerful, and provide a clear baseline for adjudication and punishment. What the Taliban have unveiled achieves exactly the opposite. At the heart of the controversy is Article 9, which formally divides Afghans into four legal classes: religious scholars, the elite, the middle class and the lower class. Punishments are no longer determined by the nature or severity of an offence, but by the offender’s caste-like status. A crime committed by a cleric elicits mere “advice”; the elite may receive a warning or summons; the middle class faces imprisonment; and the lower class is subject to both incarceration and corporal punishment. Such stratification serves not justice but domination, undermining any claim that the law functions for the common good. Perhaps the most alarming aspect of the code is its open use of the term ghulam — a legal category that human rights groups warn amounts to the recognition of slavery within the justice system. This contravenes international norms and the absolute prohibition of slavery, making the code an outlier even by the standards of repressive regimes. Critics, including members of the European Parliament, have described the code as codifying gender apartheid — because it entrenches severe discrimination against women and girls, and imposes heavier penalties on them for static roles in public and private life. These provisions, they argue, render normalization of ties with Kabul untenable so long as such legal discrimination exists. Women in Afghanistan have already borne the brunt of a litany of rights violations since August 2021. This penal code reinforces a system in which women’s autonomy and basic freedoms are subordinated, deepening a crisis that has seen vast numbers of girls barred from education and women from meaningful participation in society. From Geneva to Kabul, observers have repudiated the penal code. Afghanistan’s own mission to the United Nations called it discriminatory and grossly incompatible with modern governance, warning that it erases women from public life, criminalizes diversity and undermines the very idea of citizenship. Within Afghanistan, human rights defenders and legal experts have underscored that what the Taliban call justice is a mechanism to stifle dissent, terrorize communities, and legitimize broad arrests without cause. Ordinary citizens — especially ethnic and religious minorities — risk becoming targets simply for failing to adhere to an ever-expanding catalogue of vaguely defined transgressions. The penal code declares that power, not justice, will be the defining metric of law in Afghanistan. This shift carries consequences that extend well beyond Afghan borders. For regional neighbors like Pakistan, such normative regressions complicate cooperation on security and governance, strain diplomatic engagement and increase the risk of long-term instability. Moreover, for the international community, continued engagement without principled insistence on human rights may amount to tacit acceptance of a system that violates the basic dignity of millions. History reminds us that laws that enshrine inequality and privilege rarely produce stable societies. Legitimacy without justice is brittle, and obedience imposed through fear eventually corrodes the very order it seeks to enforce. Afghanistan today faces not just political isolation, but a profound moral crisis — one that this new penal code only deepens.