Name: In Her Hands
Genre: Documentary
Released: 2022-11-16T00:00:00+00:00
Cast: Zarifa Ghafari

The opening shot of In Her Hands (2022) lingers on a young woman’s hands as they carefully arrange papers on a desk—the sound of distant gunfire echoing through an open window. This is Zarifa Ghafari, Afghanistan’s youngest female mayor, and the film from directors Tamana Ayazi and Marcel Mettelsiefen doesn’t just introduce her; it thrusts us into her world with the immediacy of a war correspondent’s notebook. The camera holds steady as she lifts her gaze to meet ours, her expression a mix of determination and exhaustion. This is where the documentary begins: not with grand declarations of purpose, but with the quiet, unshakable presence of a woman who has become a symbol of resistance.

Ghafari isn’t just a mayor; she’s a target. The film follows her as she navigates a landscape where education—particularly for girls—has become a battleground. The directors’ choice to focus so tightly on her is both the documentary’s strength and its limitation. On one hand, it creates an intimate portrait of leadership under fire. We see Ghafari in moments of vulnerability: pacing her office late at night, her voice trembling as she speaks to a colleague about the latest threat against her life. The sound design amplifies these scenes, with the hum of fluorescent lights and the creak of floorboards making her isolation palpable.

But In Her Hands isn’t just about one woman’s struggle; it’s about the fight for an entire generation. One of the most powerful sequences shows Ghafari visiting a school under construction in Lajmak, her hometown. The camera lingers on the skeletal structure of the building, the wind whipping through the unfinished walls as she speaks to a group of children gathered around her. Their faces are a mix of awe and fear—these kids know what’s at stake. When Ghafari tells them, “This school is for you,” there’s no dramatic music, no swelling orchestra to underscore the moment. Instead, the film lets the weight of her words—and the gravity of their situation—speak for themselves.

The documentary’s pacing is deliberate, almost meditative at times, mirroring the slow-burn tension of Ghafari’s daily reality. There are moments of quiet reflection, like when she sits in her car, scrolling through her phone, the glow of the screen illuminating her face as she reads another death threat. These interludes are crucial—they ground us in her humanity, reminding us that she isn’t just a symbol; she’s a person.

Yet In Her Hands sometimes stumbles in its narrow focus. While Ghafari’s story is undeniably compelling, the film occasionally risks reducing Afghanistan’s broader struggles to a single narrative. We hear little from other women leaders or community members, which means the documentary at times feels like a character study rather than a comprehensive examination of systemic change. The absence of deeper historical context—such as interviews with educators, activists, or even former students—weakens its ability to fully convey the complexity of the situation.

The performances—or lack thereof—are where this documentary excels. Ghafari isn’t acting; she’s living her life under extraordinary pressure, and that authenticity is palpable. There’s a scene in which she confronts a group of Taliban militants who have come to shut down the school. The camera stays tight on her face as she speaks, her voice steady but her hands trembling slightly. It’s a masterclass in restraint—both from Ghafari and the filmmakers.

The film’s originality lies in its unflinching gaze. Rarely do we see such intimate access to a female leader operating in a war zone, and the documentary doesn’t shy away from the uglier truths of her work. There’s a moment when Ghafari is forced to negotiate with a local warlord, his laughter echoing through the room as he dismisses her concerns. The camera lingers on her expression—part fury, part resignation—as she walks away, knowing that this is just one more battle in an endless war.

But how does In Her Hands compare to other documentaries of its ilk? It shares DNA with films like Pan’s Labyrinth, which also blends personal resilience with political turmoil. However, Guillermo del Toro’s film has the benefit of mythic grandeur and a clear narrative arc—elements that In Her Hands lacks. Similarly, The Nightingale—another story about women fighting for survival in a war-torn landscape—uses fiction to amplify its emotional impact. In Her Hands, by contrast, is strictly grounded in reality, which makes it feel both more urgent and, at times, less cinematic.

Who is this film for? It’s not for those looking for easy answers or uplifting narratives. This isn’t a story about triumph over adversity; it’s a story about the daily grind of resistance. Viewers who appreciate films like City of God or The Act of Killing—where the chaos of real life is laid bare—will find much to engage with here. But those looking for a more polished, narrative-driven documentary might leave disappointed.

Ultimately, In Her Hands is a gripping, if flawed, portrait of courage in the face of insurmountable odds.

Tags: In Her Hands, Marcel Mettelsiefen, Tamana Ayazi, Zarifa Ghafari