Natalie Halla’s latest documentary, The Last Ambassador, begins with a telling shot: a bunch of female mannequins in Afghanistan under the Taliban regime, clothed head to toe, with their visages covered, hidden from the world. If this symbolic evocation of the invisibilization of women wasn’t enough, the poster of the film comes emblazoned with the significant question: “What do you do as an ambassador for Afghanistan when the Taliban take power, and you are a feminist?” At the heart of The Last Ambassador lies this conflict, between a staunch feminist and a bunch of stick-in-the-mud fundamentalists. The pivotal point is the takeover of Kabul by the Taliban on August 15, 2021, which threw the entire Afghanistan, and more specifically its girls and women, into a maelstrom.
It also left Manizha Bakhtari, the Afghan ambassador in Vienna, and several other of her peers across the world, in a strange limbo. Who were they supposed to represent when their President Ashraf Ghani had to flee the country after being in power for seven years and the new Taliban government had not been recognised internationally? Should they also just pack up and leave? Bakhtari takes it upon herself to step away from such predicaments to prioritize the cause of Afghan women and be a spokesperson for the millions of voiceless people at home rather than take up the cudgels for any regime. The Austrian documentary on the last woman ambassador of Afghanistan is in Dari and English language and was shot on location in Austria, Afghanistan, Canada, Tajikistan and the USA between the years 2021 and 2024. It had its world premiere in the F: ACT award competition at CPH:DOX, which was held March 19-30 in Copenhagen.
The biggest scoring point for Halla’s documentary is its protagonist herself and she leaves no stone unturned in spotlighting Bakhtari’s spunk and spirit which the world may not have heard enough of. Her courage is not just about defying the Taliban or calling out the USA for its betrayal of the Afghan people through its Doha deal with the Taliban, but to continue to soldier on for human rights and dignity in the midst of diplomatic isolation and despite the many financial and logistical problems that come along with it. It’s handling the banal, day-to-day issues that show the perseverance and resourcefulness of Bakhtari and her staff at its best. There are some moving sequences—the flag being removed, and offices vacated to move the embassy to a cheaper rented house in the suburbs which doesn’t have enough room for the many beautiful carpets; the dependence of Bakhtari on her subordinate Khoshiwal, a one-man army of sorts, forced to play several roles in a consulate bereft of staff in the wake of job and salary cuts, the small consular services that help keep things functional or Bakhtari having to travel alone on the U-Bahn.
Then there is the absurdist sideshow—getting a letter from a nameless head of HR of Taliban, not a minister mind you, telling Bakhtari that she has been relieved of her duty in Austria. Her response is terse—she wouldn’t take orders from him or the Islamic Emirate. “I will resign only when they get legitimacy and international recognition,” she says. On another front of her multi-pronged attack on the Taliban, she starts the admirably subversive “Daughters’ programme” to help secretly provide education to Afghan schoolgirls, weeping buckets and protesting for not being allowed entry into schools. The third zone of resistance is consistently talking in international forums about the abuse of power by the Taliban, and their segregation of and discrimination against women. She minces no words in calling out the collusion of international communities, how they got stupidly sold on the idea of a “changed” Taliban, something that can never come to pass.
Bakhtari has a personal price to pay for these campaigns—prolonged separation from her loving husband and children and death threats on social media. The film also traces her rebellion and advocacy work back to her father, Wasef Bakhtari—a poet forced to live in exile in Canada. The one who couldn’t be laid to final rest in his homeland. The one who wrote: “Don’t bring new hope to my door for this house is empty”. What prospect and promise can there be under a regime that’s against art and joy, smiles, colours and beauty?