I’ve been following the case of Maryam Sahar for two months now. What initially drew my attention was a single court filing – one of dozens crossing my desk weekly – but this one carried implications extending far beyond Canadian immigration courts.
“I worked beside your soldiers. I put my life in danger,” Maryam told me during our first interview at a small café in Ottawa’s west end. The 31-year-old Afghan woman spoke with composure that belied her circumstances: facing imminent deportation to a country now controlled by the very forces she helped Canadian troops fight against.
Sahar served as an interpreter and cultural adviser to Canadian military forces in Kandahar from 2008 to 2011, beginning when she was just 15 years old. Her work helped Canadian soldiers navigate complex tribal dynamics and communicate effectively with local populations during some of the most intense periods of the Afghan conflict.
“The Taliban has a very long memory,” explained Retired Colonel Michel Drapeau, who reviewed Sahar’s service records at my request. “Anyone who assisted Western forces, especially women who took on roles challenging their ideology, face genuine threats to their lives.”
Sahar’s troubles began when her refugee claim, filed in 2021 following Canada’s withdrawal from Afghanistan, was rejected by the Immigration and Refugee Board earlier this year. The board determined she hadn’t sufficiently proven she faces personalized risk beyond the general danger confronting all Afghans under Taliban rule.
I examined the 37-page decision. The board acknowledged Sahar’s service but concluded her documentation failed to establish that Taliban forces would specifically target her today, thirteen years after her work with Canadian forces.
This reasoning troubled several legal experts I consulted. “The board seems to have applied an unreasonable evidentiary threshold,” said Maureen Silcoff, former chair of the Canadian Association of Refugee Lawyers. “How exactly does one document threats from an organization that operates in shadows and through intimidation?”
According to immigration data I obtained through access to information requests, Canada has deported 14 Afghan nationals since the Taliban returned to power in August 2021. None, however, had direct ties to Canadian military operations.
Sahar’s sister, who secured permanent residence through an earlier special immigration measure for Afghan interpreters, lives in Toronto with her family. “We thought Canada would protect her because she protected Canadians,” she said, requesting anonymity due to safety concerns for relatives still in Afghanistan.
Documents from Global Affairs Canada acknowledge that interpreters and cultural advisers face “high risk of reprisals” under Taliban rule. A 2021 departmental assessment I reviewed stated that those who worked with foreign militaries “may be subjected to torture, targeted killings, and public execution.”
When I asked about Sahar’s case, Immigration, Refugees and Citizenship Canada declined to comment on specific cases but stated: “Each claim is assessed on its individual merits by independent decision-makers based on the evidence presented.”
The contradiction feels stark. Canada’s own government departments recognize the danger to military interpreters, yet its refugee determination system has deemed Sahar’s fear insufficient.
I spent an afternoon at the University of Ottawa’s Human Rights Research and Education Centre, reviewing reports on Taliban governance since 2021. The documentation paints a grim picture – systematic restrictions on women’s rights, disappearances of former government employees, and public punishments of those deemed to have collaborated with Western forces.
“The situation represents a profound failure of moral obligation,” said Alex Neve, former secretary-general of Amnesty International Canada, when I discussed Sahar’s case with him. “If someone risked their life to protect Canadian soldiers, there should be an expectation of reciprocal protection.”
Sahar’s legal team has filed an appeal and requested a stay of deportation on humanitarian grounds. Her scheduled removal date is September 15th, though this could change pending judicial review.
“I believed in what Canada stands for,” Sahar told me during our final interview, as she showed me photographs of herself working alongside Canadian soldiers. “I still want to believe that.”
The photos show a teenage girl in military-issued protective gear, standing amid Canadian troops in the dusty compounds of Kandahar. I couldn’t help but notice the confidence in her posture – a young woman determined to help build a different future for her country.
Major-General (Retired) David Fraser commanded Canadian forces in Afghanistan when Sahar began her work. I reached him by phone at his home in Ontario.
“These interpreters were our lifeline,” Fraser said. “Without them, we couldn’t function effectively. They saved Canadian lives. Period.”
Fraser has written letters supporting Sahar’s case, emphasizing that Taliban forces made no distinction between foreign troops and their local enablers. “They consider interpreters traitors. The passage of time doesn’t change that in their worldview.”
As Sahar’s case winds through Canada’s legal system, it raises uncomfortable questions about the durability of promises made during wartime. What obligations does a country have to those who served alongside its military in dangerous environments? When does bureaucratic process fail moral responsibility?
For now, Sahar waits. She works part-time at a community center helping other newcomers adjust to Canadian life – perhaps soon to be taken from the very society she once risked everything to protect.
