You're listening to TED Talks Daily, where we bring you new ideas to spark your curiosity every day.
I'm your host, Elise Hu.
It was August 2021.
I was in the hospital recovering from one last surgery to repair the facial paralysis I suffered after the attack.
I picked up my phone and saw the Taliban had taken control of Afghanistan.
That's Malala Yousafzai.
She's one of the most recognized beacons of hope in the world, the youngest Nobel laureate in history, a global advocate for education, the girl who survived an assassination attempt by the Taliban and kept on fighting.
But when Afghanistan fell to the Taliban in 2021, hope collapsed.
The mission she had dedicated her life to a world where every girl could go to school took a step backwards.
My foundation had been hope and optimism.
But then, in a single day, my belief in progress shattered.
In this powerful talk, Malala shares a side of herself that the world doesn't often see.
What it feels like when the person everyone looks to for hope has lost her own.
She shares how her theory of social change has evolved, what she's learned that's kept her going even in her darkest moments, and how we can keep building the future we want, even when hope feels lost.
Because the Afghan girls are not giving up on learning, even if it means risking their lives.
It is far from the education that they deserve, but it's a start.
Malala's talk is coming up right after a short break.
And now, our TED Talk of the day.
When I was a child, I thought changing the world was simple.
I would tell the people in charge all of my problems, and they would fix them.
I know how naive this sounds now, but at nine or 10 years old, it made sense to me.
I lived in a remote, mountainous region of Pakistan.
The prime minister was more than 100 miles away from me.
In the capital city.
He couldn't see the trash polluting our rivers or our broken school bus or hospitals without dated equipment.
I was sure that our leaders could solve all of these problems if only I could get their attention.
At age 11, I faced the biggest, most devastating problem of my life.
The Taliban took control of my town and decreed that girls could no longer go to school.
I knew what life would be like for me without an education.
Marriage in my teens, two or three children by the time I was just 20.
It meant I would have no choice, no control of my future.
If I was ever going to get people's attention, this was the moment.
I decided to become an activist.
I gave interviews at protests, I spoke on television, I wrote a blog for the BBC and I appeared in a New York Times documentary.
I did everything I could to reach to our leaders and ask for their help.
Simply for the crime of speaking out.
The Taliban tried to kill me, shooting me in the face at point-blank range.
I was 15 years old.
But with the help of many doctors and even more prayers, I survived.
Millions of people heard my story.
Presidents and prime ministers all over the world wanted to meet me.
I was finally in the rooms where decisions were made and I could bring attention to girls like me who did not have the opportunity to be in school.
And that's when I realized that changing the world wasn't as simple as pointing out the problems.
You had to argue for every policy change and budget increase and you might have to get the support of as many people as possible.
And you might have to advocate for months or even years to take one step forward.
Eventually, I came to believe that change was slow but steady, incremental but thankfully inevitable.
My foundation had been hope and optimism.
Faith that people would do the right thing, trust that when leaders said they cared about making our lives better, they meant it, even if it took longer than I wished.
But then, in a single day, my belief in progress shattered.
It was August 2021.
I was in the hospital recovering from one last surgery to repair the facial paralysis I suffered after the attack.
I picked up my phone and saw the Taliban had taken control of Afghanistan.
I was stunned, shattered, terrified, angry.
How could I continue to have faith that things would improve?
How could anyone believe that leaders were committed to girls' education when they handed over an entire country to the men who pointed a gun at my head and pulled the trigger?
From the recovery room.
I called Afghan women.
I knew activists who were working around the country.
They were frightened too.
On TV, experts and politicians were saying that the Taliban had changed, that this new version of the Taliban wouldn't ban girls from school or oppress women.
The Afghans I spoke with didn't believe it.
And they were right.
Today, in Afghanistan, Girls are not allowed to attend school past sixth grade.
It is a crime.
Women who five years ago were doctors politicians, engineers and artists are not allowed to go to university or pursue a career.
A woman speaking in public is a crime.
But do you know what is not considered a crime?
This year, in 2026, the Taliban decreed that it is legal for men to beat their wives and daughters.
The Taliban have imposed a system of segregation and domination, a gender apartheid, on millions of women and girls.
For years, I thought the purpose of my life was to serve girls.
After Afghanistan, the optimism I had as an 11-year-old activist was gone.
But I couldn't walk away. because I knew exactly what Afghan girls were going through.
When I saw pictures of little girls standing outside the locked gates of their schools, I could not stop thinking about them.
I know many of us feel overwhelmed and lost today, like the obstacles are too big and there's little we can do to fix the problem.
But there's a lot I have learned over the past few years and I want to share with you how to keep fighting for change when you have lost hope.
First, you have to start with something.
While I couldn't undo the catastrophe that had just happened in Afghanistan, I knew I had to get out of my hospital bed and find a way to help.
I started by supporting underground schools, because the Afghan girls are not giving up on learning, even if it means risking their lives.
Across the country today.
They are listening to lessons on the radio, discreetly passing cassette tapes and books to each other and trying to keep studying in secret.
It is far from the education that they deserve, but it's a start.
The second thing I learned is the importance of working with others, and that has led me to some unexpected places like movie theaters and football fields.
I have produced two films about Afghanistan Bread and Roses and Champions of the Golden Valley stories of Afghan men and women who are resisting the Taliban's oppression.
And I have joined the campaign of Afghan women's national football team to push FIFA to allow them to compete in exile.
The Taliban are erasing women from public life.
But I am here to do the opposite of what the Taliban want.
That is why I am taking every opportunity to show Afghan women speaking singing, kicking a ball and standing up for their rights, because the artists and athletes that I work with help connect the world to the women and girls who are living through this crisis and to the belief that every life carries equal worth.
My final lesson.
Stay ambitious.
I know it might sound foolish to be setting high goals when you are losing a battle, but the bigger the fight, the bolder you have to be.
What is happening in Afghanistan is a wake-up call for all of us, because the Taliban's cruelty against women and girls did not begin in 2021.
They tried to silence me a decade earlier in Pakistan.
And before I was even born, they were stopping girls from school in parts of Afghanistan.
Yet We have no international laws against gender apartheid, no way to hold the perpetrators and their sympathizers accountable.
That is why Afghan women are campaigning to add these abuses to the UN's Crime Against Humanity Treaty.
And I have joined this movement. to ensure that we change things for women and girls everywhere.
It is a big goal.
I know it may take many years to see the Taliban brought to justice, but I will keep fighting so that these crimes are not committed against another generation of girls anywhere in the world.
When I think about the 11-year-old girl I once was, I want her to be proud of who I am today.
I want her to know that, although changing the world is not as simple as she thought, I will not give up.
Here is the truth.
I don't have all the answers on how to change the world, and I don't believe anyone else does either.
If I have learned anything, it is that progress is never guaranteed.
There isn't one speech or one story, one moment or one person that can bend the arc of history on their own.
But if we start with something, work together and stay ambitious, hope stops being the thing we wait to feel and becomes something we create.
Thank you.
That was Malala Yousafzai at TED 2026.
And that's it for today.
TED Talks Daily is part of the TED Audio Collective.
This talk was fact-checked by the TED Research Team and produced and edited by our team Martha Estefanos, Oliver Friedman, Brian Green, Lucy Little and Tansika Sangmarnivong.
Additional support from Emma Taubner and Daniela Balarezo.
I'm Elise Hu.
I'll be back tomorrow with a fresh idea for your feed.
Thanks for listening.
Starting in the 1950s, there was a push to get meat onto Americans' plates at every meal.
So you would have breakfast with maybe perhaps sausage offered.
You'd have lunch where it would be deli meat sandwiches.
And you'd have dinner that would center over a large cut of meat.
The hidden forces behind our everyday decisions.
That's next time on the TED Radio Hour from NPR.
Subscribe or listen to the TED Radio Hour wherever you get your podcasts.
