The Courage to Keep Learning: Reflections on Malala

Yesterday marked the anniversary of the day Malala Yousafzai was shot by the Taliban for daring to speak out for girls’ right to education. I recently finished reading I Am Malala, and it moved me deeply. Her story reminded me of the power of courage — and how something as simple as access to education can change the course of a life.

As a woman, her words stirred something familiar in me. Growing up, I understood early on how essential it was for women to be able to provide for themselves and stand on their own two feet. Like Malala, I learned about history and realized that women’s freedom — the right to learn, to work, to choose — is still a relatively new phenomenon. I grew up with rights and access that generations of women before me never had.

Even things we might take for granted, like access to period care, made it possible for me to stay in school. In other parts of the world, that alone might have determined my future — I might have dropped out by sixth grade.

I was a child during 9/11 — in third grade — and had visited New York City the year before, when the Twin Towers still stood. When the attacks happened, it wasn’t abstract or far away; it was something I had seen with my own eyes. That day changed the collective sense of safety for everyone, but especially for those of us coming of age in its shadow. Like Malala, I grew up in a world marked by terrorism and fear — though her experience was far more direct and dangerous. Still, the undercurrent was similar: an early awareness of how quickly peace can fracture, and how easily fear can be used to divide and control.

I entered college shortly after the 2008 financial crisis — another moment that shaped an entire generation. It didn’t carry the same visible violence, but it created its own kind of insecurity. I eventually had to leave both my university and community college because I couldn’t afford to continue. Looking back, I see how these collective events — terrorism, economic collapse, the erosion of stability — all tested our sense of possibility.

And now, as I look at the current political and social climate in America, I can feel that same undercurrent of unease resurfacing. Fear, division, and manipulation of truth are once again being used as tools of power. It can be easy to feel discouraged, to wonder if we are moving further away from peace instead of closer to it.

That’s part of why Malala’s story struck such a deep chord in me. Reading about her childhood — the way her world changed as extremism crept into her community — felt eerily familiar, even though her experience was so much more severe. Her story isn’t just about another place or time; it’s a mirror reflecting what can happen anywhere when fear replaces compassion and ideology replaces humanity.

In one passage, Malala writes about the earthquake of 2005 and how fear left her nation vulnerable to manipulation by those seeking control. That moment in her story reminded me so strongly of what we’re living through now — of how easily tragedy can be used to justify harm and how essential it is for ordinary people to keep choosing peace, education, and truth:

“The earthquake of Oct 8, 2005 turned out to be one of the worst in history… the government was slow to arrive... most of the volunteers and medical help came from organizations that were linked with militant groups like the TNSM... Mullahs from the TNSM preached that the earthquake was a warning from God. If we did not mend our ways and introduce sharia, more severe punishment would come. The whole country was in shock for a long time after the earthquake. We were vulnerable. Which made it that much easier for someone with bad intentions to use a nation’s fear for his gain.”

That passage stayed with me. It’s such a strong parallel to the current American landscape. It reminded me of Hurricane Helene and the devastation it caused in Western North Carolina, along with the lack of timely support for those affected. It made me think about how fear and vulnerability can be used by leaders to sow division and push harmful ideologies — how, when people are scared and desperate for guidance, they can be persuaded by those who claim to offer safety but instead tighten control.

Reading this section, I found myself reflecting on how fragile peace truly is, and how easily suffering can be politicized. We’ve seen echoes of this in our own country — natural disasters met with slow or insufficient response, communities pitted against one another, and rhetoric that deepens division instead of healing it. Malala’s words reminded me that this pattern is not new. It’s what happens when compassion is replaced by fear and when leadership forgets its duty to protect the people it serves.

Later in the book, Malala describes how the Taliban began to enforce sharia law. Girls were still technically

allowed to attend school, but only if they were fully covered in public. Her father ran a school, and she was passionate about continuing her education and speaking out. During one interview, she said:

“We are really sad the situation is getting worse. We were expecting peace and to go back to school. The future of our country can never be bright if we don’t educate the young generation. The government should take action and help us.But I wasn’t done. I added, ‘I’m not afraid of anyone. I will get my education. Even if I have to sit on the floor to continue it.’”

She later reflected:

“‘Well Malala,’ I told myself, ‘you’re not doing anything wrong. You are speaking for peace, for your rights, for the rights of girls. That’s not wrong. That’s your duty.’”

When someone asked her age after that interview, her father said she was eleven. “She’s wise beyond her years,” they said. “It’s circumstances that made it so,” her father replied.

That passage lit a spark in me. It reminded me that even in times of uncertainty — especially in those times — we don’t need to be afraid. Standing up for truth, for rights, and for peace is not wrong; it’s our duty. As the Bhagavad Gita teaches, “It is better to do your own duty imperfectly than to perfectly imitate the duty of another.”

For me, yoga has always meant freedom — freedom of body, mind, and spirit. And that means I have to be willing to stand up for it, on and off the mat. When we practice awareness, compassion, and courage in our daily lives, we are doing the same inner work that Malala embodied on a global stage: staying grounded in truth even when the world grows unsteady.

Malala’s story is one of extraordinary courage, but also one of deep humanity. Her voice reminds us what’s possible when we refuse to be silent, even when the world tells us to be afraid.

If you haven’t read I Am Malala, I truly recommend it. It’s not just her story — it’s a story about all of us, and what it means to choose light in the face of darkness.