Afghanistan's 1988 Space Mission: Filmmaker Elham Ehsas

Filmmaker Elham Ehsas is on a mission to correct a piece of history that has been largely forgotten outside his homeland: Afghanistan sent a man into space in 1988. The British-Afghan director, known for his unflinching dramas, is now using his platform to shine a light on Abdul Ahad Mohmand, the first Afghan cosmonaut, hoping to reclaim a story of national pride that has been buried under decades of conflict and displacement.

Ehsas, who previously tackled themes of identity and war in his acclaimed short films and features, says the project is not just a historical footnote but a vital piece of contemporary cultural repair. For many younger Afghans and the global diaspora, the name Mohmand is unfamiliar. The filmmaker wants to change that, arguing that the Soviet-era space mission represents a moment when Afghanistan was part of a global scientific frontier, a narrative that feels particularly urgent given the country's current isolation and humanitarian crisis.

The story itself is a remarkable, if complicated, artifact of the Cold War. Mohmand, a trained pilot from the Afghan Air Force, was selected as part of the Intercosmos program, a Soviet initiative that sent astronauts from allied nations into orbit. In August 1988, he launched aboard a Soyuz spacecraft, spending nearly nine days aboard the Mir space station. He conducted experiments and, notably, took photographs of his homeland from orbit, a poignant and rare view of a country on the verge of being torn apart by civil war and foreign intervention.

The mission was broadcast live on Afghan state television, and Mohmand returned a hero. He was awarded the nation's highest honor, the Hero of the Republic of Afghanistan, and the Soviet Union's own Gold Star. But that glory was fleeting. Within a few years, the Soviet-backed government collapsed, the country descended into a brutal civil war, and ultimately the Taliban rose to power, erasing much of the country's modern history. Mohmand eventually sought asylum in Germany, where he has lived quietly for decades, largely uncelebrated by the international community and often forgotten by his own people.

Ehsas argues that this erasure is a deliberate act of political and cultural violence. The Taliban, he points out, have no interest in celebrating a figure linked to a secular, Soviet-aligned era. But the filmmaker sees Mohmand's achievement as a unifying symbol, one that predates the ethnic and sectarian fractures that have defined the last three decades. He describes the mission as a rare instance where Afghanistan was viewed with respect and wonder on the world stage, a stark contrast to the images of refugees, bombings, and poverty that dominate today's headlines.

The project, which Ehsas has been developing for several years, is partly driven by personal memory. He recalls hearing about the space mission as a child, before his family fled the country. That childhood memory, he says, planted a seed of aspiration and global belonging that he believes is missing for many young Afghans today. By telling Mohmand's story, he hopes to offer an alternative narrative, one that suggests Afghanistan's identity is not solely defined by war and extremism.

There is also a personal connection to the cosmonaut himself. Ehsas has traveled to meet Mohmand in Germany, documenting his memories and collecting archival footage from the mission, much of which has never been widely seen. The director describes Mohmand as a humble and reflective figure, not a political ideologue, but a professional who was proud to represent his nation in a peaceful scientific endeavor. Those interviews, paired with restored footage of the launch and the Mir station, will form the visual backbone of the film.

The project, which is still seeking final financing, is pitched as a hybrid work that moves between documentary vérité and narrative reenactment. Ehsas is wary of leaning too heavily on archival material, which can feel distant and clinical. Instead, he plans to anchor the film in the present, following his own journey as he uncovers this history, while also giving voice to a generation of Afghans who feel disconnected from their own past. The goal, he says, is not to mourn what was lost, but to restore a sense of possibility for what comes next.

In an era where space exploration is again a global spectacle, with private companies and new national programs racing to the moon and beyond, Ehsas believes the story of Afghanistan's brief moment in the cosmos is more relevant than ever. It is a reminder that human achievement is not confined to wealthy nations or stable governments. The film is a quiet, ambitious argument for memory as a form of resistance, insisting that a country’s greatness can survive even the most determined attempts to bury it.

The filmmaker is clear about his ultimate ambition: to have the film shown in Afghanistan itself, even under the current restrictive regime. He acknowledges that is a long shot, but he sees the project as a seed that can be planted for future generations, one that will hopefully bloom when the country is finally free again. For now, he is content to make sure the story exists, that the record is corrected, and that the world knows that on one August day in 1988, an Afghan man looked down at his troubled homeland from above the stars, and smiled.

Source: The Hollywood Reporter