{"id":80644,"date":"2026-05-07T19:48:49","date_gmt":"2026-05-08T02:48:49","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/lapost.us\/?p=80644"},"modified":"2026-05-07T19:48:49","modified_gmt":"2026-05-08T02:48:49","slug":"the-bay-area-archivist-saving-afghanistans-musical-legacy","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lapost.us\/?p=80644","title":{"rendered":"The Bay Area Archivist Saving Afghanistan\u2019s Musical Legacy"},"content":{"rendered":"
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By<\/span>Christopher Alam<\/a><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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Omid J. runs the Afghan Cassette Archive, a collection that to date spans more than 1000 cassettes and 2000 vinyl records. (Credit: Peter Schurmann)<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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OAKLAND, Calif. \u2013 Hundreds of audio cassettes sparkle like jewels in red felt-lined flight cases. Stacks of Soviet-pressed vinyl records bear liner notes in Dari, Russian, or English. No two are alike \u2013 the covers are bold, technicolor things with holographic sheen and vivid script.<\/p>\n

The music itself feels uncanny, a stream of tablas and horns, electric guitars and synths. Modern sounds recorded on grainy, antiquated equipment.<\/p>\n

This\u00a0growing collection<\/a>\u00a0of over 1000 cassettes and 2000 vinyl records is cultivated by Omid J., aka\u00a0OMJVinyls<\/a>, an Oakland-based amateur archivist who, every night after his day job, scours the internet looking to acquire the remaining vestiges of Afghanistan\u2019s musical past.<\/p>\n

Once digitized, he shares the content on his site,\u00a0Afghan Cassette Archive.<\/a><\/p>\n

No simple task<\/strong><\/h2>\n
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Since starting the Afghan Cassette Archive Omid J. has amassed more than 1000 cassettes and 1000 vinyl records, part of a musical legacy now under threat by Afghanistan\u2019s Taliban rulers. (Credit: Peter Schurmann)<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

Since the Taliban retook power in 2021, these relics of a time now long past have become highly illegal and are actively being destroyed within the country. Under Taliban rule, most music and Afghan artistic expression have been outlawed.<\/p>\n

Exports, meanwhile, are also nearly impossible due to an\u00a0ongoing conflict<\/a>\u00a0with Afghanistan\u2019s neighbor, Pakistan.<\/p>\n

Given the current landscape, Omid\u2019s online network of fellow Afghan music aficionados and archivists often find themselves going to extreme lengths to get their hands on prized recordings.<\/p>\n

He sees what he\u2019s doing as a form of resistance.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe original reels for this music are all locked up in the archive of Afghanistan, but we don\u2019t know what the Taliban will do. Like the\u00a0Buddhas of Bamiyan,<\/a>\u00a0which they destroyed \u2026 they might do that with this cassette collection one day,\u201d says Omid. \u201cSo that\u2019s why what I\u2019m doing is a form of resistance, because they don\u2019t agree with preserving this stuff.\u201d<\/p>\n

Connecting to culture<\/strong><\/h2>\n

A Hayward, California native, Omid J. (who asked to withhold his last name out of fear of potential reprisals by the Taliban or its sympathizers) has never been to Afghanistan, where both his parents were born.<\/p>\n

Instead, he takes himself there through music, a passion he credits in part to his maternal grandfather, a Pashto poet.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe used to tell me, \u2018Hey, go play me a cassette.\u2019 So little six-year-old me would just grab one, smiling, not knowing anything, and play it. Then he would start writing into the middle of the night. I always found that really cool,\u201d says Omid.<\/p>\n

He added, \u201cThis is a man who\u2019s far away from his homeland, but he\u2019s somehow trying to connect to it, and this is the music that\u2019s inspiring him to connect to the culture.\u201d<\/p>\n

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Omid J. holds up a record from his collection. \u201cListening to these songs makes me feel a longing,\u201d he says, \u201cto see this homeland that I always hear about. Maybe one day.\u201d (Credit: Peter Schurmann)<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

\u2018Culture robbers\u2019<\/strong><\/h2>\n

Omid attended medical school during the pandemic, a time when, he says, he sought to downplay his Afghan identity, to be \u201cmore American.\u201d That later led to questions of belonging and his sense of place here. It was around this time, explains Omid, that he started seriously collecting Afghan tapes.<\/p>\n

\u201cListening to these songs makes me feel a longing,\u201d he says, \u201cto see this homeland that I always hear about. Maybe one day.\u201d<\/p>\n

Omid first started acquiring cassettes and records through family, Ebay, and Discogs, an online physical music marketplace. But he became frustrated with what he describes as non-Afghan \u201cculture robbers\u201d \u2014 individuals who, like him, secure these rare tapes but then sell them online for exorbitant amounts. Others make phony copyright claims, preventing the music from reaching a wider audience.<\/p>\n

Soon the coveted Afghan cassettes Omid sought out started to grow scarce, while YouTube clips got taken down for copyright infringement. So he decided to plunge deeper, trading with people for any ephemera they had. Many, he says, were eager to contribute to his project once he explained what it was.<\/p>\n

Music smugglers<\/strong><\/h2>\n

At first most of the collectors he got in touch with \u2014 many through Instagram \u2014 were in Germany and Iran. Starting around 2024, people in Pakistan and Afghanistan who clandestinely source the cassettes, like small shop owners and private collectors, started contacting Omid through his social media posts.<\/p>\n

That\u2019s when he began making orders for the rarest tapes \u2013 necessarily, through a smuggler.<\/p>\n

\u201c<\/strong>I know they say never trust people online, but I haven\u2019t had a bad experience yet,\u201d Omid jokes.<\/p>\n

One of those people was an Afghan refugee living in the border region in Pakistan, who Omid affectionately calls \u201cUncle\u201d in Dari (one of two official languages of Afghanistan, the other being Pashto). Together they got in touch with a tape collector in Kandahar, the Taliban heartland.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe got a smuggler who bought a hundred cassettes. From there he would smuggle twenty at a time. He had a bag with cigarettes in it, and he would just put the cassettes in there and cross the border with no problem,\u201d says Omid.<\/p>\n

A fraught journey<\/strong><\/h2>\n
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\u201cIf this cultural material isn\u2019t preserved \u2026 it gets lost forever,\u201d says Professor Mejgan Massoumi, a historian at Carnegie Mellon University specializing in media archivism and Afghan cultural history through radio. (Credit: Peter Schurmann)<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n

The journey from Pakistan to Omid\u2019s cassette archive is a proverbial minefield.<\/p>\n

The border region separating Afghanistan and Pakistan is\u00a0designated by<\/a>\u00a0the U.S. State Department as an illegal narcotics hub, restricting exports. This is also the site of ongoing clashes between Taliban and Pakistani forces, making life on the Pakistani side precarious for Afghans, including \u201cUncle.\u201d<\/p>\n

Then there are all the security checkpoints and x-rays that, says Omid, raise concerns about potential damage to the cassettes\u2019 magnetic tape. Finally, President Trump\u2019s tariffs raised shipping costs as the music made its way over three national borders before landing in Omid\u2019s collection.<\/p>\n

He grabs a new favorite, a track called\u00a0Naro Naro Bia Bia<\/em>\u00a0\u2014 a love song the title of which translates to \u201cDon\u2019t Go, Come Here,\u201d by the late singer, Zahir Howaida.<\/p>\n

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\u201cIf you sniff it, you can still smell the cigarettes,\u201d Omid says, holding the cassette. \u201cI like this tape because it combines Western and Eastern sounds\u2026 this guy used to experiment all the time.\u201d<\/p>\n

He says the feeling of hearing it for the first time made him giddy.<\/p>\n

\u201cI was very excited. Getting this tape, it feels like you\u2019re finding a friend again,\u201d explains Omid, adding there is also a touch of sadness in knowing the music has left its homeland.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou know this tape was made in like 1975. The fact that it survived war and conflict and it made it here is very\u2026 I have no words to explain it.\u201d<\/p>\n

A return, of sorts<\/strong><\/h2>\n

Professor Mejgan Massoumi is a historian at Carnegie Mellon University specializing in media archivism and Afghan cultural history through radio. Like others she connected with Omid through their shared passion for preserving Afghan music.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n