Of Stalin, the poet Osip Mandelstam wrote:

His fingers are fat as grubs
And the words, final as lead weights, fall from his lips,
His cockroach whiskers leer
And his boot tops gleam.
Around him a rabble of thin-necked leaders--
Fawning half men for him to play with.
They whinny, purr or whine,
As he prates and points a finger,
One by one forging his laws, to be flung
Like horseshoes at the head, the eye or the groin.
And every killing is a treat.

For this he lost his life.

"...the place for a woman is either at home or in the grave." Women under Taliban rule endure exploitation and dehumanization, often at the hands of their own families. Imagine being told by your brother, "If you leave the house I'll cut off your head and put it on your chest." Stay at home or become a martyr. Which would you choose if home was a living hell?