Taliban Rule is Not Authoritarian but Despotic Totalitarianism

Four years after returning to power, the Taliban regime has become a model of totalitarian rule, using the state as an instrument of total control, promoting a radical ideological agenda, and centralizing authority around a singular leader with a cult of personality. The regime pushes for a utopian society in which women are stripped of their agency, political violence is glorified, modern education is discouraged, and cultural expression is suppressed. Despite this oppression, Afghan society exhibits resilience in various forms, including survival, subtle resistance, and covert defiance, which require support from the international community.

In Afghanistan today, the Taliban has effectively enforced a gender apartheid, where women are not only banished from public life but are also legally confined to their homes and windowless rooms. The regime has even outlawed and prohibited women’s voices. Girls’ education has been banned, and fundamental human rights are being violated. Thousands of new madrassas (religious seminaries) have opened, promoting indoctrination that fosters radicalization.

The media faces a total blackout. Only regime-approved books and literature are published and circulated. The state has transformed into a moral entity with the mission of enforcing “true” or “pure” theocratic rule. Through its morality law, the regime has effectively eliminated any personal space. Without a constitution, the state operates on the decrees of the Taliban supreme leader, the Amir ul Momineen, who is seen as the ultimate arbiter of “divine rule.” The state and its bureaucratic machinery operate to enforce the regime’s ideological agenda, where resistance and dissent are swiftly and brutally suppressed.

Since reclaiming power in Kabul four years ago, the Taliban regime has been relentlessly pursuing a dystopian social transformation. Its ideological aspirations, combined with the full mobilization of the state to enforce a harsh social order, have led to a systematic descent into totalitarianism. These actions by the regime necessitate an active response from the international community. The first step should be to recognize the regime not merely as authoritarian, but as a dystopian totalitarian one.

Totalitarianism in the Twenty-First Century

By the end of the twentieth century, the relevance of examining totalitarianism had lessened due to the decline of communism and the globalization of a norm-based international order. However, as the contemporary crisis of this norm-based international order deepens, tendencies and aspirations towards totalitarianism have emerged in various regions. Amid this crisis, the Taliban regime in Afghanistan stands out as a notable example of totalitarianism.

Although the regime is often depicted as authoritarian, its ideological and political contours align more closely with those of totalitarianism. The conceptual distinction between authoritarian and totalitarian rule has often remained blurred. Although both are non-democratic, they embody fundamentally different dynamics between the state and society.

Totalitarianism is the most extreme version of the subordination of people to the state and a questionable homogeneous societal structure. Classic literature, including intellectual work by Carl Friedrich and Hannah Arendt, characterizes totalitarianism as a ruling ideology seeking to create a utopian or perfect society, governed by a centralized power structure led by a singular figure. It employs an oppressive state apparatus, including bureaucratic machinery, to enforce social transformation.

Totalitarian regimes maintain a monopoly on information and communication, using fear and violence as tools of total control of people and their lives. Although such subordination may seem remote from the political realities and normative standards of the twenty-first century, it is essentially occurring under Taliban rule.

How is the Taliban Rule Totalitarian?

Under the Taliban, Afghanistan has emerged as one of the most oppressed nations in the world. The regime has transformed the state into an instrument of total domination, closely aligning with its ideological mission, and it has waged a war against fundamental human rights, freedoms, and agency. The relationship between the state and society under Taliban rule is characterized by total submission.

Since regaining power, the Taliban has begun to establish a system in which the entire state apparatus exerts control over citizens and their lives, and is dedicated to serving the interests of the regime, grounded in an all-encompassing ideology centered around a singular paternalistic figure. This process involves dismantling institutions that traditionally maintain a balance of power among different branches of government and provide essential checks on government authority, such as the media, legislative bodies, independent judiciary, human rights and electoral commissions, and civil society.

Moving toward totalitarian rule, the Taliban has implemented a centralized system of oppression marked by extrajudicial violence, executions, and the brutal suppression of dissent and resistance. This system is defined by a pervasive ideological orientation led by the Taliban clergy, who direct and lead all state institutions, including technical and bureaucratic apparatus.

The regime has shifted the state orientation toward a wholly paternalistic model, reliant on the whims of the supreme leader, who positions himself as the ultimate arbiter of divine rule. For the regime, the state is viewed as a moral entity with a divine mandate, where politics is not merely a mechanism for serving the populace or defining the relationship between the state and its citizens; rather, it is used as a tool to establish self-proclaimed “divine rule.”

The head of the Taliban’s supreme court claims that the state’s mandate is to implement “divine rule.” He characterizes the regime as a “government of guidance,” whose functions include establishing a “pure Islamic order,” continuing jihad, and eradicating vice. This understanding of the state’s role influences the relationship between the state and society.

The regime prioritizes its ideological goal of total social transformation over the rights-holder and duty-bearer dynamic between society and the state. It obliges the state to seek the salvation of the society on the “righteous path,” which makes the right-based contract with the society irrelevant and secondary to the overarching ideological goal of the regime. To promote its ideological agenda, the regime justifies its actions as “the rule of the divine,” ultimately guided by the supreme leader.

The regime’s supreme leader wields unmatched moral authority, directing politics toward the ultimate goal of establishing the “rule of the divine.” The Taliban supreme leader argues that the regime’s mission is to guide the people in following God’s rule while criticizing modern politics for prioritizing self-interest and materialism. In 2023, he abolished the Attorney General’s Office, creating a high directorate to enforce his directives, effectively positioning himself as the regime’s constitution and ultimate authority. This realignment aims to make mundane politics serve the state’s divine mission, positioning Amir ul Momineen as its ultimate arbiter. The move has blurred the lines between the regime, the state, and society, undermining institutional independence, including the judiciary, which now prioritizes the regime’s ideological mission over justice.

Totalitarianism is defined by the blurring of lines between the state and society, with the aim of unifying the populace under a single ideology. The Taliban aims to fundamentally transform Afghan society by enforcing its moral directives. Although religion is deeply ingrained in Afghan culture, the regime undermines traditional religious institutions and scholars critical of the regime’s radical ideology, making them unable to resist the prevailing totalitarianism without facing brutality and violence.

Like any totalitarian regime, the Taliban aims to moralize its ideology to such an extent that domestic opposition becomes highly improbable. The moral framing of its mission demonizes political dissent, resistance, and differing ideologies, portraying them as corrupt and justifying violence against them.

Resistance to the Taliban

Although the regime’s brutality may have stifled popular revolt, the character of perseverance and resilience within Afghan society is slowly but surely emerging. Afghan resistance may differ from Western notions of revolt and protest; instead, it manifests through survival, subtle resistance, and covert defiance.

Resistance through survival means valuing and living life as people desire, within the limits of what is possible. Subtle resistance manifests in various forms, including art, activism, and social media. A dynamic Afghan diaspora is organizing, including Afghan scholars. Traditional religious scholars, often at great personal risk, are opposing the regime’s interpretation and ideological stance. Meanwhile, women are challenging the regime’s rules by engaging in income-generating activities and small businesses to support their families. Additionally, society mobilizes covert defiance in various ways, such as establishing not only hidden schools for girls but secret beauty salons.

While Afghan society resists the totalitarianism of the Taliban in a brutally oppressive context, the international community has both a political and moral obligation to oppose the regime. The first step is to recognize the Taliban regime as a totalitarian entity, as it meets all the criteria associated with such a rule.

The political history of the twentieth century demonstrates that normalizing a totalitarian regime for strategic or self-interest can contribute to the spread of totalitarian ideologies in other regions. As liberal democracies in the West grapple with their own authoritarian and totalitarian tendencies among certain political groups, legitimizing Taliban-style totalitarianism could empower similar paternalistic and dystopian narratives elsewhere.

Atal Ahmadzai is a research fellow at the Raoul Wallenberg Institute of Human Rights and Humanitarian Law (RWI) at Lund University in Sweden. His research, concentrated on human and environmental security, primarily explores the relationships between political and civil rights and climate adaptability.
Taliban Rule is Not Authoritarian but Despotic Totalitarianism
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The Daily Hustle: Building a business in Kabul one stitch at a time

Hamid Pakteen • Roxanna Shapour

Afghanistan Analysts Networkprint sharing button

In Kabul’s Timur Shahi area, tailoring is serious business. Rows of shopfronts compete for customers. One marvels at how so many tailors, offering basically the same service, stay in business in such close proximity. But they do. Each tailor has his own loyal customers who have been with him for years, even generations. In this instalment of the Daily Hustle, Hamid Pakteen hears from Nangialai, a 40-year-old tailor who first learned his trade in Peshawar, Pakistan. When his family moved back to Afghanistan, he set up shop in Kabul with the tools he had saved up to buy. Today, his business makes traditional clothes and sells fabrics, employing around ten people. Demand for his work peaks in the lead-up to the two Eids, when Afghans traditionally make or buy new clothes for the holiday. Nangialai talks about his journey – from his childhood dreams of being a tailor to building his business from the ground up in Kabul – and why passing his skills to the next generation is so important to him. 

My origin story

My name is Nangialai. I’m 40 years old. I own a tailoring and clothing store in Timur Shahi, Kabul. My family is originally from Nangrahar, but we lived in Pakistan for many years. This is where I learned my craft more than 25 years ago. Even as a boy, I was interested in tailoring. I remember going to the bazaar in Peshawar with my father. I would stand outside the shops and watch the tailors at work. I’d tell my father: “One day I’ll be a tailor and make beautiful clothes.” But every time I mentioned it, my father would get upset. He didn’t want me going into a trade. He wanted me in school, getting a proper education. But I didn’t care much for school.

Eventually, he gave in and arranged for me to become an apprentice in a tailoring workshop. Although I had a passion for sewing, I didn’t have any skills. I started with the basics – sewing buttons on clothes – and then I progressed to ironing. I worked hard and made an effort to learn. Little by little, the master tailor I was apprenticed to began giving me children’s clothes to sew, but I still made mistakes. He was a kind and patient teacher who was very supportive, as he could see that I was trying hard. It took me years to learn tailoring, progressing from one stage to the next, with my boss entrusting me with more complex tasks.

The most challenging part of tailoring is cutting – the scissor work. I struggled to learn it at first, but after three long years, I got the hang of it. Slowly, my boss started giving me customer orders to sew from start to finish – measuring, cutting, sewing and adding those little fine touches that make the difference between adequate tailoring and quality work. He still kept an eye on me and checked my work at every stage “One mistake can ruin the whole piece,” he’d say.

Once he was satisfied that I’d learned the trade, he started paying me 5,000 Pakistani rupees (USD 18) a month. It was far too little for how hard I worked, but I stayed. I worked for him for quite a while, despite the low pay, because he was one of the most respected master tailors in Peshawar and I was learning the fine skills of tailoring from him. Eventually, with his blessing, I opened my own shop and started building a name. Business was good, customers were loyal. But then my family decided to move back to Afghanistan.

Making a go of it in Kabul 

We arrived in Kabul twenty years ago, me with my tailoring kit in tow – sewing machine, scissors, tape measure, needle and thread, pencil and chalk – the essential sewing tools. I had bought those tools with money I had put away from my meagre apprentice’s wages. A sewing machine is a huge investment; a new professional-grade one can cost as much as 30,000 afghanis (USD 500).

I rented my first shop in a back alley in the Kart-e-Naw area of Kabul. In the beginning, business was very slow. People didn’t know me and the competition was stiff. I had to start making a name for myself. So I set my prices lower than other tailors and my work was top quality – even if I do say so myself. My customers, impressed with my work, started referring their friends and family to me and in time, my business grew. I spent a year working out of that shop in the back alley, but once I was more established in Kabul, I moved to the hub of tailors, Timur Shahi.

There, I partnered with someone else and we expanded the business. Alongside tailoring, we also started selling fabric. People’s interest in traditional clothes has grown over the years, and with it, the demand for good fabrics. We keep both affordable and high-end options — Indian and Pakistani — so everyone can find something in their budget.

Over time, we’ve grown the shop. I handle the sewing. My partner runs the fabric sales. We also have ten people working for us. Imagine going from a little boy dreaming of becoming a tailor to owning a thriving tailor business that supports several families.

The season for tailors 

In Afghanistan, our busiest times are the two Eids — Eid ul-Fitr and Eid ul-Adha. It’s tradition to have new clothes made for these occasions. Although people are struggling financially, they still find a way to get new outfits for themselves and their children for Eid. I’m lucky. I have many customers with large families, so they come to my shop and have several outfits made. In the weeks and days leading up to these two holidays, we do a brisk business. The number of orders increases by 80 per cent compared to a normal month and we can hardly keep up. But we don’t want to disappoint any of our customers whose custom over the years has made our business flourish, so we don’t turn anyone away. I take their orders, even up to the night before Eid. In the few days before Eid, we work well into the night – all night even – only taking a break to go to the mosque for the morning prayer. We even eat standing up while we work. We keep our shop open on the first day of Eid so that our customer can pick up their clothes.

We get all kinds of orders. Some people buy ready-made clothes, while others want us to sew outfits according to their specific requirements. Some customers want very simple clothes, while others prefer embroidery (yakhandozi) or appliqué designs (goldozi), especially if they are ordering clothes for Eid. On those occasions, they ask for elaborate traditional embroideries – delicate khamkdozi designs fashioned out of white silk thread, the multicolour silk chamkdozi, the beautiful sunddozi designs that have been handed down through the generations and the most intricate of all, the yakhandozis that adorn collars, yokes and sometimes even the cuffs of shirts. This craft is fast disappearing, being replaced by less expensive (and less time-consuming) machine-stitched version. But in our shop, we have skilled craftsmen with expertise in all types of embroidery. I’m proud that I’m playing a small part in keeping this heritage alive. We also have a catalogue that we show to customers, but most of the time, customers come with their own designs and we follow them exactly.

Each type of design requires its own specialised machine and a tailor with specific skills. For example, nowadays, I only do the fabric cutting, which is the most important and difficult task in tailoring. We have another tailor who sews plain clothes, and yet another who specialises in embroidered and appliqué garments – each with their own machines. For plain clothes, we use one type of machine, while embroidery and appliqué work require completely different equipment.

These days, modern sewing machines make our work much easier. In the past, sewing machines were mostly manual. All the work had to be done by hand and it was time-consuming. But now it’s easier; the machines are electric and have better speed and functionality. This past Eid, I accepted and prepared 30 to 50 orders every day. This wouldn’t have been possible in the past. The old manual machines were constantly breaking down and we could only manage 20 outfits – if we were lucky. But now, the advanced and multi-functional machines are making tailoring easier and faster compared to the past.

How much does it cost to get a suit made?

The price for tailoring men’s clothes varies and, in general, is set by the Kabul municipality – adult clothes are 400 afghani (USD 6), and children’s clothes under the age of twelve are 250 to 300 afghani (a little over USD 3). That’s for a basic pirhan tonban (traditional long shirt and trousers) and if the customer brings the fabric himself. If he buys the fabric from us, then the cost goes up to 1,500 to 3,000 afghani (USD 22 to 45), depending on the fabric. Hand-stitched clothes are more expensive, whereas machine-stitched ones are cheaper – some machine-made shirts can cost as little as 300 Afghanis (USD 4). However, people don’t like them much because their quality is poor. They prefer handmade shirts.

Waistcoats cost between 1,200 and 2,500 Afghanis (USD 17 to 37), depending on the stitching and fabric, which affects the cost. Hand-stitched embroideries, particularly the Herati yakhan (Herati-style embroidered collars) and the Kandahari yakhan (Kandahari-style embroidered collars), are very fashionable these days. Prices for the Herati collars start at 1,500 Afghanis and go up to 3,000 Afghanis (USD 17 to 45), while the Kandahari ones, which require less hand-embroidery, range from 600 to 1,700 Afghanis (USD 9 to 25).

Every customer who comes to us to order or tailor clothes inevitably spends 20 minutes to half an hour bargaining. We understand that people are facing economic difficulties, so we have no choice but to compromise. We even give some customers a price that is below our own cost, when we understand that paying for the clothes is a struggle for them.

Paying it forward 

Still, I can’t complain. For now, business is good and we are content. We haven’t had to reduce our staff and we can keep up with our practice of taking on paid apprentices. This is important to me because I remember the opportunities my first boss, the master tailor in Peshawar, gave me. Without his guidance and patience, I wouldn’t have been able to realise my dream of becoming a tailor. Now, it’s my turn to give young people who are interested in tailoring the chance to learn the trade and hopefully make a go of a shop themselves.

Edited by Roxanna Shapour

The Daily Hustle: Building a business in Kabul one stitch at a time
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Afghanistan: Authorities must reinstate formal legal frameworks, rule of law and end four years of injustice and impunity

The Taliban de-facto authorities must immediately put an end to the arbitrary and unfair delivery of justice by reinstating a formal constitutional and legal framework and the rule of law in accordance with Afghanistan’s international human rights obligations, Amnesty International said today.

Since the Taliban took power in August 2021, Afghanistan’s legal framework has been entirely dismantled and replaced with a religiously grounded system shaped by the Taliban’s strict interpretation of Islamic Sharia law. The system is riddled with inconsistency, pervasive impunity and unaccountability; arbitrary, unfair and closed trials; and personal biases in the meting out of punishments such as public flogging and other forms of torture and other ill-treatment.

“After four years of Taliban rule, what remains is a deeply opaque, coercive legal order that prioritizes obedience over rights, and silence over truth,” said Samira Hamidi, Amnesty International’s regional campaigner for South Asia.

“The Taliban’s justice system is causing blatant miscarriages of justice. The justice system has not only stepped away from international human rights standards but has reversed nearly two decades of progress.”

After four years of Taliban rule, what remains is a deeply opaque, coercive legal order that prioritizes obedience over rights, and silence over truth.

Samira Hamidi, Amnesty International’s regional campaigner for South Asia

“There is no law to refer to”

Prior to August 2021, Afghan laws were grounded in a written constitution and passed by elected legislative bodies after reforms from 2001 led to several improvements in the country. Courts functioned at multiple levels (Primary, Appeal and Supreme Courts) and were supported by independent prosecutors and legal defence structures. Court decisions were generally documented, open to appeal and subject to public oversight.

Under the Taliban, court proceedings are generally conducted by a single judge (Qazi) accompanied by a religious legal expert (Mufti) who advises on the issuance of religious verdicts (Fatwas) based on their personal interpretation of religious texts.

Speaking with Amnesty International, a former judge in Afghanistan explained the wide discrepancies in judgements due to the use of different guidance of Islamic thought (fiqh) and jurisprudence: “In some districts, rulings are based on Bada’i al-Sana’i while in others, they refer to Fatawa-i Qazi Khan. The same crime might result in two completely different verdicts.” For a criminal charge such as theft, the penalties can range from public flogging to short-term detention based on individual interpretations.

This lack of legal uniformity has made the system uncertain, unpredictable and arbitrary.  A former prosecutor said that in some rural Afghan courts, judges were seen browsing religious texts during trials to find suitable references, leading to long delays and inconsistent outcomes. The absence of codified national laws has stripped people, including citizens and legal professionals, of any clarity or certainty about their rights and responsibilities.

Erasure of women in the judicial system

Before the Taliban’s take-over, women were actively serving as judges, prosecutors, and lawyers.

They made up between 8% and 10% of the judiciary, and nearly 1,500 women were registered as lawyers and legal advocates with the Afghanistan Independent Bar Association (AIBA), comprising about a quarter of its total membership. Today, most of them have been forced into hiding or exile after being dismissed from their positions following the Taliban’s take-over.

Institutions that once served to protect women’s rights, such as Family Courts, Juvenile Justice Units, and Violence Against Women Units, have been dismantled, leaving women with almost no access to justice and effective remedies. As one former judge said: “In Taliban courts, the voice of a woman is not heard, not because she has nothing to say, but because there is no one left to hear her.”

“We all live in fear” 

A former female judge, who had served on a family court in Kabul and is now in exile, said: “There is no judicial independence, no fair trial procedures, and no access to defence lawyers. We had built a legal system with rules, and overnight [the Taliban] turned it into something frightening and unpredictable.”

Under Taliban rule, court proceedings are often held in secret. There is no system of public oversight, and legal decisions are neither documented nor explained. People are arrested without warrants, detained without trial, and in some cases, simply forcibly disappeared. A former prosecutor said: “We used to have to justify every arrest with paperwork and investigation before August 2021 but now, someone can be picked up for their clothes or for speaking out, and no one will ask why.”

Sentences handed down without fair trial or proper legal review often result in public punishments—including flogging and executions—carried out in city squares and sports stadiums. These acts violate the right to dignity and protection from torture and extra-judicial executions. Several witnesses recalled seeing young men flogged in public for listening to music or women detained for not being fully covered. These spectacles are not just punishments; they are tools of fear and control. The former prosecutor added: “we all live in fear of becoming the next example.”

“Taliban’s justice system undermines basic principles of fairness, transparency, accountability, and dignity. It is not built on the protection of human rights but on fear and control. For many Afghans, especially women, justice is no longer something they can seek. It is something they must survive without,” said Samira Hamidi.

For many Afghans, especially women, justice is no longer something they can seek. It is something they must survive without.

Samira Hamidi

The Taliban must immediately reverse their draconian edicts, end corporal punishments, and uphold the human rights of everyone in the country. The Taliban must also actively and effectively respect, protect and uphold judicial independence and the rule of law including by reforming the justice system and ensuring that judges, lawyers, prosecutors and other legal experts are able to provide services to the Afghan population in accordance with the country’s international human rights obligations.

Amnesty International is calling on the international community to take immediate action, through diplomatic pressure and principled engagement with the Taliban de-facto authorities, to demand the reinstatement of a formal legal system, protection of human rights and the rule of law in Afghanistan.

Afghanistan: Authorities must reinstate formal legal frameworks, rule of law and end four years of injustice and impunity
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Dispatches From Afghanistan Show How the U.S. Lost Its Way — and the War

A new book by the veteran correspondent Jon Lee Anderson captures a long war’s noble goals and crippling missteps.

TO LOSE A WAR: The Fall and Rise of the Taliban, by Jon Lee Anderson


In one of the final scenes of Mike Nichols’s 2007 movie “Charlie Wilson’s War,” Representative Charlie Wilson of Texas, played by Tom Hanks, pleads with his colleagues to approve reconstruction money for Afghanistan. The country’s mujahedeen, backed by the C.I.A., had by this point defeated the Soviets after a long and bloody war over the course of the 1980s.

American policymakers were ready to move on and Wilson, begging for one one-thousandth of the sum the U.S. government had recently appropriated to fight its secret war, says: “This is what we always do. We always go in with our ideals and we change the world and then we leave. We always leave. But that ball though, it keeps on bouncing.”

Jon Lee Anderson’s “To Lose a War: The Fall and Rise of the Taliban” follows the bouncing ball. One of this country’s pre-eminent war correspondents, Anderson covered Afghanistan for more than two decades as a reporter for The New Yorker; this collection of his dispatches, all but one published in the magazine, spans that time, beginning in 2001, shortly after the assassination of Ahmad Shah Massoud, the leader of the U.S.-affiliated Northern Alliance, and ending in late 2021, with a grim portrait of Afghanistan’s myriad challenges — from crippling drought and economic collapse to political feuds — in the wake of the U.S. withdrawal.

In his preface, Anderson characterizes Afghanistan as “more of a battleground of history” than “a nation.” The early chapters deal with the rise of American power in Afghanistan in the aughts, as well as the Taliban’s precipitate fall in the aftermath of the 9/11 attacks. Weeks after those attacks, Anderson traveled to Kabul at an inflection point. The Taliban were on the run. Osama bin Laden was on the loose. And the country stood on the cusp of a promising future unimaginable only weeks before.

In those heady days, Anderson interviewed Ghulam Sarwar Akbari, a former Afghan communist who, like Wilson in Nichols’s movie, blames U.S. disengagement after the Soviet defeat for Afghanistan becoming a terrorist haven: “After the Soviets left, and the mujahedeen were victorious, America, instead of helping them to create a good government, forgot about Afghanistan. America shouldn’t have done this.”

The cover of “To Lose a War,” by Jon Lee Anderson.

Reading Anderson’s early dispatches is like stepping into a time capsule. His Afghan and American subjects give voice to the conventional wisdom of a period nearly 25 years behind us. In the aftermath of the U.S. invasion, he meets with Jack Idema, a private security contractor, who cites the urgent need for a large American military presence, without which “we’re gonna be right back to where we were five years from now.” That interview took place in 2001. One of the remarkable aspects of Anderson’s reporting is its scope of perspective as well as time. In his telling, the war — and, with it, Afghanistan’s promising future — deteriorates before our eyes, page by page.

In a 2010 dispatch from Maiwand, in the country’s south, Anderson writes: “The situation that the U.S. military finds itself in in Afghanistan is an odd one. Formally speaking, it has been deployed in Afghanistan since the autumn of 2001, and yet, in areas like Maiwand, it is essentially a newcomer.” In the same chapter, he embeds with the U.S. Army’s Third “Wolfpack” Squadron of the Second Cavalry as its soldiers struggle to contain the Taliban insurgency. Already, American military deaths are beginning to mount. This chapter begins with the death of Joseph T. Prentler, a young U.S. soldier killed in an I.E.D. strike. Slowly, the dream of a quick American victory fades as the casualties — both American and Afghan — add up.

One of those casualties is the clarity of purpose with which the United States entered the war after 9/11. Afghanistan was supposed to be the “good” war, fought for a righteous cause: the destruction of Al Qaeda and the dismantling of the Taliban regime that offered the group a haven. This was a government that inflicted human rights abuses on its own people, enforced a barbaric form of Shariah law and refused to allow girls to attend school, making Afghanistan the worst place in the world to be a woman.

In one of his later chapters, Anderson follows Lt. Col. Stephen Lutsky as he wages a failing counterinsurgency campaign in the restive Khost Province. Lutsky describes how many Afghans were willing to cut deals that often undermined American efforts, saying: “For Americans, it’s black or white — it’s either good guys or bad guys. For Afghans, it’s not. There are good Taliban and bad Taliban, and some of them are willing to do deals with each other. It’s just beyond us.”

Ultimately, the tragic U.S. withdrawal in August 2021 proved Lutsky’s point: The war was “just beyond us.” Today, the conventional wisdom from the end of the 1980s, when Tom Hanks’s Charlie Wilson was pleading for reconstruction funds, has been turned on its head. Ideas like “nation-building” and “regime change” have become politically toxic on both sides of the aisle.

Maybe that’s sound policy. Or maybe those policymakers should read Anderson’s reporting. If they do, they will find a book that is as deeply humane and profoundly rendered as any I’ve read about Afghanistan, or any other war. “To Lose a War” is a monument to both good intentions and folly, a humbling reminder that the ball keeps on bouncing.


TO LOSE A WARThe Fall and Rise of the Taliban | By Jon Lee Anderson | Penguin Press | 371 pp. | $30

Dispatches From Afghanistan Show How the U.S. Lost Its Way — and the War
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The Guardian view on the other Afghan scandal: countries are forcing refugees back to Taliban rule

The Guardian
Thu 31 Jul 2025

The British public discovered only very belatedly that an enormous accidental data breach by an official three years ago put up to 100,000 Afghans at risk of torture and death. Some of them had worked with British forces in Afghanistan. The result was that thousands were secretly relocated to the UK. A superinjunction covered up the story for almost two years.

But the shocking security lapse is far from the only example of Afghans being failed since Kabul fell to the Taliban in 2021. Many more are now at risk because the countries to which they fled are pushing them out. The mirage of a more moderate Taliban was soon shattered by their imposition of gender apartheid and the brutality faced by minorities. Three-quarters of the population struggle to meet their daily needs. Women are particularly vulnerable. Humanitarian support is being slashed. A drought and now the loss of overseas remittances are deepening the crisis.

Yet almost 2 million Afghan refugees and migrants in neighbouring countries have returned or been forced to return home this year alone – thousands of them unaccompanied children, according to UN experts. More than 1.5 million Afghans have returned from Iran in 2025, with Iran accelerating expulsions after the war with Israel, which fed suspicion towards migrants.

Pakistan began deporting unregistered Afghans in late 2023, after attacks by militants in border areas, but has widened its campaign to those who hold documents. More than two-thirds have never lived in Afghanistan, according to the International Crisis Group; their families fled conflict decades ago. In some cases, security forces are forcibly repatriating Afghans. In others, threats, harassment or intimidation have chased them out.

The Trump administration has announced the removal of temporary protected status from almost 12,000 Afghans in the US, though an appeals court has for now blocked it from doing so. The US said that conditions in Afghanistan no longer merited the status. Tajikistan has also ordered Afghans to leave.

UN experts have warned that former officials, including judges and lawyers, human rights defenders and journalists and other critics of the Taliban, along with religious and ethnic minorities, are at particular risk if they are returned. Women and girls are being deported to a country where they can no longer attend secondary school or university and are prohibited from letting their voices be heard outside the house, and where the EU has estimated that basic health services are available to just 10% of women. By driving women out of jobs and severely restricting their movements, the Taliban have ensured that female-headed households face destitution. The prospect of return is particularly frightening for women’s rights activists who face imprisonment or death for their work.

Pakistan and Iran should not force Afghans home – endangering lives and ending education for girls. But other governments too bear responsibility for this crisis. Poorer nations have been left to shoulder the strain of a high number of refugees, some of whom are in limbo due to Germany’s closure of a humanitarian admission programme, and the bureaucracy surrounding a similiar programme in Australia. This has been a triple failure: a failure to welcome Afghans with a strong case for resettlement; to support them in countries which have accepted them; and to help those who are returning to Afghanistan. Western countries must live up to their promises to the Afghan people.

The Guardian view on the other Afghan scandal: countries are forcing refugees back to Taliban rule
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China Eyes Afghanistan’s Wakhan for CPEC Link, Sparking Opposition From Delhi to Washington

Najeebullah Rahmati, PhD Scholar, EFL-University, India.

The future of the Wakhan Corridor will shape far more than trade routes; it will determine whether Afghanistan becomes a bridge for cooperation or a battleground for rivalry.

China’s push to extend CPEC through Afghanistan’s Wakhan Corridor promises economic gain but ignites tensions, with India, Western powers, and regional rivals alarmed over shifting geopolitical balances.

Wakhan Corridor, a narrow strip in northeastern Afghanistan, stretches about 350 km and connects Afghanistan to China, making it a vital yet historically overlooked geopolitical passage. Once part of the ancient Silk Road, Wakhan linked China, Central Asia, and South Asia, carrying trade caravans and cultural exchanges across harsh mountains and valleys.

In the 19th century, Wakhan was deliberately carved out as a buffer during the “Great Game,” preventing direct contact between British India and Tsarist Russia. Today, Wakhan remains Afghanistan’s only direct link to China, giving it strategic significance for Beijing, Islamabad, and Kabul — and anxiety for Delhi and Washington.

China sees Wakhan as a potential extension of the $60 billion China-Pakistan Economic Corridor (CPEC), a flagship Belt and Road Initiative (BRI) project linking Xinjiang to Gwadar Port.

Through Wakhan, Beijing could connect Xinjiang directly to Afghanistan, expand influence in Central Asia, and advance its “Digital Silk Road” plans with fiber optics and communications infrastructure. Security drives China’s interest too. Beijing fears Uyghur militants from the East Turkestan Islamic Movement could use Afghanistan’s borders to infiltrate Xinjiang if the corridor remains unmonitored.

China has already signaled readiness to invest in Afghanistan mining, including lithium and copper, tying Wakhan’s infrastructure to broader resource extraction ambitions crucial for green technologies.

Pakistan also sees opportunity. Wakhan could connect neglected areas like Chitral to Central Asia, easing reliance on fragile trade routes and boosting Islamabad’s regional economic footprint.

Afghanistan’s Taliban, isolated under sanctions and economic collapse, view Wakhan as leverage. They hope China’s investments might rebuild infrastructure and legitimize their rule regionally.

In September 2024, China’s ambassador and Taliban ministers inspected Wakhan’s border site, signaling Beijing’s cautious but growing interest in funding corridor infrastructure — if security is guaranteed. India has fiercely opposed Afghanistan’s inclusion in CPEC, citing sovereignty issues over Kashmir, where parts of CPEC traverse territory New Delhi calls “illegally occupied” by Pakistan.

New Delhi fears Wakhan’s integration into CPEC would deepen China-Pakistan dominance, undermine India’s investments in projects like Iran’s Chabahar Port, and shrink its influence in Afghanistan and Central Asia.

Western powers quietly share India’s concern, wary of BRI giving Beijing a stronger presence in the Indian Ocean and West Asia, shifting regional balance of power. U.S. policymakers caution against CPEC’s expansion into Afghanistan, emphasizing risks of debt dependence, lack of transparency, and deeper Chinese geopolitical leverage.

The Wakhan extension of CPEC now embodies a tangled contest, not just over trade, but over security, sovereignty, and the future shape of regional geopolitics. The future of the Wakhan Corridor will define more than trade routes; it will test whether Afghanistan becomes a bridge for cooperation or another fault line of rivalry.

DISCLAIMER – The opinions expressed in this publication are those of the authors. They do not purport to reflect the opinions or views of The Khaama Press News Agency.

China Eyes Afghanistan’s Wakhan for CPEC Link, Sparking Opposition From Delhi to Washington
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Another Drought Year for Afghanistan… But prospects are not as bad as they could be

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Climate scientists have long predicted that droughts would hit Afghanistan more severely and more frequently as the planet heated up, so it is no surprise that the country is suffering its fourth drought in five years. What is surprising is that the national wheat harvest, grown on 70 to 80 per cent of agricultural land and supplying more than 65 per cent of Afghans’ dietary energy, has done so well this year. Until recently, the United Nations’ Food and Agriculture Organisation (FAO) told AAN, an average wheat harvest would have been 4.5 million metric tonnes and a good harvest 5 million tonnes. The estimate for the 2025 harvest is 5.36 million tonnes, a ‘good year’ by historical standards, and this, despite the below-average rain and snowfall. It is a result of the mass distribution of wheat seeds bred to be tolerant of drought and pests.

This report starts with the weather and a scrutiny of the agroclimate data, before hearing from farmers and then looking at the wider panoply of economic shocks hitting Afghans. Rain and snowfall were below-average in the winter and spring of 2024/25 and temperatures above-average. The snowpack was also smaller than previously. This is the densely compacted snow that lies on Afghanistan’s mountains and which, when it melts in spring, should provide irrigation water for farmers downstream. This year, there was less meltwater than usual and it came early because of the high temperatures. Despite all these far-from-ideal growing conditions, there was enough precipitation for farmers growing winter wheat, especially when sowing the improved seed varieties. We hear about their generally positive experiences with the wheat seeds.

The report also hears from farmers for whom the drought is a catastrophe, particularly those with rainfed land or who have livestock or orchards in places like Daikundi. One orchard grower in that province described his almond trees losing their blossom and the springs drying up because of a dry cold spell and lack of rain in the spring. A farmer with livestock in the same region told AAN, “There is no grass for the livestock in the mountains,” and “the little water that was available is now contaminated and making the animals sick.” Unlike last year, another interviewee said, when the sale of sheep and goats brought in money, enabling people to “solve many of life’s problems,” this year, no one was buying livestock because there was nothing to feed them on: “People are just watching the wrath of nature,” he said, “and can do nothing.” The rangeland pasture failed across much of the north, west and centre of the country, leaving livestock weakened by hunger and vulnerable to disease. Also, across those regions, with the exception of Takhar province in the northeast, rainfed wheat either failed to blossom and fill out, or farmers, seeing the failure of the spring rains, decided not to sow at all.

Many of our interviewees always live on a knife-edge, but this year, economic shocks are assailing them from all sides. One man, a teacher, who also has livestock, said that usually, families have several income streams, all limited, but taken together, they can manage: one or two men would be working in Iran and sending money home and there would be “some produce from agriculture and donations from international charitable institutions.” This year, he said, “the situation was utterly different” and it was not just “this severe drought.”

The report ends by looking at how so many of those other, non-farming income streams have also dried up. It surveys the repercussions of Washington entirely cutting USAID funding to Afghanistan, which include severe cuts to food aid. It has lost 40 per cent of its funding. The IPC said that, on average, only 625,000 people out of the almost 1.6 million expected to experience large food gaps resulting in very high acute malnutrition and excess mortality will receive food assistance in the period up to October. The World Food Programme told AAN how they have had to scale back their famine prevention response, both in terms of geographic coverage and a delay in starting it. That is partly because of funding shortages and partly so that it could give some help to the hundreds of thousands of Afghans forcibly returned from Iran and Pakistan.

Those returnees, arriving back in chaos and misery, also represent an additional cost to communities and the state. For some households, who had single working men sending money home, there is also a loss of remittances. Some families are also facing the loss of a salary as the Islamic Emirate cuts public sector jobs, both military and civilian, by a fifth. Such cuts are no surprise to anyone following its relentless expansion of the workforce, especially the armed forces, since coming to power. However, the timing is grim. Additionally, the Emirate’s focus on the security sector, at the expense of public services, has left those services – health, agricultural support and food security – vulnerable to the current cuts in foreign aid.

Agriculture remains the backbone of Afghanistan’s economy. Approximately one-third of the population has access to agricultural land. Farming supports not only those who grow crops and keep livestock to eat or sell, but also those who work others’ land – it is the largest employer in the country. The good national wheat harvest this year is welcome news, but it can only ever mitigate the multiple pressures facing so many Afghan families.

Edited by Roxanna Shapour and Rachel Reid

You can preview the report online and download it by clicking here or the download button below.

20250725 Drought FINAL Download

 

Another Drought Year for Afghanistan… But prospects are not as bad as they could be
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Living a Mullah’s Life (2): The evolution of Islamic knowledge among village clerics

Over the past four decades much has been written about Afghan mullahs and madrasas. Most commentary has focused on the role they have played in the diffusion of militancy and jihadism in Afghanistan. This report takes a very different look. It is the second instalment of a two-part mini-series assessing the changing role of rural mullahs, focusing on those from Khost, Paktia, Paktika and Ghazni provinces in Afghanistan’s southeast. Part 1 looked at their rising economic status which means they are no longer dependent on their communities, but also no longer independent of the state. This second instalment traces the consequences for rural mullahs of changes in Islamic education over recent decades. AAN’s Sharif Akram finds they are increasingly well-educated in Islamic matters and that this, combined with the Islamic Emirate’s privileging of religious status, is allowing them to take more prominent roles in their communities and in the state. 
The first part of this series is available here: Living a Mullah’s Life (1): The changing role and socio-economic status of Afghanistan’s village clerics

In the Arab world, the term alem, plural ulema (Islamic scholar) implies an advanced degree of Islamic learning, rather than just someone who performs religious functions. However, in Afghanistan, it is used interchangeably with two other terms, mullah and mawlawi, the latter being an Islamic cleric with more advanced education. 

This report refers to different types of Islamic schooling. At the apex is the dar ul-uloom or seminary, which is aimed at generating professional Muslim clerics. There are also madrasas, or Islamic schools, which teach all ages from basic Islam to primary-school aged children to advanced classes for young men (or women). There are also hujras, where informal Islamic education is given by a teacher, usually a village mullah, to children or youths. The author uses ‘school’ for non-madrasas.

Religious education has traditionally been the primary source of learning in Afghanistan, with the majority of Afghans – boys and girls – getting some religious education in mosques and madrasas. By contrast, the first schools were only established in 1903 by Amir Habibullah Khan. Until the early twentieth century, most religious education was also conducted outside the purview of the state. In urban areas, this was done through private madrasas endowed by wealthy citizens. In the countryside, as will be looked at in more detail below, there was a more informal system, where in each village, a teacher – usually a mullah – would instruct children and young men in specific religious texts, typically in a mosque, a hujra (a small room adjacent to a mosque, also used to host guests) or someone’s home. Modern Afghan rulers, recognising the importance of religious education to any state-building project, have tried to incorporate it into the state and bring it more closely under state control.

Abdul Rahman Khan (r1880-1901) was the first of Afghanistan’s rulers to establish a state-endowed madrasa, Kabul’s Madrasa-ye Shahi, where around 200 students enrolled at the expense of the state.[1] Abdul Rahman had strained relations with many religious leaders outside Kabul due to his attempts to centralise control of the country, but, under his successors, Habibullah Khan (r1901-1919) and Amanullah Khan (r1919-1929), this state-endowed madrasa produced many high-ranking and typically pro-government ulema and civil servants. In the interests of controlling the Islamic education received by those who would go on to be government functionaries, Amanullah Khan established two additional state-run madrasas in Kabul that would train all religious judges employed by the government. However, government madrasas remained limited to the country’s major urban centres and did not expand beyond them until the 1930s and 1940s. Even by the time of Daud Khan’s rule in 1970s, there were only 20 formal government-run madrasas in Afghanistan.[2] In addition to these, a few dozen private religious seminaries operated under the guidance of prominent religious leaders.

Given the scarcity of formal religious institutions in the country, many Afghans sought religious education in neighbouring countries. After the establishment of a seminary in the Indian town of Deoband in 1867, it replaced madrasas in Bukhara (in modern-day Uzbekistan), as the most popular destination for Afghan students.[3] The importance of the Dar ul-Uloom Deoband in Afghanistan was enhanced by the connections between its leadership and the so-called Frontier Mullahs, religious leaders guiding the militant struggle of the Pashtun tribes against British incursions in the North-West Frontier Province. Connections between the Afghan court and Deoband were also important during the reign of Amanullah, as Indian ulema who had studied there contributed to the development of the state-monitored madrasa curriculum and served as advisors to the court on religious matters.[4]

Religious education in rural areas before the Saur coup d’tat of 1978

In rural areas, little changed in the way of religious education for most of the twentieth century. There were limited options for those wanting a more formal, structured education who did not wish to travel outside Afghanistan. In the southeast, for example, there were a few government-sponsored madrasas, the first of which, Dar ul-Uloom Ruhani, was established in 1972 in a rural area outside Gardez in Paktia province. Some private madrasas were already active in the region. Two of these were in Ghazni’s Andar district – one founded in the 1880s by a prominent religious leader, Mullah Mushk-e Alam, in Shilgar[5] and a second, Nur al-Madaris, founded in the early 1940s.

One of AAN’s interviewees,[6] a mullah from Muqur district of Ghazni province where no madrasa existed until the early 1990s, described the situation in those days:

There were no madrasas back then [in Muqur in the mid-twentieth-century]. Ulema had to travel to different cities and countries and leave their homes just to acquire knowledge. They were often poor and couldn’t afford to stay away [from their families] for long. Besides, knowledge didn’t hold much value at the time  people simply didn’t care about it.

Therefore, the most common form of religious education for mullahs remained an informal, traditional system in each village. In this setup, pupils, boys and girls, typically between the ages of 7 and 12 would study particular religious texts, often without a structured curriculum and usually from the village mullah. Those aiming to become a mullah would stay on and learn additional subjects. This pattern had persisted for generations, with one mullah having studied with another and then passing on his knowledge to the next. This type of education typically took place in mosques, hujras and village homes where only the very basics of religion, without a specific curriculum, were taught. While this informal system was the most accessible option for most would-be mullahs, it was far from equivalent to the structured religious education available elsewhere. Van Linschoten and Gopal described it as “far more eclectic and irregular than the Deobandi curriculum found in major Afghan and Pakistani madrassas.”[7]

Mullahs told AAN that the hujra system had limited their learning. They explained that formal institutions for religious studies were almost non-existent and resources scarce. One interviewee described how mullahs struggled even to find books and teachers:

I remember ulema would borrow books from ulema in another district. They read them and then after that return them. Even when they found books, they needed someone to teach them, but there was no one nearby. Travelling to other provinces or countries was difficult.

This lack of a formal curriculum and of trained teachers and institutional oversight meant that mullahs often acquired only a basic understanding of religious teachings from individuals who, in many cases, were themselves not qualified. They then relied on this limited knowledge to serve as spiritual leaders and educators. As a result, the overall level of religious knowledge among many rural mullahs remained low for many years. Several interviewees who were not mullahs agreed that becoming a mullah required little in-depth religious knowledge. One put it plainly:

If you have a paj [white turban], long clothes, know some Arabic texts and understand a few basic elements of Islam – Congratulations, you’re a mullah. You can do the imamat

of a village. It’s that simple.

As this interviewee highlighted, mullahs typically studied a limited variety of religious texts. The most common were Khulasa (The Compendium), Shurut al-Salat (Conditions of Prayer)al-Mukhtasaal-Quduri (al-Quduri Abridged), Kanz al-Daqa’iq (The Treasure of Subtleties) and Nur al-Zulam (The Light of Darkness), all of which focused on fundamental aspects of Islamic faith and jurisprudence. For instance, Khulasa outlines the obligatory components of prayer, without which prayers are deemed invalid; Shurut al-Salat details the Sunnahs of the prayer, along with the wajibs and mustahabs (obligatory and preferred components) of prayer; and Quduri, written by Imam al-Quduri in the tenth century, this covers the basic essential elements of Hanafi jurisprudence, including to do with worship, business transactions, marriage, divorce, inheritance and criminal law.

Beyond religious studies, some mullahs in the southeast, who were Pashtun, also learnt Persian language and literature. Panj Kitab (The Five Books), a widely studied collection of spiritual and religious Persian poetry by poets such as Abdul Rahman Jami and Fariduddin Atar, played a crucial role in their education. Persian was then the official and administrative language of Afghanistan and proficiency in it was essential for reading and composing formal texts.

Overall understanding of Islamic theology among mullahs was therefore limited; often, their education only enabled them to lead prayers and perform basic rituals in the community such as nikah (marriage) and janaza (funeral prayers). Mullahs did also play an important role in local dispute resolution, acting not as scholars but as independent and respected members of the community. One interviewee recalled:

Just a few books of fiqh [jurisprudence] covered almost all the issues people faced in their daily lives, addressing matters such as nikah, zakat [alms] and janaza that were essential for the community. For more complex matters, they would seek guidance from senior mawlawis. 

Several mullahs told AAN that many of their fellow mullahs struggled even with the basic recitation of the Quran. Instead of following the established tajwid (the elocution rules for Quranic recitation), they would read the Quran as though it were a normal Pashto or Persian text. Few mullahs, according to AAN’s interviewees, understood the meaning of the words they recited. One interviewee recounted multiple occasions in rural areas of Khost where the village mullah was unable to deliver funeral prayers and sermons (which should be in Arabic), so these were delayed until a more competent mullah arrived.

One interviewee, a community elder in Paktia, said he remembered a mullah who was unable to read a qabala (land ownership document) written in Persian. When villagers asked him to explain its contents, he had no answer. “The next day,” the interviewee recalled, “he went to another village to learn [the meaning of the document] from another mullah.”

That said, at the district or provincial level, there were usually some prominent mullahs who had a more advanced understanding of Islam, particularly of fiqh. Interviewees from Zurmat in Paktia province, for example, said there used to be five mullahs in the district who were recognised for their knowledge. When village-level mullahs encountered complex legal or religious issues, they would refer people to these scholars, acknowledging their own inability to answer such questions or provide adequate guidance.

Despite their limited knowledge, mullahs were still able to manage affairs and command respect in their communities due to the structure of Afghan society and the socio-economic context in which they lived. As one interviewee put it, “In the entire village, the only person who could read a text was the mullah.” Many of the social rules and norms that governed village life were not derived from Islam, but guided by long-held local customs and traditions that mullahs were not disposed to challenge. Mullahs could participate in this alternative value system without a deep knowledge of Islamic law and theology and therefore they were able to maintain influence in communities even if they had little formal Islamic education.

Conflicts bring drastic change: 1979-2001

A significant shift in education for mullahs was a consequence of the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan in 1979. It forced millions of Afghans into exile, with over three million seeking refuge in neighbouring Pakistan alone, where they settled in refugee camps and adapted to life in their new environment.

In those camps, alongside schools, set up by the United Nations and NGOs, a new form of religious education began to take root. Muslims from around the world began visiting to join the fight against the Soviets, offering financial support and establishing madrasas and religious seminaries. These efforts were supported by both charities from around the Muslim world and donations from the Gulf states. As a result, hundreds of new madrasas were established and Afghan refugees enrolled in large numbers, as there were few other opportunities for education in the camps.[8] Mullahs who had previously only possessed basic knowledge of Islam now had the opportunity to deepen their understanding of Islamic theology in these newly established institutions, which offered a more advanced and diverse version of Islamic education than the education provided in Afghanistan’s villages. Most followed the Dar ul-Uloom Deoband educational model, which is Hanafi, the school which most Afghan Sunni Muslims follow, while others, particularly those run by Arabs, who also typically had deeper pockets, adopted a Salafi-Wahabi curriculum.[9] What was on offer, education-wise, also evolved as regular schools in the camps improved during the 1990s. The schools were largely primary, with a few high schools where pupils were selected on ability, and even a few scholarships to Pakistani universities. As the quality of the official camp schools improved, many parents preferred to send their children, especially their boys, to a school, rather than, or in addition to, a madrasa. That was also the case for girls in the 1990s: increasing numbers were enrolled and stayed in school, incentivised by families getting WFP tins of edible oil in exchange, something which helped break the taboo common in some communities against getting daughters educated.[10]

The migration to Pakistan also facilitated connections among people from different regions of Afghanistan. The concentration of diverse Afghans in refugee camps helped spread knowledge among previously disconnected communities. “Many people started learning from well-known mullahs who’d also became refugees. I began studying basic texts from Mullah Miraki from Kunduz [in northern Afghanistan],” one mullah from Khost, in the southeast, recalled. The availability of intellectual resources, particularly books, further supported this growth. “Unlike in Afghanistan, you could find many books there and read them. People would learn [from those books] what they couldn’t understand from another mawlawi,” another mullah explained.

Even after the Soviets withdrew in 1989 and the Moscow-backed regime collapsed in 1992, the subsequent civil war among mujahedin factions left many Afghans preferring to remain in Pakistan. During this period, madrasas offered significant benefits to the (mainly male) teenage students, such as free schooling and food and board, at a time when ordinary Afghans living in the refugee camps struggled. Therefore, many young men who were not from families who had a tradition of sending their sons to become mullahs took advantage of the opportunity for them to acquire a religious education.

After the withdrawal of the Soviets and the fall of the communist government in Kabul, many mullahs who had studied in Pakistani madrasas returned with the idea of establishing similar religious schools in Afghanistan. This coincided with the rise of the Taliban, a movement founded by former mujahedin, mainly from greater Kandahar, who had been religious students (talibs), mostly in hujras in Afghanistan or (less commonly) Pakistani madrasas. The Taliban took over most of Afghanistan in the mid-1990s, establishing their first Islamic Emirate.

The takeover of the state by talibs played a crucial role in promoting the establishment of more madrasas. The first Taliban government began building them in major cities such as Kabul, Kandahar and Jalalabad and their surroundings, prioritising religious education over schooling, and indeed adding more Islamic education to both school and university curricula, so that for example, medical students had to devote 50 per cent of their time to Islamic studies.[11] For the first time in Afghanistan’s modern history, both formal and informal religious education, were functioning on a massive scale. Hundreds of new private madrasas for boys and young men were established and thousands enrolled in them.[12] This was a time, when, according to an estimate by UNICEF in 2000, only four to five per cent of primary-aged children, girls and boys, in Afghanistan were going to primary school. (The Taliban had also officially banned all schooling for girls.) The numbers attending madrasas is not known.

Islamic education under the Republic: 2001-21

With the collapse of the Taliban in 2001, this trend slowed, as the new government showed less interest in religious education. Formal madrasas registered with the state were still operational, but not on the same scale as under the Taliban; the government attempted to regulate madrasa education but the majority remained unregistered.[13]

As the insurgency against the Islamic Republic and its foreign military backers intensified, and with mullahs often targeted by United States and NATO forces because of their suspected affiliation with the Taliban, many mullahs from rural areas chose to flee to Pakistan once again. There, they established new madrasas to provide religious education to their fellow Afghans.[14] However, as the insurgency began to gain momentum and control more territory, the Taliban could begin to provide political support to mullahs living in areas under their control inside Afghanistan.

Many Taliban-aligned mullahs, having completed their education in Pakistan, chose to return to Afghanistan and live in those Taliban-controlled areas, where they began establishing their own madrasas. In Paktia province’s Zurmat district alone, for instance, the author knows of a Taliban group commander who established two madrasas in 2014 and 2016, assigning local mullahs to lead them and using his position to collect funds from the community. In Paktika’s Mata Khan district, similarly, the author knows another Taliban commander who established a madrasa in the early 2010s where some 200 youths studied. The subsequent increase in madrasas seems to have met rising demand from communities as, according to our interviewees, a single madrasa would host hundreds of students. One interviewee related that in his home district of Deh Yak in Ghazni, more than a dozen large madrasas have been established in the past decade, each hosting over 300 students.

In rural areas, madrasas were an attractive option for many, because as articulated by one mullah: “When you have five sons, you can’t give them proper attention or education. Some [families] can’t even afford to feed them. So, they some send some to the cities, others abroad and the rest to madrasas, where they learn something and are protected from society’s evils.” Demographic factors have contributed to the trend. “In the past, said one interviewee, “families had many children, but half would die due to a lack of healthcare. Now, he said, “families have many children and no one is dying, so they send them to madrasas, where they are both educated and kept safe.”

Islamic education since 2021

Since the Taliban’s return to power, madrasa education sponsored by the state has expanded even more. The Islamic Emirate of Afghanistan (IEA) has been both registering informal madrasas that are supported by local charities and communities and providing them with resources, and establishing new, state-run madrasas. Since the 2021 takeover, the IEA’s Ministry of Education has announced that it will establish a large government-supported madrasa in every province, with free food and accommodation for the (male) students and high salaries for the teachers (Radio Azadi). The Ministry of Hajj and Religious Affairs has also announced separate plans to establish two madrasas in every district (TOLO News). Interest in madrasas comes from the very top of the Taliban government, with many high-ranking Taliban also running their own religious schools. For example, acting Foreign Minister Amir Khan Muttaqi has a madrasa in Kabul’s city’s Shash Darak, acting Deputy Minister of Border and Tribal Affairs Ali Jan Ahmad a madrasa in Musahi district in Kabul province and acting Minister of Water and Power Mullah Abdul Latif Mansur a madrasa in Zurmat in Paktia.

Meanwhile, since the Taliban’s return, many mullahs without formal non-religious education have enrolled in bachelor degree programmes in fields such as computer science, political science, business administration and economics. The author knows more than a dozen such mullahs who are members of the Taliban who are now attending university programmes. The IEA government, to support this, has announced that those who have completed the wara dawra(twelfth grade) in informal madrasas are now officially recognised – after an exam – as high school graduates, which makes them eligible for university enrolment (BBC).[15] Moreover, according to the author’s information, they have also offered those who fought for the Taliban movement and did not have the chance to study in madrasas or schools, the chance to complete high school in a single year without even attending every day.

What do Afghan mullahs learn in madrasas?

As the number of madrasas increased, the nature of religious education also began to evolve. Firstly, hujras are scarcely to be found any more, having been driven out of business by the rise of the madrasa. Secondly, pupils and students in madrasas follow more rigorous curricula and are taught by better-trained teachers. When it comes to the curriculum, the majority of Afghan madrasas (whether formally state-registered or informal) follow the Dars-e Nizami curriculum developed at Dar ul-Uloom Deoband, with some variations, as some madrasas put greater emphasis on non-religious subjects than others[16] This system emphasises traditional Islamic subjects, while also incorporating certain other disciplines such as mathematics, computer science and English. Students study the Quran, focusing on proper tajwid and tafsir (Quranic interpretation). They also study the Hadith – the sayings and actions attributed to the Prophet Muhammad, documented in collections such as Sahih ul-Bukhari and Sahih Muslim. Fiqh is taught using the foundational texts of the Hanafi school, such as Hidayahand Radd ul-Muhtar.[17]

In addition, students learn Arabic language and literature, including sarf (morphology) and nahw (grammar), classical texts and poetry. Classical Persian poetry, including works by figures like Rumi, are also included. Mantiq and hikmah(logic and philosophy) are taught, incorporating elements of classical Greek and Islamic philosophical traditions, as well as the study of belief. The curriculum also covers rhetoric (balagha), focusing on Arabic literary studies. The curriculum incorporates elements of the teachings of classical Sufi scholars, particularly from the Naqshbandi tradition.[18] Sirat (the life of the Prophet Muhammad) and early Islamic history are also important components of students’ education in madrasas.

This curriculum differs significantly from the one followed in the hujras and the traditional student-teacher method. For instance, it introduces a modern grading system where students study within a structured framework, complete with defined schedules, specific timeframes and exam systems, much like those found in schools and universities. Upon completion of their studies, students are awarded certificates, which allow them to officially claim certain titles that reflect the level of knowledge they have attained. For example, those who acquire only a basic knowledge of Islam are given the title of mullah, while those who pass the fourteenth grade of the Dars-e Nizami curriculum are referred to as mawlawi. After this, students who choose to specialise in jurisprudence are called mufti – they are considered qualified to give fatwas, religious rulings – while those who opt for the advanced study of Hadith are given the title sheikh ul-hadith, or of the Quran, sheikh ul-Quran.

In addition to this more rigorous curriculum, exposure to different discourses on Islamic sciences and the availability of a more diverse literature has, according to interviewees, broadened mullahs’ understanding of the various Islamic schools of thought in recent years. Our interviewees discussed this evolution, many attributing it partially to time spent as refugees in Pakistan, whether studying there or now. One interviewee, a mullah from Nangrahar province, explained:

Madrasas in Pakistan played a key role in spreading [religious] knowledge in Afghanistan. In the past, there were many issues in Hanafi jurisprudence that our ulema had either never heard of or didn’t have the capacity to understand. Now, praise be to Allah, thanks to these madrasas, our ulema have a comprehensive understanding of every aspect of the sharia of the Prophet Muhammad. They are experts in sirah, tafsir, tajwid, mantiq, ilm al-kalam [study of Islamic doctrine], balaghah, and ifta [delivering fatwas].

Another interviewee, a mullah from Gurbaz district in Khost, said:

Our scholars are now as knowledgeable as the great Deobandi scholars. They can even write sharha [explanation of a classical Islamic text] … They’re skilled in Arabic and understand all the issues that are currently important. They know Islamic history, specialise in hadith, and are experts in Quran recitation and its proper recitation. All of this is a blessing from these madrasas, where knowledge has blossomed.

Mullahs and their position in society since the return of the IEA

The increasing understanding of Islamic subjects on the part of mullahs has had complicated consequences for their social status within communities. In part, it has led to increased respect for them and their work among rural conservative communities and the older generation. Among younger educated men, however, their authority and their claim to represent or champion religion and now also the state has been viewed with some scepticism; they may be criticised for being too conservative or for using religion to serve their own personal interests. This is reinforced by the preferential treatment they are given by the current government in hiring those with Islamic credentials. One consequence of this is that many families feel that a religious education for their boys is a more attractive option than in the past. Underlining this point, a university student from Kabul, told AAN:

These days, what gets you a job is not a university diploma but a turban, a beard and a madrasa certificate. If you have them, you can get a job wherever you want; if not, you won’t, no matter how qualified you are.

Mullahs also now feel more able to challenge society. “Ulema have now returned to their original role in society, one IEA official told AAN. “They are now able to abolish many norms that contradict Islam.” Other interviewees agreed and it seems that since the return of the IEA, many mullahs in the southeast have tried to leverage their position in society to challenge older customary norms that they feel are contrary to sharia. Some of the examples they gave are – perhaps surprisingly – progressive. For instance, several mullahs interviewed for this report said that they have been manoeuvring to extend religious education to women – a practice that remains unusual in Afghanistan’s rural areas and in particular those of the southeast, where traditional norms typically restrict female education beyond early childhood. One of the mullahs interviewed told AAN about efforts to provide religious education for women:

The ulema have done a lot of work in this regard. They’re trying to convince people that women, like men, have the right to get an education and that it’s obligatory. They’ve been talking about female scholars from [earlier Islamic] history and how they contributed to jihad in the time of the Prophet Muhammad (Peace be upon him). [Mullahs] are amongst the first people who demanded that wealthy folk build madrasas for women and made a safe environment for them to study in. 

Mullahs also reported efforts to promote a woman’s right to receive inheritance in line with sharia, a practice rarely followed in Afghanistan. (For more on women’s inheritance rights, see this March 2025 AAN piece.) “Ulema are preaching about this issue,” said one mullah from Ghazni. “They’re trying to convince people to follow the principle.” Another interviewee from Nangrahar reported that several mullahs he knew of had given their own sisters their inheritance, as mandated by the Quran, in order to set an example for the community.

Similarly, some of the mullahs that AAN spoke to reported that they insist a woman must give her consent to marriage or else the marriage is considered invalid. In Afghanistan this has never been common, although the Quran mandates it. A mullah from Paktia province underlined that: “Getting the consent of the girl in marriage is the most essential element of a valid nikah. The consent must not be imposed on her but should be of her own will. If not, then the nikah is naqis[flawed].”

One other custom that both the IEA government and some mullahs have been trying to reform is the payment of bride price, the sum paid by the groom or his family to the bride’s family.[19] (This is distinct from mahr, the gift given – or promised – by the groom to the bride, as mandated by Islam.) For families with many daughters, high bride prices are valued, and the brides themselves may feel they are a mark of their worth. However, a mullah, who is also an IEA official, from Logar province explained that they also make getting married difficult and, he said, cause social problems:

If someone wants to marry, they need to earn large sums of money, and that created significant challenges. In our district, ulema gathered and explained, from a sharia perspective, how wrong this was and its negative repercussions. They convinced the people to reach a consensus, and the bride prices were lowered. This change has been widely implemented, and now people are very happy with it.

Other interviewees mentioned that mullahs are now better able to influence dispute resolution along the lines of Islamic principles. They described jirgas (tribal assemblies) in the past that would resolve matters not according to sharia but in line with Pashtun tribal norms for compensation known as nerkh (literally, price or exchange rate). As a mullah from Paktia said, things are now changing:

In the past, when someone would seize somebody else’s land, they would either fight each other or ask for help from the qawmi mashran [tribal elders], who would then resolve the matter through a jirga. But now, they refer to the ulema and ask for the resolution of the matter based on sharia.

However, another interviewee from Khost highlighted that mullahs’ efforts to enforce more Islamic practices in their communities often receive a less than positive response:

My friend who studied in Akora [Dar ul-Uloom Haqqania in Akora Khattak, Khyber Pakhtunkhwa province, Pakistan] got the imamat of Zangi Kala [a village in Khost]. When he went there, he summoned all the village elders and asked them to show how they perform the prayer and what they recite. Most of the elders didn’t know the correct way. My friend then told them that they should come every day after the night prayer and he would teach them the correct way. Many elders were upset with this and told him that they wouldn’t change what they’d learned from their ancestors, as it was completely correct.

Mullahs and the future of Afghan society 

Mullahs have gained influence and power in recent years, beginning with the jihad against the Soviets and peaking with the return of the Taliban in 2021 – but their growing power has also created controversy over their role in society. Afghan rural society is not always opposed to the idea of religious figures as the key political force in society, but the degree to which communities accept their growing power varies greatly. Some Afghans feel that Islamic government by mullahs is the sole legitimate form of rule; others agree with this concept, but think that the interpretation of Islamic law by the Taliban government or by a particular mullah is incorrect. As the author concluded in the first part of this research, rural mullahs used to be economically dependent on their community and independent of the state. Their rising socioeconomic status has made them economically independent of their congregations, but they now often have greater connections with the state, or indeed have become part of the state, as ministers, governors, police, soldiers, teachers or officials. By chance, this has also gone along with greater Islamic learning.

The implications of being part of a political entity, making policies and running a government are complex for mullahs. On the one hand, they now possess greater political power, which may enable them to shape Afghan society according to their ideas. On the other hand, their new position makes them susceptible to criticism and has created a contradictory image of them in public opinion. Once aiming to be admired for their piety and neglect of worldly matters, mullahs now enjoy state privileges and – for some – a more lavish lifestyle. That attracts criticism, that they are manipulating state authority for personal gain, and also creates competition among the clerics themselves over privileges and influence. Furthermore, any shortcomings in governance are often attributed to the fact that this is a government of mullahs, which may erode the status of all as religious leaders.

Meanwhile, there are also new challenges to mullahs from within Afghan society, given the decades of comparative openness and connection with the broader world. As Afghans become increasingly more literate and gain access to religious education, mullahs are no longer the sole source of religious authority. Awareness of other interpretations of Islam, particularly amongst the younger generation, is growing. As one mullah explained:

In the past, no one would question a mullah on a religious issue because there were no other sources of information. But now, with access to the internet, religious books and scholars with different perspectives, things have changed. I remember once asking someone not to shave his beard, and he immediately showed me a video of an Arab mullah arguing that shaving your beard isn’t a problem.

Finally, some mullahs struggle to provide the younger generation with the guidance necessary for navigating the complexities of today’s world. Traditional madrasa education has not equipped them for addressing current issues. Many mullahs have also started to enrol in universities, pursuing studies in fields such as science, technology, international politics and diplomacy. It seems they now realise that traditional religious training is no longer sufficient to meet the challenges of contemporary life, but it is as yet unclear how and to what extent the Islamic Emirate government itself will adapt to the realities of the modern world.

Edited by Fabrizio Foschini, Letty Philips and Kate Clark

References

References
1 See Mohammad Kakar, Government and Society in Afghanistan: The reign of Amir Abdul Rahman, Austin, University of Texas Press, 1979, pp161-163.
2 Misbahullah Abdulbaqi, Madrassah in Afghanistan: Evolution and its future, Policy Perspectives 5, 2, 2008, pp130-159.
3 Kaja Borchgrevink, Beyond Borders: Diversity and Transnational Links in Afghan Religious Education, Oslo, Peace Research Institute Oslo, 2010.
4 Sana Haroon, ‘Religious Revivalism across the Durand Line’, in Shahzad Bashir and Robert D Crews (eds) Under the Drones: Modern Lives in the Afghanistan-Pakistan Borderlands, Harvard, Harvard University Press, 2012.
5 Senzil K Nawid, Religious Response to Social Change in Afghanistan 1919-29: King Amanallah and the Afghan Ulema, California, Mazda Publishing, 1999, p10.
6 The findings in this research are based on 19 in-depth interviews carried out in August, September and December 2024 with mullahs from the provinces of Khost, Paktia, Paktika and Ghazni, as well as insights gained from conversations with community leaders and mullahs from these and other provinces between June and December 2024.
7 Anand Gopal and Alex Strick van Linschoten, Ideology in the Afghan Taliban, June 2017.
8 For a detailed account of the rise and role of madrasas in the 1980s see, International Crisis Group, Pakistan: Madrasas, Extremism and The Military, 2002.
9 For more details on Salafi education and case studies on the type of education provided in Pakistani madrasas, see Borchgrevink, Beyond Borders, footnote 4.
10 Information about the refugee schools came from a former director of an NGO in charge of provincial education for Afghan refugees in one of Pakistan’s provinces.
11 For more on this era, including the ban on girls’ education and the greater Islamification of the curriculum of schools and university, see Said Reza Kazemi and Kate Clark, Who Gets to Go to School? (2) The Taleban and education through time, 31 January 2022.
12 Abdulbaqi, ‘Madrasas in Afghanistan’, p133.
13 Mohammad Osman Tariq, Religious Institution Building in Afghanistan: An Exploration, Peace Research Institute Oslo, 2011.
14 Borchgrevink, Beyond Borders: Diversity and Transnational Links in Afghan Religious Education, pp 44-46
15 Similar demands were made in the early years of the Republic by Jamiat-e Islami and other mujahedin factions whose members had been fighting in the ‘resistance’ against the first Emirate and therefore, they said, lost their chance for an education. Their members were then discriminated against when it came to proving their suitability to enter university and if in government employment, to get the bonus that went along with a university education.
16 For a detailed analysis of the system see Sabrina al Faarsiyyah, The Nizami Curriculum: A historical glimpse and critical proposals, unpublished PhD diss, Dar ul-Uloom Birmingham, 2020.
17 Al-Hidayah fi Sharh Bidayat al-Mubtadi, commonly referred to as al-Hidayah, is a 12th-century legal manual by Burhan al-Din al-Marghinani and is among the most influential books of Hanafi jurisprudence. Radd al-Muhtar ila al-Durr al-Mukhtar (Diverting the Baffled to ‘The Chosen Pearl’) by the 18th century Syrian scholar, Ibn Abidin, is an annotative commentary on an earlier, voluminous work of Hanafi jurisprudence, Al-Durr al-Mukhtar (The Chosen Pearl) by Ala al-Din al-Haskafi. Radd al-Mukhtar is considered the central reference for fatwas by Hanafi scholars.
18 The Naqshbandiyya has, for centuries, been the most popular Sufi order in Afghanistan, although others, namely the Qadiriyya and the Chishtiyya, have also been present.
19 For more detail on bride prices, including a district-wide move to reduce them, see this 2016 AAN report by Fazl Rahman Muzhary: The Bride Price: The Afghan tradition of paying for wives.

 

Living a Mullah’s Life (2): The evolution of Islamic knowledge among village clerics
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This fiasco didn’t start when Britain leaked Afghans’ names, but when we invaded their country

The Guardian
Friday, 18 July 2025

Even after Tony Blair’s bungled war, UK leaders still yearned to dominate the world stage. With the lifting of the superinjunction, we can all see where that has led

What odds on a public inquiry into the Afghan superinjunction? Gold-plated, judge-led, three years of fun and games, that is how British politics normally kicks an embarrassment into the long grass. And what odds on who will get off scot free – Tony Blair?

The more we pick away at the stages of this fiasco, the more from the start one blunder seemed to follow inevitably from another. There was no reason for the British invasion of Afghanistan in 2001. If the US wanted revenge on the Kabul regime for harbouring al-Qaida after 9/11, it could have done what Donald Trump did last month to Iran. A savage retaliatory blow against the country’s rulers would have made the point.

The invocation of article 5 of the Nato treaty to justify an invasion of Afghanistan was ridiculous. America’s security was not remotely threatened by terrorism directed from Kabul, any more than was Britain’s. Other Nato powers, bullied into showing sympathy, limited themselves to minimal non-fighting roles. Once Kabul had been attacked and the Taliban had fled, caution and common sense indicated swift withdrawal. The US military command wanted no invasion.

Blair was insistent in pressing Bush for “nation-building”, against considerable US scepticism. He was desperate for Britain to punch above its weight. In his Chicago speech in 1999, he had advocated the new Blair “doctrine of international community”, that of altruistic intervention. It was basically a call for more wars. Clinton’s office described Blair’s intervention in Kosovo as the prime minister “sprinkling too much adrenaline on his cornflakes”. When war duly arrived, Blair was insistent that British submarines fire the first barrage of missiles on Kabul. He told the 2001 Labour conference: “We will not walk away from Afghanistan, as the outside world has done so many times before … There is only one outcome: our victory not theirs.”

There followed a full-scale British occupation that culminated, in 2006, in a reckless, failed attempt to suppress the Taliban in Helmand. One result was that for 20 years, a sizeable chunk of Afghanistan’s modest administrative class found themselves employed by western occupying powers, including Britain. As the Taliban filtered back, these people assumed, perhaps foolishly, that the good old British empire would not desert them.

When the list of 19,000 collaborators in the British occupation was leaked, the danger was obvious. The Ministry of Defence was alerted that an anonymous member of a Facebook group had said he had the database and was threatening to post it in full. Not knowing if the list had been shared with the Taliban, the government acted to protect those named.

The defence secretary at the time, Ben Wallace, understandably wanted to keep the fact a secret just in case. A judge understandably agreed, for a while. But neither decision would stand the test of time – or the mounting embarrassment. The Treasury cost of honouring the list was not millions but billions.

The bulk of the blame must lie with the fact of the invasion and subsequent departure. The effort of the House of Commons this week to make the leak issue partisan was pitiful. Neither the cabinet nor parliament tried to stop Blair’s original occupation. In 2010, after nine years, it still voted overwhelmingly in favour of Britain’s presence continuing. Parliament was equally in favour of the invasion of Iraq in 2003. When in 2021 Boris Johnson finally joined the US in cutting and running, parliament washed its hands of the whole affair.

In Afghanistan, 457 British soldiers died. The cost of the war to the UK taxpayer was £30bn. Some 200,000 Afghans also died and 29,700 were accepted for resettlement between 2021 and 2024. These figures are the bill for the outrage over 9/11 and were utterly unnecessary. No other European country joined the US on anything like the same scale as Britain. There has not been a word of inquiry into who should carry any degree of personal responsibility.

Britain attempted to withdraw from its empire with dignity over the course of the 20th century. It did not always succeed. Yet, ever since, its rulers have seemed in a state of lingering regret. Like Blair, they have harboured a tarnished yearning for a Britain still playing a role on the world stage, a violent one if need be.

Though Britain was never remotely threatened, Blair was almost always at war, in Kosovo, Sierra Leone, Afghanistan and Iraq. David Cameron was bitten with the same bug, intervening in Libya and trying to do so in Syria. He built two giant aircraft carriers, one of which Boris Johnson could not resist sending to the South China Sea. Why was never explained.

If Trump has any virtue it has been in telling Europe that the old global interventionism is over. The US is fed up with being Europe’s policeman. The continent should be realistic and look after its own business. But even he could not resist the machismo of bombing Iran.

The lesson of the leak is not that emails are never safe. That surely is known. The real lesson is that Britain should never have spent a quarter of a century trying to impose its rule on Afghanistan in the first place. Will it now learn?

  • Simon Jenkins is a Guardian columnist

This fiasco didn’t start when Britain leaked Afghans’ names, but when we invaded their country
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Russia Recognized Taliban’s Apartheid Regime In Afghanistan

Eurasia Review
July 12, 2025

On July 3, Russia won itself the dubious distinction of becoming the world’s first nation to formally recognize the “Islamic Emirate of Afghanistan.” The same day, Russian President Vladimir Putin had an hour-long conversation with President Donald Trump. Although both leaders talked about a range of issues, the Taliban regime or its formal recognition didn’t feature among the topics discussed. Apparently, the Russian president thought it too insignificant an issue t0 interest President Trump. Russia, however, waited four long years to give the Taliban de jure recognition. The Taliban had the entire world united against them since they seized Kabul at gunpoint on August 15, 2021.

The Taliban desperately wanted to fracture the world’s coalition of the willing, which refused to recognize them as a legitimate national authority. Since 2021, no nation—rich or poor, large or small, progressive or conservative—found them worthy of governing Afghanistan. The global rationale behind this assessment was the Taliban’s draconian restrictions banning girls and women from getting an education and employment. In their zest to enforce this ban, the Taliban literally locked up Afghan women behind the walls of their homes. For more than half of its inhabitants, Afghanistan has become a prison like Alcatraz, where women cannot step outside their homes unchaperoned by male guardians. The Taliban have even enforced a law to ban women’s voices from being heard in public, because they believe that feminine speech is too erotic for young Muslim men.

The Taliban defend this misogyny in the name of Islamic Shariat and Afghan (Pashtun) culture. In projecting what the United Nations calls gender apartheid onto Islam and thousands of years of Afghan heritage, the Taliban darkly stain both. That’s why none of the 57 members of the Organization of Islamic Cooperation (OIC) has indulged them with the long-sought national recognition. Russia is not a Muslim-majority country, but 20 percent of its population is Muslim, while its Muslim-majority republics now number seven, including Chechnya. Moscow has become “Europe’s largest Muslim city.

President Putin often presents himself as an outspoken defender of Islamic icons. When the burning of Qurans was on the rise in Europe, Putin criminalized desecration of the Quran in all of Russia through a legislative measure. He rebuilt Grozny, the capital city of Chechnya, which was razed to the ground in a war with Moscow, and topped its skyline with what was billed Europe’s biggest mosque. In a meeting with the visiting Pakistani President Mamnoon Hussain in 2016, Putin told him: “We are all Muslims” (not in the confessional sense, but as the victims of oppression). Since their seizure of Kabul in 2021, the Taliban have been playing to Putin’s Muslim-friendly inclinations to soften his view of their purging of the female gender from Afghan public spaces.

In this endeavor, they were greatly helped by former Taliban commanders and soldiers who defected from the Taliban movement to join a more virulent version that has become the Taliban’s sworn enemy, namely Islamic State-Khorasan (IS-K). IS-K’s terrorist violence has shaken a region that spans south, central and west Asia, and extends to Eurasia. IS-K’s massacre at a concert in Moscow in 2024, in which 133 people were killed, forced Putin to reassess Afghanistan through the prism of terror. As IS-K has its bases in Afghanistan, it was ostensibly only natural for Putin to upgrade Russia’s relations with Afghanistan to blunt the gathering threat of IS-K’s violence.

The strength of the Taliban’s rivals, especially IS-K and Tehrik-e-Taliban-e-Pakistan (TTP), can be gauged from the Taliban’s aversion to ever naming or condemning them for their atrocities. These militant outfits commit trans-border violence not just in Russia, but in Iran, Pakistan and the neighboring Central Asian Republics. Yet the Taliban are helpless to rein them in. As the wide swath of IS-K and TTP’s ranks are filled with former members of the Taliban movement, the leaders of the latter are kept up late at night because these defectors are former insiders who know their way around the Taliban.

Russia was already treating Taliban authorities as de facto rulers. While the rest of the world had abandoned Kabul since 2021, Moscow kept its embassy open and fully staffed at the highest level. In April this year, Russia even dropped the terrorist group designation for the Taliban, which it had enforced for two decades. By denying the Taliban regime the legitimacy of formal recognition, Moscow was in alignment with the rest of the world, and yet it was still benefiting from full diplomatic relations with Kabul.

Moscow seems most interested, with this recognition of the Taliban, in dissing the rest of the world, especially the West. In the West, any passion for human rights or women rights has already cooled. The State Department has shuttered its human rights offices at home and abroad. So, human rights diplomacy or the use of what Joseph Nye termed soft power to achieve moral advantage in international relations has slid way down in U.S. priorities. This is certainly good news for the Taliban. Yet President Trump is far from recognizing their regime any time soon, despite Trump’s interest in reclaiming Afghanistan’s largest air base at Bagram, which Americans built.

Splits in the Taliban’s ranks are now coming into the open. Dissidents like Abbas Stanikzai, who was initially presented as the Taliban’s favorite choice for prime minister and is still deputy minister for foreign affairs, earlier this year exiled himself to the United Arab Emirates (UAE). He feared for his life because of his public advocacy for girls and women’s education and employment. The UAE is also home to Afghanistan’s former President Ashraf Ghani who immediately preceded the Taliban.

An even more lethal divide has opened up between the supreme leader of the Taliban and his potent rivals in the Haqqani Network. The Network’s leader Sirajuddin Haqqani, like Stanikzai, took a public stance in favor of girls and women’s education, and reprimanded the Taliban’s orthodox leadership for misinterpreting the faith. Early this year, Haqqani who is minister for the interior has absented himself from Kabul for months on an overseas trip to the UAE and Saudi Arabia, where he has been reportedly lobbying for a planned parting of the ways with the misogynist Taliban leadership. He made similar but even stronger overtures to the United States, which recently lifted a $10 million bounty on his headThe New York Times described him as Afghanistan’s best hope for change.

Russia’s formal recognition of the Taliban regime may not go far enough to save the Taliban from collapsing under the weight of an ugly power struggle or their inhumane policies. Some nations may find it tempting follow Russia’s lead—for instance, Pakistan or India—but they will likely find their move stalled by progressive opposition within their own societies. Even if they remain an exception, Russia is nevertheless contributing to the orphaning of human rights and the undermining of the international order.

Tarique Niazi teaches environmental sociology at the University of Wisconsin at Eau Claire.

Russia Recognized Taliban’s Apartheid Regime In Afghanistan
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