Central Asia Has Learned to Live With the Taliban

When the Taliban reclaimed control of Afghanistan in 2021, none of its Central Asian neighbors welcomed the group’s return to power, and none have formally recognized it since then. Nevertheless, geographic proximity made ignoring Kabul impractical, leaving pragmatic engagement as the only option.

As a result, over the past five years, all five Central Asian states have to varying degrees adapted to Taliban rule in Afghanistan and advanced their national interests through relations with the Islamic Emirate that are normalized in all but name. Of them, Uzbekistan and Turkmenistan, which share borders with Afghanistan, have gone the farthest toward normalization of diplomatic and economic ties. Tajikistan—also an immediate neighbor—has remained the most skeptical, though it has still joined the regional trend of establishing working relations with the Taliban.

But for all the states in the region, the militant group’s return to power in Afghanistan has created complex realities that they are now forced to navigate.

Through a sustained political dialogue and functional cooperation with Kabul, Uzbekistan has become Central Asia’s leading interlocutor with the Taliban. Due to its prioritization of counterterrorism, border security and counternarcotics cooperation, Uzbekistan treats such engagement as a practical necessity.

But in addition to approaching Afghanistan as a security challenge, President Shavkat Mirziyoyev also sees it as an economic opportunity. Tashkent has expanded bilateral trade, transport and energy cooperation through the Termez free trade zone, as well as through new investments and bilateral agreements, with the aim of increasing annual trade to a target of $5 billion from $1.7 billion in 2025. This strategy has been bolstered through high-level visits, including that of Prime Minister Abdulla Aripov to Kabul in August 2024, underscoring Tashkent’s commitment to engagement. In serving as a bridge between Afghanistan and the wider international community, Uzbekistan seeks to promote stability and connectivity despite the risks associated with Taliban governance, with the goal of integrating Afghanistan into broader regional economic networks.

For neighboring Turkmenistan, meanwhile, Afghanistan’s importance is defined by connectivity and energy cooperation. Underscoring this regional vision is the Turkmenistan-Afghanistan-Pakistan-India gas pipeline (TAPI), which, when completed, will connect Turkmenistan’s Galkynysh gas fields with South Asian markets through Afghan territory. Former President Gurbanguly Berdimuhamedow visited Afghanistan in October 2025 to review construction progress, underscoring the project’s continued importance. However, with Afghanistan and Pakistan at war since October 2025, and the Pakistan-India war having revived tensions between Islamabad and New Delhi, TAPI’s prospects appear increasingly uncertain. Beyond gas, however, Afghanistan remains a major importer of Turkmen electricity, highlighting significant energy interdependence.

Turkmenistan’s doctrine of non-interference and “positive neutrality,” which emphasizes dialogue and practical cooperation, guides its foreign policy toward Taliban-ruled Afghanistan. Turkmenistan also stood out among Central Asian states for having not evacuated its diplomatic staff from Afghanistan amid the withdrawal of U.S. forces in 2021, nor did it release negative statements about the Taliban at the time. To the contrary, it quickly established contacts with Kabul, embracing a business-oriented approach. Similarly, Turkmenistan’s government kept key border crossings open for trade and transport.

For neighboring Kazakhstan, the region’s largest economy, security is the dominant concern along with economic and geopolitical interests. President Kassym-Jomart Tokayev has described the Taliban as a “long-term factor” in the region that Kazakhstan “must work with.” Reflecting this approach, Tokayev’s government transferred control of the Afghan Embassy to Taliban-appointed representatives in 2023. The following year, it accepted a Taliban-appointed chargé d’affaires and removed the Taliban from its list of designated terrorist organizations.

Kazakhstan has also sought to expand trade with Afghanistan from between $500 million and $1 billion annually to a target of $3 billion. To do so, the government has promoted business forums, established a trade house in the northwestern Afghan city of Herat and supported projects such as the Turgundi-Herat railway. Its policy has evolved from cautious engagement to active economic and diplomatic cooperation, even as it continues to avoid formal recognition of the Taliban government.

The Central Asian states hope that expanded trade with Afghanistan will enable greater economic and political influence over the Islamic Emirate in the years ahead.


Kyrgyzstan’s policy toward Taliban-ruled Afghanistan has similarly shifted from careful, security-focused overtures toward more open political and economic cooperation. Initially, the country limited contacts to security discussions and humanitarian assistance. Over time, however, concerns over regional security, extremist threats and economic initiatives such as CASA-1000—a regional infrastructure project for renewable energy—have encouraged deeper engagement with the Islamic Emirate.

A turning point came in September 2024, when Kyrgyzstan removed the Taliban from its list of banned terrorist organizations, signaling a willingness to establish stronger relations. By 2025, this approach had expanded into economic diplomacy, including ministerial visits, the opening of a Kyrgyz Trade House in Kabul and the signing of $156 million in trade agreements covering energy, mining, telecommunications, agriculture and logistics.

Finally, Tajikistan’s foreign policy toward the Taliban can also be characterized as a gradual evolution, in this case from outright hostility toward cautious engagement. Initially, President Emomali Rahmon’s government adopted the strongest anti-Taliban position among the Central Asian republics, refusing recognition, criticizing the Taliban’s lack of inclusivity, supporting Afghan Tajik opposition figures and portraying the Taliban regime as both lacking in legitimacy and constituting a major security threat.

Tajikistan’s concerns centered on militant groups such as Jamaat Ansarullah and the Islamic State-Khorasan Province (ISKP), as well as narcotics trafficking, with its major fear being the possibility of instability spreading across the Tajik-Afghan border. This hardline position reinforced Tajikistan’s image as a frontline state against extremism.

By 2024, however, the country began to move toward limited cooperation with Kabul without recognizing the Taliban. Since then, security concerns, electricity exports, and trade and connectivity projects have pushed Dushanbe further toward engagement. Over the past two years, cross-border markets have reopened, Tajik officials have held meetings with their Taliban counterparts and diplomatic contacts have become more visible. In sum, Tajikistan currently engages with the Taliban to manage security threats and protect national interests, even if it has maintained its reservations about the group.

Five years after the Taliban’s return to power, the Central Asian states have largely adapted to the new reality in Afghanistan. Although they vary in the extent of their de facto engagement with the Islamic Emirate, all five recognize that Afghanistan’s stability and economic interests are closely tied to their own. With regional infrastructure projects dependent on a stable Afghanistan and cooperation with Kabul essential to countering ISKP, Central Asian governments desire a regime in Kabul capable of acting as a stabilizing force both within Afghanistan and across the region.

The Central Asian states hope that expanded trade with Afghanistan will enable greater economic and, by extension, political influence over the Islamic Emirate in the years ahead. For their part, the Taliban have become increasingly oriented toward Afghanistan’s northern neighbors since the outbreak of the Afghanistan-Pakistan war in October 2025 and the subsequent closure of the Pakistan-Afghanistan border.

But while the Central Asian republics have compelling reasons to deepen their de facto ties with the Taliban, whether they will join Russia in formally recognizing the regime remains an open question. Recognition will probably depend on broader international developments. If China and perhaps the United Arab Emirates formally recognize the Taliban government, the Central Asian republics may well follow suit, aligning themselves with an emerging Eurasian consensus. Yet, these countries’ growing ties with the West mean they will remain mindful of the risks of moving too quickly to “legitimize” the Taliban, particularly given the potential for tensions with Western powers.

Although formal recognition would be symbolically significant, the more important trend is the continued deepening of practical ties between the Central Asian republics and the Taliban, reflecting a growing regional acceptance that engagement with the Islamic Emirate is not only possible but necessary.

Giorgio Cafiero is the CEO and founder of Gulf State Analytics, a Washington-based geopolitical risk consultancy that focuses on the Middle East, and an adjunct assistant professor at Georgetown University.

Central Asia Has Learned to Live With the Taliban
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What America Owes to Afghan Women

By Mursal Rahim

Ms. Rahim, who fled Afghanistan in 2021, provides support to migrants and refuges with Catholic Charities of the Diocese of Arlington, in Virginia.

The New York Times

Aug. 10, 2026

My hands shook as I crossed the stage to receive my master’s diploma from Cornell University last year. Wearing a graduation stole on which I had sewn an Afghan flag, I was filled with a jumble of pride and disbelief at how far I had come.

Four years before, I was among thousands of people evacuated from Afghanistan as its government collapsed and the Taliban seized Kabul, and I had since made the dizzying transition to a new life in America.

But as I teetered across the stage in high heels, the sad, hopeless faces of my girlfriends who never made it out of Afghanistan flashed through my mind. This is the whiplash I live with now — highs of freedom and newfound opportunity, punctured by lows of intense guilt.

The fall of Kabul, five years ago this week, marked the bitter end to the long, painful 20-year U.S. involvement in Afghanistan. But for Afghan women, the pain was only beginning. The Taliban have turned my home into what a senior U.N. official has called the most repressive country in the world for women, who are barred from school and most types of work and face restrictions on simply appearing in public.

I escaped all that. In America I’ve been able to further my education and get a job. I’ve discovered the joys of cycling, jogging, ice skating, kayaking, weight lifting and many other pursuits unavailable to women back home. I even learned to swim. I have the freedom to go out each day, unafraid of being punished for what I’m wearing, for whom I am.

But every freedom I enjoy reminds me of women in Afghanistan who lost theirs.

In July, I bought myself an inflatable paddle board for my 30th birthday. Propelling myself down the Potomac River, I reveled in a sense of power and independence. But my chest suddenly tightened as the face of a young girl came back to me.

She’s a family friend in Afghanistan, a bright, curious and promising girl who devoured books that my mom gave her. But I had just learned from friends in Kabul that, just 16, she is to be married off to a much older man. No school, or even leaving home without a close male relative at her side.

Afghan women were perhaps the biggest beneficiaries of the U.S. intervention in Afghanistan. The Americans arrived in 2001, driving the previous Taliban regime from power. Soon after, I was able to start primary school, something that had been unimaginable under the Taliban. The expansion of opportunities for women allowed me to graduate from law school in Afghanistan in 2020. I planned to start a career advocating for women who still faced challenges such as domestic violence but had few female lawyers to represent them.

The U.S. withdrawal ended those dreams.

I got out of Afghanistan only because my brother, Najim Rahim, had worked as a reporter for The New York Times. Anyone who was employed by Western news organizations or the U.S. military was at risk of Taliban reprisals, so The Times evacuated those who had worked for its Kabul bureau — journalists, drivers, gardeners and translators, along with their direct family members.

My family was having lunch at home on the day Kabul fell, contemplating what would happen to us under the Taliban, when my brother called: We were leaving Afghanistan. We had 30 minutes to pack one small bag per person before rushing to the airport. I stared into my closet, suddenly forced to decide how to fit my life into a backpack. I grabbed some clothes, my school diploma and a few head scarves.

We waited for hours with other evacuees under a baking sun as thousands thronged the airport. We watched, horrified, as desperate people clung to the exteriors of planes, falling as the aircraft took flight. That night, Taliban militants attacked our group with clubs and we had to run from the chaotic airport for our lives.

Two tense days later, we made it on board a military transport. As we finally lifted off, I sat on the plane’s cold metal floor, staring numbly at its windowless walls and the blank, fearful faces of people who were leaving behind everything they knew. Eventually, we landed in Houston and began the process of applying for asylum.

As new possibilities opened up for us in America, Taliban decrees barred women and girls from receiving education after the sixth grade, required women to cover themselves head to toe in public and even forbade them from speaking loudly enough that non-family members can hear them. In January, the Taliban approved a new criminal decree that the U.N. High Commissioner for Human Rights says legitimizes violence against women and children at home.

Despite the ever-tightening restrictions, I keep in touch with friends back home through calls and video chats. One friend in Kabul told me how she and other women were working out in a secret gym last year when Taliban morality enforcers arrived. The women managed to escape out the back before the Talibs burst in, sniffing at what they said was the telltale scent of perfume in the air.

Most of the 35 young women who were in my all-female law school class are still in Afghanistan. During calls, they pour out their frustrations about their new lives as wives and mothers, spent almost entirely at home, their dreams of becoming lawyers now out of reach.

That’s where my guilt comes in. Afghan women in America often return to the same haunting question: “What if that was me?” I was no smarter or more ambitious than many of my classmates, yet I got out, purely through luck. I am determined to make the most of my freedom here and to make it my life’s work to help the women left behind.

Since leaving Afghanistan, the United States has closed its embassy, withdrawn its diplomats, sharply reduced assistance and made it harder for Afghans to find refuge in America. It has increasingly disengaged from the country and its people.

I am grateful for the new life I have in the United States, and the kindness of the American people. I realize that Afghanistan no longer commands America’s attention as it once did, and I won’t pretend that there are easy solutions for helping Afghan women.

But America has a moral responsibility to not simply look away and accept that the systematic erasure of Afghan women is no longer its concern.

What America Owes to Afghan Women
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Afghans are starving

The Washington Post

Editorial

August 7, 2026

Americans understandably want to forget about Afghanistan five years after President Joe Biden’s disastrous withdrawal. But nearly 14 million Afghans are facing acute hunger, and child malnutrition is at critical levels in a third of the country.

Mostly that’s due to the inept and barbaric Taliban government’s mismanagement, worsened by severe drought. But funding cuts have also played a role.

In 2024, the United States was the single largest donor to the United Nations’ World Food Program, providing more than $4 billion, which covered nearly half its global operating budget. After President Donald Trump took office, America’s contribution was cut in half. In June, the State Department announced a contribution of $800 million to WFP, but Afghanistan is specifically excluded from the list of eligible countries.

The situation there is dire: Aid agencies say 3.7 million children and 1.2 million pregnant and breastfeeding women are suffering from malnutrition. Children are experiencing “wasting” — slowly dying from hunger — because of a lack of therapeutic feeding.

It’s not just Afghanistan. The U.N. warned in June that hunger is worsening in 13 global hot spots, mostly areas beset by conflict or prolonged refugee crises. A tragedy is unfolding in Uganda, which has taken in nearly 2 million refugees fleeing violence in neighboring countries.

Earlier this year, the U.N. said a lack of funds forced it to stop assisting more than half the refugees in Uganda, and malnutrition among children under age 5 has increased by 50 percent.

U.S. cuts are not solely responsible. Other rich countries, including Britain and the European Union, have also scaled back foreign assistance. In most cases, their economies are stagnant; the cost of their welfare state is crushing; they need to meet their promised commitments to increase defense spending; and they are strained by their own migration crises, including refugees from Ukraine.

Donor fatigue with seemingly endless conflicts is undeniable. The U.N. badly needs reforms to streamline burdensome bureaucracy and wasteful spending.

Americans don’t want their tax dollars feeding terrorists. Careful controls must be imposed to ensure that food aid goes to women and children, not military-age males. But Americans are generous, and the crisis calls for compassion.

The world’s richest nation should not let the poorest people on earth die of hunger.

Afghans are starving
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How private schools could help Afghan girls – and justify their charitable status

Here is another plan for Gordon Brown (After five brutal years of Taliban rule, Afghan women and girls need our help – and I have a plan, 4 August). In a very few years Afghanistan will have no female doctors, nurses or midwives. For the Taliban have not only stopped girls’ education and codified child marriage, but have banned contraception and forbidden women and girls to access male health providers. Inevitably, there will be a huge increase in maternal and neonatal mortality.

One way the UK could help is by its well endowed independent girls schools offering A-level science bursaries to those Afghan girls who wish to study medicine, have learned English online and can show that they have the ability to follow such a course.

I have been corresponding with such a girl, now 15, who longs to become a doctor so she can care for her sisters. Even if passports, visas, travel, etc may be problematic, just offering such bursaries would be a way of keeping this gender apartheid in Afghanistan in the spotlight. Independent schools enjoy questionable charitable status. Here is a way of justifying it.

Margaret Owen
President, Widows for Peace Through Democracy

How private schools could help Afghan girls – and justify their charitable status
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They gave me to someone who could not read or write … it would be better if you buried me alive

Shabnam

The Guardian

Wed 5 Aug 2026 01.00 EDT

On my last day of school it seemed years of effort were now contained in one small piece of paper. Everyone was happy at graduation, holding our certificates, each of us had a different road ahead. Friends wanted to study medicine, civil engineering or economics. For me, I wanted aviation – to be a pilot.

We worked hard, preparing for Kankor – the university entry exam – then came the first delay. Coronavirus reached Afghanistan. Everywhere went into quarantine, our exams were postponed.

Eventually, I got into university. On my first day I told myself, “Shabnam, finally, your efforts were not wasted.” The smile would not leave my face.

I worked hard. At the end of the first year, I was the top student in my class of 120 from all 34 provinces of Afghanistan. My father was so proud of me. But my mother said, “My daughter, do not be so happy, someone may cast an evil eye on your happiness.” I wish I had listened.

My mother used to tell stories about the Taliban and say we were left behind from education. Then, in my second year, the Taliban took Afghanistan again. It was goodbye to the university and to our books. A university that would never open again for us. I wished that they had taken our lives instead.

With a thousand miseries, we returned home. I told my mother, “You were right. I wish I had not been so happy.” I did not know that worse lay ahead.

The Taliban said no girl over the age of 15 should remain unmarried. Girls were being forced into engagement. Either the Taliban would marry the girls themselves or the father had to find someone for his daughter.

They gave me to someone who had no education and could not read or write. Crying became all I did day and night.

I told my mother, “It would be better if you buried me alive.” The groom’s family wanted to take me to their home. If I did not accept, the Taliban would detain my father.

One day, my husband said: “If you love studying and education this much, we will get passports and go to Iran. I will work and you can study.”

After getting the passports, my husband asked me to walk to get the visas. I went out and saw a taxi so I got in. I took the risk and travelled alone because it was only about 10 minutes away and no one could come with me.

At the Taliban checkpoint, they asked, “Where is your mahram?” I said my husband had gone to work. They took me to prison.

When my husband came, they questioned him and asked where his wife was going alone. My husband explained. Then they asked what we would do in Iran. When he said “For education”, they replied “Death to education. Who has allowed women to study?”

They insulted me and said to my husband: “You are unfortunate and you have made this poor woman unfortunate, too.”

There were 84 women kept in 10 windowless small rooms around a courtyard. Even though the rooms were small, seven or eight women were kept in each with only two beds. Most slept on the floor. The toilet smelled very bad. Those who could afford pills took them to sleep; some became addicted.

I asked whether there was a phone to use and was shown a room. I phoned my husband and he told me he had been thrown out of the house. “My brothers have put me out and now I am on the streets. They tell me to choose either you or them. But I will never leave you, even if the whole world is against you.”

When I returned the phone, the guard said, “Now you must pay for it.” I was shocked.

The women explained that, without money, you can’t use the phone. The Taliban collect money from them every day. Then I understood why the Taliban use anything as an excuse to imprison people.

They kept people away from family and work and imprisoned innocent people for their own benefit. Each of the women, like me, had been imprisoned without any real reason. I saw a young girl imprisoned because her father had raped her.

Called, like me, bad women, lives were ruined. Some had no family to receive them after release. Women whose families will not take them back often kill themselves. Some have to marry elderly men just to have a roof over their heads. Others do whatever they can to survive. Some sell drugs, some sell their bodies.

Two women killed themselves inside the prison while I was there. After others had gone to sleep, they hanged themselves. I also knew another girl who threw herself in front of a car and died because she was homeless after release.

My husband’s brothers labelled me a bad woman. None of them spoke to my husband except to taunt him. The poor man endured all of it. After three months, I was released from prison. My husband had found a place to rent with great difficulty. The rent was expensive, but I was pregnant.

After my child was born, the landlord threw us out. When my son was two months old, there was a ruined house near my parent’s house and we moved in there. All kinds of insects had made their place inside it. We had no other choice. We could not rent a house in the city because the rent was too high.

Every day I worried over what our future would be. I told my husband, I will also help you and work.

I was following an online cooking channel and taught myself how to make sweets. I began with low-cost sweets and soon I mastered it. I took my sweets to shops to sell. But I had no budget and needed help.

Some foreign organisations support women who want to become self-sufficient. But the Taliban created a chamber of commerce through which they sell that support. If I had 2,000 afghani, they would loan me cash to buy the materials I needed for baking. But I needed to pay back 2,000 afghani (£22.50) each month and I didn’t have this.

So, for now, my dream to have a coffee shop and sell sweets remains just that. One day I will do it: it will be work for myself and girls like me, because I have promised my dreams that I will reach them.

They gave me to someone who could not read or write … it would be better if you buried me alive
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A Son of Jaghori: Remembering Grand Ayatollah Mohammad Ishaq Fayyaz, 1930-2026

For centuries, a steady stream of Afghan students have gone to the great Shia Islamic seminaries of Iran and Iraq in search of religious learning. Few rose as high as Mohammad Ishaq Fayyaz, who died in June 2026 at the age of 96. AAN’s Rohullah Suroush and Roxanna Shapour trace Fayyaz’s journey from a village madrassa in Ghazni province to the renowned Najaf seminary in Iraq, where he became one of the most influential Shia jurists of the modern era. They examine how he developed Islamic legal opinions on women’s place in government that broke established precedent and remained, for most of his life, little known in the country of his birth. Only in his final decades did Afghanistan begin to recognise one of its greatest religious scholars.

Grand Ayatollah Fayyaz Photo: The Iraq Studies Center, 9 June 2023

The loss of Sheikh al-Fayyad is a severe tragedy and the void he leaves behind is vast and difficult to fill. 

(Grand Ayatollah Ali al-Sistani)

When Grand Ayatollah Mohammad Ishaq Fayyaz (also spelled al-Fayadh or Fayyad) died in Iraq on 4 June 2026,[1] Iraq declared three days of national mourning (BBC Dari). Tributes came pouring in from across the Muslim world – from his fellow grand ayatollahs in Najaf and Iran to the governments of Iraq, Iran and Afghanistan – honouring one of the world’s foremost Twelver Shia)[2] jurists and one of the four most senior maraji al-taqlid (sources of emulation).[3] Yet outside specialist circles, relatively few people knew that one of the most influential Shia scholars of the twenty-first century had been born in Afghanistan’s remote central highlands, in the Jaghori district of Ghazni province.

Fayyaz’s life was remarkable not only because he rose to the highest ranks of the Shia religious establishment, but also because it is the story of the long and largely forgotten tradition of Afghan Islamic scholars who, over the centuries, have travelled to the great Shia seminaries of Iran and Iraq in search of religious learning. Among the many Afghans who travelled those routes, none attained greater international standing than Mohammad Ishaq Fayyaz. His story is therefore not only the biography of a distinguished jurist but also that of an Afghan intellectual whose influence reached far beyond his homeland.

From Jaghori to Najaf

Born in 1930 in Suba village in Jaghori district, Ghazni province, Mohammad Ishaq Fayyaz was the second son of a Hazara farming family of modest means. His father, Mohammad Reza, enrolled him in the village madrassa before he was five years old and, according to his official biography written by the late Sayyed Abdul Majid al-Khoei, “during the winter his father would wrap him up in blankets against Jaghori’s bitter cold and carry him to and from the madrassa on his shoulders.”[4]

After completing his primary religious education in Suba, Fayyaz spent four years studying at a religious school in the neighbouring village of Hutqol. He left Afghanistan at 17, after the death of his mother in 1947, to continue his religious education in the Iranian city of Mashhad (Afghan Bios). According to Majid al-Khoei, the move was intended as the first stage of a longer journey to Najaf, Iraq, the principal centre of Shia religious scholarship. Indeed, Fayyaz did later go to Iraq to continue his studies, first at the Salimiyah School and finally at the Hawza-ye Elmiya-ye Najaf (Najaf Seminary), one of the leading centres of Shia learning, which had, for centuries, attracted students from across the Shia world (Majid al-Khoei). He would call Najaf home until the end of his life. It was in this city that he entered one of the most demanding intellectual traditions in Islamic scholarship, devoting himself to the study of jurisprudence (fiqh) and legal theory (usul al-fiqh). At the Salimiyah School, one of his teachers was Ayatollah Modarres Afghani, himself an Afghan (BBC Dari; Shafaqna). At the age of twenty, he entered the advanced seminary of Grand Ayatollah Abu al-Qasim al-Khoei, one of the most influential Shia scholars of the twentieth century (Majid al-Khoei).

Among his fellow students in al-Khoei’s class was another future grand ayatollah, Ali al-Sistani. Over the next three decades, Fayyaz progressed from student to protege to trusted colleague. He spent fifteen years attending al-Khoei’s lectures before joining his office and becoming a member of the Majlis al-Istifta, the body responsible for preparing legal opinions (fatwas) and responding to religious questions submitted to the marja. There, he worked alongside Sistani and other senior scholars, helping to prepare responses to questions of jurisprudence for al-Khoei’s followers in Iraq and abroad (Grand Ayatollah Fayyaz’s official website, World Federation).

Fayyaz emerged as one of the most accomplished of al-Khoei’s students. His most important contribution during this period was the preparation of al-Khoei’s taqrirat (lecture notes) on legal theory (, which were later published as Al-Muḥadarat fi Usul al-Fiqh (Lectures on the Principles of Islamic Jurisprudence), a work that al-Khoei himself endorsed. In a commendation written for the book’s publication on 4 November 1966, al-Khoei thanked God for granting him “the honour of educating distinguished students, among them the learned Sheikh Mohammad Ishaq Fayyaz,” describing the work as “a valuable service” (Majid al-Khoei; Shafaqna). The work eventually expanded to ten volumes and remains the most significant published record of al-Khoei’s methodology in legal theory (official website, World Federation).

One of the ‘Big Four’

The death of Grand Ayatollah al-Khoei in August 1992 ushered in a new era for the Najaf Seminary. As the most influential Shia jurist of his generation, al-Khoei had attracted millions of followers and trained many of the leading scholars who would go on to shape Shia jurisprudence in the decades that followed. His death raised the question of who would emerge as the most senior religious authorities in the next generation (Majid al-Khoei).

By that time, Fayyaz had already established himself as one of Najaf’s leading scholars. More than three decades of study, teaching, writing and service in al-Khoei’s office had earned him considerable recognition among his peers. His reputation, together with the publication of Al-Muḥadarat and his work in the Majlis al-Istifta, placed him among the jurists regarded as qualified to exercise independent legal reasoning (ijtihad) and to issue their own legal opinions (Majid al-Khoei, World Federation). By the late 1990s, he came to be recognised alongside Grand Ayatollahs Ali al-Sistani, Mohammad Saeed al-Hakim (d 2021) and Bashir al-Najafi as one of Najaf’s four leading marjas. Although each maintained an independent office and following, together, they represented the continuity of the Najaf school after al-Khoei’s death (Afghan Bios, Majid al-Khoei).

While Ali al-Sistani emerged as the most influential Shia religious authority globally, particularly after Saddam Hussein’s downfall in 2003 (Majid al-Khoei; World Federation), some believe that Fayyaz, rather than Sistani, was the most senior of the four. However, according to the Encyclopaedia of Modern Middle East Wars, “he did not seek to chair the council because scholars who are not Iraqi or Iranian have little chance to gain followers among Arabs and Iranians, who make up the majority of the world’s Shi‘is,” instead, Fayyaz and his fellow grand ayatollahs backed Sistani for the role.[5]

Six decades in Najaf

For six decades, Fayyaz was an important member of the generation of scholars in Najaf who preserved the seminary through Saddam Hussein’s dictatorship, two wars and an occupation. Fayyaz understood his role as a marja not merely as issuing opinions and publishing treatises, but as the lifelong transmission of religious knowledge and service to the Shia community. His influence spread through the students he taught, the scholars he trained and the institutions he helped sustain. Over the decades, he taught successive generations of students. His lectures attracted students from Iraq, Afghanistan, Iran, Pakistan, India, the Gulf states and elsewhere, many of whom later became teachers, judges and religious scholars in their own communities (Majid al-Khoei).

Alongside his teaching, Fayyaz produced an extensive body of scholarship spanning jurisprudence, legal theory (usul al-fiqh), commentary on the Quran, theology and contemporary social questions. Among his best-known works are his multi-volume studies of jurisprudence and legal theory, Risalat al-Amaliyy (Practical Treatise),[6] and specialised works on Islamic governance,[7] medical ethics, banking and the position of women in Islam. His body of work reveals, wrote Majid al-Khoei, “a careful, methodical approach that drew on established principles of ijtihad to address questions relevant to the contemporary world.” His fatwas extended to questions with little precedent in classical jurisprudence: he held that organ transplants should be permitted where they could save a life and the donor had consented and he called for the unblocking of internet services in Iran, where access to the internet was, and continues to be, heavily restricted (see Qayoom Suroush’s 2014 AAN report, A new Afghan Shia Leader: Return to quietism versus political Islam?).

Unlike many other religious leaders in Afghanistan, Fayyaz never founded a political party or sought public prominence, Suroush noted, nor was he “involved in the violence of the civil war” that engulfed many other senior religious figures in Afghanistan. That distance from the violence and politics of the war years gave him a moral standing that some other religious leaders in Afghanistan could not claim, and it was this, together with his decades of teaching, extensive body of jurisprudence and the generations of Shia scholars he trained, that would be his making in Afghanistan’s Shia community.

The case for women’s equality

Among the many works during his long tenure, none attracted greater attention than Fayyaz’s writings on women. The mainstream position within Sunni and Shia jurisprudence alike holds that men and women are equal in their essential humanity and religious and spiritual obligations, but differ in certain legal matters such as testimony, divorce rights, inheritance and blood money and, crucially, that women cannot be heads of state, serve as judges, or become a marja (BBC Persian).[8][9] In Shi’a Islam, women can attain high levels of religious scholarship, including the rank of mujtahid – a jurist qualified to exercise independent legal reasoning, or ijtihad – but Fayyaz’s ruling that they could become a marja was radical. His Jayegah-e Zan dar Nizam-e Siyasi-e Islam (The Position of Women in the Islamic Political System), published in Arabic in 2014 and later translated into Persian, addressed one of the most debated questions in contemporary Islamic jurisprudence. It is a response to 25 questions posed by a doctoral researcher, covering women’s roles in politics, government, the judiciary, religious authority, ministerial office, parliament and military and police command, among other areas, according to former vice-president, Sarwar Danish, who translated the book. He described Fayyaz’s conclusions as “entirely without precedent,” and said:

I was not merely surprised but astounded by the fatwas and views regarding women presented in this book; never before had I heard such views [articulated] with such boldness, depth and candour about women’s rights and status from any of the known Sunni or Shia scholars. Had anyone other than Ayatollah Fayyaz expressed these views, they would have been branded an apostate by traditional society and the traditional clergy. Yet, who would dare – then or now – accuse a religious and scholarly figure of Ayatollah Fayyaz’s stature of apostasy or of opposing the tenets of the faith and sharia?

Danish measured Fayyaz’s position against three other positions: 1) a full-equality view that he associated with liberal and Western human-rights framing; 2) denying women political, social and economic rights altogether, a position he associated with the Taliban; and 3) the mainstream position as described above, including that they cannot rule countries, serve as judges or become marjas. Fayyaz believed that women could serve in all 18 of the offices addressed in the book and underscored this position with scholarly rigour (see also BBC Dari).

The significance of his opinion was not merely that they echoed contemporary political debates, but that he approached each question by asking what conclusions could legitimately be reached within established Shia jurisprudence. In other words, rather than seeking to influence Islamic law from the outside, he set out to show how contemporary questions concerning women’s participation in public life could be addressed through the canon of Shia Islam itself, finding that, for example, the traditions that deem women being “deficient in intellect and religion” were “not reliable and attributing them to the Prophet is not correct. In addition, these traditions cannot be supported or verified as they go against what has been observed and is essentially true” (see Sayed Hadi Tabatabaei’s analysis for Mobahesat in Persian and an English translation on Iqra).

Fayyaz argued that clear and convincing religious proof was required to assert any differences in how Islamic law treats men and women, and in the absence of such evidence, the default position has to be equality. In his analysis of Fayyaz’s reasoning, Seyed Hadi Tabatabaie explains that Fayyaz based his reasoning on two established principles of Shia jurisprudence: the Principle of Permissibility (Asalat al-Ibaḩa), under which actions are considered permissible unless expressly prohibited, and the concept of Mantiqat al-Faragh, the sphere in which no definitive legal ruling exists and where jurisprudence may respond to changing circumstances (Mobahesat, Iqra).

In his examination of Fayyaz’s The Position of Women in the Islamic Political System, Danish points out that Fayyaz drew on several further supporting principles: that men and women share equal religious obligations unless an authoritative text specifies otherwise, that the Quran addresses “the people” and not a particular gender, that family law and public or civil law occupy distinct legal domains and that an Islamic government may legislate on family matters within the sphere where no definitive legal ruling exists in women’s favour, according to the needs of the time.

In other words, instead of beginning from assumptions about gender roles, Fayyaz began with a jurisprudential principle: legal restrictions require clear textual evidence. Where neither the Quran nor reliable traditions established a prohibition, he argued, there was no legal basis for barring women’s participation in public life. He concluded that there was no conclusive religious evidence preventing women from serving as members of parliament, ministers or even heads of government. He also argued that women could serve as judges in many areas of law, provided they possessed the necessary qualifications. These conclusions, as Tabatabaie highlights, were a departure from the views of many contemporary jurists and generated considerable discussion within Shia scholarly circles (Mobahesat, Iqra).

Equally notable was the way Fayyaz viewed the textual evidence traditionally cited in support of those restrictions. Discussing the Quran’s Surat An-Nisa 4:34, which states: “Men are in charge of women,”[10] he argued that the verse concerns responsibilities within family life and should not be extended to public or political authority. Similarly, responding to a question about whether women could serve as judges, he said:

The majority of fuqaha [jurists] have taken the position that judging is the prerogative of Muslim men and does not extend beyond that [to women], but [I hold that] it does extend beyond that [to women], provided that the necessary requirements are met by a Muslim woman. However, when it comes to general judgement by a layman [in a customary or informal justice mechanism], where the authority of the judge does not rest on proof of religious authority [but rather it is a civil matter], there is no difference between a man and a woman.

On the question of women becoming marjas – religious authorities for other Shia Muslims – he said:

The majority of jurists are of the opinion that a woman cannot assume the position of issuing fatwas and becoming a marja … in my opinion, it is permissible; provided that all the conditions for issuing fatwas and being a marja are met by a woman.”

In his view, neither the Quran nor authentic prophetic tradition established a general principle of female inferiority that would justify excluding women from positions of responsibility or deeming them inferior to men (Majid al-Khoei).[11]

Fayyaz also challenged the weight traditionally attached to ijma (consensus among the jurists) on these issues. He argued that while many earlier jurists had regarded these roles as the purview of men, in the absence of evidence, consensus alone was not enough:[12]

Consensus in itself is not evidence and has no validity; unless it is proven that it was also the case during the time of the al-Ma’sumun (Infallibles) and has reached us [in an unbroken chain] and generation after generation, but there is no way to prove [such claims].

It was precisely because he remained firmly within the framework of Shia jurisprudence, even as he challenged established interpretations, that distinguished him from his more conservative peers. As Sheikh Mousa Rezaie, who was in charge of Fayyaz’s office in Herat, noted at a memorial gathering in Mashhad, “Few mujtahids would dare to break the traditions prevalent among the religious authorities of the past,” but Fayyaz had reached “such a level of ijtihad and intellectual credibility,” that he was able to offer new legal reasoning (see SNA’s coverage of the memorial on Instagram).

Fayyaz’s arguments about women were significant not only for his conclusions but also for the methods he used to reach them. Rather than appealing to modern concepts of equality or human rights, he grounded his reasoning in the established principles of Shia jurisprudence. By distinguishing between immutable religious principles and historically entrenched interpretations, he argued that Islamic law possessed the intellectual resources to respond to changing social circumstances.

His thinking was welcomed by a number of Afghan scholars and public figures. Ali Amiri, a Philosophy professor at Ibn Sina Private University in Kabul, lamented the fact that Fayyaz’s scholarship had not been more widely available to Afghans in the early years of Afghanistan’s Islamic Republic, saying: “If we had had access to his opinion at the time of tensions regarding the Shia family law, the law would look different today” (Afghan Bios).[13] Former Vice-President Sarwar Danish described the book as a significant contribution to contemporary Islamic thought, noting that it challenged long-held assumptions about women’s participation in public life while remaining firmly rooted in Shia jurisprudence:

The book addresses an important subject – the status of women in the Islamic political system, which is a current and important issue from a jurisprudential, legal and political perspective. … It views women’s rights from an inside-the-religion perspective by relying on ijtihad sources, and [by] grounding [his argument] in Islamic law and its theological, historical and political contexts.

Although the book was written primarily for an audience of Islamic scholars, its implications reach well beyond the seminaries. At a time when debates over women’s education, employment and political participation were increasingly contested in Afghanistan and elsewhere, his arguments offered an alternative reading of Islamic law from one of the world’s most senior Shia jurists. Rather than framing the discussion as a conflict between religion and modernity, Fayyaz sought to show that well-considered reasoning could itself be a vehicle for reform. Perhaps it was this approach that led the Financial Times Magazine, in 2004, to describe him as the “reformer’s reformer.”

An Afghan marja, recognised at last

Despite becoming one of the world’s leading Shia jurists, Fayyaz remained, for much of his career, a relatively little-known figure in Afghanistan. While Afghan seminarians and religious scholars recognised his standing in Najaf, his scholarship reached only a limited audience in his homeland. He had spent almost his entire adult life in Iraq and, thus, he remained outside Afghanistan’s political and religious networks. Unlike other Shia leaders, such as Ayatollah Qurban Ali Muhaqiq Kabuli, whose prominence was bolstered by close ties to Abdul Ali Mazari’s mujahedin faction Hezb-e Wahdat, Fayyaz avoided party politics. As a result, while his authority was firmly established in the seminary, it was less visible among the wider Afghan public (Majid al-Khoei).

This began to change after 2001. The collapse of the first Taliban emirate created new opportunities for higher education, publishing and intellectual debate within Afghanistan’s Shia community. As Qayoom Suroush observed in his report for AAN, a new generation of Afghans were increasingly looking beyond Afghanistan’s established political and religious networks towards the seminaries of Najaf for religious scholarship. The translation of Fayyaz’s books into Dari, from 2011 onwards, together with efforts by Afghan academics and intellectuals to introduce his work to a broader audience, brought his scholarship to the attention of readers in Afghanistan, particularly the book on women discussed above. It found precisely the broader Afghan readership that his earlier, more technical writings had not.

Recognition came in August 2014, when Kabul hosted the first national congress dedicated to Fayyaz’s scholarship, entitled ‘A Tribute to Ayatollah Fayyaz’s Scholarly Achievements’, in the Loya Jirga Tent, one of Afghanistan’s principal state venues for major national gatherings. Several thousand guests attended, filling the tent to its last chair, according to  Suroush. Danish, then Higher Education Minister, described Fayyaz as “the best of all the marjas currently out there.” Organised by Afghan academics, rather than by Fayyaz’s own office, it attracted a broad audience of political leaders, religious scholars, academics and civil society representatives from both the Shia and Sunni communities, including then Vice-President Karim Khalili and soon-to-be Chief Executive, Dr Abdullah. Mohammad Mohaqeq, deputy to Abdullah, also attended and used the occasion to press the case for Islam to modernise. President Hamid Karzai, along with the prominent Sunni mujahedin leaders Abdul Rabb Rassul Sayyaf and Sebghatullah Mojaddedi, did not attend, but sent messages of tribute (Bokhdi News, Ava Press). The gathering established Fayyaz not merely as a leading Shia marja but also as one of Afghanistan’s foremost contemporary scholars.

Although Fayyaz himself did not attend and sent his son instead to represent him, Suroush argued that the conference reflected growing interest in a model of religious leadership rooted in scholarship rather than political mobilisation – “a return to quietism versus political Islam” (Suroush). At the same time, Suroush cautioned against overstating Fayyaz’s influence. Within the Shia tradition, a marja’s authority depends not only on scholarly standing but also on institutional networks of representatives, seminaries, charitable foundations and religious offices.

In 2014, according to Suroush, Fayyaz’s Afghan operation remained modest by comparison: a small office in Kabul, with three further offices in Herat, Balkh and Ghazni, no madrassa-owned land and no newspaper or broadcaster of his own. His stipends to Afghan madrassa students were a fraction of those paid by followers to other marjas, such as Ayatollah Sistani or Ayatollah Muhaqiq Kabuli. “It was a modest operation,” wrote Suroush, set against a wider Afghan landscape awash in foreign aid and rent-seeking. His influence, therefore, rested primarily on intellectual prestige rather than on institutional or political power.”

By the time Fayyaz died in June 2026, he was supporting religious students, seminaries, charitable institutions and welfare projects across the Shia world, including Afghanistan. The activities were funded largely by sahm-e imam (the imam’s share, or the religious tax and payment sent to a marja by his followers), particularly khums.[14] In Afghanistan, this work was carried out chiefly through the Afghanistan Charity Foundation, which he established in 2012. In 2026, according to Dehmazang.org, the foundation delivered Eid gift packages to more than 27,000 orphans in 21 provinces, winter assistance to another more than 25,000 orphans and supported families affected by the 2022 suicide bombing at the Kaaj educational centre in Kabul.

By the time of his death, he had become one of Afghanistan’s most respected religious scholars and, for many Afghan Shia Muslims, an alternative model of religious leadership grounded in jurisprudence, learning and intellectual independence.

A hard-to-fill void

Following his death, memorial services were held in several Muslim-majority countries. In Najaf on 4 June 2026, Fayyaz’s funeral unfolded over three days in the shrine cities of Kadhimiya, Karbala and Najaf. Large crowds of mourners joined the processions as Iraq declared three days of national mourning (see photos on Reuters). The procession began in Kadhimiya, where Abbas al-Bayati, a senior figure in the Dawa Party, one of Iraq’s oldest Shia parties, paid tribute to him, saying: “We have lost one of the pillars of knowledge and wisdom. Someone who generously helped the Islamic ummah, was an agent of moderation and unity, and consistently called for coexistence and civil peace among Iraqis” (Hawzah News Agency). The final procession began from his office and residence in New Najaf and made its way to the Shrine of Imam Ali, near which he was laid to rest. For a scholar who had devoted almost eight decades to the Najaf seminary, burial beside the shrine of the First Imam represented the culmination of a lifetime spent in the service of Shia scholarship.

In Kabul, a memorial held on 8 June 2026 drew representatives from across Afghanistan’s religious and political spectrum. The Islamic Emirate sent an official delegation led by senior Ministry of Interior officials. Its spokesman, Mufti Abdul Mateen Qani, read a message from Interior Minister Sirajuddin Haqqani describing Fayyaz as “one of the great scientific and intellectual authorities in the Shia world” and praising his lifelong commitment to Islamic unity (Atlas News). In Iran, commemorations took place at the Imam Reza Shrine in Mashhad, in Isfahan and at the Shrine of Fatima Masumeh in Qom, where a major memorial organised on behalf of the Supreme Leader brought together leading clerics, representatives of the senior marjas, seminary scholars and public officials (ABNA; Ava Press). Ayatollah Sistani’s office in Qom also held a separate memorial (Shafaqna), while Afghanistan’s Shia community in Iran organised its own ceremony in recognition of one of their most distinguished religious scholars (see for example Sarie News posts on Instagram here and here).

The tributes that followed reflected the breadth of Fayyaz’s influence and the different worlds he had inhabited throughout his life. Ayatollah Bashir al-Najafi, one of Fayyaz’s fellow senior marjas in Najaf, wrote: “Today the sheikh of Najaf al-Ashraf and patron of the hawza has left us” (Shafaqna). Afghanistan’s former vice-president Sarwar Danish remembered him as “a unique and radiant jewel, the peerless pearl of Najaf,” and observed that the name Fayyaz means “a vessel filled overflowing with water,” an apt name, he said, for a scholar from whom “knowledge and wisdom flowed like a gushing spring … [benefiting] thousands, indeed millions” (Facebook). Iraq’s prime minister Ali al-Zaidi as well as Afghanistan’s former presidents Hamid Karzai and Ashraf Ghani were among senior political figures who also sent condolences, alongside religious and political leaders across Iran and Iraq.[15]

For students of Islamic jurisprudence, Fayyaz left behind a substantial body of scholarship that continues to shape contemporary Shia thought, from his ten-volume record of al-Khoei’s teaching to his own rulings on women’s place in public life. For many Afghans, he represented something equally significant: a boy from the remote highlands of Jaghori who rose, through scholarship alone, to become one of the world’s foremost marjas. His life demonstrated that Afghanistan’s contribution to Islamic learning extended far beyond its borders, and that patient scholarship could, in the end, reshape how a tradition reads its own texts.

Grand Ayatollah Mohammad Ishaq Fayyaz, modest, generous, a quiet rule-breaker who challenged longstanding assumptions, born in Afghanistan in 1930, died in Iraq on 4 June 2026, a son of Jaghori, whose legacy belongs as much to Afghanistan as it does to the wider Shia world.

Edited by Kate Clark 

References

References
↑1 Most sources report that Fayyaz died at a hospital in Baghdad (see for example ABNA), though the Iraqi News Agency reported that he died in Najaf.
↑2 Twelver Shia (Ithna Ashari) are the largest branch of Shia Islam. They recognise a line of twelve imams, beginning with Ali ibn Abi Talib, the cousin and son-in-law of the Prophet Muhammad, and ending with Muhammad al-Mahdi, the Twelfth Imam, who they believe to be in occultation and will return at the end of time.
↑3 In Twelver Shia Islam, a marja is a jurist whose legal opinions are followed by those who choose to emulate him in matters of religious practice. Unlike many religious traditions, there is no formal process of appointment or succession. Instead, authority emerges through recognised scholarship, the esteem of fellow jurists and the willingness of believers to follow a particular marja.
↑4 Much of the biographical information in this article is drawn from the authorised biography of Grand Ayatollah Mohammad Ishaq Fayyaz, written by Sayyed Abdul Majid al-Khoei, Grand Ayatollah Abu al-Qasim al-Khoei’s son, and published by the Office of Grand Ayatollah Fayyaz in Najaf. This report will refer to the biography in shorthand as Majid al-Khoei.
↑5 Encyclopaedia of Modern Middle East Wars is not available online, but a prepublication copy of the entry was posted online by View From the Occident and retrieved from the Internet Archive.
↑6 See the Persian translation here.
↑7 In al-Anmudhaj fi Manhaj al-Hukuma al-Islamiyya (The Model of Islamic Government), written in 1426 AH (2005), Fayyaz argued that neither the sayings of the Prophet nor those of the Imams provided strong evidence for welayat-e faqih – the doctrine, developed by Iran’s Ayatollah Khomeini, under which the most qualified jurist rules the state by divine right. He agreed that a state should be run by the most just, honest and educated jurist available, but held that this was because such a person was best suited to the task, not because religious leadership was itself God-given (see Qayoom Suroush, A new Afghan Shia Leader: Return to quietism versus political Islam?, Afghanistan Analysts Network, 2014 and the Financial Times Magazine).
↑8 For more detail on the mainstream view of the role of women in Sunni and Shia jurisprudence, see Explore Islam and Akif Tahiiev, Female Leadership in Shia Islam: Women on the Way from Mujtahid to Marjaʿ, Societies 14, No 1, 2024.
↑9 For example, Iran’s former ruler, Grand Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini ruled in 1978 that a woman could become a mujtahid, but could not serve as a marja (The Status and Rights of Women in the Islamic System). Akif Tahliev also discussed this in his 2024 paper, Female Leadership in Shia Islam: Women on the Way from Mujtahid to Marja’. Grand Ayatollah Ali al-Sistani stated: “A woman can also lead the prayer for other women,” although his rulings require the leader of Juma (Friday) prayer to be a man (Jurisprudence Made Easy).
↑10 The full surah reads:

Men are in charge of women by [right of] what Allah has given one over the other and what they spend [for maintenance] from their wealth. So righteous women are devoutly obedient, guarding in [the husband’s] absence what Allah would have them guard. But those [wives] from whom you fear arrogance – [first] advise them; [then if they persist], forsake them in bed; and [finally], strike them. But if they obey you [once more], seek no means against them. Indeed, Allah is ever Exalted and Grand (Sahil International translation).

↑11 See also Robert Gleave, ‘She should not raise her voice when among men’: Imami arguments against (and for) women judges, in Mirjam Künkler and  Devin J Stewart, Female Religious Authority in Shi’i Islam: Past and Present, Chapter 6, pp 121–37, Edinburgh University Press, 2021.
↑12 In Twelver Shia Islam, the Fourteen Infallibles (al-Ma’sumun) are the prophet Muhammad, his daughter Fatima Zahra, and the Twelve Imams. They are believed to possess ismah (divinely ordained freedom from sin and error).
↑13 This is in reference to the Shia Personal Status Law, adopted in 2009 under Article 131 of Afghanistan’s Constitution, which codified Jafari jurisprudence on matters such as marriage, divorce, inheritance and child custody for the country’s Shia community.
↑14 Khums (literally one-fifth) is an obligatory tax in Shia jurisprudence, levied on annual surplus wealth, spoils of war, and specific items such as minerals or treasure. It is owed by every sane adult Muslim who, after covering a year’s living expenses, has surplus income or savings.
↑15 Iraq’s prime minister, Ali al-Zaidi, who called Fayyaz’s death “a painful loss to the fields of scholarship, ijtihad and Islamic scholarship”; Afghanistan’s former president Hamid Karzai, who described him as “a dedicated son of Afghanistan” (ABNA); and former president Ashraf Ghani, who called him “one of Afghanistan’s greatest intellectual treasures” (Memar Press). Also sending condolences were Iran’s president, Masoud Pezeshkian; its foreign minister, Abbas Araghchi; parliament speaker Mohammad Baqer Qalibaf; and first vice-president Mohammad Reza Aref; former Iranian president Mohammad Khatami; senior marjas, including Ayatollahs Javadi Amoli, Jafar Sobhani and Hossein Nouri Hamedani; Iraqi political leaders Muqtada al-Sadr and Ammar al-Hakim; Iraq’s parliament speaker Mohammed al-Halbousi; former prime minister Nouri al-Maliki; the head of Iraq’s Supreme Judicial Council, Faiq Zaidan; and the president of the Kurdistan Region, Nechirvan Barzani (Shafaqna).

 

A Son of Jaghori: Remembering Grand Ayatollah Mohammad Ishaq Fayyaz, 1930-2026
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Biden’s $7 Billion Taliban Weapons Tab Is Still Coming Due

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The Afghanistan withdrawal left thousands of U.S. weapons behind. Now, they’re in the Taliban’s hands.

Nearly five years after President Biden’s disastrous withdrawal from Afghanistan, American-funded military equipment left behind is making terrorists more lethal across the border in Pakistan.

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I recently traveled to Islamabad to meet with military boss Field Marshal Asim Munir to discuss the conflicts raging across the region, including more than 1,000 terrorist attacks in Pakistan last year — it’s now more affected by terrorism than any other country in the world is. Joining me on the trip was Representative Ryan Zinke. Neither of us approached the trip with illusions about the challenges of the region. Zinke is a former Navy SEAL Commander. I previously worked as an embedded adviser on an Afghan-government counternarcotics team in Helmand Province and occasionally lectured in the Afghanistan-Pakistan program at the U.S. National Defense University.

Field Marshal Munir predicted that Pakistan’s fighting with both terrorists and the Taliban government in Kabul is likely to grow. Last February, a suicide bomber attacked a mosque in Islamabad, killing 31 and wounding more than 200. A few weeks later, Pakistan responded by bombing Kabul in an attack that killed nearly 300. The Field Marshal also made clear his frustration that Pakistani counterterrorism forces are confronting the Pakistani Taliban (TTP) — fighters equipped with American-origin night-vision devices and sophisticated sniper weapons left over from the chaotic Biden pull-out.

Congressman Zinke and I both sit on the House Foreign Affairs Committee Foreign Military Sales (FMS) Task Force. The FMS process is mired in red tape that can make partner nations wait years to acquire U.S. weapons systems they’ve already paid for. The consequences are visible in Pakistan: China provided 81 percent of Pakistan’s major arms imports between 2020 and 2024. When America cannot deliver, we drive potential partners toward Russia and China, while weakening our industrial base. During our meetings in Islamabad in July, Munir noted a bitter asymmetry — that he has been unable to purchase U.S. attack helicopters to defend against terrorist forces using U.S. weapons to attack his troops and police.

This is not simply an allegation from Islamabad. United Nations monitors have reported that the TTP possesses NATO-caliber weapons obtained in Afghanistan and that its access to night-vision equipment has increased the lethality of attacks on Pakistani border posts.

The equipment is part of the dangerous military inheritance of the Afghan collapse. According to the Department of Defense inspector general, $7.12 billion in American-funded military equipment remained in the former Afghan government’s inventory when it fell in 2021. This was principally materiel previously transferred to Afghan security forces; departing American troops removed or destroyed nearly all the major systems they used directly.

More than 316,000 weapons, including specialized sniper rifles, remained in Afghanistan, along with approximately 42,000 pieces of specialized equipment, including night-vision, surveillance, biometric, and positioning devices.  The Afghan air force had roughly 40 American-funded UH-60 Black Hawk helicopters, and the Taliban captured and returned several to service. Those aircraft are not being used in the terrorist attacks now confronting Pakistan, but their presence illustrates the extraordinary scale of the military arsenal that the Taliban now control. The condition and precise disposition of this arsenal remain uncertain, but there is now mounting evidence that some of the equipment captured after the collapse has migrated into terrorist hands.

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During America’s war, the Afghan Taliban exploited sanctuaries in Pakistan to attack Afghanistan. Today, the conflict has partly reversed direction: The TTP operates from sanctuaries in Afghanistan and mounts increasingly lethal attacks inside Pakistan.

The TTP and Afghan Taliban are distinct but closely connected organizations. Their relationship operates through the Pashtun belt straddling a permeable border, where tribal, familial, and commercial ties long predate the modern frontier.

President Trump’s strong rapport with Munir — they met in person twice last year and speak frequently — creates an opening to broaden cooperation. The United States should negotiate a tailored counterterrorism and security-assistance framework, with Pakistan focused on mutually defined threats, particularly the TTP and ISIS-K. Washington should streamline access to carefully selected night-fighting equipment, intelligence and surveillance support, counter-drone systems, and border-monitoring capabilities. Such cooperation must be mission-specific, rigorously vetted, and subject to strong end-use monitoring. It should be conditioned on measurable Pakistani counterterrorism cooperation and structured to prevent diversion or misuse. It should also be limited to capabilities that do not materially alter the conventional military balance with India.

Congress must also confront the underlying equipment problem. The No Equipment Left Behind Act of 2026, for example, would require the Pentagon to prepare for the possibility that a partner government receiving American equipment could collapse, so a debacle like Biden’s Taliban weapons bonanza doesn’t happen again.

A more capable TTP threatens more than Pakistan. It strengthens a regional terrorist network in which the TTP, al-Qaeda, ISIS-K, and other groups maintain overlapping networks, compete for recruits, and exploit many of the same ungoverned spaces. Instability along the Afghan-Pakistani border also carries obvious dangers in a nuclear-armed country. Counterterrorism should be the beginning of renewed engagement with Pakistan, not its outer limit.

Pakistan’s 250 million people make it the fifth-most populous country in the world. Its relatively young population — about 60 percent of Pakistanis are younger than 30 — means that it will probably grow in economic importance. It’s also home to immense mineral wealth; a high-end estimate of $8 trillion of copper, gold, and critical technology minerals lie in Pakistan’s mountains. In September of last year, the U.S. and Pakistan announced a $500 million mining agreement, the first of its kind between the two nations, although actual production is still likely years away. By comparison, China is already actively mining in Pakistan but doing little value-add processing in the country as it prefers to ship bulk material straight back home. The challenge is that much of the mineral wealth downstream is located in the same border regions undergoing regular terrorist attacks by Baloch militants. So far, there is no evidence that left-behind American-origin weapons have been used in attacks on mineral projects, but this region borders Afghanistan, and if those weapons spread more widely, they could make an already dangerous operating environment even harder to secure.

The question is whether Pakistan can establish enough security and stability for American companies to invest, mine, and process minerals there. Surging demand for copper in an increasingly electrified world and critical minerals needed for the AI supercomputing race make Pakistan enticing. Biden’s $7 billion blunder leaving weapons to the Taliban certainly complicates any decision to invest in the region.

The central lesson is not just about cleaning up the past administration’s mess. It is that security is a necessary prerequisite of economic engagement. Terrorists may kill people and damage buildings, but their real target is the stability of society and government. America’s Pakistan policy should therefore begin with counterterrorism, but extend to the investments, trade, technology, and mineral partnerships that give both countries a stake in a growing, safe, and prosperous Pakistan.

Biden’s $7 Billion Taliban Weapons Tab Is Still Coming Due
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After five brutal years of Taliban rule, Afghan women and girls need our help – and I have a plan

The Guardian

Tue 4 Aug 2026

Even in the face of appalling repression, girls yearn to fulfil their educational potential. We must set up a global fund to help them

Next week marks the fifth anniversary of the takeover of Afghanistan by the Taliban as US coalition troops were evacuated from the country. That’s five years for the terrorists to have consolidated their grip, so now is a good time to reflect on what the “coalition of the willing” left behind.

Through vindictive edict after edict, these five years have brought an ever-escalating repression of Afghan girls and women – with far too little done by any outside authority to speak up or stand up against the most egregious denial of girls’ rights in the world today.

Barely reported was the shocking massacre in June by troops who fired on a group of women’s rights protesters as they demonstrated against girls’ exclusion from education and the enforcement of strict dress codes. They were marching under the banner “Azadi”, meaning “freedom”. Two people, including a young boy, were shot dead and several were injured.

In the most medieval of ways, the Taliban are also imposing even harsher laws to legitimise child marriage and provide legal exemption for domestic violence perpetrated by husbands, including against school-age girls.

According to UN observers, these girls, often sold into marriage or forced to become child brides, are victims of a new form of crime: gender apartheid. Historians will look back and ask why it is that, after landing more than 1 million coalition troops, suffering more than 3,500 deaths and 23,000 injuries and spending in excess of $1tn, we have been unable to prevent the Taliban destroying the most basic of rights. But perhaps more important, and with the Taliban entrenched in Kabul and religious leaders regularly sending out instructions from Kandahar, the question for now is: what can we do immediately to improve the lives of girls and women?

Can we help them fulfil their potential? Globally, the proportion of women aged 20-24 who were married before 18 has declined over the past decade, and Unicef suggests at least 25m child marriages that could have involved school-age brides have been prevented. Yet an estimated 12 million girls under 18 are still married off each year when they could be at school.

The issue is acute in the Afghanistan the coalition left behind, where girls are banned from secondary schooling and Afghan women are banned from university, public sector employment and even work with NGOs and charities. They are forbidden to travel or to enter many public places, from parks to restaurants, unless accompanied. And with the Taliban confident that they can act with impunity, a dozen recent anti-girl, anti-women injunctions are tightening their grip. In one recent case, a 15-year-old Afghan girl is reported to have been killed, along with her mother, by a Taliban official after he tried to abduct her for a forced marriage.

It is appalling, and it does speak to the particular brutality of the Taliban. Pakistan’s Sindh province, by contrast, has enacted one of the strongest legal frameworks in the developing world against child marriage, criminalising marriage under 18 and introducing penalties for those who facilitate it.

Bangladesh, too, has enacted new laws. A stronger birth registration system has made it harder to conceal a girl’s age, closing off a common pathway into early marriage. At the same time, programmes providing small-scale financial support to poor families have enabled girls to remain in education. Save the Children reports that in one programme in Bangladesh, the offer of financial support helped more than 1,000 girls stay in school and avoid early marriage. Child marriage is not simply a cultural practice, as often portrayed. It is also driven by poverty, as much as weak enforcement of the law.

There are “child marriage-free zones” in parts of Pakistan and Bangladesh, where young people come together to support any school friend who is being married off against her will. Young people become known as “wedding busters” because of their willingness to intervene. With assistance and will, so much is possible.

It is no accident that the Taliban have focused so much attention not just on denying women rights but specifically on denying them an education, because they know, as we do, that schooling is the most potent enabler. Across the world, it is the single most powerful protection against early marriage. Organisations such as Girls Not Brides have established that every additional year a girl spends in secondary education significantly reduces the likelihood that she will be married as a child.

If we could open the doors to quality schooling, ensure girls had access to safe spaces and provide financial support for their families, tens of thousands more could get that education. Even in Afghanistan, that is no pipe dream. Through Unicef and Education Cannot Wait, and with secret, on-the-ground support, girls are learning in unconventional ways: often online, sometimes in underground schools or in family homes, unseen by the authorities.

But there is so much more to be done, not least because thousands of girls have had to leave the country to obtain schooling, and with tension rising between Afghanistan and Pakistan, one favoured route out of the country is fast closing.

Britain’s home secretary, Shabana Mahmood, has announced that under the new immigration and asylum bill, there will be two routes under a refugee resettlement scheme for students that could help girls get the education they have been denied. The first is through recognised charities sponsoring girls coming to the UK. The second is through colleges and universities offering scholarships.

That’s good, but we must go further. I believe a fund must now be set up in support of Afghan girls who are threatened with being married off against their will. It should offer them bursaries to continue their education, if necessary outside their home country. And as UN special envoy for education, I am happy to work with any charity or educational institution that wants to assist girls in defence of their human rights.

It may be a small gesture, but five years after they were condemned to Taliban rule, isn’t it time to truly support all the girls who risk their freedom and their lives for an education, and the hope of a meaningful existence? They yearn for things we take for granted. It is our moral duty to help them.

  • Gordon Brown is the UN’s special envoy for global education and was UK prime minister from 2007 to 2010
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After five brutal years of Taliban rule, Afghan women and girls need our help – and I have a plan
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Decades on from the US’s disastrous campaign in Afghanistan, Trump is making all the same mistakes

The Guardian

It’s five years this month since the chaotic retreat of US forces from Kabul. The Nato-backed invasion and occupation of Afghanistan, launched after the 11 September 2001 terrorist attacks on New York City and Washington DC, is now widely regarded as a failure. It cost the lives of more than 2,400 US and 450 British troops, and tens of thousands of civilians (the exact number is unknown). Although al-Qaida terrorists were routed, their Taliban hosts reimposed repressive, misogynistic Islamist rule after regaining power in 2021. Afghanistan became a byword for ill-considered western interventionism and nation-building. It was the archetypal “forever war”, a phrase first coined during Vietnam.

If this cautionary tale had any lasting value, it was as a deterrent to politicians and generals tempted to rashly embark on open-ended conflicts without just cause, defined, achievable aims, and an exit strategy. Dismayingly, the forever war lesson had to be learned all over again in Iraq, which the US and UK invaded in 2003 and departed, having caused huge harm for scant benefit, in 2011. “Never again!” was the passionate cry at the time and since. And yet, it seems, the same disastrous pattern is now repeating after Donald Trump’s incomprehensibly foolish decision to attack Iran. A war he termed a “little excursion” is entering its sixth month and has been escalating rapidly. It, too, has a forever feel.

That this nightmare is happening again defies all reason. How can it be? Immediate causes of the war aside, answers may be found in persistent US exaggerations and misconceptions about the level and extent of external threats, mixed up with political dishonesty, national hubris, naivety and misplaced idealism. Recalling the harrowing US experience in Afghanistan, Carter Malkasian, a National War College professor who served as a civilian adviser to US forces in Helmand and Kabul, suggests the basic premise for keeping troops in Afghanistan for 20 years – a belief the country would otherwise revert to being a safe haven for international terrorism – was fatally flawed.

“Nothing of the sort occurred. Over the past five years, not a single act of terrorism against the US was carried out by a group based in Afghanistan,” Malkasian wrote. “Washington spent roughly $1tn on the war. More than 775,000 American service members were deployed … all to defend against a threat that turned out to have been exaggerated.

“Five years on, the greatest danger is not that a terrorist safe haven might once again emerge in Afghanistan. A graver threat comes from the risk of collective forgetting.” In short, “fears of the moment” should not cloud memories of the dreadful long-term costs – human, financial, geopolitical – of endless forever war.

If the Afghan war was prosecuted on the basis of a false assumption, so much more so was the invasion of oil-rich Iraq. George W Bush’s claim in 2002 that Saddam Hussein’s regime possessed stockpiles of readily usable chemical and biological weapons and was seeking a nuclear bomb proved untrue. Untrue, too, was the claim from the then vice-president, Dick Cheney, that Iraq “aids and protects” al-Qaida. The subsequent occupation and insurgency became part of an even larger forever war – Bush’s “global war on terror”. According to Brown University’s Costs of War project, an estimated 940,000 people were killed in direct post-9/11 violence in Iraq, Afghanistan, Syria, Yemen and Pakistan between 2001 and 2023. Up to 3.8 million died indirectly in post-9/11 war zones.

It’s easy to second-guess decisions about war and peace taken under the pressure of horrific events. The disingenuous pursuit of political, military and commercial agendas, and the manipulation of intelligence and public opinion, is harder to excuse. Yet was any war ever launched without ulterior motives? The much-discussed new film of Homer’s epic poem, the Odyssey, concerns the aftermath of the 10-year-long Trojan war, which was ostensibly triggered by the abduction of the beautiful Helen of Sparta. Yet, prosaically, the war may have been more about fair trade than a fair maiden. The US maintained it fought the Vietnam war to support democracy and halt the spread of communism – the discredited “domino theory”. But it was also very much about US exceptionalism and global hegemony. In that sense, little has changed.

What else makes American politicians risk costly entanglements in foreign wars they can’t control and usually lose? Insecurity – meaning fear – is a common denominator. Like Bush before him, Trump and Israel’s leader, Benjamin Netanyahu, have greatly and knowingly exaggerated the immediacy and existential nature of the Iranian threat. Like Iraq in 2003, Iran possesses no nuclear weapons and there is zero firm evidence it is trying, or has recently tried, to acquire them. There is a recurring paradox here: it’s the spectacle of the world’s most powerful country once again fearfully tilting at shadows.

Trump’s overbearing hostility to weaker neighbours such as Venezuela, Cuba, Colombia, Panama and Greenland has a forever aspect, too. It is rooted in the foundational myth that the US has a unique mission – and right – to oversee the western hemisphere, a view it later extended to the rest of the world. Likewise, greed is forever. Abandoning altruistic ideas of democracy promotion, Trump seeks to exercise economic as well as geopolitical dominance. He has tried to monetise the wars in Ukraine and Gaza. His focus on the strait of Hormuz shows how security policy and financial and commercial interests invariably intersect.

Lack of effective UN mediation and peacekeeping, the hollowing out of US diplomacy, which has accelerated under Trump’s lickspittle secretary of state, Marco Rubio, and a stubborn refusal to accept the militarily inevitable all play a role in turning US-led conflicts into intractable quagmires. In Trump’s case, ego is also a factor. It seems he would rather kill thousands more civilians, risk committing war crimes, set the Middle East ablaze and destroy Republicans’ electoral chances than admit he was wrong over Iran. Such extreme behaviour illuminates another pernicious aspect of the forever war phenomenon. Its utter pointlessness is fundamentally immoral. In its sheer un-reason, it offends against the laws of God and man. War without end is the death of hope.

As he frantically twists and turns over Iran, it’s plain that Trump perceives the bottomless pit on the edge of which, thanks to him, the US totters – and has no idea how to avoid it. One day, he talks about talks. The next, he hits out with massive, murderous violence. Careless of their people’s suffering, implacable Iranian hardliners relish his dilemma and turn the screw, mounting widening regional militia attacks and global economy-spooking drone and missile strikes. Lost in a maze of denial, Trump tries in vain to bomb his way out of trouble while desperate for a deal that can somehow be sold as a victory.

Neither option is going to work. This abysmal Iranian catastrophe is already defining Trump’s presidency. The bloody stain, the blame and the shame, if not the war, will last forever.

  • Simon Tisdall is a Guardian foreign affairs commentator

Decades on from the US’s disastrous campaign in Afghanistan, Trump is making all the same mistakes
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Pakistan’s attacks on Afghanistan are about more than the TTP

By Zardasht Shams

Since October 2025, Pakistan has carried out multiple air strikes in Afghanistan, causing large-scale civilian casualties and destruction. The deadliest came on March 16, 2026, when a drug rehabilitation centre in Kabul was hit, killing 269 civilians and injuring 122, according to United Nations figures.

In a report released on July 21, Amnesty International called on Pakistani authorities to explain the strike and urged that it be investigated as a possible war crime.

Pakistan says its operations target the Tehreek-e-Taliban Pakistan (the Pakistan Taliban or TTP), which it accuses the Afghan Taliban of supporting. The Taliban authorities deny supporting the group and insist the insurgency is Pakistan’s internal problem. Yet the strikes have failed to eliminate any prominent TTP leader or commander. Is the TTP the true source of contention, or are there other dimensions to the conflict?

A crisis rooted in Pakistan

The roots of the TTP lie inside Pakistan. In November 1994, Sufi Mohammad led an armed uprising in Swat and Malakand to impose Sharia law, the first such campaign led by a cleric in the country. Thirteen years later, Baitullah Mehsud, from South Waziristan, united several militant factions under the TTP banner. Sufi Mohammad’s son-in-law, Mullah Fazlullah, led the group from 2013 until his death in a US drone strike in 2018. The movement from which the TTP emerged therefore predates the Afghan Taliban itself.

Over the past two decades, the Pakistani military has launched nearly a dozen major operations against the group. Yet the TTP survived not only because of its resilience or ideological appeal, but because of Pakistan’s distinction between “good” and “bad” militants. Islamabad’s covert support for the insurgency in Afghanistan, intended to weaken and ultimately bring down the former Afghan republic, sustained militant networks and infrastructure from which the TTP also benefitted.

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Pakistan has long been accused of using militant groups to pursue geostrategic objectives in Afghanistan and against India. Following Afghanistan’s 1978 communist coup and the Soviet invasion the next year, it became a key Western ally, particularly for the United States, in containing Soviet influence. Pakistan was already hosting Afghan opposition figures, including Gulbuddin Hekmatyar and Ahmad Shah Massoud, who had fled during President Mohammad Daoud Khan’s rule.

With US backing, Pakistan became the main base for supporting the mujahideen. The indigenous Afghan resistance was increasingly dominated by Pakistan and Western-backed factions. The Pakistani military established training centres along the Durand Line, where local communities were exposed to systematic radicalisation. Thousands of madrassas were established, literature glorifying jihad distributed and local fighters encouraged to join the Afghan mujahideen. Many were later mobilised alongside the Afghan Taliban against the United States and the former Afghan government.

After the September 11 attacks, the Pakistani military under General Pervez Musharraf publicly yielded to US pressure and joined the “war on terror”, while continuing to support selected militant groups it considered useful. The discovery of Osama bin Laden near Islamabad, where US Navy SEALs killed him in 2011, remains a damning symbol of this double game.

Many analysts therefore question whether Pakistan genuinely intends to eliminate the TTP and other militant networks. They argue that Islamabad still regards some groups as strategic assets and seeks not to eradicate militancy, but to keep it below a manageable threshold as a controlled insurgency.

If the TTP alone does not explain Pakistan’s attacks on Afghanistan, what broader objective is Islamabad pursuing?

From strategic depth to strategic dominance

Pakistan has not abandoned its longstanding pursuit of “strategic depth” in Afghanistan. Traditionally, this meant cultivating a friendly government in Kabul that could provide political and military space in a conflict with India. Today, however, that policy appears to have evolved into strategic dominance: treating Afghanistan not as a fully sovereign neighbour, but as an extension of Pakistan’s security perimeter.

This attitude was reflected in a recent social media post by Pakistan’s former special representative for Afghanistan, Asif Durrani, who said the Taliban’s growing ties with India “at the expense of Pakistan’s interests”, while Afghan territory remained available to armed groups, would cross a Pakistani “red line”. He offered no evidence that India was using Afghan territory against Pakistan. His comments reflected Islamabad’s assumption that even normal diplomatic relations between Afghanistan and India constitute a threat.

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Afghanistan has historically remained neutral in India-Pakistan disputes, including over Kashmir, and did not take sides in the wars of 1965 and 1971. Yet Pakistan expects Afghanistan to view India through its security lens and limit its foreign relations accordingly.

The Central Asian dimension

Former Pakistani senator and political analyst Afrasiab Khattak argues that Pakistan is pursuing a Western agenda to contain Russian and Chinese influence. In his view, Islamabad supported the Taliban not only to seize power in Afghanistan, but in the expectation that militancy would spread into Central Asia. He attributes recent tensions partly to the Taliban authorities’ unwillingness to facilitate such destabilisation.

Khattak also argues that Pakistan is using the TTP as a pretext for attacks while seeking a renewed US military presence in Afghanistan. In September 2025, US President Donald Trump said Washington wanted to regain Bagram airbase, citing its strategic location near China. Days later, he warned that “bad things” would happen unless Afghanistan returned the base to the US.

The following month, Pakistani strikes in Kabul and Paktika sharply escalated the fighting. Khattak argues that Islamabad ultimately seeks a counterterrorism monitoring mechanism that would give it greater scope to intervene in Afghanistan and pursue its objectives in Central Asia and beyond.

Suppressing Pashtun and Baloch nationalism

According to Khattak and other regional analysts, Pakistan regards Pashtun and Baloch nationalism, rather than the Afghan Taliban or even the TTP, as the more fundamental threat. Khattak argues that the TTP weakens Pashtun nationalist movements in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa and that Pakistan has therefore left the province’s southern districts at the group’s mercy.

Pakistani intelligence agencies have also been accused of using militants to assassinate tribal elders, Pashtun nationalists and political activists who criticised state policies and demanded greater rights. According to the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan, nearly 1,200 tribal elders were killed in North and South Waziristan between 2004 and 2014. Rather than address legitimate Pashtun and Baloch grievances, the authorities have often portrayed those raising them as foreign proxies.

The same coercive logic shapes Pakistan’s approach to Afghanistan. Islamabad has used political, economic and military pressure to compel the Taliban authorities to act according to its wishes. The mass deportation and mistreatment of Afghan refugees, trade and transit closures, and air strikes that have killed civilians have all failed and proved counterproductive.

The roughly 2,600km Durand Line has been fenced, severing longstanding tribal and social ties. Entry point closures have disrupted trade and livelihoods, affecting millions in both countries. Yet militancy has intensified, with the TTP and Baloch armed groups continuing their deadly campaigns in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa and Balochistan.

Pakistan must put its own house in order

The tribal areas along the Durand Line once served as a buffer between Afghanistan and British India, and later Pakistan. They remained semiautonomous until their merger with Khyber Pakhtunkhwa in 2018. Decades of military operations have cost local communities lives, homes and livelihoods, deepening their alienation from a state many now regard as an occupying force. The TTP maintains a significant presence inside Pakistan from which it can organise and launch attacks.

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Conditions in the tribal areas and Balochistan increasingly resemble the final years of the former Afghan republic, when the Taliban controlled large parts of southern and western Afghanistan while government authority was confined largely to provincial and district centres.

Rather than blame external actors, Pakistan must abandon its failed military strategy and address its domestic crises through political engagement and dialogue. Armed groups retain territory, manpower and some local support, while the suffering inflicted on tribal communities continues to fuel resentment and TTP recruitment.

Further military adventurism against Afghanistan will deepen regional instability, strengthen non-state armed groups and carry grave long-term consequences for Pakistan itself.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial stance.


Pakistan’s attacks on Afghanistan are about more than the TTP
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