Seen From Within: A Journey Into The Taliban’s New Order For Afghanistan

A boy flies a kite on the street in Taliban-ruled Afghanistan, where girls and women are not supposed to walk unaccompanied by a male relative. Photo by Charles Ramsey.

(ANALYSIS) Nine months after the Taliban took control of Afghanistan — when the world watched in shock as thousands pressed through the Kabul airport gates and onto the tarmac, stuck for days without food, water or sanitation, trying desperately to flee — I arrived to the same airport, rolling my suitcase along the same uneven path and through same gate that so many had given everything to enter.  

I exited the terminal past the large “I heart Afghanistan” sign and set out onto the dusty streets of Taliban-occupied Kabul. I had come to understand and document the impact of Taliban rule on the Afghan people and the implications of their leadership for the country’s future.

Aug. 15 marked one year since the Taliban rolled into Kabul and brought America’s “forever war” to a close. Analysts predicted that it would be months before the fight came to Kabul, but once Zarang fell, it was only 10 days before Taliban forces entered the capital unopposed.

I kept my head down as I approached the first checkpoint, still unsure of how I would be treated by Taliban soldiers. These were hardened fighters, dressed like they had just come down from the mountains: shoulder-length hair, long beards, faces chapped from the sun. Perched atop a Humvee, machine gun in hand, a Talib waved me through without expressing any sense of surprise or concern about my presence. My host rushed to meet me with arms wide in embrace, saying, “Welcome back to Afghanistan.” In a land where everything moves at the speed of trust, and where relationships are the most valuable currency, I had taken the assurance seriously that this was a window of hospitality. “It is not clear how long this will remain open,” I was told, “but if you come now, you will be received.”  

A year after the takeover, Afghanistan remains in the headlines. Reports of famine, extrajudicial killings and the resurgence of ISIS seem to perpetuate the stereotype of a land beyond hope. There is no shortage of unfortunate headlines, but there is still little sense of what life is like on the ground. There are accounts of the clamping down on women’s rights, of sweeping house-to-house searches and the imposition of Pashtun tribal mores couched as Shariah, Islamic law. I was here to experience this new and unfolding reality, to listen and see and to tell the stories of those living day-to-day in a country now ruled by Afghan Supreme Commander Hibatullah Akhundzada, a septuagenarian dictator ensconced in a compound deep in Kandahar province some 300 miles away as the crow flies, but centuries away in other regards.  

My Taliban host in Kabul told me, “We want the world to recognize the emirate, and to engage with us, the rightful leaders of Afghanistan. … The supreme commander has made the decision, and he has full power in this land.”  

Not all Taliban members hold to the same vision for Afghanistan. In fact, many question the utility of referring to the present government as “the Taliban.” This is not to dispute the fact that there has been a central command and coordinating structure at work over the past two decades, but rather to underscore the tenuous nature of this confederation. This is a highly diffuse configuration with bonds that continue to loosen. There is division in the ranks.

There is a difference between the 40-year-olds trained in Pakistan's universities and madrassas — Muslim schools, often part of a mosque — who form the rising leadership and the older generation who fought the Soviets and took control in the mid-1990s. There is also intra-Taliban rivalry based on family, training and experience. These are compounded in competing visions of what an “emirate” actually looks like. I had come to probe these differences and, where possible, to see the human dimension of those who make up these groups within the array of camps active in the present regime, a government composed of factions formerly known as the Taliban.

“I am so happy you are here and sorry about the mix-up,” my host confided. “There was some confusion today at the airport. Hanafi had to fly to Kandahar, so everyone was out of sorts.”  

Shaykh Khalid Hanafi’s newly reinstituted ministry has dominated the airways. The Ministry of Women’s Affairs, in the heart of the upscale Shahr-e Naw district, had been repurposed as Hanafi’s headquarters for the Ministry of Virtue and Vice. His office is tasked with enforcing the social mores of an imagined Shariah — imagined because there simply is no record in the history of Islam for such a draconian policy. 

In recent weeks, Hanafi has called for strict gender segregation in schools, parks and public places and decreed that women must be covered in full hijab, head to toe, and be accompanied by a male chaperone. Even women on television, whether in news or advertisements, must not show their faces. “What about the internet,” I want to ask. Are they unaware of the proliferation of mobile devices and the unabated access to everything from Pulitzer-prize journalism to prom pictures and pornography? The senseless nature of these decrees was expressed to me over and over, and not by dissidents per se, but rather by my Taliban hosts.

My guide in the journey is a prominent official in the Interior Ministry, which is overseen by Sirajuddin Khalifa, the scion of the Haqqani clan. There is currently a $10 million dollar reward for his capture from the FBI; and yes, he goes to his office most days of the week.

My guide is a bright and ambitious political analyst. He was scheduled to speak on a broadcast that afternoon and invited me to come along. Riding in his signature Taliban 4x4 Toyota Hilux, we sailed through checkpoints with ease.

“Security is good now,” he said. “Very few attacks.”

Life does seem normal. We had met the evening before at the stylish Turkish Café, an outdoor café popular with young professionals. People walk through the markets — even women, unaccompanied and without hijab.  

“Is it common to see women out like this?” I asked.

“Yes, why not?” he asked.

“What about the decrees, and the rules?”

“We have leaders who are far away,” he said. “They are old and do not understand. We don’t see them, and they don’t see us. They just decide things and make announcements. No discussion. And this is not good.”

This was not the only dissenting comment I heard that day among the ranks, but it was an indicator for me of the reluctance of many to take Kandahar’s propaganda too seriously.

We pulled into the heavily guarded Tolo News compound and walked into the studio. The producer handed me a cup of tea and sat me next to him behind the camera as they filmed the broadcast.

“What about the female reporters,” I asked. “What will you do?”

The producer shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

“We are an easy target,” he said. “What can we do?”

Unlike many other stations, Tolo News broadcasts from within Afghanistan. There are other cable and internet channels that are based abroad, far from the reach of the enforcers.

Inside the Tolo News studio. Photo by Charles Ramsey.

“They cannot control the media anymore,” he said. “Everyone has a phone, and the internet is everywhere. The world has changed, and these guys think that they can hold back time.”

Back in the truck, I asked my host what he had spoken about on the show.

“The problem with the previous regime was corruption,” he said. “They were stealing everything. The problem with this government is that they have no experience. They do not know how to do anything.”

You can have the best of intentions, but that will not run a government. Subverting and governing are two very different skill sets.

“Did you criticize the Taliban regime on the show?” I asked.

“The NDS, the security agency of the last government held me and tortured me for a week for criticizing their leadership,” he said. “I could not walk right for six months. They said I was pro-Taliban, and after that I became Taliban. Not with the rifle, but in my mind. I now work in the new government. We have to move forward.

“Yes, I criticized them,” he continued. “We must show others that it is okay to speak up and have an opinion.”

“Will they not come after you for saying things like this?” I asked.

“Maybe, but for now I work for the second most powerful man in Afghanistan,” he said. “They can pressure me, but then I may become the one to pressure them.”

It is hard to say if the new rules will be enforced. Haqqani has stated that the mandate to close schools for girls, for example, will be reversed. Statutes separating spaces for men and women have been announced, but Hanafi’s office has also commanded troops not to enter these locations or attempt to enforce the rules.

Women’s rights and duties

A poster shows only the figure of a woman, covered in cloth. Photo by Charles Ramsey.

The lovely Babur Garden where we strolled had a line of yellow police tape dividing the park in half, one side for men and the other for women. But there were no guards in sight, and people meandered across the line with little concern. My host and his retinue snickered at one another, keenly aware of the ridiculous nature of the rule.

Colleges and universities are still functioning, and women are attending and teaching classes. Sitting in one of the classrooms, a professor pointed out to me the profound ideological differences at play in these months of transition.

“My daughter is 16, and she is very unhappy to not be in school,” he said. “It is good for society, and for our government, and for our family for her to have an education. That is our right for her to be educated, and she has the duty of serving her family and contributing to society.” 

When I asked about what she does now that the school is closed, he said, “She watches programs, lectures and online classes on the internet.” Learning is at once an act of defiance to the policy and of loyalty to oneself, but there is little room for optimism.  

Students in Afghanistan, regardless of how they are dressed, are engaged with global issues. They see what is happening in neighboring countries and in the West. They read the news and watch movies and have a keen sense of the world. This does not mean, however, that they idealize the American way. 

“I don’t think Americans understand the issue of women’s rights in Afghanistan,” the professor went on to say. “The concept of rights for women in Afghanistan is held in tension with that of duty.”

The Western view, that some feel has been imposed upon Afghanistan, emphasizes the individual as opposed to the communal conception of rights and obligations prevalent in Islamic tradition.

“Honor for the Afghan is greater than life,” he explained. “I want my daughter to have education and to have a meaningful future, but I also want her to have a family and a home. Now, we have over 100,000 young men who have fought valiantly for their homeland and who need to be integrated into society. They came to Kabul believing it was like Las Vegas, rampant with casinos and prostitution.”

The soldiers on the street long to see promises fulfilled that the foreign occupation has been replaced by a righteous rule. In their eyes, Shariah in practice is seen first and foremost in the clothing of women and the appropriate public interactions between women and men.

“They need time to realize that we here are also good Muslims and that we all desire a government consistent with our beliefs and cultural values,” the professor said.

The challenge of reintegrating soldiers

Tensions are mounting between factions in the Taliban, and no one wants a civil war. If these young Talibs believe the present government is too soft, and it is not implementing the promised Shariah, then they may revolt and join forces with more radical elements such as the Islamic State group’s Afghanistan affiliate.

Employment is the biggest challenge. The government has not paid employees in over nine months. The soldiers on the streets still carry the proud demeanor of victors and liberators, but this could turn. Their exuberance will wear off, so these fighters must be reintegrated into society. They currently see themselves as part of a revolutionary regime that is standing up against the pressure of foreign imperialists and reactionaries, but the narrative can change. They could revolt or, in cynicism, turn to crime.

Security continues to be of central concern, particularly for those who are not of the majority Pashtun community. Seeking international representation, the Taliban claims to be inclusive and to advocate the participation of all Afghan citizens in the government. They have promised legal safeguards for minority communities, but the stream of attacks targeting the Shia continue unabated. The Taliban claim the attacks are perpetrated by Islamic State group extremists and foreign actors who want to destabilize the government and threaten its legitimacy.

Shia religious leaders at the massive Abul Fazl mosque explained that there is a massive trust deficit. “The Taliban say one thing, but they do another,” one person said. “They may not be the ones throwing the bombs this time, but they have before. The only way to hold them back is to keep their power in check. If they attack us, we will fight back.” The Hazara have strong ties with Iran, a neighbor that the Taliban cannot afford to displease.

Sayed Hussain Alemi Balkhai, minister of refugees in the previous Afghan government and one of the very few from the cabinet who remained in the country, is working with the Shia Ulema Council to create a united front to negotiate with the present government. The problem, again, is one of process and engagement. One of their public gatherings in April was stormed by Taliban soldiers who tore down the banners, threw chairs and dispersed the crowd, despite assurances from the conveners that they had notified authorities and secured the needed permissions. A Taliban spokesman from the Ministry of Interior issued a public apology, but that did little to assuage the grievances of this community.

Nepotism in government and financial crisis

Over and again, we see the challenges of governance. There simply are not experienced leaders and mature structures in place. In their absence, chaos rules and undermines the legitimacy of this government, as it did for the former. Religious language and ideological differences are touted, but these are a thin veil for parochial cultural values and crony business deals. Power sharing is necessary because everything runs through familial lines of patronage. You must have your man on the inside, or your interests will not be represented. It is as simple as that.

What we see in the present ministerial structure is old-school nepotism. This has not given confidence to those looking toward reconciliation or inclusion, let alone some form of democratic representation. The most senior positions were given to Taliban leaders, many who were active in the 1990s. There are a few non-Pashtuns in the cabinet, but not many. Minister of Commerce Haji Noor Uddin is Tajik, as are his deputies Haji Muhammad Bashir and Haji Azim Sultan. There is also a sprinkling of Hazaras, like Deputy Minister of Economy Abdul Latif Nazari and Deputy Minister of Public Health Muhammad Hassan Ghyasi. But for an economy that runs on social capital, these positions were granted to reward fealty rather than promote efficient governance. Still, the government must run, and this may open the door for the inclusion of skilled persons, regardless of ethnicity.

Along with the shortage of skilled technocrats, the Taliban is also faced with a debilitating financial crisis. The international banking system remains closed to Afghanistan, and the government is trimming everything possible to cover the $501 million deficit. Sanctions and other efforts to isolate the Taliban from the international financial market, however, are not necessarily succeeding. What is clear is that these punitive measures are hurting the employed, and those who were, to some degree, stakeholders in the formal economy. 

A recent World Bank report indicates a rise in inflation but not a dramatic slowdown in expenditures. This is largely due to the informal nature of the local economy. Small businesses and families rely heavily upon hawala intermediaries — a network of money brokers based on Islamic tradition — for the cash remittances that serve as a lifeline to many. But the Taliban keep close records and collect taxes with eerie efficiency. Despite the struggles common people face, the Taliban leadership is plush with cash and in no hurry to make changes. They simply do not feel the pressure the international community is exerting.

The Taliban’s struggle for acceptance

On my last evening in the country, I visited a neighborhood on the west side of Kabul. We walked up a path cut into the hillside to watch the sunset. Along the way up, I saw a young Talib soldier standing tall and enshrouded in the new white flag of the emirate while his friend took a picture. This is a social media moment I’m sure he will post on Instagram or Facebook and share with his friends and family.

The flag is everywhere now: at the airport, at checkpoints and on the tops of hills around the city. But like the present government, the international community has refused to recognize it.

The flag is a symbol steeped in historical lore from the Battle of Badr in the year 624, when Muhammad and his forces fought against his own tribe, launching a 6-year war against the Meccans, the wealthy urbanites of the time. This war inaugurated a new system of governance that would develop in Medina and continues to serve as an ideal model for Islamists the world over.

 “Will this be the new flag of Afghanistan?“ I asked.

 My hosts looked at each other, and one of them spoke candidly.

“We are Muslims, and we love the flag of Badr, but this is not the flag of Afghanistan,” he said. “We have a flag, we have a history, and this cannot simply be replaced. We do not accept this as the national flag; it is the flag of one party, the Taliban.”

“Are they trying to make this flag official?” I ask.

“We do not know,” he said. “But that is because we do not know anything. Statements are made from Kandahar, and they are received here without any recourse for clarification or disagreement. Women must wear burka, for example. But what kind, and where, and what happens if they don’t?”

He said this as women walked past us in traditional modest clothing, but without a face covering or the “shuttlecock” covering associated with the burka.

There was a cynical tone in his words that I tried to pursue a little more. “Why do you think the flag will not become the new national one?”

“We look at Taliban leadership, hidden in the remote village, and we say, ‘OK, you won, but why then are you going around pleading for international recognition?’” he said. “We don’t think you won the victory, but rather that you made a deal. We don’t know if it was a deal with the U.S., Pakistan, China or Afghan opposition leaders, but a deal is a deal, and so there is room for negotiation.”

The Taliban’s strategy, according to my hosts, is to wait and gradually become the accepted leadership. In this way, the “system becomes the system.” But even Taliban members reject this strategy to enshrine authoritarianism and dictatorship. They want representation, transparent political processes and leadership that works according to a constitution.

“We are Taliban, but we do not all think the same,” my host said. “Even the name ‘Taliban’ needs to be put on the shelf. It is no longer useful. There are four or five different factions, and we are not the same. There must be power sharing, or there will be fighting.”

How will the world know what the Taliban leadership is truly doing? In the chaos and opaqueness of this government, where much of what they say is lost in translation, how can we distinguish between concrete policy and face-saving symbolism? What is real and what is smoke and mirrors?

“Watch what is done, not what is said,” my host explained. “You cannot understand Afghanistan from the headlines, or from inside the Green Zone. Walk among the people. See what is done, not what is said. Then you will know.”

These words echoed in my mind as I read of the CIA’s surgical strike against Ayman al-Zawahiri on Aug. 2. Though less symbolic than the killing of Osama bin Laden, the elimination of al-Zawahiri was a significant blow to al-Qaida’s ability to operate. This was the cleanest and most obviously successful operation in the war on terror. This was nothing like the disastrous strike last year on Aug. 29 that killed 10 civilians, including seven children. No collateral damages, no civilian deaths. This was a textbook hit. Good, but perhaps too good.

The present government, imperfect as it, has vowed to not allow its soil to be used to plan terrorism. Did we just see the breaking of this promise, or did we see its fulfillment? Was there complicity within the Taliban to eviscerate terrorism, or duplicity that was exposed?

Afghans are famous for making deals. Perhaps existing ones are in motion. Perhaps these are being renegotiated, or new ones are being made. It is hard to say.

The emirate wants international recognition. The present government’s leadership wants formal status as rulers of the land. They want embassies and recourse to assets held abroad.

“Is this recognition good for the people?” I asked my hosts. “Does it open the way for a sustainable future?”

The response was slow but resolute. 

“If you back down now, then what is left to negotiate?” my host said. “Everything the Taliban does is to strengthen their hand to avoid power sharing with competing Afghan parties.”

Currently, senior leaders travel freely and continue to have unchecked access to the resources of the country while thousands face acute food shortages and others risk their lives to escape from the country in hopes of reaching the shores of, well, anywhere else.

What Afghans want Americans to know

“What do I say? What message should I take back with me?” I posed this question to Afghans I met in classrooms, in homes and stores, and even over cups of tea with Talibs.

“Do not forget us.

“Do not make it easy for Taliban leaders to hold all the power. Stop letting them travel everywhere to make deals.” Though no country has officially recognized the present government, there is an inertia at work that legitimizes over time.

“Do not open the financial markets, and do not give access to the money.” This is referring to the $3.5 billion in assets of the Bank of Afghanistan held back by President Biden’s executive order. Though resources are desperately needed in the country, there is a keen awareness that this amount alone is not enough to solve the nation’s economic woes. A successful deal, from an Afghan point of view, would not be merely for the release of these funds but rather for an international commitment to persist in working toward a sustainable future for the nation. It is not about the money; it is about the relationship.   

These were some of the most common responses. But I also frequently heard words of hope:  

“Afghan women are strong and intelligent.”  

“We will live.”

“Afghanistan has a future.”

It is essential that the international community not cave in to the demands of the present government. It is also essential that the international community does not dismiss Afghanistan as a lost cause. Holding both fervently might be paradoxical, but it is not contradictory.  

This generation of Afghans was born with rights enshrined in a constitution. They now live under the shadow of fear. There is utter confusion and frustration about the way forward, and the darkness may well deepen before a new day dawns.

There has been significant advancement in all areas of life in Afghanistan over the past 20 years. It would be a tragedy for these strides to be erased. It would be unforgivable for the sacrifice and service of so many to be squandered because those who have made commitments to the Afghan people did not carry them to completion. 

Though plagued by factionalism, the Taliban are united in recognizing that there will be a reckoning. They know that isolation will lead to their demise. To avoid this, they want other parties to join the present emirate, thereby crystallizing and legitimizing this system of governance before the international community. This must not be allowed to happen. There must be a power sharing deal, but one that is forged in accordance with the 2004 constitution ratified by the people of Afghanistan. In a land of deep ethnolinguistic differences, the only way forward is for the vast range of parties to collaborate according to clearly defined agreements.

This constitutionally ordered collaboration among divergent parties must occur sooner rather than later, before another long and drawn-out war begins and another generation of Afghans knows only rumors of peace.

Dr. Charles Ramsey is a Religious Freedom Institute Senior Fellow and Resident Scholar at Baylor University's Institute for Studies of Religion.