After 4 years in Afghanistan: Taliban’s politics of the impossible

It’s been four years since the U.S. and all its NATO partners packed up and left Afghanistan, pulling themselves out of the quagmire. If we’re counting from August 15, we could shave nine days off that.

Of course, if we’re calling it a “quagmire,” that was for the occupiers. For those who enter Afghanistan through the front door, respecting the country’s ways, it’s closer to a paradise—its people, its climate, its natural beauty, the blessings God has given it. During the final exit talks, when the suggestion came up to at least keep some troops to guard the embassy, a Taliban representative replied: “We won’t even allow you to keep a single pistol. If it’s protection you want, we are in a position to protect anyone who steps foot in this country. We’ll protect you too and treat you with the utmost hospitality—as long as you come not as invaders, not as usurpers. But every time you come by force, the only treatment you’ll get is to be fought to the last man.”

These days, Afghanistan is releasing cheerful, witty tourism promos inviting anyone to come—whether to invest, to visit, or to explore. And now, as the country marks the fourth anniversary of its liberation from foreign occupation (the Afghans call it “Fetih,” or Victory), we find ourselves here again—our first visit in a year and a half. Beyond what has changed in the four years since the withdrawal, we’re curious to see what’s shifted since we were last here, and how the directions we observed then have unfolded.

One of the most striking developments: Turkish Airlines has started regular flights to Kabul. Every day a large plane departs Istanbul for Kabul, fully booked. On our previous trip, flying with Kam Air was the only option, and the planes were barely one-third full. Now, not only have flight options expanded, but demand is outpacing supply.

Yes, there are Turks traveling for business or tourism, but the majority of passengers are Afghans, along with some from Europe and elsewhere. For most European countries, the only way into Afghanistan is via Istanbul, so Turkish Airlines has become the hub that funnels passengers from all over the world into Kabul.

On board are people who have been away for 20, 30, even 40 years, some returning for the very first time since leaving. They don’t comment much on Taliban rule itself, but emphasize that there’s now stability and security, and for the first time, leaders are calling on all Afghans to return and help rebuild the country.

As we’ve written before, in the past 50 years every change of regime in Afghanistan has been bloody—marked by vengeance, purges, cycles of reprisals. Each new order triggered huge waves of migration. This time, for the first time, it’s different. The Taliban’s second emirate has actually upheld its declared amnesty, leaving aside revenge and retribution.

In a society where blood feuds are deeply rooted in culture and tradition, simply declaring an amnesty is hard enough; actually enforcing it borders on impossible. Yet somehow, the Taliban have managed to do it. For those who want to understand the extent of their authority and social dominance, there’s no clearer example.

Whatever negative associations may cling to the Taliban, the fact that they declared and upheld this amnesty, achieving a social peace once thought impossible, deserves serious attention. It’s a case study in crisis management and reconciliation that scholars and policymakers should be examining closely.

Four years in, there hasn’t been a single breach. Every day, Taliban leaders and fighters cross paths in the streets with people who once jailed them, tortured them, even killed their comrades. During the debate over the amnesty, some Taliban leaders had pushed for exceptions, for certain individuals to be punished. But the supreme leader, Hibatullah Akhundzada, shut it down with a single decision: no exceptions. And that ruling stood.

While the world keeps dismissing Taliban outreach as propaganda, inside Afghanistan the news spread fast, and hundreds of thousands of Afghans abroad have, for the first time, started making their way home.

And it’s not just in reconciliation. Consider their war on drugs. Afghanistan could have leaned on opium production as a lifeline, especially given the economic wreckage after decades of war. When we mentioned this in articles and conferences after our last visit, most people didn’t believe it. They were sure the Taliban couldn’t possibly give up that revenue stream. Either they were secretly continuing it, people said, or no one in the world could resist the temptation.

But again, the Taliban did the unthinkable. Akhundzada issued a two-line decree: “Cultivation, trade, and use of opium is forbidden.” Forbidden because it’s haram. And for them, that was reason enough. Economic benefits didn’t even enter the discussion. For four years now, all poppy cultivation has been banned.

Former poppy fields are now planted with saffron—less lucrative, but still valuable. On top of that, Afghanistan identified nearly three million drug addicts, registered them all, and began treatment programs. Most have already been rehabilitated. Beyond medical care, vocational training is offered so they can work and support themselves. The scale of this achievement puts most anti-narcotics programs around the world to shame. It’s another case of the “impossible” being pulled off.

And daily life in Afghanistan is not as rigidly harsh as many outsiders imagine. In fact, in some ways it feels surprisingly relaxed. We’ll continue sharing our impressions.