Inside the new Afghanistan

Kabul's arrivals terminal at Kabul International Airport is divided by gender, with a sea of waiting turbans to the left and veiled figures to the right. The airport, once a symbol of Western influence, now stands as a testament to the Taliban's takeover. Five years ago, on 15 August 2021, the Taliban captured the airport, marking the beginning of their dominance over the country. This led to chaos, culminating in an 18-day operation in which over 123,000 people were evacuated by air, the largest non-combatant evacuation in U.S. military history. The last U.S. military plane departed Kabul on 30 August at 11:59pm local time, just one minute before President Joe Biden’s deadline for withdrawal. The airlift signalled the end of the American-Afghan state that emerged after the 2001 invasion. The United States aimed to hunt down Osama bin Laden and dismantle the Taliban regime, leading to the establishment of a Western-style government. Over two decades, this system endured, but its collapse came swiftly. The Taliban's resurgence rendered the U.S.-backed institutions, including the national army, ineffective. Today, the Taliban commemorate 31 August as the day of liberation from foreign occupation. Annual celebrations include parades through Kabul’s central squares and celebratory gunfire echoing across the city. Kabul today presents a complex picture of urban decay and strict governance. Armed Taliban members patrol the streets, while destitute children beg for alms near traffic. In the city center, homeless girls play beneath colorful shopfronts that cater to a modest tourist presence. A local resident, who prefers anonymity, notes that life is calmer since the Taliban took control, but freedom has been significantly curtailed. He acknowledges that the current situation involves a trade-off, with security coming at the cost of personal liberties. The streets are indeed quiet, and the Taliban appear courteous, even friendly. However, the reality is more nuanced. The regime operates independently, enforcing its will through arbitrary arrests and detention without legal recourse. Understanding the Taliban requires looking beyond Kabul to Kandahar, the southern city serving as the heart of the Islamic Emirate. Here, Supreme Leader Mullah Hibatullah Akhundzada and his advisors govern from behind the scenes. The journey from Kabul to Kandahar spans 300 miles, traversing arid plateaus and dusty landscapes. Along the route, semi-nomadic Kuchi communities reside in goat-hair tents, while mud-brick villages blend seamlessly into the environment. Approaching Kandahar, the city's outskirts reveal a sense of reverence. Three young girls swing incense burners, releasing plumes of smoke believed to ward off malevolent spirits. The city center is marked by extreme heat and omnipresent Taliban banners. Men clad in black keffiyehs ride motorbikes, kicking up clouds of dust. Women, fully veiled, beg on the streets. The economic hardship and religious fervor in Kandahar contrast sharply with the relative prosperity of Kabul, making the latter seem almost cosmopolitan in comparison. Photography is reportedly prohibited in the area. At the Ministry of Information and Culture, I sought permission to report in Kandahar. The waiting room was stifling, with two men slicing a large melon. I was offered a jar of pear drops, a peculiar yet revealing detail highlighting the Taliban's fondness for 1950s British confections. A senior local official, Inamullah Samangani, unexpectedly agreed to an impromptu interview. After a brief exchange, I was called to an air-conditioned room, where the conversation would continue.