When a mode of thought fails to reach its goal with the tools at hand, it does not always abandon the goal; sometimes it simply changes the tools. This is the danger facing Afghanistan today as well: if the Taliban could not do it, perhaps someone else can; if the turban could not do it, perhaps the necktie can; and if the mullah could not make the centralized structure of power sustainable and acceptable, perhaps a technocrat can once again. But the subject of this article is neither the turban nor the necktie; the subject is the logic of power in Afghanistan.
For nearly five years, the Taliban have held almost all of the country’s political power. There are no elections and no parliament; political opponents have no share in government; the economy is entirely in the hands of the Taliban; women have been pushed out of a large part of public life; and power is exercised from the top down. Yet this complete seizure of the country has failed to produce national peace, broad legitimacy, or a government acceptable to all.
This is where another danger begins: instead of the principle of the monopoly of power being questioned, only the holder of that monopoly changes. But why does the monopoly of power reproduce itself again and again with each change of rulers? The answer should not be sought only in individuals; part of it is rooted in a political mindset, what can be called tribal thinking.
What is tribal thinking?
Tribal thinking, as used in this piece, does not refer to any specific ethnic group. No ethnic group is inherently authoritarian or democratic. All of Afghanistan’s ethnic groups have both fallen victim to this mindset and, at times, produced individuals who carried it forward. Tribalism here is a political mindset, one that, before asking “by what right and how should one govern?” instead asks: “who should govern?”
In this mindset, the law is good only so long as it does not limit the power of “one’s own”; elections are respected only so long as the result is favorable; the wrongdoing of a fellow tribesman is justified, while the very same wrongdoing by someone else is called treason. This is what I have called, in my writings, “the tribal mind in modern dress.”
A foreign university degree, the English language, a necktie, and talk of democracy do not necessarily eliminate this bias. A person may speak of human rights, yet forget those very principles the moment the power of their circle, party, or fellow tribesman is at stake. This tribal thinking exists among all of Afghanistan’s ethnic groups, but among some it is used systematically by their elites.
The problem begins where values cease to be principles for us and instead become a means of attaining power.
This cycle has not been solely a product of Afghanistan’s internal dynamics. Foreign powers have also repeatedly exploited the country’s internal divisions, and domestic rulers have at times relied on outside support to defeat rivals and expand their own power. The era of Abdur Rahman Khan is a significant example of this relationship. With Britain’s financial and political support, he was able to build a stronger central government and army and impose Kabul’s authority over a greater portion of the country. In such a relationship, the foreign power wanted a predictable partner, and the domestic ruler needed outside resources to strengthen his position. What mattered less in this equation was the consent of the very people who were to be governed.
From that time to the present, governments, ideologies, and figures have changed many times over: the monarchy, the republic, the People’s Democratic Party (Khalq and Parcham factions), the mujahideen, the Taliban, and the technocrats. Yet one logic has returned again and again: power is first concentrated at the top, and only afterward is legitimacy sought for it from below.
One hundred and forty-six years have passed, yet the question remains the same: does the state own the people, or do the people own the state? Today the Taliban have built one of the most extreme forms of this same concentration of power. Power does not flow from the people to the government; it descends from the Amir downward. Citizens cannot change the ruler through a vote, and political opponents have no place in the structure of power.
But seizing a country is not the same as governing it. Silencing the opposition does not bring legitimacy, and excluding women does not strengthen society. It is at precisely this point that the old colonial mindset might conclude that the problem does not lie in the structure itself; rather, the problem is simply that the right manager has not yet been found, and the historical search for “the right man for the Arg” begins anew. And who better than “the world’s second-greatest genius”?
The name Ashraf Ghani is being heard once again in discussions of Afghanistan’s future. After nearly five years on the sidelines, in 2026 he has once more spoken of popular legitimacy, national dialogue, and consensus. And, of course, that familiar title still accompanies him: “the world’s second-greatest genius,” a label that originated from a Prospect magazine survey but was repeated so often in Afghanistan that it seemed as if some scientific body had measured the world’s brains and issued Ghani second place. Interestingly, the fate of this title was not unlike the disputed elections of 2014 and 2019: a result was announced, but debate over how that result was reached continued for a long time afterward.
The argument of his necktie-wearing, English-speaking supporters is clear enough: the Taliban struggle with governance, their opponents are scattered, and Ghani has presidential experience and familiarity with international institutions. But why must we once again search for a single person? Why should the central question be who will take Hibatullah’s place?
The more important question is this: on what principles will Afghanistan be governed after the Taliban? Will all roads once again lead back to the Arg, or will a system be built in which citizens are equal, men and women enjoy equal rights, power is distributed between the center and the regions, and no president, mullah, commander, ethnic group, or party stands above the law?
But another question is directed at the people themselves: will we once again remain silent while others decide our future for us? Will we continue waiting for a “strong leader” to come and save us, or have we reached the political maturity to understand that no single individual is going to save Afghanistan; that it is the people themselves who must limit, oversee, and hold power accountable?
The debate is not simply about “republic” versus “emirate”; it is about the rules of power and the place of the people in relation to the ruler.
Ghani and his associates must also answer for themselves. Criticizing Ashraf Ghani and the Arg’s inner circle requires no rumor; his political record alone is enough to warrant scrutiny. During his time in office, power became increasingly concentrated in the Arg and within a narrow circle, and trust between the presidency, state institutions, and political forces eroded, but the disaster became fully visible on August 15, 2021. Ghani was not the sole cause of the republic’s collapse; the Doha agreement, the American withdrawal, corruption, dependence on foreign support, weak institutions, and the Taliban’s advance all played a role. But his responsibility as president and commander-in-chief of Afghanistan’s armed forces cannot be overlooked.
I believe the priority for Ghani and the political circles around him should not be a return to power. First, they must stand before the nation and answer for their share and responsibility in what happened to the republic and its people. The nation is not obligated to erase its memory every few years so that the same hollow faces can return under new slogans.
Even so, the problem is not simply Ghani or the Taliban; it is a structure that, each time, places a new face atop the same pyramid of power. If power is once again concentrated in the hands of a single individual, ethnic group, or faction, then only the ruler has changed. So the essential question is: what comes after the Taliban? Possessing a rifle or the title of “resistance” does not confer the right to govern. Every political movement must clarify what kind of system it wants and how power will be limited and held accountable.
Nor should the future be built on forgetting the past; neither should revenge take the place of justice, nor should forgetting take the place of accountability. And perhaps the most important question is this: if tomorrow someone we love comes to power, are we prepared to limit their power as well? If not, then the problem is not the Taliban alone.
Afghanistan does not need “the right man for the Arg”; it needs new rules of power. Otherwise, the Talib may go, but the logic of the Taliban may remain.
You can read the Persian version of this analysis article here:
از عبدالرحمان تا هبتالله؛ ۱۴۶ سال کافی نبود تا این چرخه را بشکنیم؟
