Some structures of power endure for so long that they no longer seem like structures at all; they seem natural. In Afghanistan, one such perception has been reproduced for generations: that regardless of the political system, whether monarchy, republic, emirate, or elected government, ultimate power must remain within a specific circle, while everyone else negotiates their share with that center.
By the spell of ethnic leadership, I mean the long continuity of dynasties and networks, predominantly Pashtun, at the head of the state. In many periods, this continuity has rested less on an assessment of capacity, competence, and the ability to govern and develop the country, and more on tradition, political inheritance, and the perceived historical right to lead.
This does not mean that all Pashtuns consider themselves owners of Afghanistan, or that every government led by a Pashtun has been the same. Such a claim would be neither fair nor historically accurate. In fact, many Pashtuns have themselves been harmed by these same states, suppressed, or left outside the inner circle of power.
The issue is not the “nature” of any ethnicity. It is the transformation of a historical fact into a political assumption: the idea that leadership of the country naturally belongs to one sphere, while others negotiate for their share instead of questioning the basis of that right in the first place. This assumption breeds corruption within the system itself.
Perhaps one of the deepest problems in Afghanistan’s political history began right here. The question stopped being why the state should have an ethnic owner, and became how to get a share from whoever owns power.
Afghanistan did not begin as a citizen-based state. Its structure was dynastic, with power concentrated in the king, the ruling family, tribal khans, and military networks. Even after Ahmad Shah Durrani, the apex of the state remained largely in the hands of Pashtun dynasties and political networks for a long time.
In the nineteenth century, rivalry between Britain and Russia reinforced this concentration of power. To protect India, Britain needed a buffer state with a strong center in Kabul. With British financial and military backing, Abdur Rahman Khan expanded this centralization, a process that crushed independent centers of power in Hazarajat, the north, Badakhshan, Herat, and even among rival Pashtun tribes.
Colonialism did not necessarily decide which ethnic group should rule, but it helped strengthen a centralized state that concentrated power in a single ruler.
When the center of power stays for generations in the hands of networks tied predominantly to one ethnic sphere, historical power can turn into a perceived “right to rule.”
Colonialism did not necessarily decide who would own Afghanistan, but it helped entrench an order that made the country dependent on having an “owner.” This was not only about money and weapons. The name, borders, and political definition of Afghanistan were also gradually fixed during the nineteenth century, from the 1855 treaty with Dost Mohammad Khan, through the agreements between Britain and Russia, the Treaty of Gandamak, and the Durand Line in 1893, to the official establishment of the name Afghanistan after independence in 1919.
From that point on, the owner of power was no longer just the king or the ruling family. The state itself, and the name of the country, became bound up with the idea of leadership and political ownership, as if this land must always have a defined owner and heir.
The persistence of this order is not solely the fault of colonialism or the historical holders of power. Leaders of other communities have also repeatedly faced the same choice: strike a deal with the center to survive today, or work to build a new and uncertain order. Alliances immediately raise questions about leadership, the share of different ethnic groups and regions, control of the army, the finance ministry, and the distribution of resources. And Afghanistan’s history has given Tajiks, Hazaras, and Uzbeks ample reason for mistrust.
Striking a deal with the center may look rational in the short term. But what benefits a leader can block the change a nation actually needs. One person gets a ministry, another a deputy post or a command, yet the rules of power stay the same. This cycle cannot be blamed on the historical center of power alone. A large share of Tajik, Hazara, and Uzbek elites have also, at different times, settled for a piece of the same structure instead of changing its rules.
The political outcome of these choices can be measured through the deals themselves. A leader may become vice president, another a marshal, another a minister, governor, or commander. His family and political network may gain considerable wealth and influence. But the real question is what the people, in whose name these deals were struck, actually gained: the same Pashtuns, Tajiks, Hazaras, Uzbeks, Turkmen, Pashai, Aimaq, Jamshidi, and others.
If an entire community’s share collapses the moment its leader steps aside, then nothing has really changed. One individual from an ethnic group reaching a high post is not the same as that community sharing in power. A political gain that depends on one person ends when that person leaves. But a right written into law, institutions, local government, and the system of power distribution survives a leader’s departure.
The central power has repeatedly exploited this difference. Rather than dividing power institutionally, it absorbs a handful of influential figures. The leader gets a position; the center gets votes, force, and legitimacy. But the rules of the game stay the same. The cycle is almost always identical: absorb, use, restrict, then replace with a new face.
The next leader usually assumes the problem was the previous deal, that the other side negotiated poorly, secured too little, or trusted too much. But the problem may lie in the deal itself, because the political rights of a people should never be a matter for bargaining with the holder of power.
This is also where the responsibility of the people begins. A community cannot complain about the monopolization of power while exempting its own ethnic leader from scrutiny. The question is not just what position was won, but what right was institutionalized and codified into law, and what guarantee was built to outlast that leader’s departure. Citizen-based governance means not only the end of ethnic monopoly over the state, but also the end of ethnic leaders’ ownership over their own people’s votes and future.
This points to the need for a new understanding among the political forces of Tajiks, Hazaras, and Uzbeks, communities that have, at different times, faced exclusion, marginalization, and dealings with the center of power. This time, they could agree to change the rules of power instead of competing for a share of it. But the goal of such an understanding is what matters most.
If the goal is simply to replace one Pashtun with a Tajik, Hazara, or Uzbek, the spell remains unbroken; only its owner has changed. The real goal must be to end the very principle of ethnic ownership over the state, so that no ethnic group holds a natural or hereditary right to lead Afghanistan, and every Pashtun who accepts this principle becomes an equal partner in the future order. The dividing line should run between a state that belongs to power holders and a state shared by its citizens. Such a change cannot come from simply replacing one leader. It requires a genuine distribution of power, local governance, credible elections, legal equality, and institutions that stand above any individual or ethnic group. That is what citizen-based governance means.
The same question remains: should we strike a deal with the most powerful side today, take a share, and survive, or pay the price of building a more just order so the next generation no longer has to beg the power holder for its rights?
Today’s deal can sometimes save lives. But if every generation settles with the same structure just to survive the present, who will build tomorrow?
Perhaps Afghanistan’s deepest spell is the very idea that the state must have an “owner”: one person draws close to the power holder, another takes a share from him, and a third tries to take his place. Breaking this cycle begins the moment we stop asking who should own Afghanistan, and start asking why Afghanistan should have an ethnic owner at all.
The real transition begins here too: from ethnic demands for a share to citizenship rights, from deals among leaders to the sovereignty of institutions, and from a state with an owner to a state where all citizens hold equal rights.
You can read the Persian version of this analysis article here:
