Introduction
You understand the hardship of life when repeated migrations take away your ability to put down roots; you neither remain in your own soil nor find peace in another. It is this rootlessness that compels one to think.
I was a teenager in Herat, in the early years of the Taliban, around 1998. For the first time, I came face to face with a tribal mentality, a worldview that felt heavy to me. Years passed. Migrations repeated. The Republic came and went. The experiences were both bitter and sweet. Yet one question never left me: Why have we not progressed? Why are we still not a nation?
In my view, the main problem lies within. Perhaps because we lack institutional continuity, we have relied on imposed changes and suffer from extreme politicization. Whenever a new group, or a new tribe, has come to power, instead of building upon existing institutions, they have reshuffled everything according to their own preferences, placing their tribe above others. This mentality has not been limited to one ethnicity but has existed among all. For example, during the Republic, with the appointment of a new minister, not only individuals but entire structures would change. Ministers of any ethnicity would often bring their own tribe into key positions. Ministries became islands of fragmented ethnic power: Tajiks and Pashtuns at the top, Uzbeks and Hazaras toward the bottom, while the smaller ethnic groups were pushed aside.
Politics, instead of being an instrument to organize society, became a problem in itself. It overshadowed culture, education, religion, economy, and media, even social values. What remained were empty promises and deep distrust. Yet, to move through this transition, we need something beyond politics and tribe. We need roots, a trunk, branches, and fruits, elements that can transform the daily lives of ordinary people. This need is embodied in the child of Daikundi, Kunar, Kandahar, Ghor, Bamiyan, Balkh, or Badakhshan, who sees the future from afar and wishes to work for it, instead of being forced again and again into migration, disillusionment, and broken pride.
So instead of slogans, I went in search of structure. I built a model that is both indigenous and academic. I called it the Tree of Civility: a roadmap for transition, from tribe to citizenship, from unwritten custom to law, from fragmentation to order.
This model is composed of six parts: roots, trunk, branches, leaves, fruits, and the guiding light. Each of these components holds a distinct meaning in Afghanistan’s historical transition, and each will be explained separately in the following sections. The plan is to write articles for each part, aligned with Afghanistan’s realities, to serve as a guide for the country’s transition to civility.
And now, my words turn to you, my fellow Afghan. My pen seeks your hand, your critique, your knowledge, your experience. I cannot answer all these questions alone. Come, let us think together. You too must write, and I will weave your thoughts into a harmony that preserves the balance and rhythm of this tree’s growth, while carrying your name and contribution. My hope is that, in the end, this collection will become a book: a guide for the transition, a path toward liberation from the grim decades of primitivism and darkness.
Roots: The Hidden Life of the Tree
Before a tree appears green to the eye, it breathes in the darkness of the soil. So, it is with the roots of civility. The first is education and culture, for both children and adults, with a clear place for technical and vocational training. Without education, the Afghan child cannot break free from the confines of the tribe to reach the horizon of citizenship.
The second is a productive economy: agro-industry, factories, water management, added value, connection with local and external markets, and an efficient distribution system. If the land only provides today’s bread without a path to capital and markets, tomorrow will be no different from yesterday. The third is housing and urbanization, the art of planning land so that villages and cities become habitable. The fourth is health and livability: clean water and environmental hygiene. A sick society cannot run forward. The fifth is infrastructure and connectivity: roads and rural internet. These are the vital arteries that carry the lifeblood from roots to branches and leaves.
Trunk: The Pillar of Endurance
Strong roots must connect to a firm trunk; otherwise, the first adverse wind will break the tree. The trunk of civility means a unified law with local accessibility; a law written in Kabul but equally applied in valleys and plains. It means national order and security with local presence; not security on paper, but security felt in the streets. It means local budgets within a national framework, where communities can spend with discipline and coordination. It means a unified national identity, one that embraces us all while preserving local colors. It means two-level transparency, the center and locality both under the light of accountability. And it means conflict-of-interest management and anti-corruption measures, the inner guardians of the trunk so that termites do not eat it from within. Each annual ring of the trunk is a record of lawfulness and transparency; without them, the tree may grow tall, but it will be hollow.
Branches: The Expansion of Life
From the trunk emerge the branches, the outstretched arms of society toward the sky. Collective memory is one such branch, the shared story that tells us where we came from and where we are going. Without it, each ethnicity writes its own book, and tomorrow we become strangers in each other’s narratives.
Another branch is religious rationality: faith that guides without blocking the path.
A shared language, Dari and Pashto side by side, is the bridge of understanding. If language becomes a battlefield, the branches will grow thorns instead of fruit. National ceremonies are moments when we stand shoulder to shoulder and speak our common name aloud.
Urban culture organizes daily life in modern ways: queues in offices, respect in traffic, order in markets.
Cultural industries, from publishing and cinema to music and local arts, tie creativity to the economy.
Diaspora and transnational ties return knowledge, markets, and appropriate technology to the tree like fresh sap. If, instead of nostalgia, we build meaningful networks between migrants and their homeland, many branches will flourish.
Leaves: Daily Touch
Leaves are where people actually touch the tree. Equal citizenship means no one’s position in administration, courts, markets, or schools is pre-written. Public services, water, electricity, roads, civil registration, and healthcare are not favors but rights. Women’s rights mean the talents of half the population are not locked away. Human dignity means that even in disagreement, we still see each other as human. Leaves give shade, the shade of justice and respect that makes life bearable.
Fruits: The Yield of Civility
Fruits are what people rightfully expect from every tree. Sustainable employment, jobs that remain tomorrow, not seasonal chances without roots. National income, wealth that comes from work, intellect, and global connection, not from rent-seeking. Collective welfare, economic security that frees families from constant anxiety. Social services are a safety net for children, the elderly, and the vulnerable. If roots, trunk, and branches are healthy, these fruits will grow naturally. If not, they will remain empty words with no taste in people’s mouths.
The Light: Illumination of the Path
No tree bears fruit in darkness. At its summit, this tree carries a light. Its brightness has four sources:
- Intellectuals who move beyond criticism into action and planning.
- Independent local media that raise the people’s voice with integrity and skill, linking office and street.
- Practical training for local leaders, so that village and city management is not left to trial and error.
- Provincial policy laboratories that test policies at smaller scales, learn from data, and correct mistakes before national implementation.
If this light goes out, even the strongest roots and trunk will be lost in the night.
The Surrounding Layer: External Winds
A tree does not command the wind, but it can learn to withstand it. External winds and the international environment sometimes blow in favor, sometimes against. When the doors of the world are open to knowledge, capital, and markets, the global breeze breathes life into the branches. When regional rivalries, sanctions, and proxy wars blow, then the belt of law, transparency, and anti-corruption must guard the tree from being uprooted. Global engagement, if done with wisdom and dignity, is a favorable wind; if done with imitation and dependency, it becomes a destructive storm.
Looking around, we see that our neighbors have each cultivated some part of this tree: one has watered the roots through literacy and healthcare; another has spread its branches through cultural industries and urban reforms; another has strengthened the trunk with an educational system and collective memory. We, however, drowned in pure politics and left our roots half-done.
Today, Afghanistan resembles a half-dead tree: roots withered, trunk cracked, branches scattered, fruits far away. Yet there is hope, if we accept that we are in transition, if we water the roots and strengthen the trunk, if we rebuild the branches and keep the light burning, this tree will flourish.
This essay is the beginning of a series. In the coming articles, each component of the Tree of Civility, roots, trunk, branches, leaves, fruits, and light, will be explained in detail, with practical examples and strategies, so that the transition from tribe to civility may move from slogan to practice.
The Tree of Civility is not merely an image; it is an invitation to rethinking and collective cooperation. If we do not want the cycle of failure to repeat, we must all share in nurturing this tree. No society can cross the path from tribe to civility without a modern and sustainable structure.
You can read the Persian version of this article here:
بخش نخست – درخت مدنیت؛ گذار ناتمام افغانستان
You can read part two of this article here:
