One of the key indicators of a government’s political condition is its ability to retain allies, manage disagreements, and prevent “potential critics” from becoming “active opponents.” Governments do not become vulnerable only when their enemies multiply; sometimes they become more vulnerable when they fail to hold on to the forces close to them.
Gulbuddin Hekmatyar, leader of Hezb-e-Islami Afghanistan, is a noteworthy case in this regard. He is neither a secular figure opposing the Taliban from outside the tradition of Islamism, nor a personality whose differences with the group can be explained purely based on ethnic divisions. He has a long record in Islamist politics and the Afghan jihad, and in his struggle against the twenty-year republic and foreign forces, he followed a path that in some respects overlapped with the Taliban’s own record. After the Taliban’s return to power, he also adopted, at one point, a more aligned and cautious position toward the group’s performance.
Despite this background, the relationship between the two sides has for now reached a stage in which Hekmatyar openly challenges the legitimacy and governing methods of the Taliban. From here, one can arrive at the concept of the Taliban’s “repulsive force.” If a government, through its ethnic monopoly on power, its ban on political activity, and its refusal to accept the current realities of Afghanistan’s pluralistic society, alienates even forces that share some of its ideological foundations, serious and clear questions must be raised about its method of governance and its capacity for political absorption.
Of course, this does not mean that the emergence of every new opponent necessarily leads to the immediate weakening of the Taliban regime, or that a growing number of opponents makes its collapse certain. Yes, the Taliban’s opponents are scattered, at times rivals of one another, and lacking organizational capacity, and over the past five years or more they have not accomplished anything significant. However, the distancing of figures such as Hekmatyar, who could have remained alongside the Taliban, is a sign of a further erosion in the group’s capacity to attract those outside its own ranks.
Hekmatyar’s importance lies not only in his having joined the ranks of the Taliban’s critics and opponents, but in the fact that, from a position different from many other opponents, he can challenge two major claims of the group: the claim to “religious authority” and the claim of a link between Taliban rule and the Pashtuns.
To justify their political structure, the Taliban use concepts such as the “Islamic Emirate,” “obedience to the command of the Emir,” and the “implementation of Sharia.” Within such a framework, opposition to the Taliban regime is presented as opposition to the “Islamic order.” But when a figure with an Islamist record criticizes the Taliban regime using religious arguments, this equation becomes more complicated. Hekmatyar can emphasize that Islamism does not mean accepting the Taliban’s monopoly on power, and that no particular military or political movement can be equated with religion. He can also tie the legitimacy of obedience to a leader to criteria such as justice, consultation, and respect for the rights of the people. In that case, the conflict is no longer merely between the Taliban and opponents with a different worldview; a dispute also takes shape within the Islamist camp itself, one concerning the interpretation of religion, the limits of political obedience, and the source of a government’s legitimacy.
The second aspect is Hekmatyar’s ethnic affiliation. The Taliban are known for the prominent presence of Pashtun forces in their leadership and power structure, but this reality does not give them the exclusive right to represent the Pashtuns. The Pashtuns are not a politically homogeneous bloc. There are regional (southern and eastern), intra-ethnic (Durrani and Ghilzai), social, and political differences among them, and the demands and interests of all of them cannot be equated with the positions of a single political group. On this basis, the message conveyed by the stance of figures like Hekmatyar is clear: opposition to the Taliban is not necessarily opposition to the Pashtuns, and defending the political rights of the Pashtuns does not require accepting the Taliban’s monopoly on power.
The Taliban face a deeper challenge when their opponents can question these two monopolies simultaneously: the monopoly on interpreting religion and the monopoly on ethnic representation. In that case, the Taliban will be forced to justify their legitimacy not merely by referring to a religious or ethnic identity, but through their regime’s performance on justice, security, political participation, and accountability.
The significance of Hekmatyar’s entry into the ranks of the Taliban’s critics and opponents is also notable from another angle: this development can challenge the claim that the serious opponents of the Taliban, particularly the active military fronts, are mainly non-Pashtun. In Afghanistan’s political landscape, opposition to the Taliban is sometimes portrayed as though it were a conflict between the Pashtun Taliban and their non-Pashtun opponents. Regardless of how well such a narrative fits the complex and diverse reality of Afghanistan’s society, it can allow the Taliban to present opposition to their regime not as a dispute over the monopoly on power and the method of governance, but as an “ethnic confrontation.”
Accordingly, the presence of a figure who is Pashtun and at the same time an Islamist and a jihadi among the critics and opponents of the Taliban calls this view into question. Through his stance, Hekmatyar can show that opposition to the Taliban does not necessarily arise from outside the Pashtun community or from a position of ethnic confrontation with the group; rather, it can also take shape from within the very social environment that the Taliban claim to represent.
You can read the Persian version of this analysis article here:
