After five years, the Taliban, while changing the name of the police to “Sharṭa” —in emulation of the name prevalent in Arab countries for the police—have introduced a new law for this institution. A comparison of the Taliban’s Sharṭa Law, which was published on July 20, 2026, in the extraordinary issue numbered 1496 of the Official Gazette of the group’s Ministry of Justice, with the Police Law of 2009 from the Republic era, reveals that the changes are not merely structural or functional adjustments. Rather, they signify a fundamental shift in the philosophy, approach, and even the core mission of the police. Under the previous law of the Islamic Republic of Afghanistan, the police were defined as a professional and public-service institution whose primary mission was to ensure security, maintain order, prevent crime, and protect the rights of the people. In the Taliban’s Sharṭa Law, alongside some of these functions, the police/Sharṭa have been granted significantly broader powers, and the relationship between the police/Sharṭa and citizens has shifted from one primarily centered on public service and the rule of law to one with a greater capacity for control, surveillance, and restriction of individual freedoms.
It is important to note that this analysis is primarily based on the text of the new law and its comparison with the legal framework of the 2009 Police Law. Therefore, wherever the potential consequences of the law are discussed, they refer to its legal changes, capacities, and orientations; claims regarding the actual operational conduct of the police would require examination of independent evidence and reports.
One of the most significant indicators of this change is the expansion of police powers over individuals prior to the establishment of guilt. Article 21 allows police to stop individuals for identity verification, stating that the primary purpose of stopping individuals is crime prevention. This approach is fundamentally at odds with the legal principle of presumption of innocence. In the context and overall thrust of this article, the sole justification for stopping individuals is crime prevention, presuming that every person intends to commit a crime unless they can prove otherwise. More significantly, Article 27 allows a suspect to be placed under surveillance for up to ten days for the purpose of “discovering the crime,” with the possibility of extension upon court approval. Under the previous law, this authority was limited to 72 hours, with extensions requiring coordination and approval from the prosecutor’s office and courts. Such powers would be compatible with modern policing standards only if accompanied by strong safeguards for individual liberty, effective judicial oversight, and clear criteria for necessity and proportionality. Without these, there is a risk that a suspect could face severe restrictions on their freedom before any crime is proven. Simply put, any member or unit of the Taliban police force has the right to place an Afghan citizen under surveillance for up to ten days based solely on suspicion.
This issue is directly related to the definition of “crime discovery” in Article Two. In this law, crime discovery is defined as actions taken to “discover the condition of the suspect.” In a modern criminal investigation approach, the focus should be on discovering the truth, investigating the occurrence of a crime, and gathering evidence—not solely on ascertaining the status of a suspect. While a suspect can be part of a criminal investigation, they should not become the central focus of the investigation itself. This conceptual difference is crucial; if the suspect becomes the focus of the investigation, the risk increases that the police, instead of objectively seeking the truth, will center their investigation on a pre-existing assumption about the individual. This pattern has been observed repeatedly over the past five years in Taliban behavior: individuals have been detained based on their ethnicity, place of residence, or professional background, and subsequently labeled and punished based on these factors rather than on any actions they themselves committed. A clear example is the detention and punishment of dozens of former security and defense force members.
Alongside this issue, one of the fundamental principles in modern policing is the adherence to three essential elements in every police action: the action must be lawful, necessary, and proportionate. In other words, police can only intervene in individuals’ freedoms and rights if, first, there is a clear legal basis; second, the action is necessary to achieve a legitimate security objective; and third, the intensity and scope of the action are proportionate to the risk or objective. These three criteria are of paramount importance, especially in actions such as stops, arrests, surveillance, searches, entry into residences, and the use of force.
An examination of the Taliban’s new Police Law shows that these three principles have not been established as a general and explicit rule governing all police actions. While the law sets out conditions for certain actions in various articles—for instance, Article 25 states that a person should not be placed under surveillance solely on baseless information or without sufficient evidence, and Article 30 restricts entry into residences to specific circumstances—the law does not provide a clear and comprehensive framework in which lawfulness, necessity, and proportionality are stipulated as mandatory criteria for any police intervention in the rights and freedoms of individuals.
This gap becomes even more significant in the section concerning the use of devices and force. Article 37 provides an extensive list of devices available to the police, including batons, crowbars, shields, firearms, and explosives, while Article 39 permits the use of supplementary devices and weapons in cases such as rebellion, armed crimes, and armed conflict. However, simply listing devices does not replace a clear system for the graduated use of force that respects necessity and proportionality. The law must specify under what conditions the use of force is permitted, when less severe means should be employed, when the use of force should cease, and what mechanisms exist for reviewing and holding accountable the unjustified use of force.
The inclusion of explosives in the list of devices available to the police, without precisely defining the conditions, limits, and criteria for their use, raises serious questions regarding the principles of necessity and proportionality. The law must clarify under what exceptional circumstances and against what type of threats such devices can be used, and which authority is responsible for overseeing and being accountable for their use. Furthermore, a serious concern arises from the existence of an “istishhadi” (suicide) squad within the Taliban’s Ministry of Interior. One might ask whether the use of suicide bombers is also considered to fall under these devices as explosives, thereby legitimizing their use by the Taliban police.
Thus, the issue is not merely what powers the new law grants to the police; the more critical issue is the principles under which these powers are to be exercised. The broader the scope of police powers, the greater the need for clear criteria to limit how these powers are used. The absence of an explicit and comprehensive reference to the three criteria of lawfulness, necessity, and proportionality can create wider latitude for expansive interpretation and arbitrary application of police powers, marking one of the key differences between the new law and the modern policing model.
Another area is the expansion of search and inspection powers. Article 28 outlines several circumstances for searching individuals, while Article 29 permits the search of objects. Article 30 even allows entry into and searching of residences under certain conditions. While these powers are inherently necessary for combating crime, in a modern policing system they must be accompanied by clear safeguards regarding privacy, necessity, proportionality, documentation, and judicial oversight. The greater the police’s power to intrude upon individuals’ privacy, the greater the need for legal and institutional checks on that power. Under the previous constitution, a person’s home was protected from intrusion, and police entry into a residence was subject to specific conditions, including court authorization, the presence of a prosecutor, female police officers, and other legal requirements.
On the other hand, Article 49 stipulates that police cannot conduct a search based on information for which there is no witness, evidence, or clue. The inclusion of such a provision is a positive aspect; however, this very regulation indicates that the legislator was concerned about the risk of searches and interventions based on mere suspicion and unreliable information. Therefore, a key question is whether the existing criteria are sufficient to prevent the arbitrary exercise of these powers. Moreover, the article does not precisely specify what the police may not search, nor the limits of this prohibition.
One of the more fundamental changes is the expansion of the concept of security in the new law. In this law, security is not simply about preventing violent crimes or serious threats to life and property; rather, the implementation of many of the decrees and orders of the Taliban Emirate also falls within the purview of police duties. Consequently, the police are transformed from a specialized institution for combating crime and maintaining public order into an institution with broader responsibilities for social control and the enforcement of behavioral regulations. This change may blur the boundaries between police duties, public administration, and institutions responsible for social affairs.
In the previous law, “security” and “public order” were clearly defined, with the protection of people’s rights and freedoms alongside the protection of life and property at the core of these concepts. However, in paragraph three of Article Two of the Taliban Police Law, “securing security” is limited simply to preventing corrupt individuals and criminals and protecting the lives and property of the people in accordance with the current laws of the Islamic Emirate, with no mention of protecting citizens’ rights and freedoms as an element of public security. On the other hand, the law provides no clear definition of “corrupt individual” (mufsid). This ambiguity can create grounds for a broad interpretation of the term and action against individuals who may not have necessarily committed a specific crime.
This issue takes on greater significance when Article 50 declares any demonstration within Afghan territory prohibited. From a modern, democratic policing perspective, managing public gatherings and peaceful protests is one of the police’s sensitive duties. However, the primary approach is safe event management, preventing violence, and protecting individual rights, rather than outright prohibition of assembly. Therefore, such a provision represents a significant shift from managing public freedoms towards their prior restriction. Under the previous law, ensuring security during protests, demonstrations, and gatherings was considered a key police function. The fundamental difference lies between “police against protest” and “police for managing protest”; in the former approach, protest itself is treated as a security issue, while in the latter, the police’s duty is to ensure the safety of individuals and prevent violence during the exercise of a public right.
Furthermore, Article 17 includes issuing visas, regulating passport distribution, and issuing certain permits within police duties. This is noteworthy from a professional standpoint as well. A modern police force should focus its primary mission on crime prevention, order maintenance, public protection, and responding to security threats. Transferring or concentrating numerous administrative functions within the police structure can lead to the securitization of public services—meaning citizens, even when seeking an administrative service, must interact with an institution that simultaneously possesses supervisory, investigative, and coercive powers. A noteworthy point in this section is that passport distribution and visa issuance, essentially administrative and consular functions, are defined as security services.
The same concern exists regarding the use of force. Article 37 places a range of tools, from batons and crowbars to firearms and explosives, at the police’s disposal, and Article 39 permits the use of supplementary devices and weapons under specific conditions. However, for a modern police force, simply listing devices is insufficient; a clear chain of force use, the principle of necessity, proportionality, force as a last resort, the responsibility of commanding officers, and independent investigation into unjustified force must also be precisely regulated. The absence of such a detailed framework can facilitate broader use of coercive power.
For instance, Article 37 provides for the use of explosives for the purpose of ensuring security. This raises the question: how can a device that can itself disrupt public security and create serious risks to citizens’ lives and property be used to ensure public security? For example, under this law, can the Taliban police use explosives to disperse a public protest and enforce a ban? Or in dealing with other public security situations, how will the limits on using such devices be determined? The lack of precise criteria in this area can create grounds for broad interpretation and disproportionate use of coercive power.
From this perspective, the Taliban’s new law could inadvertently undermine three fundamental principles of modern policing: first, the police as a public service; second, the police as a law-abiding and accountable institution; and third, the police as protectors of citizens’ security, rather than merely an instrument for imposing top-down order.
In conclusion, the main difference between the two approaches should be sought in the concept of “security for the citizen” versus “security over the citizen.” In the modern policing model, security is a means to ensure the freedom, dignity, and rights of citizens. However, if police powers are expanded without clear limitations and effective oversight, a risk emerges that security could transform from a means into an end in itself, with citizens’ freedoms being restricted as the cost of ensuring security. If, under the Taliban regime, due to the lack of a clear framework on the nature and position of the police force, its mission shifts from being a mere law enforcement body to a force for enforcing Sharia law and the Emirate’s decrees, this development could increasingly turn the police into an instrument of control and suppression against the people.
There is another fundamental point here: the more extensive the powers granted to the police, the greater the importance of the three principles of lawfulness, necessity, and proportionality. If a police officer can stop, surveil, arrest, or search a person, enter a residence, or use coercive means, it must be clear in each case on what legal basis the action was taken, why it was necessary, and whether its severity was proportionate to the existing threat. While the new law sets out conditions for specific actions in some articles, it does not firmly establish these three criteria as general, binding, and comprehensive principles governing all police actions. This very gap could be one of the most significant factors increasing the risk of expansive use of police powers.
This shift in approach could have profound implications for Afghanistan’s future. The Police Law does not merely regulate the conduct of today’s police; over time, it can shape the organizational culture, training methods for officers, and their perceptions of “police” and “security.” If a generation of police officers is trained in an environment where control, surveillance, and enforcement of orders prevail over public accountability and protection of civil liberties, changing this culture in the future will be far more difficult—or at the very least, time-consuming and costly. Therefore, even if Afghanistan were to return to an electoral and democratic system in the future, a change in government would not automatically mean a return to the democratic policing model.
This issue gains relevance from the experience of the Republic era. During that period, efforts were made to transform the police into a civilian, professional, accountable, and community-oriented institution. However, along with this, the politicization of the police, interference by officials, weak accountability, and professional challenges were serious problems. If the new law institutionalizes a different culture, a future democratic government might face a structure that has changed politically, but whose security culture and police powers remain control-oriented and repressive, at least in the mindset of its officers. Just as during the two decades of the Republic, the mindsets trained during the era of the People’s Democratic Party of Afghanistan were clearly visible, and despite considerable efforts in training and equipment, factional divisions and mental allegiance to the intellectual schools of the Soviet Union persisted among many police officers of that time.
For this reason, the issue is not simply which government will come to power in the future; the more important issue is what kind of police institution will be inherited by that government. A democratic government needs a strong police force to maintain security, but police power must be legal, limited, professional, and accountable. A modern police force should not be weak; it should be powerful enough to confront crime and threats, yet sufficiently law-bound that it cannot restrict citizens’ freedoms without necessity and justification.
From this perspective, the difference between the new law and the modern policing model can be summarized in a fundamental contrast: a modern police force provides security to protect the freedom and rights of citizens; a control-oriented police force may restrict freedom to provide security. The more entrenched this second model becomes in the legal structure and organizational culture, the more costly its reform will be within a future democratic system.
Ultimately, the Taliban’s new law could transform the police from a purely security institution into one with extensive powers in security, administrative, and social arenas. However, the expansion of powers does not necessarily equate to increased legitimacy, professionalism, or modernization. A modern police force is defined not by the breadth of its powers, but by how it uses its power, its degree of accountability, its respect for law and citizens’ rights, and the public’s trust in it. From this perspective, the central challenge of the new law is that instead of strengthening a “police in service to society” approach, it may contribute to institutionalizing a “police for controlling society” approach—an approach whose effects could extend far beyond the current Taliban period and, even in the event of a political regime change, could impact the structure of the state, the security culture, and the relationship between the state and citizens in Afghanistan’s future.
In such a situation, the challenge for Afghanistan’s future will not merely be changing the name or structure of the police, but the reconstruction of the philosophy, culture, and position of the police in society will also be essential. A future elected, democratic government, if it wishes to reform the institutional legacy of this period, will inevitably have to create a balance between the necessity of having a strong police force to combat crime and security threats, and the necessity of limiting police power against the freedoms and rights of citizens. This will require a revision of the police’s extensive powers, a clear separation of security functions from administrative and social affairs, strengthening judicial and civilian oversight, establishing effective accountability and complaint mechanisms, and restoring the police to its position as a professional, law-abiding, and service-oriented institution for the community.
From this perspective, the experience of the Taliban’s new law can also offer an important lesson for Afghanistan’s future: a modern police force is not merely an institution with greater power to maintain order; a modern, democratic police force exercises its power within the framework of law, respects citizens’ rights, and is accountable to society. The fundamental difference between a “police for society” and a “police for controlling society” lies exactly at this point. How near Afghanistan’s future comes to either of these models will depend largely on the type of institutional and legal reforms implemented within the police structure after any political regime change. However, what is clear is that the Taliban’s current approach to policing, training, and mission has effectively transformed this institution from a law enforcement force into a force for enforcing the decrees of the Emir and Sharia law. The continuation of this trend could cause a serious rupture in the continuity of a professional and law-based police force in Afghanistan.
