For more than a century, since the reign of Abdur Rahman Khan, Afghan politics has revolved around a recurring pattern: to preserve stability, the center of power co-opts part of the ethnic elite while sidelining the rest. I call this the “Abdur Rahman Scenario”: concentration at the center, concession at the margins, and the exclusion of justice from the core.
This system of co-optation and control may have prevented short-term uprisings, but it eroded institutions and replaced merit-based competition with a culture of patronage. From the Durrani and Barakzai rulers to the republic’s presidents, the same logic endured: loyalty is rewarded, not competence, and power depends on ethnic and personal networks rather than law.
Fayz Mohammad Katib, in Siraj al-Tawarikh, shows how Abdur Rahman secured his rule by allying with southern tribes while deporting thousands of Hazara families from the central highlands. In the north, he temporarily courted Uzbek leaders before sending troops to disarm them. These were not isolated acts but a lasting political blueprint: attract, exploit, then discard.
Mir Ghulam Mohammad Ghobar, in Afghanistan, in the Course of History, saw the same logic. Governments treated ethnic participation not as a right but as a tool of control. Amanullah Khan invited non-Pashtun elites during his reform, but exiled them after conservative revolts. Under Zahir Shah, educated Tajiks and Uzbeks joined cabinets, yet decisions remained confined to the royal circle. From monarchy to republic, this pattern became a habit.
After 2001, the Bonn Conference seemed to promise a break. Yet U.S. pressure led to Hamid Karzai’s appointment, a Pashtun acceptable to Washington and Islamabad, while the Northern Alliance, holding military advantage, settled for symbolic inclusion. Thus began another version of the same scenario: ethnic power-sharing without accountability. Ministries were divided by quota, corruption thrived, and non-Pashtun elites again found themselves between privilege and exclusion.
Karzai’s ethnic appeasement continued under Ashraf Ghani. The 2014 “unity government” only formalized factionalism; ministries became partisan shares, and governance fractured. Reports by SIGAR and Transparency International revealed that most major contracts were awarded through political influence.
The Northern elites who had defeated the Taliban failed to build a citizen-based system. Fragmented by personal ambitions, they rebuilt the old networks of dependence. When some attempted reform, threats of losing patronage silenced them. In the 2019 election, rather than contesting fraud, many queued for cabinet posts, allowing the center to reclaim legitimacy once more.
This legacy, rooted in Abdur Rahman’s colonial-style politics of personal loyalty, has long undermined institutions. From monarchs calling themselves “Shadow of God” to presidents ruling by decree, personalization has always trumped legality. Reform in such a system is either imposed from above or mistrusted from below.
Today, the Taliban repeat the same logic in a new form. To appear inclusive, they appoint token representatives from other ethnicities, figures without real power, decorative symbols in official photos. The question remains: why do some non-Pashtun elites still join this performance? Is it honor, or repetition of the historic role of ornamenting power? Each time, the tribe is strengthened and citizenship erased.
To Afghanistan’s ethnic leaders: this is not an accusation but an appeal. You have long defended your communities, but why, when chances for lasting institutions arose, did you return to the same short-term bargains? Instead of building education, justice, and governance, why seek shares from the center? If you had united around citizenship rather than patronage, Abdur Rahman’s model would have collapsed long ago.
Central power need not remain Pashtun-centered. The majority of Afghans share deep linguistic and cultural ties. If united around justice and equality, they could transform power from ethnic dominance into merit and law, ending the colonial pattern of concentration in Kabul and division elsewhere.
Now is the moment for a historic choice: preserve temporary privilege or build institutions that serve future generations. If leaders rise above personal and tribal interests, trust between the center and periphery can finally emerge. Otherwise, the bitter cycle will endure: co-optation, exploitation, and decay.
Afghanistan’s fate still mirrors the old relationship between center and elite: short-term coalitions replacing long-term institution-building, and corruption turned into governance. The history of both the Republic and the Taliban proves that changing faces is not enough. Until law overrides personality, transparency replaces patronage, and programs replace ethnic bargaining, justice and progress will remain slogans. The day these rules change, elites, whatever their ethnicity, will survive by performance, not privilege. And then, the Afghan people will cease to be hostages of politics and become its true judges.
