[Since the Taliban took control of Afghanistan, the group has declared unauthorized protests illegal, barred women from working in most sectors and restricted access to education for women and girls, citing security concerns. But in an attempt to signal things are different, the movement has made some cosmetic changes.]
“All of my men, they love jihad and
fighting,” he said. “So when they came to Kabul they didn’t feel comfortable.
There isn’t any fighting here anymore.”
Just months ago, the unit was staging attacks on government outposts and convoys. Now the
fighters are standing at checkpoints, searching cars and inspecting vehicle
registrations.
“Many of my fighters are worried
that they missed their chance at martyrdom in the war,” Nifiz said. “I tell
them they need to relax. They still have a chance to become martyrs. But this
adjustment will take time.”
Taliban leaders claim the group has
changed since it last controlled most of Afghanistan in the 1990s and have
suggested it could be a more tolerant governing force. But interviews with more
than two dozen Taliban fighters, commanders and leaders since the
fall of Kabul reveal a movement open to some change but one that is dedicated
to the harsh enforcement of rules — such as gender segregation — that date to
the movement’s founding.
While most of the group’s political
leadership has spent years meeting with foreign officials over a decade of
peace talks with the United States, the Taliban rank-and-file has been fighting
a war they believed was sanctioned by God, offering them a clear path to
paradise in the afterlife.
The result is that violence and
intimidation remain central to how the Taliban maintains order, at least for
now.
“Our new work is different. It’s a
huge change,” Nifiz said, “but day by day everyone is becoming more
experienced, and because of that we are changing.”
The men under his command said they
agreed. “We follow the orders of our leadership,” said a 19-year old fighter,
Ahmad. “And our leadership said this is our new responsibility.”
But privately many of the men
admitted feeling homesick for their villages in Wardak, where Nifiz and his
unit are from.
“In Wardak, we lived among the
people, not like this,” Nifiz said, gesturing to the government police compound
that was now his base. The complex was surrounded by layers of blast walls. The
rooms were designed for bureaucrats, with large imposing desks, lines of
overstuffed chairs and bookshelves that once held framed photographs of senior
Afghan government officials.
In central Kabul, Taliban
commanders described similar struggles. When peaceful protesters were recently attacked by Taliban
fighters sent to disperse the crowd, the group’s spokesman,
Zabihullah Mujahid, excused the violence, saying, “The fighters are not trained
to deal with protests yet.” He gave a similar explanation when journalists were
badly beaten.
[As
an Afghan newspaper struggles to survive, a brutal beating — and a Taliban
apology]
Taliban leadership — made up of
figures from the movement’s old guard — is under immense pressure to regain
access to the billions of dollars in aid money that kept the previous
government afloat. Many of the countries in control of that cash flow have said
the group’s actions regarding human rights, the rights of women and civil liberties
will be key to their decision-making.
Since the Taliban took control of
Afghanistan, the group has declared unauthorized protests illegal, barred women
from working in most sectors and restricted access to education for women and
girls, citing security concerns. But in an attempt to signal things are
different, the movement has made some cosmetic changes.
Taliban fighters are increasingly
wearing uniformed fatigues in Kabul, a move that the group’s leadership says
will help distinguish them from criminals claiming to be members of the group.
One of the first Taliban units to be clothed and equipped like a professional
military was the Badri 313 unit, which helped secure Kabul’s airport during
the chaotic U.S. airlift.
[The
treacherous journey into Kabul airport to escape Taliban-controlled Afghanistan]
“The men for this unit were
selected from among the martyrdom seekers within the Taliban,” said the top
Badri commander, Saad, who refused to give his last name or home province,
citing security concerns. He said that he joined the group when Mohammad Omar
was its leader.
“Martyrdom seekers have different
skills,” he said. “Some were trained to use vest bombs, others in car bombs or
targeted killings, and some were front-line fighters leading operations.
He said the Badri unit was created
from this pool of people because they displayed the greatest dedication to the
Taliban’s military operations and ideological values. “We already know they are
willing to sacrifice themselves for this country,” he said.
On a recent day in Kabul, the Badri
fighters were moving into an old security compound inside the Kabul airport.
Men were sorting through piles of uniforms, helmets, toiletries and rations
left behind by Afghan forces. Photographs of a previous director of airport
security had been hurriedly torn down.
Hikmatullah Hafiz had just arrived
in Kabul after being selected to join the elite unit.
“Before I was a guerrilla warrior,
and now I’m a soldier,” he said, gesturing to his uniform and equipment. “We
want the world to accept that we are a legitimate military, that we are part of
an organized system.”
The 21-year-old joined the Taliban
five years ago in Helmand, the province in southern Afghanistan where he was
born. The only education he received was at a madrassa, where his teachers
encouraged him to fight to reestablish an Islamic government in Afghanistan. He
said witnessing civilians being mistreated by Afghan forces and killed in U.S.
and Afghan government airstrikes also encouraged him to take up arms.
Another Badri fighter described a
very different path to the force.
Khalid Abdullah, 26, was working as
a ride-share driver in Dubai when he got a message earlier this year inviting
him to return to Afghanistan and become a suicide bomber. Three of his friends
working as laborers in Iran were planning to do the same. All four met up in
Kabul before traveling to Paktika province for training.
It was February, and the Taliban
was gaining ground as U.S. and NATO forces were withdrawing. Abdullah said he
knew many other Afghans who returned to the country around the same time to
join the Taliban in a fight that the militants were looking sure to win.
Halfway through the six-month
course, he was told he had been reassigned to the Badri unit.
“I didn’t think that one day I
would be a soldier with the important job of securing an airport,” he said. But
he admitted he was initially disappointed when he was told of the move.
“As a suicide bomber, you are
assured martyrdom,” he said, “but of course it is still possible in this role
because this is still jihad.”
[The
Taliban insists it has changed. Afghanistan’s future hinges on whether that’s
true.]
On Kabul’s western edge, fighters
from another Taliban unit charged with protecting Afghanistan’s
national museum from looting explained that they were told their assignment was
intended to encourage confidence among Kabul’s residents.
“Our leadership just told us that
this building is important, and we shouldn’t allow anyone to loot it,” said
Mohammad Javid Mubari, the leader of about a dozen men stationed at the museum.
He admitted that he didn’t know what was inside the building and brushed off
the question as unimportant.
“Before this, I was just fighting
jihad,” the 30-year-old said, boasting of his battlefield credentials. “I
fought in many different provinces in Afghanistan and in Pakistan. We also
trained in Pakistan, and fought against the Pakistani army.”
“I became the top commander in my
group after the three commanders before me were killed in drone strikes,” he
said with little emotion.
“I don’t have a background in
archaeology,” he said of his current assignment guarding relics, including
Buddhist antiquities, which many Taliban fighters view as an affront to Islam.
“Our leaders will decide what will happen to the artifacts here. We don’t have
the authorization to destroy them yet.”
A member of the Taliban gestures
from their post in Kabul on Sept. 16. (Bulent Kilic/AFP/Getty Images)
In central Kabul, the Taliban unit
charged with securing the Green Zone — a heavily fortified neighborhood that
once housed many Western embassies, aid organizations and a handful of foreign
news bureaus — laid out their prayer rugs in the middle of a deserted street.
Just a month ago, the avenue was bustling with convoys of armored cars carrying
Afghan officials, diplomats and aid workers to and from their offices.
“When do you think the embassies
will come back?” asked one of the older fighters, Rahimullah
Hijrat. “You should tell the other foreigners to return.”
He said Kabul and the Green Zone
are more secure now than before and that the country needs the same kind of
help from the international community that the previous government was
receiving.
He also expressed concern about the
neglect that followed the rushed exit of many international
organizations from Afghanistan.
“We are worried about the gardens,”
he said. “They haven’t been watered, and they’re dying. At least the gardeners
should come back to work.”
Hijrat said he heard many Afghans
who worked with foreign organizations are too scared to return to work because
for years the Taliban considered them legitimate military targets. But he said
he didn’t understand why they don’t believe the Taliban’s pledge that anyone
who asks for amnesty will be forgiven regardless of their previous employment.
“It’s different now,” he insisted.
“They should trust us.”
Hijrat was a senior Taliban
security official in Kapisa before the group took Kabul last month. In his home
province, he said, he developed a respectful rapport with village elders and
prominent families over the course of many years.
“Our responsibilities are different
here,” he said. “In the villages, you live among the people, they come to you
with their problems. Here we are just maintaining security.”
One of the men under his command
said he was happy to be assigned to Kabul. Zabiullah Zahib joined the Taliban
because that’s what all the other men in his family did and “because I am a
Muslim,” he said.
“But to be honest, I don’t like
weapons. I don’t like holding a gun,” the 25-year-old said. “I’m hoping that
with the Taliban in power, the security situation can improve, and I can study
economics in university.”
He said his mother inspired him to
pursue an education. “She told me a country cannot be strong without a good
economy.”
During a recent patrol, Nifiz, the
commander from Wardak, bragged about the new uniforms his men had been given:
traditional Afghan male dress of a long shirt over trousers but made from
matching camouflage fabric.
“It helps build trust with the
people,” he said. During the patrol through the Kabul district under his
command, he spent most of his time chiding people for driving on the wrong side
of the road or parking in the middle of the street.
“We have to maintain order,” he
said. But over the course of a few short weeks, he said, he noticed a
difference in how the residents of his district felt toward his fighters. More
people were coming to his base asking for help resolving disputes, shops that
were initially shuttered were back open, and more people were out walking on
the streets.
Nifiz said some reports of killings
and beatings of Kabul residents by Taliban fighters were true. “In some cases,
our men committed mistakes,” he said, but added it was to be expected after
being at war for so many years.
Even when maintaining order in
villages under their control, Nifiz said he and his men were more violent with
those who broke the rules. But once they entered Kabul they were under strict
orders to use less force.
“Before, I was not as careful when
I took prisoners, but now I want to behave better with them,” he said. When
asked if he was referring to torturing detainees, he said he couldn’t discuss
the matter further.
“At first everyone was scared of
us,” he said. “They thought we were just these fighters who came from the
mountains. But now they see we are human beings, too.”
Updated September 3, 2021
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