The American War in Afghanistan

Why did the United States, with its immense power, fail to build a stable Afghanistan? Carter Malkasian argues that the answer lies less in military missteps and more in the deep moral and cultural meaning Afghans attach to independence, faith, and honor. The Afghan war was not merely a geopolitical contest—it was a struggle over identity. You cannot understand twenty years of conflict unless you grasp how Afghan self-perception—rooted in Islam, resistance to foreign rule, and tribal honor—fueled enduring opposition to outsiders.

Religion and National Character

Islam acts as both glue and vocabulary for Afghan life. It binds communities across tribal divisions and provides moral language to justify resistance. When Americans arrived after 2001, they walked into a moral battlefield already defined by jihad—the defense of faith against foreign invasion. Clerics issued fatwas, invoking centuries of precedent from Mir Wais’s uprising against Persia to Maiwand’s victory over the British. These narratives resonate because they combine historical pride with spiritual duty.

Malkasian stresses that religion in Afghanistan is not extremist by nature; it is existential. When night raids, civilian deaths, or corruption dishonored families, calls to jihad were not abstract ideology—they restored dignity. This moral logic, more than any Pakistani sanctuary or financial aid, explains why Taliban ranks refilled year after year.

Pashtunwali and Honor Politics

The code of Pashtunwali—revenge (badal), hospitality (melmastia), and council (jirga)—structured how many Afghans navigated loyalty and justice. Its rules made feuds persistent and compromise costly. Only when religion or external danger offered higher moral legitimacy could these fragmented tribes unite. That is why the Taliban’s 1990s message of Islamic order was so potent: it provided supra-tribal meaning and coherence to people weary of warlord chaos.

Occupation, Legitimacy, and the Emotional Core of War

Malkasian’s central thesis is that foreign presence itself generated enduring resistance. Even Afghans who disliked the Taliban felt humiliation in being ruled or defended by foreigners. The U.S. misunderstood the emotional component of legitimacy—how deeply Afghans equate sovereignty with godliness. A government associated with outsiders, no matter how well-funded, struggled to command heartfelt loyalty. As one elder put it, “We fought the British, the Russians, and now the Americans. To be Afghan is to fight the invader.”

Continuity from the Durranis to the Taliban

The book traces a clear arc: each era reproduces the same logic of resistance. The Durrani monarchy, the Mujahideen war against the Soviets, and the Taliban’s jihad all draw from identical emotional reservoirs—faith, sacrifice, and national honor. American strategists, focused on governance blueprints and army-building, underestimated those timeless springs of motivation. Identity, Malkasian concludes, is not background noise but the operating system of Afghan politics. Unless you align strategy with that moral order, no amount of resources can impose legitimacy.

Core insight

Afghans fought not because they loved war but because resistance was bound to their sense of being Muslim and free. The Taliban understood that moral economy; the United States did not.

By beginning with identity, Malkasian reframes the Afghan war as an encounter between two moral systems—liberal rationalism and faith-based honor. The latter, older and more emotionally coherent, ultimately prevailed where material superiority failed.

By the mid‑1990s, Afghanistan’s devastation had produced the conditions for new authority. In Kandahar, a modest cleric, Mullah Mohammed Omar, turned grievance into revolution. The Taliban arose promising divine justice, unity, and the end of warlord predation. In seven years, they transformed from a few hundred seminarians into rulers of nearly all Afghanistan.

Rise from the Mosque

The Taliban’s birth in 1994 at Maiwand reflected a common longing: Afghans wanted security after decades of abuse. When Omar and his followers hung a warlord who had violated women, the act itself was moral theater—a restoration of honor under God’s law. Supported by Pakistan’s logistical aid and the exhaustion of tribal rivals, they rapidly seized cities like Kandahar and Kabul. Each capture was framed less as conquest than as purification.

Religious Rule and Social Order

Once in power, the Taliban closed the circle between faith and governance. They abolished tribal councils, centralized command, and enforced a severe interpretation of sharia—banning music, constraining women, and conducting public punishments. Yet they also curbed warlord looting and re‑opened roads. For many rural Pashtuns, especially those wearied by chaos, the trade‑off of freedom for order was tolerable. This contradiction—security through severity—would resurface after 2001 when Afghans compared Taliban justice to state corruption.

International Isolation

Their principled yet rigid hospitality toward Osama bin Laden turned a provincial regime into an international pariah. Omar’s decision to shelter him exemplified the moral logic of Pashtunwali: a guest cannot be betrayed. The cost was global sanctions, bombings, and eventual war. But domestically, that integrity reinforced the Taliban’s self‑image as faithful protectors of Islam against pressure from unbelievers. (Note: this episode mirrors similar moral dilemmas in premodern Afghan politics—honor often outweighed pragmatism.)

When U.S. airpower and Northern Alliance forces collapsed the Taliban in late 2001, they disappeared strategically but not spiritually. Their memory as incorruptible, pious rulers stayed alive in southern villages—the seed of future resurgence.

The early months after 9/11 reveal the paradox of swift victory and squandered opportunity. The United States toppled the Taliban in weeks through airpower and Afghan allies but misunderstood both the political landscape and the moment for magnanimity.

Tora Bora and Missed Capture

At Tora Bora, December 2001, CIA teams urged using U.S. Rangers to seal the mountain passes around bin Laden’s sanctuary. Command hesitated, relying instead on local militias. The failure to intercept him became the first of several visible cracks in coordination. Tactical restraint carried enormous strategic cost.

Diplomacy Foreclosed

Simultaneously, Rumsfeld shut down peace feelers from Taliban intermediaries offering to surrender Kandahar. His reasoning was principled—justice demanded no deals—but Malkasian frames it as a lost bargain: a chance to integrate moderate Taliban and avoid insurgency’s rebirth. At Bonn, Afghan factions formed a new state without them, enshrining exclusion as national policy. The postwar order was born victorious but incomplete.

Consequences of Exclusion

By denying defeated but rooted adversaries political dignity, the coalition sowed grievances among southern Pashtuns. Many who might have settled for peace instead retreated into Pakistan’s sanctuaries, where faith and resentment fermented into insurgency. From that moment forward, every reconstruction plan had to fight not only poverty but memory.

Lesson

Winning fast can tempt you to humility’s opposite; yet in Afghanistan, forgiveness—not punishment—might have secured the peace.

After 2001 the mission shifted from punishment to reconstruction. The Karzai government, shaped by the Bonn process, carried Western hopes of democracy and development—but its legitimacy rested on thin roots. The debate in Washington—nation‑building versus light footprint—haunted every decision.

State Creation

The new Afghan constitution in 2004 centralized power in a strong presidency and mixed Islam with democracy. Karzai’s coalition of Tajiks, Uzbeks, Hazaras, and Pashtuns was ambitious yet fragile. Foreign aid poured into Kabul faster than institutions could absorb it; ministries became patronage hubs. Provincial Reconstruction Teams bridged security and aid but blurred military and civilian lines, provoking confusion.

The Security Dilemma

The Afghan National Army’s creation reflected competing visions. Rumsfeld favored small and cheap; Eikenberry and Karzai pushed for robust national forces. The compromise—undertrained, under‑equipped, and ethnically unbalanced—produced an army unable to replace foreign troops. Police forces fared worse: corrupt, ill‑paid, and locally captured. By the mid‑2000s, NATO faced a paradox: a democratic façade without the coercive power to defend itself.

Development and Society

Programs like the National Solidarity Program and women’s representation quotas brought tangible progress—schools, clinics, female parliamentarians—but they also deepened perceptions that reform was foreign‑led. In rural eyes, the Kabul elite seemed alien. Modernization succeeded materially but failed symbolically.

Malkasian calls this Afghanistan’s founding contradiction: a state built with foreign funds could not escape the stigma of foreign dependence. Its achievements were real, yet each dollar strengthened the narrative of occupation the Taliban exploited.

By 2006 Afghanistan’s calm crumbled. Demobilization had dissolved local militias without leaving defense in their place. In Kandahar and Helmand—heartlands of Pashtun identity—tribal grievances, poppy revenue, and harsh raids turned neighborhoods toward rebellion. The Taliban, led by Dadullah Lang and field commanders returning from Pakistan, coordinated a southern offensive that shocked NATO.

Kandahar’s Tribal Maze

Karzai’s family dominated provincial politics through Ahmed Wali Karzai, alienating rival tribes like the Noorzai and Ishaqzai. When poppy eradication or arrests targeted those groups, they joined the insurgency out of wounded honor. DDR (disarmament) had stripped 6,000 fighters of livelihood. Thus, when Taliban recruiters arrived offering faith, pay, and revenge, they found ready ears.

Operation Medusa and Its Limits

NATO’s response, Operation Medusa in September 2006, epitomized the coalition’s predicament—superior firepower without staying power. Canadian, U.S., and Afghan forces inflicted heavy casualties but lacked enough troops to hold cleared zones. The insurgents melted back; victory dissolved into repetition. Tactical wins failed to translate into stability, a theme that would haunt every subsequent campaign.

Mountain Warfare and Futility

Meanwhile, in Kunar and Nuristan, small U.S. outposts fought brutal, isolated battles in valleys like Korengal and Waygul. Geography favored insurgents who owned the high ground and sanctuaries across Pakistan’s border. After years and high casualties, the U.S. withdrew from Korengal in 2010, conceding that terrain mattered less than people’s allegiance. (Note: Malkasian parallels this to Vietnam’s hill fighting—tactical valor amid strategic futility.)

These years proved the insurgency’s adaptability: when foreign power left gaps—physical or moral—the Taliban filled them with faith, pay, and familiarity.

In 2009 President Obama faced the war’s strategic nadir. The Taliban controlled swaths of south and east; Afghan forces faltered. The choice: escalate or accept partial failure. The result was the American “surge,” a gamble to replicate Iraq’s counterinsurgency success.

Debating the Way Forward

General Stanley McChrystal’s assessment demanded 40,000 new troops to implement full-spectrum COIN—protect civilians and build governance. Vice President Biden argued instead for a minimalist counterterrorism approach. Obama compromised with 30,000 troops and a defined withdrawal timeline, trying to balance military need and public fatigue. This halfway surge reflected America’s divided will.

Marjah and the Practice of COIN

The 2010 Marjah campaign in Helmand became the test case. Marines cleared territory and introduced “government-in-a-box” reforms under Governor Ghulab Mangal. Roads, jobs, and schools returned—temporarily. Yet beyond the irrigated grid, poppy cultivation and Taliban taxation persisted. Local success at immense cost could not compensate for limited political traction in Kabul. The lesson was classical—but often ignored: counterinsurgency requires time measured in generations, not rotations.

Kandahar and Local Power

Operation Hamkary sought to secure Kandahar with Afghan Local Police and new champions like Abdul Razziq, whose ruthless efficiency brought public order at moral cost. Karzai’s manipulation of tribal politics continued even as NATO soldiers fought to stabilize neighborhoods his administration destabilized. Malkasian presents Kandahar as microcosm: corruption, charisma, and foreign dependence entwined too tightly to separate.

The surge achieved temporary security peaks but exposed structural contradictions—the Afghan government’s legitimacy deficit and Western impatience with wars that required intimacy and humility to win.

Between 2014 and 2019 the narrative turned grim. As U.S. forces drew down, Afghan strength ebbed faster than expected. The Taliban reemerged unified and adaptive; ISIS‑K added urban terror to rural insurgency. Afghanistan entered a phase of attrition both military and moral.

Helmand’s Attrition Spiral

Helmand’s 2015–2016 collapse symbolized national decay. Afghan battalions melted under pressure, their casualties and desertions exceeding recruitment. Commanders begged for air support limited by “in extremis” restrictions. Corruption at high ranks hollowed logistics while heroes like Omar Jan died holding villages alone. The government’s response mixed denial with reliance on dwindling U.S. aid.

Taliban Regeneration

After Mullah Omar’s death, new leaders—Mansour, then Haibatullah—blended pragmatism and zeal. Haybatullah fused judicial authority with militant renewal, while Baradar’s release by Pakistan opened diplomatic channels. The movement diversified support from Iran and regional actors, adopting night fighting and targeted assassinations. Taliban courts and taxation began to displace official governance in many provinces. Their narrative of pious order regained traction as Kabul’s appeared hollow.

ISIS-K and Urban Radicalism

Parallel to Taliban resurgence, ISIS‑K took root in Nangarhar and within Kabul’s educated youth networks. Their bombings of schools and hospitals between 2016 and 2018 terrorized cities and fractured the insurgent landscape. This urban radicalism forced NATO to re‑prioritize counter‑ISIS raids but also undermined Taliban moderation, pushing them to prove religious fervor with harsher tactics. Afghanistan became a stage for competing extremisms—the Taliban’s nationalist jihad against foreign occupation and ISIS’s transnational nihilism.

The Afghan state, already ethnically divided under President Ghani’s reshuffles, struggled to present unity. By the late 2010s its forces were fighting for survival, its allies were skeptical, and its enemies were professionalized. The long war had entered its exhaustion phase.

Diplomacy returned where military effort had stalled. Zalmay Khalilzad’s 2018–2020 shuttle diplomacy with the Taliban culminated in a U.S. withdrawal pact that promised peace but delivered transition to collapse. The Doha agreement traded timelines for assurances—without mechanisms of enforcement.

Politics of Withdrawal

From Obama to Trump, presidents shared the same domestic constraint: fear of another terrorist attack if they left completely. That “insurance logic” kept small troops abroad as political self‑protection. Trump’s impatience to exit accelerated concessions; Biden inherited commitments he could scarcely reverse. Each administration balanced tactical prudence against public weariness, a calculus that produced indecision disguised as strategy.

Why the State Failed

Malkasian argues that Afghanistan’s defeat stemmed from structural forces, not a single blunder. Pakistan’s sanctuary allowed Taliban survival; exclusionary politics alienated Pashtuns; corruption eroded institutions; the moral narrative favored insurgents who claimed divine legitimacy. Soldiers who fought for pay could not match men who fought for paradise. The West built capability but never conviction.

Enduring Lessons

America achieved key aims—it prevented large‑scale terrorist attacks from Afghan soil for two decades—but nation‑building required cultural empathy it never mastered. In Malkasian’s view, the most sobering truth is emotional: Afghans fought long after logic said they should stop because for them, resistance defined virtue. Counterinsurgency failed not for lack of resources but for lack of resonance.

Final reflection

You can stabilize territory with money, soldiers, and airstrikes, but you cannot buy legitimacy. That insight—both tragic and clarifying—frames Afghanistan’s enduring lesson for future interventions.