Inside the Taliban-ruled Panjshir, Afghanistan

PANJSHIR, Afghanistan – Mist swirls around rolling mountains dotted with mud huts, and emerald waters trickle through narrow, pebble-filled canals. On the surface, the Panjshir valley is an image of serenity. But one can’t help but feel the uncertainty and tension hidden in the hills.

As we toured the eight districts on Friday – under the watchful eye of the Taliban – it seems clear, despite the mixed reports and confusion last week over the fall of Panjshir, that the new power in power in Afghanistan certainly has a hold. solid.

Dozens of robed Taliban fighters gather in front of the Panjshir revenue department. They are all from Farah Province some 500 miles away and are part of a unit quickly deployed to the scene as needed. Taliban commander Mawlawy Khalid claims that all of Panjshir was completely seized three days earlier, but many Panjshiris fled into the mountains.

“We will give them a deadline, today or tomorrow or anytime (to surrender),” Khalid said, adding that anyone who doesn’t surrender “they shoot them.”

The surrender process, according to Khalid, is that once the weapons are checked and handed in, the individual then receives “a letter” stating that he is “free” to return home normally.

The enclave has acquired a mythological reputation over the years. First, it was the triumphant hub against Soviet occupation in the 1980s, then the only Afghan province not to fall into Taliban hands during its last reign from 1996 to 2001. Then, as the Taliban were quickly seizing the country at the twilight of the American withdrawal, the Panjshir served as the last bastion of anti-Taliban resistance.

Meanwhile, Haji Asad, another Taliban commander, stationed in an office overlooking the eponymous monument in tribute to the iconic Northern Alliance commander Ahmad Shad Masoud, also indicates that the pressure is high and proclaims an average of 100 to 200 people visiting per day.

“We have a team of these elders who go to the mountains and talk to [those in the mountains] and tell them to come talk to us. Otherwise, we will send by force, ”he warns. “They should come down from the mountains and live in their homes. “

From his point of view, the Taliban have the same policies today as they did under the previous rule two decades ago.

“It was a bad image given that the Taliban do bad things and do not practice human rights,” he said. “We want a peaceful Afghanistan, a united Afghanistan. We expect neighboring countries not to interfere [here] more. We want good relations with everyone, including America.

Asad says that the Panjshiris can freely visit the Masoud monument. Yet on that day it remains a painfully barren place, guarded by a few original guards and the Taliban – including their engineer and agriculture manager in the north of the country, Raaz Muhammad, who arrived a day earlier.

“We are carrying out demining operations and we ask everyone to please come to your place, we don’t want any problems for anyone,” Muhammad, who says he has worked for several different agricultural initiatives linked to the World Bank, told me. .

Yet photos circulating on social media show the iconic grave desecrated. The Taliban leadership does not deny what happened but says local looters are responsible. The Taliban claim to protect the helicopters, the old plane and the rusty cars that belonged to the late Masoud and are quick to show us that they have remained intact. The white and black flags of the Islamic Emirate of Afghanistan are everywhere, flying high even above faded billboards featuring Commander Masoud.

According to Asad, there are around 8,000 Taliban members now stationed throughout Panjshir.

Almost all of the shops along the dusty main road that winds through the province are firmly closed, and almost all the vehicles – and infantry – that I see belong to those of the Taliban from distant places, tough faces from endless days on. the battlefield and most of it with a rifle in hand.

In Marshal Fahim’s stadium, three helicopters – two Blackhawks and one attack helicopter – belonging to the Panjshiri leadership remain grounded. The Taliban move with various weapons, mainly American M4s and M16s and occasionally SAWs and PKMs. A few .50 calibers are also on display. Some have armored trucks probably inherited from the defunct Afghan security forces. Their supplies are secured in the back with a tarp decorated with the United Nations logo, and others push dented cars with broken clutches.

Further down the valley is Kandahar’s Asad Taliban team, led by 34-year-old Hussein Ahmad, who has fought for years and simply says he grew up around the Taliban. Asad has an office in the presidential palace, he notes, and swears that despite rumors that the Taliban will move their capital to Kandahar, only their political office will be there while all other ministries will remain in Kabul.

In any case, the mistrust both inside and outside Panjshir remains palpable. I see splashes of local men – usually clustered in small groups outside dark, abandoned storefronts. Some jump to their feet at the sight of a Taliban armored truck driving through, and some wave in a mixture of fear and curiosity.

However, frightened families continue to flee. We see a van full of people and piles of personal belongings strapped to the top in a suitcase. Taliban commander Hussein Ahmad gestures to the driver – his face pale with nerves apparent – to ask him why they are leaving and swears the Taliban will not harm them.

” Everybody is gone ; our families went to Kabul, ”the man said. “But maybe we’ll come back. “

From my lens, the central province remains largely untouched. The most shocking evidence of the fighting exists via the daub of decimated vehicles – including Humvees, Rangers, and a mine-proof armored vehicle, the MX-Pro.

Taliban commanders say they have set up additional checkpoints to “provide security,” but have asked the guards not to stop vehicles carrying a woman.

I only observe a few small children inside the ghostly province. A couple is made up of beggars who wander aimlessly in search of coins or lively kids who enthusiastically follow the herd of goats as they move through the last vestiges of daylight. I only see one woman, moving towards a clay house in the distance.

Much of the information vacuum over the past few weeks has been sucked into an almost total media blackout due in large part to the difficult communications situation. However, the Taliban themselves appeared to be making calls and using their phones in and around the thoroughfare. When asked, they said they use the Emirates-based provider Etisalat. Yet there is no deep blanket in the mountains.

Despite the strong Taliban presence from start to finish, many analysts point out that the next few weeks are crucial in determining the outcome of the NRF. The leader of the Panjshiri tribe, Ahmad Masoud – the son of Ahmad Shad Masoud, who was assassinated by al-Qaeda two days before the September 11 attacks – has remained firm in his call to continue the fight.

Much of Masoud’s reluctance to negotiate with the Taliban has centered on fears that the new government is not inclusive. However, in due course, the announcement of the new interim government earlier this week – composed entirely of Taliban members – drew condemnation from the Panjshiris and much of the international community.

I do not know what will happen to the majestic Panjshir and I cannot say for sure if and when the fighting has ceased. I don’t see or hear any skirmishes, except for what looks like two rockets launched in the distance as the sun begins to set.

Yet NRF activists continue to sound the alarm bells over the fate of the famous province and fear for the fate of those living in the mountains without adequate food and humanitarian aid as the winter months approach. , and what they will become, whether they do it or what they do. not surrender.

I meet Panjshiris who say they are determined to stay in their beloved enclave and others who admit that they have nowhere to go.

For others, the pain of conflict in their country is fading.

“This has been going on for years,” adds Abdul Hay, who guards a mosque in the provincial capital of Bazarak and says the religious building was damaged by bullets days earlier. “People are fed up and others are afraid. “