Thinking about Afghanistan's Present through its Past: An Interview with Faiz Ahmed
Nishat Akhtar
Borderlines sat down with Faiz Ahmed, author of Afghanistan Rising: Islamic Law and Statecraft between Ottoman and British Empires (Harvard University Press, 2017) and talked to him about history, law, and politics in Afghanistan, and the world around it, from early modern times to the uncertain present.
Nishat Akhtar (NA): In your introduction of Afghanistan Rising: Islamic Law and Statecraft between the Ottoman and British Empires, you have a curious sub heading titled “Demilitarizing Pan-Islamism.” Can you explain why it is important to reformulate this idea of Pan-Islamism? Away from how it is stereotyped, be it in Political Science or Islamic Studies, or even in the media? And what is to be gained by that?
Faiz Ahmed (FA): Yes, there is a play on words going on there, no doubt. Usually, when the term “demilitarize” or “demilitarizing” is used, it’s coming from what one could call security studies or counterinsurgency approaches to studying Afghanistan. Such approaches are also common in studies and policy discussions of other parts of our world in which conflict is perceived to be endemic, or where paramilitary organizations are prevalent such as in Syria today, or Somalia, Yemen, Libya, or Colombia, and so forth. Such approaches often emphasize the importance of “demilitarizing” populations, or “demilitarizing” societies, or even “demilitarizing” young Muslim men (or women). That is how and where the term “demilitarize” is conventionally used. But that is not how I'm using it at all. Instead, the book is saying, “Look, how about we demilitarize our own discourses about Afghanistan, about Islam, about Muslims; let’s demilitarize our own interests, even obsession perhaps, with war, violence, and terrorism—what would Afghanistan or even “Pan-Islamism” look like then?
So, I employ the term, but in a diametrically opposed way. You could say it is a little provocative—but not for its own sake. Rather, I’d like to help free readers from the conventional discursive and presentist straightjackets when it comes to Afghanistan—where only hackneyed themes of war, violence, extremism can be discussed—and to start to think about Afghanistan in a broader historicized framework, and with a more creative, dynamic, and promising lens.
NA: So what do you actually mean by demilitarizing Islamism?
FA: It’s a call to consider Muslim communities, networks, and histories beyond the focus on containing, defeating, in other words demilitarizing extremist or militant Islamist organizations and movements. It is a challenge I pose to all readers and observers of Muslim communities but especially Afghanistan, historic and contemporary, to put aside the obsession with militant networks (at least for a moment) and appreciate the much wider landscape of transnational global networks that, at least historically speaking, are more prevalent, more influential, and more significant, including on a grassroots everyday life level. I am speaking of networks of education and scholarship, of learning, of legal debate and administrative exchange, for example, but one could also talk about the arts, poetry, architecture, music, and so forth. By demilitarizing Islamism (or pan-Islamism), I am flipping the term on its head from the way it's usually employed, which is a policy-oriented, counterinsurgency framework that objectifies Muslims as either “militants” or “potential militants” that are to be demilitarized. Instead, I’m suggesting, "well, let's actually look at this much wider spectrum of crossborder international Muslim networks, particularly students and scholars specifically in Afghanistan." In this book, I'm looking at networks of the legal, administrative, and juridical variety.
NA: That leads me straight to my next question. In chapter six of your book titled ‘Turkish Tremors, Afghan Aftershocks: Anatolia and Afghanistan after the Ottomans’, you show that the idea of universal education, including for Afghan girls and women, was a cornerstone of Amanullah's campaign. Can you tell us how these education policies fit within the larger set of reforms that Amanullah was inaugurating? In the book, you explicate the idea of Siyasa Shar‘iyya, and how it was informed by or departed from local forms of education sanctioned by jurists. This takes us to the debate about what's going on today in Afghanistan, and the question of education that has re-surfaced in the news lately.
FA: It's a good question, and one loaded with different layers, threads and parts. But if I may, let's put the Siyasa question, specifically the role of administrative policy within Islamic law (or Siyasa Shar‘iyya), as well as any contemporary questions aside for a moment, so that we can squarely focus on the dynamics of the Amanullah period (or “Amani” period, i.e. Afghanistan from 1919 to 1929) and give it its due historical right. When it comes to universal education for both sexes during the Amani period, it’s important to note we are not just talking about schools for Afghan boys and girls, that is young children, but also establishing teacher colleges for Afghan men and women to train, to become public school teachers essentially, or teachers engaging a much broader swath of society than they were used to prior, at least.
But there is a conflicting element to this state-led education campaign. There are at least two broad forces in tension with each other when it comes to public education in Amanullah’s state-building campaign. On the one hand, there is a popularizing, democratizing component to education for the masses, including the ability for a greater proportion of the population to gain literacy—not just literacy in Persian, Pashto, as well as Arabic literacy—but also literacy in subjects like Islamic law and ethics, as well as the laws of the Afghan state. From that view, there is an empowering, democratizing if you will, component to Amanullah’s education policies. And the gender equality dimensions of his campaign—which were unapologetically promoted within a framework of Islamic discourses, citing universally renowned and beloved women in Islamic history, for example—are also noticeable, and I would say, laudable features of the Amani era.
That said—Amanullah's educational campaign was inextricably tied to his broader campaign of state centralization, registration of populations, and other forms of modern discipline. There is no escaping the fact Amanullah was engaging in a modernist discourse, embracing the progressivist, civilizing discourse, and violence, of the modern state. Hence, it would be remiss to ignore or overlook the more hegemonic arm of such a campaign, whereby the Kabul central government was arrogating the right to educate the Afghan public to itself, as opposed to more local, decentralized forms of education in which the prerogatives of local ‘Ulema was paramount, for example. So, we have to keep in mind that when Amanullah was pushing public education, he was also pushing teachers approved by the state, using a curriculum approved by the state. At its heart, such a project of centralization was in tension with more local, grassroots if you will, forms of authority, of education, of Islamic law, and learning more broadly. In a way, Afghanistan’s tumult in the mid to late 1920s reflects a particularly acute but also broader modern crisis of authority and epistemology in the global Muslim community; that is, who has the authority to determine what is “Islamic education” or “Islamic Law” or even what is Islam and the “Islamic” itself?
NA: I have a question on Siyasa and I wanted to see how those two interpretations were prevalent during the Amanullah period. On the one hand, I'd like to pick up what you said earlier, on how there is no doubt that these kinds of reforms curtail the power of some local judges. And yet, on the other hand, what you show is that during this embryonic period, the early 1900s up to the 1920s, there was something interesting happening that drew on the Ottoman experience. Can you talk a little bit about the Afghan Nizamnamas, how Ottoman influence impacted it, as in to what extent it was an extension of Ottoman Kanun, which had been considered for the longest time as a tradition amenable to intervention from the ruler in certain realms but not others?
FA: It’s a good question. It is getting at what I call the “interislamic” links of administrative and juridical nature between the late Ottoman Empire and Afghanistan. Before addressing that, we have to remember the constellation of Islamic dynasties, societies, and states that surround Afghanistan which perhaps don't get as much attention with my focus on the Ottomans and British India in this book. We should not forget Mughal India before British colonialism, the various Uzbek and Turkic states and dynasties of Central Asia and, of course, Iran. All of these states and societies are in conversation with and even intersecting with Afghanistan from the early modern period through the long nineteenth century. In my book, in terms of Afghanistan’s international engagements and intersections, I am primarily focused on the Ottomans first, and second, British India. I just want to stress that there are different intersections and mutual learning taking place and exchange with the Moguls, with Uzbeks, with Safavid and Qajar Iran, etc…
As for the intersections and exchanges with the Ottomans, my book focuses on the juridical and administrative exchange between Afghans, Indian Muslims, and the Ottomans from the 1880s to the 1920s—but one can begin the narrative much earlier in terms of architectural and artistic exchange, from Persian miniatures in Herat to architecture in Agra and Delhi, to even intermarriages between Turkic, Hindustani, and Afghan families and so forth. Given the vast power differentials between the Ottomans and the Afghans in the nineteenth century—when the Ottomans were the premier Islamicate dynasty in the world, custodians of the caliphate and holy cities, and so forth—there is a presumption that the Afghans are simply learning or reproducing what the Ottomans are doing. It is tempting to fall into that presumption. Take for example, in the 1870s, the Mecelle, which is safe to say was the most famous late Ottoman export of law, particularly to Hanafi jurisdictions (but not only so, as we know from the work of scholars like Nurfadzilah Yahaya and Iza Hussin that the Mecelle is cited even in primarily Shafi‘i jurisdictions like Southeast Asia and the Indo-Malayan archipelago).
However, I want to make it very clear that in my reading, it is not a one-way road of the Ottomans influencing the Afghans. It's a more complicated, multifaceted, and multi-directional exchange. We still need to know more about the full contours and extent of those exchanges. But we certainly know that by the late nineteenth century Afghan students and scholars (but also merchants) were virtually in constant traffic to Ottoman jurisdictions like the Hejaz and Baghdad, Damascus, and Istanbul, engaging in trade, interacting with scholars and statesmen, contributing to debates in law and policy. As for the Mecelle, it's clear that this was cited and looked at by the jurists not only under Amanullah Khan, but also those of his two predecessors, his father and grandfather—Habibullah Khan and Abdur Rahman Khan. A number of Afghan jurists were looking at the Mecelle and other Ottoman legislation. However, “influence” is a difficult thing to prove or to track, other than when we know that certain books are cited or are found in Kabul libraries, personal libraries of Amirs, and so forth at a certain time, or more conclusively, when specific references are made to Ottoman sources of law in Afghan texts. It is also important to understand Ottoman legislation broadly and capaciously. “Ottoman law” is not only the statutes and codes of the central state of course, nor only court records, but must also include the works of Ottoman jurists and vast fatwa literature generated among them, especially by influential jurists such as Ibn ‘Abidin of Damascus, a towering late Ottoman Hanafi jurists of Damascus. His work continues to be studied by legal scholars in South-Central Asia and more broadly across the Islamicate World. And several of Ibn Abidin’s works are cited in Amanullah's legislation.
Still, I would be uneasy drawing a direct link from a particular scholar or a particular product of Ottoman law in one place as somehow sparking this efflorescence of debate and discussion in Kabul (“over there”). It's a more complicated and multidirectional interaction between not just Istanbul and Kabul, but also Baghdad, Mosul, Damascus, Aleppo, Jerusalem, Cairo, Hijaz, among other locales; and for the Afghan Shi‘i community, of course we can't forget Mashhad, Qom, Najaf and Karbala, among other centers of Shii learning, producing a rich stream of Afghan pilgrims and scholars coming back and forth between Syria, Iraq, Iran, India, and Afghanistan, historically and to the present.
NA: How did the Hashtnafari conscription lottery and controversial provisions of the Basic Codes impact young Afghan girls' and women's positionality in society?
FA: Two good specific questions there. Let's take them each separately as they represent different prongs of Amanullah Khan's broader “Nizamnama” legal and administrative reform program. The Hashtnafari, or the “one in eight persons” draft, actually had its roots during the reign of Amanullah’s grandfather, Amir Abd al-Rahman Khan, in the 1880s and 1890s. The idea was to gradually transform Afghan warriors in their historic proclivity to fight under the banners and organization of their local clan, tribe, or tribal confederation, into a regularized, standardized, singular national army. Prior, when Afghan rulers faced a conflict with an outside power—say the British Raj, or imperial Russia—the Emir in Kabul would solicit warriors from tribal confederations, tribes, and clans who would each send a contingent to fight in the Amirs’ campaigns, but those men would be organized and fight under the respective leadership of their tribe, clan, etc—and not a unitary, centralized Afghan state command. There was no central command structure in that sense.
Amanullah, like his grandfather, and many of his successors, tried his lot with building a national army by reintroducing the Hashnafari system whereby one in eight males of fighting age would be conscripted into a national army with a central command structure, in theory at least. Those not conscripted would be bound to make financial contributions for the upkeep and support of those enlisted, in lieu of military service. In practice, the program was not very successful as the system continued to be mediated and compromised by local power-holders, including clan and tribal hierarchies and relationships. And ultimately, Amanullah was never able to marshal the unity of Afghan forces he successfully galvanized for the 1919 war of independence against Britain.
In seeking to overturn the highly localized arrangement of military forces in Afghanistan, Amanullah’s Hashtnafari was also an attempt to uniformize, centralize, and in a way, de-tribalize how Afghans fought wars. You could say this is a struggle on the part of multiple Kabul governments through the 20th century, and 21st, as well—and one that has proved elusive. I have no doubt countless military experts are studying and will continue to study “what went wrong” in August 2021 with the rapid collapse of the Afghan national military and government more broadly—well, there are instructive lessons and precedents already in Afghanistan’s modern history, which is not to say things remain the same in some static, perennial Afghanistan, but rather that there are echoes in the past 100 years alone—under Soviet occupation, and under prior independent Afghan governments such as under Amanullah Khan. But what is often forgotten or not asked, and is a bit of a paradox—is whether Afghanistan’s historically decentralized mode of warfare and defense is actually profoundly successful in protecting Afghan society from external invasions and even more so, foreign occupations. In other words, could it be that the “lack” of a singular, centralized army and military command structure in Afghanistan is actually in the long term an effective weapon—and warning—to outside powers considering occupying the country for their own extractive gains? Is the presumed weakness actually a strength? Food for thought there.
You asked how all this impacted women. Because military conscription before, during, and after Amanullah has been limited to men, the impact is indirect. (This is not to erase the presence of Afghan women on the battlefield, however, most famously in the beloved exemplar of Malala during the 1880 Battle of Maiwand; but more generally, we should not overlook the absolutely critical role of women in sustaining Afghan fighters in wars against Britain, Russia, and the USSR for example by providing food, shelter, and other forms of logistical and moral support).
As for the Hashtnafari’s impact on women, conscripting a son from the family would inevitably impact a family's overall economic situation and create additional burdens on the remaining family members, men and women, boys and girls. The family might lose a breadwinner, extra hands in the family's trade or farm, or even social status of the family, etc. And that could have a dramatic avalanche or gradual snowball economic effect on the rest of the family, irrespective of gender. But if we take the tragic patterns we have seen in chronic conflict zones like Afghanistan, Syria, or Yemen in recent decades, however, it is ultimately women and children who bear the worst brunt of military conflict and economic devastation. So if that pattern holds true for earlier periods of Afghanistan’s modern history, it is possible if not likely that the Hashtnafari actually disproportionately impacted women and girls financially speaking—but more research is needed to confirm that hypothesis.
NA: And what about other Nizamnamehs that addressed women and girls during the Amanullah era? How successful or impactful were they?
FA: As for other Nizamnamehs impacting women, perhaps one of the most impactful ones, if actually implemented, was Amanullah’s attempt to raise the minimum marriage age, particularly for girls. Given differences of opinion between the Hanafi school and other Sunni schools of law on this question, but also the interpretation of Amanullah’s move as an encroachment on the autonomy and ‘jurisdiction’ of the Afghan Uema, this law produced fierce controversy and debate. It needless to say was touching upon a very intimate sphere of Afghan family life which the state rarely intruded upon historically speaking. Had the delay of the minimum marriage age been implemented, it could have had a significant impact on the lives of young Afghan women and girls. But was it implemented? If so, where, when, and to what degree? Those are much more difficult question to answer. By way of comparison: just think about how difficult it is to answer basic questions surrounding conditions on the ground in Afghanistan today, even with the internet, telephones, and all the technologies that we have today. All the more so outside of the capital city Kabul, or major cities of Afghanistan, where we simply do not know enough about everyday life in the provinces and rural areas. With some important exceptions, there is a longstanding tendency in Afghanistan Studies scholarship to focus on Kabul, to the exclusion of a much wider and diverse swath of the country. Even though Afghanistan continues to be a majority rural country, policies and scholarship are largely focused on Kabul above all and then other major cities: Kandahar, Herat, Mazar-i Sharif, etc. This is a problem no doubt.
All of this is to say that, unfortunately, we don’t have a very good sense of how Afghan girls and women, particularly outside of Kabul, were impacted by Amanullah’s reforms, or what was their agency in structuring their lives. What we know more about, thanks to the work of scholars like Senzil Nawid, Yahia Baiza, and Marya Hannun, are the founding of new institutions including schools in Kabul, primarily by Amanullah Khan's wife, Queen Soraya Tarzi, and his sister Princess Kubra, and his mother-in-law Asma Resmiya, to give credit where it is due. They played a tremendous role in promoting new opportunities for girls and women within Kabul. But they were elite women no doubt, and their schools likely served more privileged women. Did they reach tens of thousands of women including outside Kabul? That's not clear at all, and probably unlikely. Yahia Baiza has an important book on the history of education in Afghanistan, including before the Soviet invasion of 1979. That book gives us a sense of some of the various initiatives that were launched, again, by the women of the royal family mostly, again, to give credit where credit's due.
NA: In your book, you offer a third option; a different historical trajectory and historical contingency during the era of decolonization. Can you tell us how the rise and demise of leaders such as Amanullah paved the way for this binary construction in the media of Afghanistan as unable to build its own institutions on the one hand, and on the other hand to the rise of hardline local rulers?
FA: That is a good, tough question. I'm a historian at the end of the day, and since that is my craft, it’s probably safe to say I am more comfortable talking about Afghanistan in 1921 than in 2021. With that disclaimer, I would agree with your assessment of the overall detrimental impact of foreign intervention in Afghanistan, and the region more broadly, in the long twentieth century—at least with the top-down, regime change approaches we have seen now by both Soviet and US governments in past decades. There is much that could be said about authoritarian leaders or governments actually benefiting from the international community’s debacles in Iraq and Afghanistan, to say nothing of the broader systematic destruction and devastation unleashed by outside military powers in both of those countries. The mistakes of outside major powers, be it the USSR or US, gives a lifeline to domestic authoritarian forces to amplify their own legitimacy—and cover up their own abuses. This is what makes the failures in Iraq and Afghanistan, among other places, particularly excruciating when we consider the plight of everyday men, women, and children—the vast majority of whom cannot be labeled simplistically as “pro-US” or “anti-US”, “pro-Taliban” or “anti-Taliban”, “pro-Baathist, anti-Baathist” etc. And it is heartbreaking to see.
However, to your question on the Amanullah era, we must remember that Afghanistan in 1919 was one of the few independent Islamicate countries and dynasties in the world. Unlike most of its neighbors, Afghanistan was not under European occupation; having shaken off its British protectorate status, Kabul did not have the same colonial chip on its shoulder or burden to prove itself as sovereign after gaining independence from Britain in 1919. As a result, the ruling dynasty was more focused on substantive issues and approaches when it came to questions of Islamic law and governance, for example. In other words, for Amanullah Khan, Islamic law was not just an empty, oppositional rhetoric. Unlike dozens of nascent Islamist organizations in formation at this time, under British or French colonialism, Amanullah was actually implementing policy within the interpretive frameworks of Islamic law and ethics. Whether the policy was increasing literacy or a variety of human development prerogatives like improving infrastructure, and public health conditions, Amanullah explicitly and unapologetically announced his policies within a discursive framework of Islamic law and ethics, or the shari‘a. There are ample examples of this from his own speeches, government publications and archives, and newspaper coverage from the period.
Perhaps this was one of the most promising features of Amanullah’s initially rather generative reign: actually establishing the blueprint for an independent Muslim government that was accountable to law, to a higher authority if you will, but also made steps towards being accountable to the people of Afghanistan, vis-à-vis the prerogatives and principles of Islamic law, which are undoubtedly important to so many Afghans. Because his country was not colonized at the time and was not occupied by a foreign power, there was less of that empty, rhetorical flare to his policies which we see in later militant Islamist movements that are invested in overthrowing a foreign power, colonial power, or secular-liberal ruling party, but in terms of governing present very little in terms of actual substance.
With that important distinction in mind, I would not say that Amanullah Khan laid the seeds for later rulers or militants to live off the legacy of US imperialism or debacles in the region. That comes at a much later period, having more to do with the Cold War, the end of the Cold War, and US policies in the broader region, from the Arabian Peninsula and Egypt to Iraq and Syria. This is what makes the Amanullah period of Afghanistan so fascinating: it is a virtual laboratory of Islamic governance, in which an actually sovereign Muslim government is not just making empty rhetorical claims “that society will be so great if we are in power or once we are in power” as opposition parties often do. It is easy to make lofty promises when you are in the opposition. But in the case of Amanullah Khan, his independent government was actually legislating and employing Islamic legal experts in promoting what their own interpretation of Islamic law. So, in a way, it's pre-binary; it's before the facile binary we are so accustomed to hearing when it comes to Afghanistan of, “for or against the US,” “for or against the Taliban,” “for or against shari’a.” These are all false and misleading binaries. And none of them are helpful in understanding Afghanistan. Because these binaries do not capture the richness and diversity of Afghans, Afghan politics, but also Afghan interpretations of Islamic law.
NA: I’d like to reflect on the question that lends itself to your answer. I wonder, what are the chances of resurrecting the Ammanullah time period in all of its contributions, both educationally, and legally in terms of the Kanun? In other words, can one break out of the pro/against Taliban, pro/against U.S binary through Siyasa-backed reforms that foreground local traditions of intellectual production and jurisprudence, which go all the way back to Aurangzeb during the Mughal empire of the Empire?
FA: It’s a bold and timely question, which I appreciate. To be clear though, the Siyasa tradition within Islamic law, or public administrative practices sanctioned by the ‘Ulema, certainly goes back to long before Aurangzeb and is not limited to the Mughals or Ottomans in terms of great early modern Muslim empires. We can find precedents in the early Abbassid period when fuqaha (Islamic jurists) of multiple schools but especially the Hanafis it seems crafted a doctrine and discursive space, whereby Muslim rulers could design and implement policy decisions with a layer of endorsement from the scholars—an Islamic version of executive discretion or public policy prerogative within the law, we might say. What the Mughal emperor Aurangzeb, as well as Ottoman and Afghan rulers after him, did increasingly so from the 18th and 19th centuries on is adapt that Islamic legal tradition, praxis, and juristic device to the expansive prerogatives of the modern state. My book provides a glimpse into how Afghan rulers, from Amir Abd al-Rahman Khan in the 1880s to his grandson Amanullah Khan in the 1920s, promoted, experimented, and furthered a comprehensive body of law, adapted to and for the modern nation-state, from within the accumulative fiqh and siyasa traditions combined, both of which are integral to the living history of Muslim attempts to interpret the shari‘a for the modern age.
As for resurrecting the Amanullah era – perhaps that is less called for than distilling the lessons and successes of the period while being very attuned to the failures and shortcomings, so as not to repeat some of the pitfalls. It is also a question which I'm not very qualified to address as a historian because it concerns a very foggy present and a very uncertain future in Afghanistan right now. After all, historians are no more equipped to predict the future than anyone else. That said, in a way you're asking if more thorough, robust, and nuanced attention to earlier periods of Afghanistan's history—before the Soviet and US interventions that are, or even before British colonialism—might provide some light or guidance in terms of a path forward for Afghanistan, perhaps even some type of model? Well, the answer to that depends, first, on what kind of future for Afghanistan is being aspired to. If the goal and vision is a more participatory, more inclusive, more peaceful, and prosperous Afghanistan, but also a more independent and self-governed Afghanistan (in comparison to the past 40 years for example), then I would say that the Amani period definitely provides some important lessons, and in some specific ways, substantial models.
What makes your question even more challenging is that it strikes at a bigger, deeper problem in Afghanistan: building a shared vision, a set of common denominators, and “red lines”, that cannot be violated among Afghans in all their diversity. Call them constitutional principles, call them Islamic principles, call them political processes or “rules of the game we can all agree to,” this is a challenge for any diverse, heterogeneous society that seeks a representative or participatory rather than authoritarian form of government. But Afghan history, society, and cultures are not blank slates in this regard. It is notable that Dari and Pashto are rich in proverbs extolling servant leadership, similarly to the classical Arabic maxim, sayyid al-qawm khadimuhum, (a true leader of a people is their servant).” There is also widespread recognition and malaise among Afghans that mere talk and slogans are cheap (Democratic this, Democratic that; Islamic this, Islamic that). “Dahan ba halwa guftan shirin na-mey-shawad,” (literally, one’s mouth, or the mouths of others, do not become sweet by saying “Halwa”, a traditional Afghan sweet).
NA: And how might this idea then inform the idea of a ruler serving his people and the challenges of doing that today in Afghanistan?
FA: All Afghan governments over the past century have talked about serving the Afghan people, the present authorities included. Well, is it not time to hold Afghan rulers—regardless of ideological persuasion or ethnic base—accountable for their promises? In promoting an Islamic Emirate, will the widely acknowledged purposes (or axiomatic principles) of the shari‘a, also known as Maqasid al-Shari’a—such as the protection and promotion of life, property (or prosperity), family bonds (including the nurturing of children), spirituality (including mental and emotional health), and preservation and cultivation of the mind, for all Afghans–take front and center attention and priority for the current rulers? Or will these core principles of Islamic law be sacrificed or ignored in pursuit of more minor or marginal issues that are even subject to legitimate differences of opinion among Muslim scholars? Only time will tell.
NA: Do you see any parallels in the subjugation of power used by the Amanullah government applicable to present-day Afghanistan?
FA: Meanwhile, now that it can no longer be said that the US controls Afghanistan, moot is the longstanding excuse of blaming the US or foreign enemies for all problems the country faces moving forward (real and warranted as those criticisms have been in the past, and putting aside the current punishing international sanctions on the country which may exacerbate yet another humanitarian catastrophe in Afghanistan in the near future). With the rug pulled on that rhetorical excuse common among authoritarian regimes, this creates the potential—and let me stress here I mean the potential—for more substantive conversations about Islam and governance in Afghanistan, such as, well, what should a modern Islamic constitution and government that's fully independent in practice but also inclusive, representative, and constructively engaged with the rest of the world actually look like? I don’t mean to suggest that those conversations and attempts did not take place under prior Afghan governments (which also did have their accomplishments, just as they embraced Islam not only as a bulwark of Afghan identity but as a source of law), but I do think it’s fair to say that the current authorities ruling Afghanistan—again, barring the current punishing economic sanctions—are operating more independently vis-à-vis major foreign powers than their counterparts for the past four decades.
Unexpectedly perhaps, in that specific respect, there is actually a parallel between the Amanullah government in the 1920s and the current Taliban authorities. Put another way: both bear the distinction of being in power in Afghanistan without foreign armies on Afghan soil. This is not meant as vacuous praise. What it really means is that both the Taliban and Amanullah Khan share the responsibility of commanding independent sovereign authority in Afghanistan, not under the subjugation of a major power; that is, they both bear the burden of living up to their liberational rhetoric, and with the world watching every move they make. But, most important, with the Afghan people watching. The proof of “Islamic governance”—as with all political claims—is in the pudding, as the common English saying goes.
NA: Would it be historically accurate to assume that the Amanullah Khan period was an example of an independent or fully sovereign Afghan government?
FA: I would say that the Amanullah Khan period does provide an example of an independent and fully sovereign Afghan government based in Kabul engaging in productive and constructive state-building measures, not just in the name of Islam and Islamic law, but actually in substance. In the Amanullah period, there were some positive milestones in that the constitutional process was marked by substantial consultation of Afghan Ulema along with a nascent bureaucratic class, rather than, say, a French-educated, secular-liberal intelligentsia calling all the shots, or colonial administration as we saw at the helm of other countries of the region, particularly in the late Ottoman and post-Ottoman Middle East mandates for example. There is something meaningful and instructive about Afghanistan after World War I there, by demonstrating that the Afghan Ulema can and have played a significant, productive, and constructive role in constitutional and state-building processes in the country. Just as important, however, is the fact that as the role and expertise of the Afghan Ulema were taken seriously, their expertise was never the whole picture and end-all. The Afghan Ulema was in conversation with other forms of expertise in the country and in neighboring Islamicate societies as far as Istanbul, Damascus, Delhi, and Baghdad, but also in conversation with—rather than isolation from—the international community more broadly. That is easier said than done, no doubt. Yet in that, perhaps, is not only a historical lesson, but also a positive model for all who seek an independent, peaceful, prosperous, equitable, and inclusive Afghanistan now and moving forward.
Faiz Ahmed is an Associate Professor of History at Brown University and is the Joukowsky Family Distinguished Associate Professor of Modern Middle Eastern History. He is an expert in comparative Islamic legal history, Faiz Ahmed is trained as both a lawyer and a social historian of the late Ottoman Empire, Iran, and Afghanistan. He is the author of Afghanistan Rising: Islamic Law and Statecraft between Ottoman and British Empires.
Nishat Akhtar is a Research Intern and provides support with editorial assistance at Borderline Journals studying at Barnard College at Columbia University. She is pursuing a combined major in American Studies—Women’s, Gender, and Sexuality Studies to learn and research the transnational histories of movement organizing and activism from the 60s to the present day.