Women’s rights have an uncertain future in Afghanistan

Afghanistan, after the Taliban takeover, is a waiting game. And for Afghan women, the waiting game is agonizing.

The last time the Taliban held power, in the late ’90s and early 2000s, repression was a feature of their rule. This was especially true for women. Girls could not attend school; women could not hold jobs or leave their homes without a male relative accompanying them. Those who defied the Taliban’s directives and their fundamentalist interpretation of Islam were punished, often brutally, with floggings or beatings.

The US invasion of Afghanistan after the 9/11 attacks put the Taliban’s worldview under scrutiny. The war became about more than terrorism; things like the expansion of women’s rights became embedded within the US mission there. In November 2001, first lady Laura Bush said the Taliban’s retreat meant “the people of Afghanistan, especially women, are rejoicing.” In 2010, Secretary of State Hillary Clinton told a group of female Afghan ministers: “We will not abandon you, we will stand with you always.”

Twenty years later, the United States is departing, and as it executed those plans, those earlier justifications fell away. President Joe Biden has said, in the military drawdown, that the US objective in Afghanistan was to defeat terrorism there. He said last week, “the idea that we’re able to deal with the rights of women around the world by military force is not rational.”

That sentiment comes 20 years late, after the mess of two decades of conflict and the still-unfolding fallout of the US’s military intervention. All of it leaves Afghan women facing a precarious future, once again, under Taliban rule — and a question of what role, if any, the US has in that future.

The US used women’s rights to help justify the invasion of Afghanistan

The uncertainty facing Afghan women comes after 20 years of US intervention — which itself followed decades of foreign intervention by the Soviet Union and others — where women’s rights were packaged as another justification for the war in Afghanistan. The gains were real, if uneven and often tenuous, undermined by the insecurity that the decades-long conflict brought.

The struggle for gender equality didn’t start with the US arrival in 2001: Women in Afghanistan fought for their rights long before the Taliban arrived in the 1990s, and some Afghan women’s activists opposed the US intervention.

But women’s rights got inserted into the rallying cry for war regardless of whether Afghan women wanted them, and at times, they became a cause célèbre. “The fight against terrorism is also a fight for the rights and dignity of women,” Laura Bush said in November 2001, a few weeks after the US invaded Afghanistan following the 9/11 attacks.

“The central goal of the terrorists is the brutal oppression of women — and not only the women of Afghanistan,” President George W. Bush said in December 2001, around the signing of legislation for Afghan women and children. “The terrorists who help rule Afghanistan are found in dozens and dozens of countries around the world. And that is the reason this great nation, with our friends and allies, will not rest until we bring them all to justice.”

Saving Afghan women from the Taliban also helped make the case for continued US war, said Saadia Toor, a sociology professor at the CUNY College of Staten Island. Even among lawmakers who generally support the withdrawal, hints of that rhetoric continue today.

The US intervention brought attention and it brought development money, much of it well-meaning but not always suited to success. Afghan women did enter public life in a way that was impossible during the Taliban’s rule. “The most drastic shift with respect to women’s rights came formally, legally, constitutionally, and how they manifest within the formal sectors,” said Maliha Chishti, former director of the United Nations’ Hague Appeal for Peace and professor at the University of Chicago. Women’s rights were enshrined in Afghanistan’s 2004 constitution; women held a certain percentage of seats in Parliament and entered sectors like law, government, and media.

International aid — severely limited during the Taliban’s rule — improved some social, economic, and health outcomes for women. Girls and women had access to education, though the instability and Taliban resurgence in recent years has threatened that. In 2020, of 9.5 million students, just shy of 40 percent were girls, according to USAID.

Still, when it came to women’s rights, they were most tangible in cities like Kabul, which, Chishti pointed out, were also the centers of international funding and foreign militaries that could protect those efforts. Meanwhile, grassroots efforts led by Afghan women sometimes conflicted with what Toor called “NGO-ized feminism” — think conferences on women’s empowerment and other kinds of Western-values activism that wasn’t sustainable and didn’t necessarily fit with Afghanistan.

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Mariam Wardak, an advocate and former senior Afghan government official, pointed out that for traditional, religious, and cultural reasons, in many parts of Afghanistan “there is a resistance for women to speak out, for women to hold a certain structure in our society.”

And as the war ground on, the US commitment to women’s rights sometimes visibly waned. Amie Ferris-Rotman, who reported for Reuters from Afghanistan for two years and founded an organization to mentor and train Afghan women journalists, noted for Vanity Fair that “there have long been signs of betrayal” of America’s stated commitment to women’s rights:

There was the time a senior American official described issues of gender as “pet rocks in our rucksack taking us down.” Then there was the method deployed by the CIA of exchanging Viagra pills for intel on Taliban whereabouts, so that, in the words of an Afghan journalist friend, “old men can rape their wives with America’s blessing.” Let’s not forget the polemic two years ago by academic Cheryl Benard, wife of the Afghan-born American Taliban negotiator, Zalmay Khalilzad, chastising Afghan women for not fighting for their rights, which they are not owed “by someone else’s army or taxpayer dollars.” And when Joe Biden was asked last year by CBS if he bears “some responsibility” should Afghan women lose their rights under a Taliban takeover, the U.S. president responded to the reporter, Margaret Brennan, with “No, I don’t!”

Ultimately, one of the biggest challenges to women’s rights in Afghanistan was years of war. It’s hard to get girls to go to school when they’re displaced by airstrikes or their schools are getting blown up. The Taliban’s advance across the country in the past years meant women in positions of authority were often under threat of kidnapping and violence.

Yet the full return of the Taliban deepens that threat, and threatens to stall or unravel the progress Afghan women have made. Zubaida Akbar, a 31-year-old Afghan activist who’s been in the United States for three years, said the lives of Afghan women have improved, even if that improvement has been slow.

Zahra Nader, a journalist and PhD student from Afghanistan who’s based in Canada, said the US talked about “saving Afghan women from misogynist forces, this gender apartheid.”

“That did not happen,” she said. “That did not happen at all.”

Yes, she said, she went to school, she went to university in Kabul — an opportunity she recognizes that many other Afghan women did not have. But she and other Afghans were working to determine what came next for their country.

“We were hoping that we’re going to build a society, we’re going to build a better future for Afghanistan, and we will be the ones that decide the future of the country,” she said. But she argued that US intervention, whatever the justifications, was always about US interests, and those are what prevailed: “What was going on in Afghanistan wasn’t really our choice.”

And now the women in Afghanistan are left to deal with the consequences of that, collateral in a war outside their control. “The international community has failed us,” Akbar said, “and they have made it clear that our lives don’t matter.”

What the waiting game is like with the Taliban’s return

The Taliban have sought to rebrand themselves as a bit more moderate, especially with the world watching. The Taliban spokesperson has assured the public that women would be allowed to go to work and school, “according to Islamic law.” Part of the waiting game is seeing in practice what “according to Islamic law” really means.

This week, the Taliban spokesperson has made assurances that “there will be no violence against women.” Few believe him.

“We see them as how we know them,” Akbar said. “The Taliban are who they are.”

There are already signs the Taliban are who they always were. One TV news anchor in Afghanistan said she was turned away from work. “You are not allowed, go home,” she said she was told.

As they began retaking territory, the Taliban reportedly sent home female students and professors in Herat. A female university student in Kabul told the Guardian that she would have “to burn everything I achieved in 24 years of my life. Having any ID card or awards from the American University is risky now.” There are reports of the Taliban going door to door looking for any unmarried woman between the ages of 14 and 45 to marry off to Taliban soldiers. A few women I reached out to in Afghanistan declined to speak because they said, almost uniformly, that they are afraid.

“Women are not even leaving their homes because they don’t feel safe,” Lida Azim, an organizer with Afghans for a Better Tomorrow, said. “They might be allowed to go to work or school, but it’s a huge intimidation tactic.”

Akbar’s volunteer organization works with children who have lost their parents, often from conflict, and with mothers, including some who’ve escaped domestic violence. Her group connects people with support services like counseling, medical checkups, and food. The goal, Akbar said, was to create social reform through volunteerism. As the Taliban rushed through Afghanistan, the work stopped. “Because of the type of work that we were doing, our volunteers do not feel safe continuing to work in Afghanistan, unfortunately, and their lives are at risk,” she said.

Others who work with nonprofit organizations or networks in Afghanistan also do not know what will happen to their female staff and volunteers. They fear that if the humanitarian situation worsens in Afghanistan — banks are closed, services are scarce, thousands of people were displaced by the Taliban offensive, the threat of hunger looms — those services will be desperately needed. Some said they are still unsure whether or how their ability to deliver aid might be affected and what that means for the families who rely on it.

But defiance accompanies this fear and uncertainty. Afghans, despite the threat of violence, have protested the Taliban takeover. Women are among them, leading them.

Even women who are intimidated are trying to go to work. Wardak, who also founded HerAfghanistan, a network of women in Afghanistan, mentioned one girl in her network who went to her job last week in Kabul. “She went — terrified. But she went,” Wardak said.

Nader said that even if women couldn’t go to their jobs, they are leaving their homes, just to go outside. They go with a sense of fear, not knowing what is going to happen or what the reaction of one particular Taliban soldier might be, she said. “But they do go out.”

“Just to tell [them] that we are here, we are not gone,” Nader said.

Some Afghan activists told me they see this as an opportunity for women to push back, especially as the world is watching. “Right now, because Taliban wants international recognition, we have to push boundaries to see how far we can go,” Wardak said.

The Taliban will need foreign money if they want to stay afloat. This could be a place of leverage, as international legitimacy will depend on whether the Taliban meets its commitments on human and women’s rights. At the same time, activists worry that sanctions or other policies to put pressure on the government will trickle down and increase the suffering of the Afghan people.

Activists said they still want the Taliban held accountable, but the US and coalition allies have ceded some of their leverage as they depart. Military intervention did not bring lasting peace or democracy or rights. But that does not mean the United States or the rest of the world can wash its hands of it all.

Getting those under Taliban threat out should be an international priority

Akbar spent last week fielding calls, filling out visa forms, writing letters. After one day of this, when she looked at the spreadsheet she uses to record her efforts, she counted more than 100 people, all desperate to leave Afghanistan.

Many of the people she is trying to help are women, though not all. The return of the Taliban has put many lives at risk, including those who worked with the US military or coalition forces or international organizations or the Afghan government. Ethnic and religious minorities also face real threats. Women, of course, cut across all those categories or are associated with those who do. There are also the women who became leaders in the past two decades — activists, advocates, and political leaders, who fear they may become direct Taliban targets. They can’t, activists say, stay in Afghanistan and be safe.

Which is why many activists say that what many women need most in Afghanistan is a way to exit, as soon as possible. “The lives of these women are at risk,” Akbar said. “They will get killed if they stay in Afghanistan.”

Since August 14, the US says it has evacuated more than 37,000 people; the pace has increased in recent days, with about 11,000 or so leaving each day, reports the New York Times. Still, in the past week, the chaotic scenes outside the Kabul airport, and report after report of the difficulty of getting through, have revealed how desperate people are. The United States is now deploying troops to get Americans and their allies who are unable to make it to the airport.

Many Afghans who helped the US military or government may be eligible for Special Immigrant Visas (SIVs), but as the New York Times reports, many of those jobs, like interpreters, were filled by men.

Which is why many activists fear that women may be left out of some of these programs, especially the activists, journalists, and political leaders who are directly at risk now that the US is leaving. Advocacy groups are calling on the Biden administration to prioritize and expedite the evacuation of women’s rights activists, journalists, lawmakers, and other public figures, as have some members of Congress.

“As a global community, not just United States, we need to talk about how do we let them in, how do we open our doors?” Homayra Yusufi, with the Afghan-American Council and the Partnership for the Advancement of New Americans, said.

As many pointed out, the US and its coalition allies have a moral obligation. There is an emergency right now, and whatever happens in the future can’t be completely separated from the decades of conflict and intervention. As Azim, of Afghans for a Better Tomorrow, said, for the US and Western allies, the responsibility is “on their hands.”

Of course, not everyone can — or wants to — flee Afghanistan. Activists say there’s still a role for the international community in helping people who remain in the country: international aid, specifically, to help the coming humanitarian crisis and try to shore up grassroots groups that do provide health and other support services.

International support may depend on what the Taliban might do around women’s rights in Afghanistan. But right now, there is an immediate emergency — to evacuate women who are being targeted by the Taliban or fear they might be very soon. Those in Afghanistan, desperate to leave, likely believe they have no other choice.

“I am getting calls back to back,” Yusufi said, “as are all of the organizations that work on refugee issues — or just getting bombarded from calls from family members, calls coming in from Afghanistan, being like, ‘I need help, I need to get out right now.’”

The 3 things experts are watching to evaluate the Taliban

The biggest question since the Taliban recaptured Kabul on August 15 has been whether the group’s return to power means the same thing for Afghans that it did 25 years ago.

The last time the Taliban controlled all of Afghanistan, from 1996 to 2001, was marked by brutal oppression, particularly of minorities and women. Their proclivity for violence, which continued throughout their post-9/11 resurgence as an insurgent force, has resulted in civilian massacres, human trafficking, and an environment dictated by fear.

But since announcing the Islamic Emirate of Afghanistan, the group’s leaders have downplayed that history, saying they have evolved with the times.

In the group’s first press conference, Taliban spokesperson Zabihullah Mujahid promised amnesty for Afghans, that women would have rights “within Islamic law,” and that the group’s days of harboring terrorists are over. Mujahid has been astute about optics as well — a TV interview with a Taliban official was anchored by a woman journalist.

So which version is more likely to be true? The Taliban government is still in its early days, but experts say there are several indicators that observers can look to — the group’s willingness to power-share in a government, proactiveness in distributing aid, and treatment of women — to suss out how it might rule.

Right now it’s not just the Taliban’s history that’s in direct contradiction to the moderation they are outwardly projecting, experts say. It’s their current behaviors, too — including violent crackdowns of protests and door-to-door manhunts for people on their blacklist.

“It’s a charm offensive on one side and a terrorist offensive on the other side,” said Rina Amiri, a senior fellow at New York University’s Center on International Cooperation.

Will the Taliban share power?

When the Taliban took over Kabul in 1996, the city’s infrastructure was battered and its population of several hundred thousand people, traumatized by a decade of civil war, had no expectation of government services or facilities. The Kabul of today, by contrast, has nearly 4.5 million people, who are used to being able to participate in democracy, demonstrate, receive schooling, access health care, and connect with the rest of the world. To be sure, over the past 20 years, the democratically elected government and the sectors of the economy flush with foreign aid experienced a lot of corruption. But the country did urbanize; the economy did grow.

While the Taliban have recent experience ruling mostly rural provinces, city governance is an entirely different task.

“Only [having] experience in shooting guns is not going to work if you are expecting a peacetime environment where you are responsible to provide your people with public services in an orderly way,” said Sher Jan Ahmadzai, the director of the Center for Afghanistan Studies at the University of Nebraska Omaha. “And this is a challenge for the Taliban to lead.”

So one of the first things experts are looking at is whether the Taliban can commit to working with former enemies, including members of the deposed democratically elected government, and actually enforce the amnesty policy they claim to support.

Those decisions are still in motion, Ahmadzai said. There has been some level of outreach to former President Hamid Karzai and former Afghan peace delegation leader Abdullah Abdullah, who have sought to be mediators.

“They’re thinking of how to rule, who to bring into the government, and how they can coax previous people from previous governments back into this system,” Ahmadzai said.

William Nomikos, a professor of political science at Washington University in St. Louis who studies violent extremism and civil wars, said a truly moderate, modernized Taliban would be willing to make concessions in order to effectively run the country.

“The real distinguishing mark between a rebel force that takes control but is really trying to be a government is, are they willing to make concessions to former adversaries,” Nomikos said. “Are they willing to establish a formal power-sharing agreement?”

Ahmadzai said that would require incentivizing people to want to work with the Taliban. But so far, they have allegedly targeted some of those who worked with the US. The mere fact that tens of thousands of Afghans are risking their lives to get to Kabul International Airport and onto flights speaks to their fear, at least, that the Taliban’s ability to work with former enemies is nonexistent.

“Government is not done by force, and cannot be done by force,” he said. “It’s going to be a huge challenge for the Taliban. Government is not easy. It is not fun. It is not as easy as destruction.”

Can the Taliban deliver food and water aid to its population?

Another indicator experts plan to follow is monitoring how the Taliban handle Afghanistan’s emerging food and water scarcity crises.

With foreign governments and NGOs alike pulling aid so as not to empower the Taliban, the group will have to figure out if it wants to provide services that give people the ability to see a doctor and other necessities. And they’ll have to do it while navigating a burgeoning economic crisis and a severe drought across the country that is expected to impact farmers’ and herders’ ability to provide food.

Estimates in June from the International Rescue Committee found that 80 percent of Afghans rely on agriculture and cattle-grazing for their incomes, which requires rain. The scarcity crises have begun in earnest, with 40 percent of the IRC’s survey respondents already experiencing negative impacts from a lack of water.

Even before the drought, estimates from the US Agency for International Development in 2020 found that 8.2 million Afghans need emergency food assistance, and 11 million can be classified as food-insecure.

“If the electricity fails, that’s a real problem,” said Thomas Barfield, president of the American Institute of Afghanistan Studies. “Food is a real problem. Afghanistan has suffered from a drought. You’ve got to feed the population.”

Food aid was primarily the job of NGOs and is quickly drying up. Attempts from the Taliban, or lack thereof, to re-secure or provide that aid will be an important signal to experts about their interest in helping their population.

International aid is vital to that task, but that would require recognition from foreign governments, which could provide some food or water aid. China, which has both business and security interests in Afghanistan, has been floated as a potential source of legitimacy. The Taliban could make a deal with China to allow them access to minerals in Afghanistan in exchange for some level of aid, Barfield said.

But China, with concerns about how to protect its engineers and policy of giving infrastructural rather than humanitarian aid, as it does with Pakistan, could be reticent to provide actual material help, Barfield added. Another signal that the Taliban are serious about feeding the population could be allowing in the United Nations — but that would require a serious compromise of their anti-Western ideology.

The hunger situation was so dire in the 1990s that, in a rare moment of pragmatism prevailing over ideology, the Taliban did allow the United Nations World Food Program into Kabul. At the time, a quarter of Kabul residents received bread from the UN or the Red Cross. Barfield said a similar allowance today would be an acknowledgment from the Taliban that providing basic aid to Afghans is a priority.

“They need the cooperation of the outside world,” he said. “No Afghan government can stay in power if it allows its people to starve.”

How is the Taliban already treating women?

Finally, the most critical indicator of whether the Taliban’s rhetoric is real or just lip service to the international community will be the group’s treatment of women.

The US-led military intervention over the past 20 years has a complicated legacy when it comes to women’s rights, as Vox’s Jen Kirby detailed. But over the past two decades, women have gone to school, become part of the workforce, and held positions of power in the government.

Reports already exist of the Taliban returning to its harsh past, with women in provinces the Taliban captured in months and years past being forced out of their jobs, and once again being required to have a male relative accompany them outside the house.

Experts are watching to see what women already are and are not allowed to do.

“Will there be women in government?” Nomikos said. “Will there be women in positions of power? Will women be allowed to go to university, to go to school?”

Amiri said that the Taliban are already providing an answer. Her contacts on the ground say that as the Taliban have taken over different provinces, they are showing up with lists of women activists, journalists, and government collaborators to systematically harass and intimidate their families.

Continuing those practices would be a clear sign that the Taliban are prioritizing ideology over pragmatism. Excluding women from society would also be indicative of a Taliban that is not interested in concessions for the sake of governance or in keeping its population afloat.

“Kabul, particularly, couldn’t function if they said no women could work,” Barfield said. “Let’s watch. Schools are going to be opening; offices are going to be opening. They’re going to have to make some decisions, and we’re actually going to be able to see.

“There’s women doctors,” he continued. “There’s people who know how to run the electrical system, the water system. You’ve got to come to some kind of modus operandi with these people, because if the system collapses, you’re sort of responsible.”

Failure to compromise could spell trouble for the Taliban

As Kirby explained, there are real pressures on the Taliban to be more pragmatic; some level of international legitimacy is needed in order to gain access to the aid the state depends on. But right now, Ahmadzai said the Taliban’s behavior indicates the creation of a security state, where the military functionally dictates society — no matter what they are saying publicly.

“There might be some development work, nominally, but behind the scenes, [it could likely] be a security state that would be suppressing the rights of women and human beings, suppressing condemnations of the system, and not letting people criticize,” Ahmadzai said.

But maintaining that depends on military monopolization of control. Within days of the Taliban reentering Kabul, Afghans were already protesting, raising the government flag, and openly defying Taliban rule — not just in Kabul but in Jalalabad and Khost as well.

Experts said armed resistance to the Taliban over the coming months is possible, too, particularly given the weaponry that warlords and their militias have, depending on how the Taliban proceed.

“This time, you’re coming into the most open and progressive period in Afghan history, and you’re going to shut that down,” Amiri said. “I don’t think that’ll go over very well.”

There are Afghans, particularly in rural areas, who might support or at least sympathize with Taliban ideology and be wary of running afoul of such a dangerous group. Additionally, the Taliban were able to get this far through cutting deals with warlords — a lesson they learned from their failures in 2001. But if the Taliban pursue devastating policies and people lose access to the grants that allowed them to pursue livelihoods or the aid that kept them alive, those deals could be off, their support could wither, and the country could descend into civil war, Nomikos said.

The Taliban must decide over the next several months, as the US leaves for good and international aid is diverted, if they actually intend to pursue pragmatism. Their level of commitment to amnesty in governance, aid, and women’s rights will be indicators of their decisions. And a failure to adapt could lead to their destruction.

“The Taliban have never shown the capacity to govern, so how are you going to manage the expectations of the people?” Amiri said. “If you’re oppressive, and you [also] can’t deliver basic services and goods, that’s not going to work.”

But experts also cautioned against underestimating the Taliban’s ability to rule purely by force and fear — that very miscalculation has undermined the US’s efforts at every turn.

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The long road to resettling Afghans in the US

A vast majority of Americans across the political spectrum — 90 percent of Democrats and 76 percent of Republicans — support resettling vulnerable Afghans in the US amid the Taliban’s takeover of Afghanistan. The Biden administration is surging resources to make that happen, speeding up visa processing for Afghans employed by the US government to support the 20-year war effort and trying to secure humanitarian aid for refugees. But it still seems as though many of them could face a monthslong wait before they can start a new life in the US.

Roughly 88,000 people who worked for the US government during the war, as well as their family members, are in the application pipeline for special immigrant visas (SIVs). Some are being sent to other countries to wait; others who are further along in the process are being sent to the US directly for resettlement.

There are also many thousands more who aren’t eligible for those visas but who might try to apply for refugee status through a recently created US priority program. But they will have to stay in third countries — where they will need financial support, among other kinds of aid — for months while they are being processed. US vetting requirements, capacity limitations at refugee resettlement agencies, and a finite number of slots available under the current refugee admissions cap could all contribute to delays in bringing them to American soil.

With better preparation, this last-minute scramble to set up the infrastructure to receive Afghan refugees may have been averted. Though the task might be more challenging now than it would have been a few months ago, the Biden administration has acknowledged that it faces a moral obligation to ensure those people not only get out of Afghanistan but also are able to access humanitarian protection in the US.

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“This was completely foreseeable,” said Yael Schacher, a senior US advocate at the advocacy group Refugees International. “We could have gotten these people out months ago. It’s really uncertain now.”

Afghan allies are being transferred to third countries or sent directly to the US

After announcing the withdrawal deadline in April, the Biden administration put its faith in the SIV program, which has existed since 2006, as its primary means of bringing Afghans to the US. But an intense, 14-step application process and a significant backlog that piled up during the final months of the Trump administration have made it an onerous immigration pathway for many who aided the US war effort, even before Kabul fell to Taliban control.

Applicants are required to submit significant documentation, including a recommendation letter from their senior US-citizen supervisor. But many Afghans who would otherwise be eligible for the program have difficulty obtaining that recommendation letter, especially in cases where they worked as contractors.

Even if an applicant can gather the required documents, they have faced lengthy wait times before they are ultimately approved for a visa. By law, SIVs are required to be processed within nine months, but in practice, the average processing time has always been longer than that.

The Trump administration actively stonewalled the program, meaning that not a single SIV was processed between March 2020 and January 2021. In response, a federal judge ordered the government to come up with a plan to process these applications in a timely manner after thousands of SIV applicants sued. Yet it’s still been taking about two years to process the applications.

Now, the Biden administration is surging resources to speed up processing of SIV applicants, who are being sent to third countries temporarily before being brought to the US. According to the State Department, the US government has been issuing SIVs at a rate of more than 800 per week — an eightfold increase over the course of a few months.

“Even before [the evacuation operation started], we were undertaking an interagency effort to clear a backlog of applicants, to identify how and where to relocate SIVs in various stages of the application process, and to work with Congress to revise qualifications for the SIV and streamline our processing requirements,” a State Department spokesperson told me in an emailed statement.

SIV applicants are staying in intermediate way stations at the Al Udeid and As Sayliyah military bases in Qatar, the Ramstein US Air Base in Germany, and in Italy, Spain, Kuwait, the United Arab Emirates, and Bahrain. The facilities in Germany, Italy, and Spain have the capacity to house up to 15,000 people at any one time, according to the State Department.

Though the US has agreed not to house Afghans at its German air base for longer than 10 days, it’s not clear how long those sent to the other countries will stay there. Some advocates, however, are concerned that Afghans will end up waiting in third countries for prolonged periods and have argued that the US should instead just bring all of them to the US directly, through what is called “parole,” and complete processing on American soil.

The Biden administration has started allowing certain SIV applicants who have already passed background checks and a medical screening, but have not been issued a visa, to come to the US on parole — which allows them to live and work in the country for up to two years — but it’s not clear whether that is happening on a wide scale. An August 23 Department of Homeland Security memo indicates that people who are likely eligible for the SIV program will also be paroled into the US on a case-by-case basis.

Refugees are being flown to one of three army bases in the US: Fort Bliss in Texas, Fort McCoy in Wisconsin, and Fort Lee in Virginia. Those bases are preparing to receive as many as 22,000 Afghans altogether, providing them with temporary housing, medical screening, food, religious support, and other necessities.

Some immigrant advocates have raised concerns that they could stay in those bases on a long-term basis, possibly for more than a year, before being transferred to their final destination. The choice to send Afghans to Fort Bliss, which also houses thousands of migrant children, is particularly worrisome, given that the facility is the subject of an ongoing government watchdog investigation over allegations of abuse and poor conditions.

SIVs can choose their final destination themselves, either opting to be near family members already living in the US or selecting from a list of 19 cities spanning from Phoenix to St. Louis. Alternatively, they can request that a refugee resettlement agency choose a placement that would suit them best.

Once issued a visa, they also become eligible for the same kind of services offered to refugees to help them get their footing in the US and become self-sufficient within six months: basic necessities, temporary housing, cash assistance, job training and placement, and English classes, among other forms of aid.

But the availability of those services could be scarce given the constraints on the refugee agencies that operate these programs, many of which were gutted by President Trump, who slashed the annual refugee admissions cap from 110,000 to just 15,000 during his time in office.

Under Trump, refugee agencies saw their federal funding reduced, forcing them to scale back their infrastructure and staffing to keep their resettlement programs afloat. More than 100 resettlement offices — nearly a third of the nationwide total — closed, and many government staff tasked with processing refugees abroad were laid off or reassigned.

Now, those agencies will have to find landlords willing to rent out affordable accommodations amid a national housing shortage. They also need to rebuild relationships with employers willing to hire refugees. And they will have to recruit and train volunteers to help furnish apartments for newly arrived Afghan families and drive them to medical appointments, English classes, and job interviews.

Congress should allocate additional funding to ensure that those agencies have the resources they need to accommodate the arrivals of thousands of Afghans, Dan Kosten, assistant vice president of policy and advocacy at the National Immigration Forum, said in a press call.

“[Refugee agencies] have resettled tens of thousands of refugees every year, and can do this,” he said. “But their infrastructures have been reduced over the last several years, given the record low number of refugee arrivals, and they need the resources upfront to rapidly rebuild those infrastructures.”

Afghan refugees could face a long path to reaching US soil

In addition to the SIV program, some Afghans have the option of applying for refugee status in a third country.

The Biden administration recently opened up a new pathway for Afghans (and their families) who have worked for a US government-funded program, US-based media, or non-governmental organizations, but who don’t meet the narrow requirements for the SIV program, to come to the US as refugees. But they would have to overcome some significant hurdles.

First, the eligibility criteria for this so-called “P-2” program is still fairly narrow. Individuals can’t even apply for themselves — US employers have to refer a qualified individual for the program. That means that, for example, a local construction crew that built a school run by a US-funded aid group might not be afforded refugee protection. Some US-based advocates have called on the administration to broaden the scope of the program.

But even those eligible under the current criteria would somehow have to arrange travel out of the country on their own, and not all of those under threat might be able to make that dangerous and potentially expensive journey, especially if they live in the nation’s outer provinces, where neighboring countries have recently reinforced their borders in an attempt to deter potential refugees.

So far, it seems that Pakistan, Iran, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, and Turkey have seen the largest number of Afghan arrivals. But even if these people are eligible for refugee status, they might find themselves stranded abroad for 12 to 14 months without humanitarian assistance, in places that have less-than-pristine human rights records.

During a press conference at the White House on August 20, President Biden said the administration has discussed the need to “work with the international community to provide humanitarian assistance, such as food, aid, and medical care for refugees who have crossed into neighboring countries to escape the Taliban.” He recently allocated an additional $500 million in emergency funding that will in part provide that kind of assistance.

But there remain a lot of unanswered questions in terms of what kind of support Afghan refugees might expect to receive once they reach a third country, and how the US will go about processing them.

“It can be a good path for thousands of people, but it’s not an immediate one,” Schacher said. “Many people probably won’t be able to find work and support their families. So having US funds available for that could be helpful if it’s going to be a long wait.”

The US could increase the number of US Citizenship and Immigration Services officers it sends abroad to interview Afghan refugees or conduct more of those interviews virtually in order to speed up processing. But there might also be a bottleneck stateside. The annual refugee admissions ceiling is 62,500 for this fiscal year, which ends in October. Just 4,000 of those spots can go to refugees from Europe and Central Asia, which includes Afghanistan.

This means that most Afghans applying for refugee status will be waiting until at least October, when Biden has pledged to raise the refugee admissions ceiling to 125,000. It’s likely he will drastically increase the proportion of those spots that can go to Afghans. But how quickly approved Afghans can be resettled might also depend on the capacity of refugee resettlement agencies in the US.

It’s also possible that Biden could implement a program allowing for private sponsorship of Afghan refugees that he previewed in a February executive order. In that case, private individuals and community groups, not just refugee resettlement agencies that receive government funding, could support additional Afghan refugees exceeding the 125,000 cap.

“A lot of people are volunteering to sponsor refugees, so I do think it would be a good idea to channel that energy into a private resettlement pilot,” Schacher said.

But the Biden administration has yet to articulate its plans on that front, leaving much work to be done in the coming months to make refugee resettlement a viable pathway to the US for Afghans.

ISIS-K, explained by an expert

The United States issued a warning this week amid the crush and chaos at the Hamid Karzai International Airport in Kabul, Afghanistan: Avoid the area because of a possible ISIS terror attack.

On Thursday, the threat bore out. The full tragedy of the attack is still unclear, but at least 170 Afghans and 13 US service members were killed in an explosion around Kabul airport, the deadliest day for American combat troops in Afghanistan in a decade.

The Islamic State in Khorasan Province, or ISIS-K, claimed responsibility. The organization is an offshoot of the original group in Iraq and Syria, and it emerged in 2015, not long after ISIS had consolidated territory in Iraq and Syria. In Afghanistan, ISIS is building toward its goal of establishing a global caliphate.

Ex-Taliban filled ISIS-K’s ranks early on, and the two groups have morphed into enemies, fighting each other and trying to sell their competing ideologies to recruits. The United States-led coalition in Afghanistan also battered ISIS-K in recent years — occasionally even ending up on the Taliban’s side of the battle against the ISIS offshoot. Those efforts weakened the group but never dismantled it.

Thursday’s attack was a reminder of that ongoing presence — and a reminder of ISIS’s ability to sow chaos and confusion, says Andrew Mines, a research fellow at the Program on Extremism at George Washington University.

ISIS-K is doing this right as the US is leaving because, Mines says, facilitating “an increased US and international footprint” aligns with their bigger goal of discrediting the Taliban.

“If ISIS-K can force that [international presence], it makes the Taliban both look as collaborators with the West — which is really good for ISIS-K messaging — but also like failed collaborators, right? ‘You can’t even provide security, you’re incapable of ruling this nation, we [ISIS] are the viable alternative,’” says Mines, who is co-authoring a book on the Islamic State Khorasan with Amira Jadoon, an expert on the group. “It is almost certainly to discredit the Taliban and their ability to hold power and deliver security.”

Vox spoke to Mines about that rivalry with the Taliban, plus ISIS-K’s origins, the possible motivations behind Thursday’s attack, and what America’s withdrawal from Afghanistan might mean for the terror group.

Our conversation, edited for length and clarity, is below.


Jen Kirby

Let’s start with the basics. Who, or what, is ISIS-K?

Andrew Mines

Islamic State’s Khorasan Province — ISIS-K, IS-KP, IS-K, it goes by a bunch of different acronyms. It’s the official affiliate of the Islamic State group in Afghanistan. It was the official affiliate in Afghanistan and Pakistan, but in 2019, there was a split, and now it has distinct provinces for Afghanistan and Pakistan. So right now, ISIS-K is focused solely on Afghanistan. It’s been recognized by the Islamic State group leaders in Iraq and Syria and was officially founded in January 2015.

Jen Kirby

What was the impetus for starting an ISIS offshoot in Afghanistan?

Andrew Mines

In 2014, there were all these background discussions going on across different local groups and emissaries on behalf of the core group in Iraq and Syria. They were traveling and reaching out to different groups that already existed in Afghanistan and Pakistan to see about exactly that — to see about establishing a local affiliate, an official beachhead for ISIS in Afghanistan and Pakistan. ISIS looks at that as the crux of its broader jihad in Central and South Asia. It really sees it as a beachhead to launch attacks and pursue the vision of the global caliphate.

Jen Kirby

Does ISIS-K operate independently? Or do they report to — or have their activities coordinated by — ISIS in Iraq and Syria?

Andrew Mines

It’s kind of a mixed bag. The leader of the group, the governor of the wilayat [the province, in this case Khorasan] is nominated by others in his organization and then approved and appointed by the caliph and his delegating committee in Iraq and Syria. That nomination process means the group in Iraq and Syria, in theory, has control over the group in Afghanistan. But when it comes to the operational components, they’re pretty displaced from the day-to-day. There are core operators in Afghanistan — previously in Pakistan, not just Afghanistan — that are trying to figure out how to launch attacks and all this stuff by themselves.

At the strategic level, ISIS-K aims to implement much of the same the group in Iraq and Syria does. It pursues sectarian attacks against groups like the Hazaras [a predominately Shia ethnic group in Afghanistan] and Sikhs. It seeks to consolidate territorial control. In fact, that’s one of the qualifications that a group needs to hit to be acknowledged by the core group in Iraq and Syria — what it calls “territorial consolidation.” Once that happened, they were like, “Okay, check, you can be a province now.”

Jen Kirby

You qualify, basically.

Andrew Mines

You qualify, right? There are a few others on that list, but that’s one of the big ones.

The other biggest one is coming forward with a leader that can be appointed by the delegating committee. It looks different in Somalia, it looks different in Yemen, it looks different in Afghanistan, but whichever groups or sets of individuals are coming together need to nominate a leader that the core leadership can vet first and then appoint.

Jen Kirby

This is probably not the best example for a terrorist organization, but it almost sounds like franchising? You have an ISIS branch in Afghanistan and then you have the corporate headquarters in Iraq and Syria.

Andrew Mines

I mean, that’s exactly it. One of my colleagues calls it the “routinization” of the Islamic State movement.

Jen Kirby

So who is in charge of ISIS-K right now?

Andrew Mines

There’s a great article by one of our colleagues, Abdul Sayed, in Lawfare that addresses this issue. Right now, it’s a man by the name of Shahab al-Muhajir. He’s believed to be a former and experienced Haqqani network [an Islamist militant group affiliated with the Taliban] operative. He has a lot of experience with the makings of a terrorist organization, when it goes from a low-level insurgency, and it’s trying to pursue re-expansion. He’s a bit of an urban warfare expert.

He’s also reportedly appointed as the first non-Afghan or non-Pakistani national to head the group. That’s pretty significant, to be headed by a non-Afghan, or non-Pakistani, or non-Pashtun is a pretty big deal. He’s tasked with overseeing the group through this period of relative decline and relative uncertainty.

Jen Kirby

What is Shahab al-Muhajir’s background?

Andrew Mines

Other ISIS-K leaders were super well-known, and through ISIS’s own propaganda, they did these backgrounds on the first governor [Hafiz Saeed Khan]. They did this whole interview in ISIS’s main magazine with him.

This newest governor [Shahab al-Muhajir] was shrouded in a little bit of uncertainty. It took him a while to issue his first statement. There was confusion about whether they were trying to hide his accent because he’s not Afghani, not Pakistani. So there’s a lot of mystery when he was first announced as governor.

Jen Kirby

And Shahab al-Muhajir has been governor since when?

Andrew Mines

Since 2020.

Jen Kirby

Okay, so he’s fairly new to the job then. But who exactly makes up ISIS-K’s ranks?

Andrew Mines

ISIS-K starts in 2015 — and, obviously, those discussions [about its formation] were going on in the background in 2014. This was a time when there’s a little bit of disgruntlement with the Taliban as a movement — especially once news got out that [Taliban founder and leader] Mullah Omar was dead and had been dead for some time.

ISIS, as an entity, had just established the global caliphate, and that was a huge messaging boost. The Taliban, as an entity, their aspiration is for a government focused only on Afghanistan, within the boundaries of Afghanistan. When these guys get in fights with each other and when they diss each other in their propaganda and their narrative messaging in how they recruit people, that’s how ISIS-K brands the Taliban. They brand them as “filthy nationalists.”

Jen Kirby

It’s like ISIS was the cool, new, hip group in town. The Taliban has been around for a while; it’s kind of fusty, and so ISIS-K was trying to capitalize on their success in Iraq and Syria to recruit in Afghanistan.

Andrew Mines

Definitely. We’ve got founding members from the Pakistani Taliban. We’ve got founding members from the Afghan Taliban. We’ve got members from the Islamic movement of Uzbekistan, and then over time, a bunch of other groups start to join them.

But what kind of happens in these first few months and, then over time, is that the Taliban catch on to this really quickly, and they start to clamp down on all of their commanders and anybody who’s thinking about joining ISIS-K.

Really, 2015, was a pretty crazy year that saw, across Afghanistan, in different provinces, major Taliban commanders switching flags and joining ISIS-K. This is a huge pivotal moment because the Taliban realizes if the dominoes start to fall, ISIS-K becomes the preeminent jihadist organization in the country.

Jen Kirby

I do want to talk more about the relationship with the Taliban, but when we talk about ISIS-K 2021, how big is it?

Andrew Mines

Starting in 2016 to 2018 is when the coalition really hammers down on ISIS-K. That piggybacks off the Taliban routing ISIS-K in different places. Sometimes they coincide. Sometimes it’s just the Taliban; sometimes it’s just the coalition.

In one sense or another, by 2019, the group is pretty decimated — at the end of 2019, over 1,400 fighters and their families surrendered to government forces in northeast Afghanistan. This is really where we start to see this messaging, especially by the Afghan government, that ISIS is defeated in the country, and that there’s no more ISIS here. That’s when we really see ISIS-K go back to this survival mode, like low-level insurgency.

At that point, a lot of ISIS-K’s recruitment messaging is starting to localize. Historically, a lot of its rank-and-file members have come from across the border in Pakistan. More recently, there’s other good evidence of recruitment of young urban Afghans who have become disillusioned with the peace process and just don’t think it’s going anywhere. So ISIS-K is really kind of a mix of the core hardened guys, who managed to survive the onslaught of coalition targeting, and then newer recruits, and then attack operation cells spread throughout different Afghan cities.

Jen Kirby

I do remember in 2017 when the US dropped the “mother of all bombs” on ISIS caves in Afghanistan, which stands out as the big example, in my mind, of that US-led campaign.

Andrew Mines

It was a big bomb. The purpose of it was to clear this cave tunnel complex to allow forces to get into a valley where they had been set up, basically, since their inception in 2015. But it’s also a messaging thing in its own right, which is, “this is what happens, and so be prepared, because we’re going to use this kind of ordnance on you guys.”

Jen Kirby

Let’s talk about this strategic rivalry. Why are ISIS-K and the Taliban enemies?

Andrew Mines

The biggest one is over the distinction between emirate and caliphate. This goes all the way back to 2015. There were actually talks between senior leadership in the Taliban and [ISIS leader Abu Bakr] al-Baghdadi himself and his delegating committee. [The Taliban is] basically like, “why are you instructing these guys to do this? Call your guys off.” And Baghdadi is like, “Well, recognize me as caliph and then we’ll be good, right?” So that beef goes back a long time. But the crux of it is really about emirate or caliphate — global movement or national confines.

Jen Kirby

The emirate is Taliban-style and caliphate is ISIS-style?

Andrew Mines

Yes, exactly.

Jen Kirby

Okay, and during this past five-plus years, the United States was bombing ISIS-K targets, and the Taliban and ISIS-K were also fighting on the ground.

Andrew Mines

Yes, extensively.

Jen Kirby

And what are the dynamics of that fighting between the Taliban and ISIS-K?

Andrew Mines

The dynamics of that took a bunch of forms. It was really a bit more positional fighting, so the Taliban attacked ISIS-K positions. That went all the way down to skirmishes in the outskirts of districts and in rural areas, to targeted attacks against individual units and individual fighters.

But the majority of ISIS-K attack campaigns, in late 2020 and throughout this year, have been focused on some of the same stuff that we saw in Iraq and Syria, which is called a harvesting campaign — which is a horrible name — but that’s how they view it.

ISIS-K goes after journalists, they go after aid workers, they go after intelligence and security personnel that they can identify. They go after government facilities and government targets and anything they can do to prove that the governing power is not able to provide security to anybody, and to sow confusion and chaos.

Jen Kirby

The US and the Taliban both don’t want ISIS-K in Afghanistan. I’m wondering if there was any coordination or collaboration on ISIS targets during the war at all? Or do we just not know that information?

Andrew Mines

It’s actually a really difficult question. Wesley Morgan is really the guy on this one. He wrote this piece in the Washington Post about how there was unofficial coordination. It wasn’t cooperation, per se, but it’s basically, “we’re about to hit ISIS-K here, just so you know.”

It falls very far short of strategic cooperation between the Afghan Taliban and the US armed forces and Afghan forces to root out ISIS. But it’s in both of their interests, and when made sense, it seems like there was kind of unofficial cooperation.

Jen Kirby

Now we just saw the Taliban go on this rout through Afghanistan. What has ISIS-K been up to in the last few months as this was unfolding?

Andrew Mines

If you look at ISIS-K attack numbers, in terms of their operational tempo, it was a lot lower than 2020 and early 2021. A lot of people interpret that as they’re either lying low to see what happens, or they’re pooling their resources and just biding their time for what we saw at the Kabul airport on Thursday.

The question becomes: What is their interest in conducting an attack like we saw Thursday?

Jen Kirby

And so what is their interest in conducting that attack we saw?

Andrew Mines

The first is simply just do the same thing that’s coming out of the Iraq and Syria textbook, which is to sow chaos and confusion and create those conditions that insurgent groups like these try to fill.

The second is to encourage and, in their view, hopefully facilitate an increased US and international footprint, which would be reneging on the withdrawal process.

If ISIS-K can force that, it makes the Taliban both look like collaborators with the West — which is really good for ISIS-K messaging — but also like failed collaborators, right? “You can’t even provide security, you’re incapable of ruling this nation, we [ISIS] are the viable alternative.” It is almost certainly to discredit the Taliban and their ability to hold power and deliver security.

Jen Kirby

What does the attack say about the relative power of ISIS-K? I’m trying to understand if this was its coming-out party to say, “we’re back!” Or is the group still relatively weakened by years of US bombings and Taliban fighting? Or do we just not really know the answer to that question at this point?

Andrew Mines

It’s certainly been weakened in 2019 and 2020. That’s why we see them really pursue these kinds of attack campaigns.

At the same time, some of the more credible estimates of the group’s force size show them gradually increasing; they are trying to continue recruiting, trying to reconsolidate some semblance of territory. Their attack cells are also carrying out these really vicious campaigns throughout last year and this year and so they maintain that capability.

Jen Kirby

President Joe Biden said Thursday that the US would retaliate for the attacks. But putting aside the US withdrawal for a moment, is ISIS-K a big threat to the Taliban and the Taliban’s ability to govern Afghanistan?

Andrew Mines

Yes, yes. The short answer is yes.

Jen Kirby

Okay! How so?

Andrew Mines

We look at three things. The first is, again, that message, it has the playbook of the group from Iraq and Syria, which was effective. We saw that in 2011, and onwards.

It has the personnel and the core membership necessary to stay relevant but also to expand and go through this period of, “okay, this is the low point.”

The third part is the conditions. It really is early days, and I’m not one to really speculate. But when Amira and I looked at the kind of fatalities, and then casualties occurring to ISIS-K, over time, the vast majority of them are coming from the US-led coalition, Afghan airpower, and ground operations. The Afghan Taliban is routing ISIS in areas, sometimes by itself, but when we look at how ISIS-K suffered over time, a lot of that’s been at the hand of US forces, alongside Afghan partners, and especially US airpower. Without that, I don’t know what that’s going to look like. Biden’s into an “over the horizon” posture. But it is just early days, so we don’t know what that’s going to look like yet.

Jen Kirby

As you’re saying this, I’m having flashbacks to Iraq a little bit. I know you don’t want to make predictions, but it does seem like there’s the possibility of history repeating itself?

Andrew Mines

It’s sad, and you hate to see these kinds of things play out, and obviously, there are different dynamics — there’s no Taliban equivalent in Iraq, of course. But those predictions so far look like they’re on track.

Again, it’s early days, and we’ll see, and I know the US’s primary mission is getting people who have helped us and our people out of there. But ISIS-K has ambitions beyond this evacuation timeline. We need to treat them with the seriousness of their ambitions.

Jen Kirby

Okay, so I know it’s early days, but what are you watching for in regards to ISIS-K?

Andrew Mines

That depends on what the US does next. It really does. But if we stick to where we’re at, and we don’t put too many more assets on the ground, more or less we’re out of there in a real meaningful sense, very, very rapidly, as in within the next week or two. My safe bet is that you just replace the Afghan government as a target with the Taliban as a target.

If the Taliban is now going to be the guarantor of security in the country, who does ISIS-K need to attack to make sure that they are seen as the viable alternative to some power that can’t provide security to the people? That’s going to be the Afghan Taliban.

At the same time, they will still need to stick to their brand messaging, so: targeting minorities, check. Targeting government infrastructure and government personnel, and in this case, it will be Taliban-run and Taliban personnel, check. Targeting civilian spaces to create that panic and chaos and confusion to show that the Taliban can’t protect, check. That’ll be the playbook.

Jen Kirby

So what does corporate headquarters think about all this? Where does Afghanistan fit in terms of ISIS’s larger dynamics?

Andrew Mines

Afghanistan, from the start, was really important to this group — the greater region, Khorasan, has this huge lore in Middle East history, and I won’t bother you with the boring details of that.

But it’s always had this lore for them. And the legacy of [al Qaeda’s No. 2, Abu Musab al-] Zarqawi and the legacy of bin Laden is there. They try to seize that legacy. They try to seize that mantle. “We are the jihadist group; there’s no alternative. Al Qaeda, they failed; they are not the true inheritance of Zarqawi and Bin Laden’s legacy, we are.” And so Afghanistan has always been important to them.

From ISIS’s perspective, it’s really about how you allocate resources. Especially as Africa has become just as huge, the movement starts to dedicate a lot of resources. The same thing we saw with Afghanistan — share money a little bit, but also trainers, advisers. And so there’s a clear precedent and clear historical interest for them to send advisors, to send assets and money that they can get into Afghanistan to make sure that ISIS-K has what it needs to pursue this next chapter.

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The helplessness of being an Afghanistan War vet

Inside a clinic in eastern Afghanistan, a nine-months-pregnant Afghan woman shivered on an old metal bed as an Afghan midwife examined her. It was 2012, and the war in Afghanistan had already been going on for 11 years. The woman had just traveled from an outlying village along the Pakistan border, seeking a safe place to deliver her third child. After repeated miscarriages, her family was determined to make their way to the Afghan government’s sponsored clinic at the district’s center, where they had heard news about better maternal outcomes.

Part of my job, as a Cultural Support Team (CST) leader with special operations in the US military, was to inform families like theirs about the clinic. The midwives there could facilitate a safer delivery that might not have happened otherwise, like when the Taliban was in power during the 1990s. The pregnant patient would spend several days at the clinic, waiting out her delivery and returning to her village after recovering from labor.

When the Taliban entered Kabul and reclaimed control over Afghanistan earlier this month, I was at a baseball game with my son. I frantically scoured through news reports while fans cheered and my kid devoured ice cream. I worried about the many Afghans I worked alongside, like that mother and her family whom I had the honor of meeting. What will become of pregnant women and their children? What about the midwives, the clinic, and the district? Or the Afghan police and soldiers I served with? I felt simultaneously helpless, unable to do anything in the moment, and guilty for being at a ballgame with fans singing along to “God Bless America” while this other country I cared about was falling apart.

For 10 months in 2012, I was stationed near the Afghan-Pakistan border as a CST — a program created when the military realized that after nearly a decade at war, it was a problem that all-male combat units were unable to interact with the Afghan female population. Our team did a number of things, but one of our aims was to make it safer for women to travel to and from the clinic. We also went from village to village, informing everyone about the clinic’s capabilities — like how it could provide medicines, immunizations, prenatal care, and a safe place to deliver their babies and recuperate under the watchful eye of trained medical professions.

Our CST was mostly met with curiosity, since almost none of the locals had ever seen an American woman before. Only when insurgents were nearby were the locals distant. As a tribal society, the Pashtuns prided themselves on their commitment to the Pashtunwali, an ethical code and way of life defined by laws, culture, and tradition, of which hospitality is deeply valued. When we met with midwives most weeks, we sat knee to knee on a red rug that covered the clinic’s cold tiles, discussing the stories of the pregnant patients over cups of chai.

Our CST’s relationship with the midwives was critical because they had daily interactions and access to the female population, and knew what type of support the women needed from the government. Together, we’d talk about villages they and the women avoided, or which villagers never came to the clinic because they were too fearful of reprisals from nearby insurgents, which helped us understand the threats facing the women in the district.

But now that the Taliban control the country, I worry about these women and what will become of these clinics. While the Taliban are saying that they’ll respect women’s rights (within the context of Islamic law), their history of violence coupled with recent reports of women being forced into marriages with Taliban fighters and being attacked for trying to flee the country at the airport make me doubtful.

Like those of many citizens, veterans’ opinions about America’s involvement in Afghanistan vary. Many of my friends are upset about our rapid withdrawal and the lack of planning to evacuate those in need. Many of them have messaged me about how bleak and unreal the situation feels. Some feel utterly powerless. Their concerns echo my own frustrations and heartache. Since Biden announced the US was withdrawing from Afghanistan, I’ve been vested in helping our allies get out of the country. But once Kabul fell, I felt utterly dejected. I’ve found myself cycling through the various stages of grief: disbelief that the Taliban rose so quickly, anger in our nation’s lack of coordinated efforts to rescue and aid our Afghan allies, and depression at feeling like I’m too far away to actually effect change.

But I am choosing not to allow those feelings of hopelessness consume me. That evening, after holding back tears at the baseball game, I returned home, got on my laptop, and got back to work. For the past few weeks, I’ve partnered with an inspiring team of veterans and civilians to help our Afghan allies get evacuated. Together, we’ve filled out paperwork, applied for visas, and coordinated efforts to get people into Kabul airport and onto flights out of the country. There have been days I’ve broken down, crying at the sheer chaos of it all, like after hearing the news that 13 US service members and at least 90 Afghans were killed in a suicide bombing orchestrated by ISIS-K. Other times, I’ve been inspired by the work. All I can do is hope that our efforts ripple, reaching those who need it the most.

Jackie Munn is a West Point graduate and former Army captain who served in Iraq and Afghanistan. After her service, Jackie became a nurse practitioner and writer.

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NATO allies are preparing for a future without America’s “forever wars”

Afghanistan wasn’t just America’s 20-year war. It also belonged to US allies.

“This has been above all a catastrophe for the Afghan people. It’s a failure of the Western world and it’s a game changer for international relations,” the European Union’s chief diplomat Josep Borrell told an Italian newspaper Monday, according to the Washington Post.

“Certainly,” he continued, “we Europeans share our part of responsibility. We cannot consider that this was just an American war.”

As President George W. Bush said in October 2001 while announcing airstrikes against al-Qaeda and the Taliban, the US had the “collective will of the world” behind its mission in Afghanistan. (Iraq, of course, was a different story.) The North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) has invoked Article 5 — the common-defense clause — only once in its history, after the 9/11 attacks. More than 51 NATO members and partner countries sent troops to Afghanistan, with a combined 130,000 troops at the deployment’s peak.

NATO’s combat mission ended in 2014, but coalition troops remained to help train and advise Afghan security forces. Even as some countries wound down their military presence in the later years of the war, a total of 1,145 allied troops died in Afghanistan of the approximately 3,500 service members killed.

The United States, starting with Donald Trump, and continuing with Joe Biden, made clear the plan to withdraw from Afghanistan. But the rapid collapse of the Afghan government and the swiftness of the Taliban takeover turned that departure into chaos. The United States looked blundering and inept, and it dragged its allies down with it. Some countries struggled to evacuate their personnel and Afghan associates as the situation around the Kabul airport worsened. All had to reckon with the reality that after 20 years, and lives lost, and billions spent, little was left to show for it.

That has led to recriminations in London and Berlin and Brussels, directed at leaders there, and at the United States. “Was our intelligence really so poor?” former British Prime Minister Theresa May asked in Parliament earlier this month. “Was our understanding of the Afghan government so weak? Was our knowledge on the ground so inadequate? Or did we just think we had to follow the United States and on a wing and a prayer it would be all right on the night?”

Some voices on this side of the Atlantic and the other are simply advocating that US engagement in Afghanistan continue indefinitely. But even among those who are not, there is a genuine frustration at how Afghanistan unraveled, and questions of how closely the US consulted with its coalition allies on its withdrawal timeline.

That has revived a debate that has beset the transatlantic alliance for years, especially during the Donald Trump era: Are the United Kingdom and Europe too dependent on the US for their security? And will the shifting US priorities finally require correcting that imbalance? Katharina Emschermann, deputy director at the Center for International Security at the Hertie School in Berlin, said there is “uncertainty in Europe about the future course of US foreign policy, and what it means for it.”

“Part of the discord that we’re seeing now is probably also rooted in the sense of unease about how things are going to go on in the future,” Emschermann added.

It is still unlikely that Afghanistan begins a real remaking of NATO. But at the very least, allies may take it as a sign that Joe Biden’s reassurances that “America is back” is not enough.

Allies say the US communicated, but didn’t consult, on Afghanistan

The Trump administration signed a peace deal with the Taliban in February 2020. According to the terms of the deal, US-led NATO forces would depart Afghanistan by May 2021.

Biden, as president, recommitted to the US withdrawal, though in April he extended the final deadline, first to September 11, and later inching it back to Tuesday, August 31. In April, Secretary of State Antony Blinken met in Brussels with NATO Secretary General Jens Stoltenberg, who said NATO would also begin its drawdown. “We went into Afghanistan together, we have adjusted our posture together and we are united in leaving together,” Stoltenberg said.

Togetherness was simply the default. NATO governments didn’t have the capacity to stay in Afghanistan after the US left. Privately, diplomats grumbled that they weren’t fully consulted, or raised doubts about the US plans. But once the US made its decision, the decision was also made for approximately 7,000 non-American NATO forces on the ground.

“It showed, basically, how dependent we really are,” Jana Puglierin, senior policy fellow and head of the Berlin office at the European Council on Foreign Relations (ECFR), said of allies like Germany. “Because then it was immediately clear that we needed to follow the American withdrawal, and withdraw, as well.”

Allies took steps to wind down their presence, and as the security situation started deteriorating, some began asking personnel and nationals to leave. But the US and its allies did not fully anticipate (or chose to downplay) the Taliban’s accelerated push through Afghanistan and the collapse of Afghan defenses. That left NATO and European governments also rushing to get their personnel out.

“The immediate feeling around this whole situation is that perhaps there should have been more consultation and more joint planning about how to manage the exit strategy,” said David O’Sullivan, who served as EU ambassador to the United States from 2014 to 2019.

“The feeling is that this all kind of descended into something of a scramble,” he continued, “which is very difficult to manage, which put the European countries in a lot of difficulty — not only to get their own nationals out, but also to get out all the Afghans who are working closely with them, and were clearly at risk.”

Governments like Germany and the United Kingdom faced harsh criticism for their failures to prepare and evacuate their citizens and their Afghan allies. Some UK lawmakers responded by pushing the idea that after 20 years, the US — and Western allies — should have stayed even longer in Afghanistan. “The Biden choice, I thought, was false. It was either total commitment of American forces and a lot more American deaths with a never-ending war, or pulling out,” Owen Paterson, a Conservative British MP, said on the Telegraph’s Chopper’s Politics podcast.

But the prevailing sentiment revolved around the idea that the Biden administration had failed to consult with allies and refused to be flexible in ways that might have lessened the chaos of the withdrawal — though what could have been done differently wasn’t always articulated. “Nobody asked us whether it was a good idea to leave that country in such a quick way,” Johann Wadephul, a deputy caucus leader for Merkel’s Christian Democrats in Germany’s parliament, told Bloomberg Television. “So, the very irritating situation we now have — the chaos we are facing in Kabul — is of course the result of this.”

Even though many NATO governments had already largely scaled back their commitments in Afghanistan, they too inherited the mayhem and perception of failure in the US’s military withdrawal. And with that came the realization that they were limited in the ability to influence the narrative, or the final outcome.

“I think definitely the shock and the optics of how quickly things fell apart play a big part in the scope of the reaction,” said Garret Martin, a senior professional lecturer in the School of International Service at American University.

A sense of impotence, Martin said, has laid bare the extent of allies’ dependence on the United States. “I think that was hard to swallow that once the United States decided that it was over, the game was over.”

Allies’ frustration with the United States revives old insecurities and new political tensions

At a G7 meeting last week, European leaders pushed the United States to extend the August 31 deadline for troop departure. The available days to evacuate nationals and Afghan allies were dwindling, made worse by an unstable security situation that, after the meeting, became even more volatile.

The US didn’t change course. That means people will be left behind; now the United States and its allies are depending on the Taliban to let people continue to leave after August 31. French President Emmanuel Macron has proposed the United Nations designate a “safe zone” in Kabul to allow people to depart. “Will we be able to do it? I cannot guarantee that,” he said in an interview with the French television channel TF1, according to the Washington Post.

All of these machinations from allies in the past week also showed how little control they had over the situation in Afghanistan. Puglierin described it, at least in Germany, as a sense of “helplessness.”

“We realize that we are completely dependent, that it would not even be possible to evacuate our own citizens without the Americans going back in the thousands, without Americans running this military airport,” she said.

The dependency on the United States fuels insecurity about what happens if the country’s domestic interests diverge more profoundly from Europe’s. Since the Obama administration, the United States has made clear it is losing its appetite for forever wars, but the Trump administration’s “America First” policies — and sometimes open hostility to the EU and NATO — accelerated fears that Europe wouldn’t be able to rely on the US.

Biden has said the right things, and has promised allies he will work to rebuild the relationship. But the Afghanistan exit adds to “this realization that maybe some of the things that were attributed to Trump were actually part of something deeper that’s going on in the US on both sides of the political spectrum,” Benjamin Haddad, director of the Europe Center at the Atlantic Council, said.

As the US adjusts its relationship with the world, and its role in it, Europe must adapt, too. This is not to say that all of Europe wants the United States to continue its “forever wars” — and allies have been critical of US overreach, as in Iraq (which also strained relations with allies).

But Europe may feel the effects of the withdrawal from Afghanistan more acutely than the United States.

Geography offers at least one explanation: European leaders don’t want to accept a surge of Afghan immigrants. The memories of the 2015 refugee crisis, with thousands of people fleeing Syria, the Middle East, and Northern Africa by boat to Europe, are still very sharp, as is how the handling of the humanitarian catastrophe destabilized European politics. Political backlash to the arrivals helped give rise to extreme right-wing and nationalist parties across Western Europe. Even though support for some of these parties has waned, upcoming elections in Germany and next year in France have added to the skittishness. Macron recently said France must “anticipate and protect itself from a wave of migrants.”

In Germany, Afghanistan may not dominate the election debate, but it certainly won’t be ignored. The country had about 1,000 troops in Afghanistan, second to the US at the war’s close. Germany’s decision to commit troops to Afghanistan was politically momentous, and became the country’s first real combat mission for German soldiers since World War II. Puglierin, of ECFR, also said that part of selling that mission to the public was selling its humanitarian mission, and building democracy and the Afghan state. That crumbled, and Germans will now need to reckon with that legacy.

That reckoning is also happening in the United Kingdom. More than 450 UK troops died in Afghanistan, with some members of Parliament arguing that the UK never should have left Afghanistan. Patrick Porter, a professor of international security and strategy at the University of Birmingham, said the debate on Afghanistan was mostly about “this age-old question of Britain’s significance as a major power, that’s not a superpower, and where that all fits. Afghanistan is the latest canvas on which that unease is projected.”

That unease is shared across capitals in Europe. It may be directed at the US, but in some ways it’s a deflection — a reality that these countries aren’t as singularly powerful as they want to be. US allies are wondering where they fit in the US’s priorities. “The process of self-reflection, with regard to what went down, is only just beginning,” Emschermann said.

Will Afghanistan shift the transatlantic alliance? It’s complicated.

Afghanistan has opened up new fault lines in NATO, but it likely will not be the thing that fully fractures it.

Experts told me that the military withdrawal added to a growing skepticism of the United States, and its larger commitment to collaboration with allies. “People are unsure how much Trump is in Biden, how much of the Trump phenomenon was part of the United States foreign policy consensus — whether Trump wasn’t so much an outlier, but whether he was representing something bigger,” Puglierin said.

For NATO allies, who’ve built their security around the United States, it is getting harder to ignore the reality that US priorities are shifting. Some of this is seen in explicit foreign policy goals — for example, the US’s focus on China — and some of it is less directly linked, like America’s domestic political polarization.

Afghanistan has laid bare that many allies are reliant on the United States. And that has led to the question of whether Europeans now need to ease themselves off that reliance, and invest in and build their own security. During the Trump era, Macron pushed for a “European army”; Afghanistan is reviving another round of debate along these lines.

Borrell, the EU’s chief diplomat, suggested as much in the interview with the Italian newspaper L’Economia. “The EU must be able to intervene to protect our interests when the Americans don’t want to be involved,” he said.

But even if Europe does begin to rethink its own security, it is unlikely that Afghanistan will unravel the transatlantic relationship entirely. “As for American allies, I think it’s not that they’re no longer there,” O’Sullivan, the former EU ambassador, said. “It’s just that maybe we need to do much more, to demonstrate our own autonomous willingness to defend ourselves, while at the same time wanting to keep the alliance which I think is fundamental to European security architecture.”

And some experts were skeptical that Europe would really take steps to invest or build up its own security, separate from the United States and the transatlantic alliance. “We’ve had these calls a lot,” Martin, of American University, said. “So I think whether that will serve as a wake-up call, I think it remains to be seen.”

Tensions over Afghanistan are raw, but those grievances may not be long-lasting. As the University of Birmingham’s Porter noted, the US said it was going to leave Afghanistan, and it did.

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“It’s creating an enormous amount of short-term noise,” Porter said. “It’s helped touch off and really reinvigorate a number of searching debates about foreign policy. But in fact, I think this is one of those instances where there’s less than meets the eye.”

How the US created a disaster in Afghanistan

On August 15, 2021, the Taliban took over Afghanistan’s capital, Kabul. The Afghan president fled the country. Almost all of Afghanistan is now under Taliban control. It marks the end of an era: America’s longest war is now over, and America lost. It happened fast, stunning the world and leaving many in the country racing to find an exit. But even among those surprised by the way the end played out, many knew the war was destined to end badly. According to some experts, the seeds of disaster were planted back at the war’s very beginning.

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Soon after the American war in Afghanistan began in the aftermath of the 9/11 attacks, the US government struggled to answer exactly why the military was there. In the very beginning, the goal was relatively clear: to capture the perpetrator of the attacks, Osama bin Laden. But almost immediately, the goals became murkier and more complicated.

In this video, investigative reporter Azmat Khan and former US ambassador to Afghanistan Michael McKinley explain what the US military was actually doing in Afghanistan, what it got wrong, and why America’s long intervention there is considered a failure.

You can find this video and all of Vox’s videos on YouTube.

You can buy stuff online, but getting it is another story

The global supply chain is in hot water. The pandemic has made it notoriously difficult for shoppers to buy certain consumer goods, from home appliances and furniture to laptops and bicycles. And things aren’t getting better anytime soon, at least not this year. Shipments have been delayed, raw materials are in short supply, and businesses have scrambled to dole out apologies and assurances to anxious customers.

With the holidays a few months away, experts are predicting that the year’s busiest shopping season will be “a perfect storm” of supply chain bottlenecks. Shoppers, as a result, will face higher prices, even as retailers remain uncertain as to whether they can keep up with demand.

“This year, Christmas will be very different,” said Steven Melnyk, a professor of supply chain and operations management at Michigan State University. “We won’t see as many blowout sales leading up to the holidays, and prices are going to go up.”

The back-to-school season typically offers retailers a glimpse into consumers’ shopping patterns, but the delta variant has thrown a wrench into businesses’ hopes for an economic return to normalcy. Melnyk thinks customers will approach holiday shopping differently if they continue to face product shortages. More people will shop from brick-and-mortar stores given the uncertainty of online orders, and gravitate toward goods made in the US: “Shoppers will be focused less on price, and more on availability of the items they want.”

Here is an incomplete list of consumer goods that have been subject to backorders, delays, and shortages: new clothes, back-to-school supplies, bicycles, pet food, paint, furniture, cars, tech gadgets, children’s toys, home appliances, lumber, anything that relies on semiconductor chips, and even coveted fast food staples like chicken wings, ketchup packets, Taco Bell, Starbucks’ cake pops, and McDonald’s milkshakes (in the UK, for now).

Today, the circumstances are no longer as dire as, say, the indelible toilet paper shortage of 2020, when big-box retailers rationed the number of rolls customers could buy. Companies like Coca-Cola have had time to nimbly adjust and manage their stock, so the most high-volume, in-demand items can remain on shelves. Yet, the supply chains that drive the global economy will likely remain vulnerable to delays until 2022 or 2023, according to experts, or until most of the world is vaccinated. Here’s why.

The implications of a global supply chain

Supply chains are global, made up of factories, processing centers, and shipping companies all over the world. Companies and industries have spent years — if not decades — fine-tuning them for maximum efficiency and maximum profit. To understand the size and scope of this global manufacturing system, it’s helpful to look at how individual products are made. As Hilary George-Parkin has previously reported for Vox, behind every sold-out product “there’s a vast supply chain linking raw materials to factory floors to distribution centers.” The pandemic has created a ripple effect in this system that often leaves, quite literally, minimal room for error, since companies rarely stock up on excess inventory. As a result, over a year later, businesses and suppliers are still grappling with the fallout.

American shoppers — and the companies that sell us stuff — have long grown accustomed to convenience, partly made possible by lean, “just in time” manufacturing. This production model was first used by the Japanese to build Toyota vehicles in the mid-20th century and was emulated by companies around the world. The premise of the just-in-time model is cost-efficiency, which means companies hold onto relatively little inventory or parts themselves. Instead, they rely on suppliers. To make a product, businesses look overseas for suppliers who can source raw materials and assemble components, sometimes in various locations, where labor and the cost of materials are cheaper. After a lengthy production process, the finished product is imported to warehouses and distribution centers before it’s shipped to the final destination.

Historically, this production model has been a win-win for consumers and businesses — provided that nothing goes wrong. Companies are able to reduce inventories, cut costs, and deftly adapt to changing market demands, all while keeping prices low. But now that disruptions are affecting every step of this supply chain, there’s no quick-fix solution.

The coronavirus outbreak sent the global supply chain into an unprecedented slowdown at the start of 2020, as the virus made its way through China, Europe, and then the US. Manufacturers put thousands of factories on pause until Covid-19 safety policies were put into place. While supply chains didn’t fully recover from the initial shock, companies were optimistic heading into 2021. But the delta variant — and the lack of vaccine access in low-income countries — has prolonged the timeline for global recovery.

About half of the world’s sailors, who are crucial to the flow of global trade, are from developing nations where vaccine rollouts have been slow. In countries where the coronavirus is still rampant, factories have had to shut down or operate with limited staffing as workers had to quarantine. Vietnam, for example, is America’s second-largest shoe and apparel supplier, but most of its workforce remains unvaccinated. The country has managed to evade the virus through strict lockdowns for the first 14 months of the pandemic, but the highly contagious delta variant has forced many factories to close down. According to the Wall Street Journal, Vietnam’s government has begun requiring employees in high-risk regions to eat and sleep at their workplace, rather than go home, in an effort to maintain production rates.

Meanwhile, as economic activity resumed in wealthy, vaccinated places like the United States and Europe, the shipping industry is contending with a deluge of delays. Enormous container ships are stalled outside major ports, while more cargo just keeps arriving. In some cases, ship crews have had to wait days or weeks before unloading at ports.

“We are seeing a historic surge of cargo volume coming into our ports,” Tom Bellerud, the chief operations officer of Washington’s Northwest Seaport Alliance, told NPR in June. “The terminals are having a difficult time keeping up with processing all the cargo off these vessels fast enough.”

Inland freight hubs, where cargo is sent from the ports, have also been inundated with containers of goods. According to a Wall Street Journal report, “congestion on rail networks and a labor shortage of truck drivers and warehouse workers has led to big backups at cargo facilities.” Companies are struggling to unpack shipping containers and get them back into circulation. As a result, shipping containers are in short supply, even though there should be enough containers to handle global demand. Too many are just stuck in circulation and stay unused.

Major retailers like Walmart, Target, and Home Depot are chartering private cargo vessels and buying shipping containers to prepare for the holiday shopping season. This effort to directly oversee transportation and shipping can help reduce some supply chain problems, but Melnyk worries these efforts won’t be enough, especially with manufacturing slowdowns overseas and the domestic labor shortage.

“Companies also have to worry about the last mile — getting the product from the store to people’s front doors,” Melnyk said. For years, the trucking industry has been operating with a shortage of domestic drivers, caused by high turnover rates and its decades-long failure to increase workers’ wages and benefits. “Last year, there was an explosion of online shopping, but it’s possible shoppers also want to get back out to brick-and-mortar stores. Retailers have to prepare for multiple circumstances: if people want to order online and pick up in-store, or vice versa.”

A recent history of supply chain fallouts

Some of the recent product shortages, particularly those at the end of 2020, are the direct result of decisions made by retailers when forecasting consumer demand. At the height of the pandemic, it would’ve been difficult for, say, Walmart to predict in April 2020 that Americans would rush to buy outdoor heaters or fishing tackle. There was no way for retailers to accurately predict the popularity of these niche items. Instead, many big-box retailers shifted their focus toward restocking the most popular, in-demand consumer goods.

“Every retail chain is focused on their big sales items: what they sell most, what they’re known for, what the customers come to the stores to buy,” Rafay Ishfaq, an associate professor of supply chain management at Auburn University, previously told Vox. “If that means that the peripherals or seasonal items or secondary product categories run short, then so be it.”

But some hiccups, like factory shutdowns, scarce raw materials, and freight delays, are entirely out of retailers’ control. The shipping crisis has threatened to disrupt the transportation of wood pulp — the raw material for products like toilet paper — which is shipped out from South America. And for products like lumber, which is currently experiencing levels of demand not seen in a decade, suppliers can’t suddenly ramp up production overnight. One sawmill owner told Vox’s Emily Stewart that a new mill takes two years to build and costs $100 million, without any guarantee of raw materials. Trees, after all, take years to grow, and in some parts of the US, there’s limited sawmill capacity to turn timber into lumber.

One of the greatest concerns for automakers, medical device manufacturers, and consumer tech companies is the semiconductor chip shortage, which likely won’t be resolved for another year or two. These chips are responsible for powering a slew of consumer goods — home appliances, tech gadgets, automotive vehicles — that have been subject to supply chain slowdowns due to the sheer number of parts required to assemble a finished product. The chip shortage is affecting major American companies like General Motors, Microsoft, Apple, Tesla, Qualcomm, and Hewlett-Packard. This crisis is on the White House’s radar; the federal government plans to invest in chip manufacturing in the US, but the process could take years.

“Making a single chip takes an incredibly long time,” reported Recode’s Rebecca Heilweil. “At the same time, building more chip manufacturing plants, sometimes called fabs, requires years of engineering and construction and billions of dollars.”

A plant takes roughly two and a half years to build, according to Patrick Penfield, a supply chain management professor at Syracuse University. “We’ve got Intel, we’ve got a couple of smaller manufacturers, but it’s gonna take time — and I think there needs to be more of an investment,” he told Recode.

The pandemic has forced major companies and entire industries to reassess the risks of an interconnected supply chain. For years, this system has consistently boosted profit margins, and its vulnerability to unexpected events, like a pandemic or climate change, was not put into question. Still, most industries hesitate to make vast changes to their manufacturing process, which would be a costly and time-intensive endeavor. For now, consumers have no choice but to start getting used to these delays. It is, after all, the fault of the business model that habituated Americans to this “I see it, I like it, I want it, I got it” consumerist mentality. Or maybe, it’s time to start buying locally and less.

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How your favorite jeans might be fueling a human rights crisis

In December 2018, I visited a large dyeing facility inside the Shaoxing Industrial Zone, south of the coastal city of Hangzhou, China. Twenty minutes out from the manufacturing hub, I began to smell it: the rotten-egg stench of dye effluent.

The Zone, as it’s known, is 100 square kilometers, nearly double the size of Manhattan. More than 50 textile printing and dyeing companies stand in huge rows, facing out over the Cao’e River where it flows into Hangzhou Bay. Trucks stream north on the highway from the Zone carrying miles of dyed and printed fabrics, en route to becoming billions of dollars’ worth of shirts, dresses, shorts, and leggings.

I was there to research a book I was writing about clothing and textiles, and the Zone, in terms of its sheer scale, was unlike anything I had ever seen in the US. Yet it’s a landscape that a mammoth American consumer market — and the steady, supersize patronage of US clothing brands and retailers — has been critical in shaping.

The US has gobbled up far more Chinese garments and textiles than any other nation every year since 2006. Between 2002 and 2020, China was by far the largest source of garment imports into the US. In 2020, Vietnam outstripped China as the biggest exporter of garments to the US market, but that fact obscures the reality that the cloth used to make those Vietnamese garments is frequently Chinese-made, and is often sewn in Chinese-owned factories.

Because of the deep reliance on this single source to meet insatiable clothing appetites, clothing companies — and consumers — now have a particularly big moral dilemma on their hands.

US officials and human rights organizations say the cotton fields and factories in the Xinjiang region of China are using forced labor, mainly that of the Uyghurs and ethnic Kazakhs imprisoned in the vast internment camp system that the Chinese government has built in the region in recent years.

In January, the Trump administration banned cotton from Xinjiang because of its connection to the alleged human rights violations, roiling a fashion industry heavily reliant on Chinese textiles. Reports of the detention camps began circulating in 2019, but by 2020, reports had surfaced that major international brands’ supply chains were marred by forced labor. Soon, those brands were rushing to make public statements condemning China’s actions in Xinjiang, eagerly professing a zero-tolerance policy on forced labor. Some, like Adidas, pledged to cut Xinjiang-made materials from supply chains; others, such as Patagonia and the millennial “it” brand Reformation, have said they will stop using Chinese cotton altogether. The problem, however, had been building for some time.

Though Beijing has vociferously denied using forced labor, calling it “totally a lie fabricated by some organizations and personnel in the United States and the West,” US senators met in committee in March to hash out possible solutions to the problem and its presence in the supply chains of US companies.

One of the witnesses giving expert testimony that afternoon, Julia K. Hughes, president of the United States Fashion Industry Association, suggested that it was important to focus on “the real actions that will get to the perpetrators of the crime, which is not the US companies that are good corporate citizens.”

But just who is responsible is, by any account, a difficult question to untangle. China is both the world’s largest producer of cotton yarn and its largest yarn importer, buying up cotton thread from India, Pakistan, and Vietnam to supplement its domestic thread. This yarn is knit, woven, and dyed to make textiles that will become summer dresses for Zara, T-shirts for Gap, and socks, hats, and jeans for the Japanese retailer Muji, even the cotton tote bags that have proliferated in recent years as a replacement for plastic. China is also one of the world’s biggest producers of raw cotton. And nowhere in China produces more cotton than Xinjiang.


An autonomous region located in the country’s far northwest corner, bordering Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, and Mongolia, Xinjiang has been under Chinese control since the People’s Republic of China was founded in 1949. Uyghurs — the majority of whom follow the Hanafi school of Islamic jurisprudence, one of four schools of thought within Sunni Islam — are by far the largest ethnic group in Xinjiang, although the region is also home to many Uzbeks, Kyrgyz, Tajiks, Kazakhs, and Hui (Chinese Muslims). Their culture is distinct from that of Han Chinese — the majority ethnic group in China — in many ways: Their food is largely halal, based on mutton, wheat noodles, nan, and savory pastries.

Uyghur farmers in Xinjiang were formidable farmers, making virtuosic use of rain-fed agriculture to grow food. But a new agricultural regime would turn the land to another crop: cotton.

Xinjiang has long been strategically central to China’s Belt and Road Initiative, a massive infrastructure project intended to link China globally via railroads, shipping lanes, and gas pipelines. The initiative’s central arteries crisscross the province, which happens to also hold huge reserves of natural gas. As the Chinese government has moved to assert tighter control over the region, cotton has operated as both an end and a means. In the 1990s, it was used as a way to encourage Han migration into the region. Today, it feeds the Chinese textile industry.

Beijing’s effort to move cotton and cloth production west to Xinjiang unfolded in several phases. The Eighth Five-Year Plan (1991-1995) highlighted the region’s huge potential for cotton, and the subsequent plan specified that Xinjiang be turned into a national cotton-producing base. Meanwhile, planners also transferred textile production west, from its traditional base on the east coast. Central planners felt that China’s textile industry could become more competitively priced by being closer to the cotton fields and employing a cheaper rural workforce.

Twenty years later, Xinjiang has a cheaper workforce than planners in the ’90s could have dreamed, and the reason is disturbing. From softer, coercive policies — like giving cotton quotas to Uyghur farmers that they had to meet, even if it wasn’t profitable — Beijing has turned to a policy of forcefully interning Uyghurs in massive, heavily guarded camps, subjecting them to what it has described as “reeducation” but is believed to include sterilization and forced labor. They are actions that, when taken together, constitute what the US State Department has termed a genocide. They are actions that have also been a boon to industry.

The Chinese government dramatically scaled up its repressive policies against Xinjiang’s Uyghurs in late 2016, when Communist Party Secretary Chen Quanguo, a hardliner who has escalated invasive, tech-driven policing and monitoring tactics in China, assumed leadership of Xinjiang. Massive internment camps, which Beijing terms “vocational education centers” — though satellite imagery has revealed that these camps are encircled with barbed wire fencing and surveilled from watchtowers — have since been erected.

The policy of “reeducating” Uyghurs has dovetailed with a desire to keep garment production in China after labor costs there grew uncompetitive with those in places like Vietnam or Bangladesh. By 2018, evidence began to emerge of a major pipeline between detention centers and factories producing garments for US brands when the Associated Press tracked shipments from a factory inside a Xinjiang internment camp to Badger Sportswear in Statesville, North Carolina. Badger quickly moved to source its sportswear elsewhere.

But garments stitched by imprisoned Uyghurs were quietly entering the American wardrobe through myriad avenues — much of it, it would soon be revealed, made from cotton harvested by enslaved people. In January 2021, a shipment of men’s cotton shirts from Uniqlo was blocked from entering the Port of Los Angeles by US Customs agents who believed the goods were produced in part using forced labor in Xinjiang. In July, France’s antiterrorism prosecutor’s office opened an investigation into four brands that it has alleged profited from human rights crimes in Xinjiang: Zara, Uniqlo, Skechers, and SMCP (owner of Sandro and Maje). Even after the situation in Xinjiang had become unmistakable, it was clear that the effort to remove cotton harvested by forced labor from the market was squarely at odds with the imperative to produce ever-cheaper clothing.


Journalists face extreme restrictions in their attempts to enter Xinjiang, but I had procured a tourist visa for my December 2018 research trip to China and, following my time on the nation’s east coast, I had planned to head to Xinjiang in the guise of a sightseer, to gather whatever I could that way. My research focus was, at that time, on the ecological costs of cotton.

I had enrolled in a formal “Silk Road” tour as a way to avoid imperiling Uyghur interview subjects, who can be arrested for something as minor as speaking to an American. Days before I was scheduled to fly out, I got an email from the tour company with the subject line “URGENT.” “I regret to inform you that we have to cancel your tour,” the email said. “It is something beyond our control.”

Months passed before I again heard from the American employee of the Uyghur-owned tour company who had informed me of the cancellation. She was back in the US, she said, and wanted to explain what had happened now that she had access to a secure email account. Days before my tour, the family that ran the company had been rounded up and “sent to their home village” — a euphemistic way to say that they were sent to an internment camp.

At the time, the detention of Uyghurs by the Chinese government was just beginning to be widely reported. I felt sick. I had assumed that I was being kept out because the ruling Chinese Communist Party was becoming more careful about concealing its actions in Xinjiang and didn’t want to risk even the occasional nosy tourist. This, however, was more direct, more brutal, more blunt.

Since that first inkling that something was awry in the region, Xinjiang has emerged as the center of an international crisis. In March 2020, Sen. Bob Menendez (D-NJ) called on the Commerce Department to take steps to prevent goods produced by forced labor in Xinjiang from entering the US market. Even as the international outcry grew, Beijing worked to keep the region cloaked in secrecy. Journalists looking to document what is occurring in Xinjiang are forced to rely on satellite photos, sift through government budget reports, and collect footage of closed doors and high fences. In the startling glimpses that have emerged, cotton was front and center.

In July 2020, more than 190 organizations — interfaith groups, labor unions, Uyghurs’ rights groups, environmental organizations, anti-slavery organizations — spanning 36 countries issued a call to action, seeking formal commitments from clothing brands to completely disengage from any connection to Uyghur forced labor, either through sourcing, business relationships, or labor transfers, which serve to pipe Uyghurs from internment camps in Xinjiang to factories in other regions of China. In December 2020, German anthropologist Adrian Zenz released an intelligence briefing directly linking the cotton harvest with forced labor.

When I learned about how cotton was being harvested in Xinjiang, I thought about the tour guide who had been scheduled to drive me around, talking about the silk of China’s past. I wondered if he had become one of the prisoners laboring in the fields, picking the cotton of China’s present.


Corporations didn’t end up sourcing garments from Xinjiang internment camps by accident.

Apparel is a footloose industry, and forced labor is rampant. Brands actively seek out countries that don’t enforce their labor laws, said Scott Nova, executive director of the Worker Rights Consortium, “then put enormous price pressure on suppliers, guaranteeing that they’ll violate labor laws.” The companies’ public statements reveal a desire to project certainty: “Nike does not source products from the [Xinjiang Uyghur autonomous region] and we have confirmed with our contract suppliers that they are not using textiles or spun yarn from the region,” reads an undated statement from Nike that also acknowledges that its supply chains are opaque, even to the company itself. “Nike does not directly source cotton, or other raw materials,” the statement continues, but “traceability at the raw materials level is an area of ongoing focus.” The company concluded by saying that it was working with suppliers and others to better “map material sources.”

Slave cotton is far from new. The use of forced labor by an authoritarian communist regime to grow cotton can — and ought to — inspire the ire of the democratic West. But “free market” cotton has generally entailed very little freedom for most of those involved in its production. There is no global cotton trade outside of brutal colonial or neocolonial relations of power. Cheap cotton has been morally compromised for several hundred years.

The history of European imperialism, industrialization, and cotton are so intertwined as to be nearly identical. Cotton textiles were among the main products for which Britain colonized India. This cotton fabric was in turn the main currency used to purchase enslaved people from Africa, who were forced to grow commodity crops in the New World. After the invention of the cotton gin, cotton became the plantation’s crop par excellence in the United States. In the post-Civil War South, cotton continued to be made by unfree labor, as systematic efforts deprived formerly enslaved people of both land and alternative means of subsistence, all to force them into cotton sharecropping arrangements. Whatever could not be accomplished by this means was accomplished by Black Codes that allowed local authorities to arrest freed people for minor infractions and commit them to involuntary labor.

Large Southern landowners, cotton traders, and merchants — the same actors who had benefited from the antebellum order — were so successful in their efforts to reestablish cotton growing in the American South by forcing formerly enslaved people and landless white tenants to grow cotton via a punishing system of perpetual debt, that their strategy, known as sharecropping, became a model the world over. Today, small cotton farmers in India, for example, face crushing debt.

Private companies may direct flows of garments, but they travel along routes drawn by imperial legacies and colonial armies. In the cotton field, the division between the state and the corporation often fades away entirely. The Xinjiang Production and Construction Corps, the Chinese state-owned entity that administers Xinjiang and directs the cultivation of most of its cotton, is both a corporation and an army.

As for the garment trade itself, that too has relied on the movements of big state actors, and not just a handful of errant entrepreneurs. The globalization of the US garment industry came about as the result of the US State Department’s Cold War policy. After World War II, the Allied powers under Gen. Douglas MacArthur occupied Japan and moved to re-industrialize it as swiftly as possible so it wouldn’t “fall” to communism. MacArthur’s first economic priority was the Japanese textile industry, which had been nearly wiped out by the war. Factories were rebuilt and modernized. The State Department even subsidized the shipment of raw American cotton to Japan.

To absorb the product of these new mills, the United States then opened up its hitherto heavily protected garment market, and Japanese cloth and clothing flowed in. The US textile and garment industries were made a sacrificial lamb, and over the next half-century, garment workers’ rights eroded, and Americans got used to spending less and less on clothing made by workers whose pay became worse and worse.

The pipeline of low-cost Asian-made clothing had been long established by the time China opened its economy and revved up as a garment producer. Workers’ rights had never been on the minds of the architects of these policies, and remained an afterthought.

In March 2021, US Secretary of State Antony Blinken met with his Chinese counterpart, Director Yang Jiechi, for a conversation that quickly devolved into a war of words. Yang made a thinly veiled allusion to the history of slavery in the US and suggested that with a record like that, the US had no right to lecture China. “It’s important that we manage our respective affairs well instead of deflecting the blame on somebody else in this world,” he told Blinken. (This line of attack is frequently taken by Chinese troll armies, networks likened to Russian troll farms mobilized online to attack anyone posting concerns about the Uyghurs.)

Wang’s throwdown was cynical and self-serving. But it highlighted the irony of the US position. The US had emerged as a global leader in the fight against China’s oppression of the Uyghurs: It is the first government to call it a genocide, the first to ban imports of Xinjiang cotton — steps that Canada, the UK, Australia, and the EU also appear to be on their way to taking. In taking a hard stand, however, on China’s actions as a genocidal power using slave labor to harvest cotton for a voracious global market, the United States was looking at itself in the not-so-distant past.


Self-reflection (or lack of it) aside, there are enormous complexities involved in trying to force the global tentacles of Western multinationals out of a forced labor industry.

According to Nova of the Worker Rights Consortium, an estimated 1.5 billion garments made with Xinjiang cotton streamed into the US market each year before the ban took hold, and there are significant obstacles to knowing how much the ban has reduced that number. “Most consumers do not want to wear clothing made with forced labor,” Nova told me. “That’s a given. And if they knew that a particular product was made with forced labor, very few people would buy it. Of course, that’s where transparency comes in.”

Rights groups have expressed frustration recently that, although the US has placed restrictions on Xinjiang cotton, it is nearly impossible to see how they are being enforced. US Customs and Border Protection, the federal agency responsible, discloses the total number and dollar value of shipments detained quarterly, but that’s it. There are some exceptions — as when the news broke about blocked Uniqlo goods — but most such detentions never reach the press. The public has no way of knowing how many of them involve Xinjiang cotton, let alone which brands are implicated.

Ana Hinojosa, the agency’s executive director for trade remedy law enforcement, acknowledges that in the reporting, Xinjiang cotton detentions and others “are all lumped in together, mainly because it would be very difficult for us to continually update these moving numbers.”

The federal agency “is not required to make that any of that public,” confirms Esmeralda López, legal and policy director of the International Labor Rights Forum, but, she adds, “we think that it’s necessary to ensure effective enforcement.”

It matters, said Nova, because corporations are “waiting to see whether there’s going to be aggressive enforcement before they decide whether to really exit the region.”

Garment supply chains are incredibly complex. So far, Eileen Fisher, ASOS, Marks and Spencer Group, OVS, Reformation, WE Fashion, and others have all publicly committed to follow the steps laid out in the call to action put forward by the Coalition to End Forced Labour in the Uyghur Region. These steps demand that companies engage in intensive research into their own supply chains. Without this kind of work, watchdog groups say, it’s nearly impossible to suss out Xinjiang cotton from the rest.

Cotton picked in Xinjiang may be mixed with cotton from other regions as it is spun into yarn. That yarn may be knit or woven into fabric far from Xinjiang, cut and sewn into a garment still farther afield — likely in Vietnam or Bangladesh. Brands like to point out this complexity to disavow knowledge of what occurs in their supply chains.

But rights groups argue that companies do have choices. “I don’t think that we need to accept those limits,” said Allison Gill, forced labor program director/senior cotton campaign coordinator at Global Labor Justice — International Labor Rights Forum. “A company can tell us that a product was produced in a facility that also processes sesame and nuts. They can tell us all kinds of things if they want to.” According to Gill, “Xinjiang is the central case that we will use for years to show what an absolute failure voluntary standards have been [in] the auditing approach to supply chain. I mean, all of these companies that were operating there, they were all audited, they all passed their audits.”

In Xinjiang, there are known unknowns. “If you have clear due diligence policies, and if you’re saying, ‘We don’t use forced labor goods,’ and you can’t have factory auditors go in and actually check factories,” said Peter Irwin, senior program officer for advocacy and communications at the Uyghur Human Rights Project, “then you need to leave.”

The Coalition to End Forced Labour in the Uyghur Region is calling on brands to make public commitments to disengage from the region, but many brands have said they’d rather exit quietly because they fear losing Chinese market share if they pull out of Xinjiang openly. They’re afraid the Chinese government and nationalist consumers there will interpret any criticism of its conduct in Xinjiang as an open threat and retaliate.

That’s not an unrealistic fear. Days after Sweden joined in the coordinated sanctions on senior officials involved in human rights violations in Xinjiang, the Chinese Communist Youth League launched an online attack on the Swedish retailer H&M, zeroing in on a year-old statement on H&M’s website expressing concern over human rights violations in the Uyghur region. The next day, H&M vanished from the Chinese internet. Major e-commerce platforms including Alibaba’s Taobao dropped its goods, and one ride-hailing app, Didi Chuxing, did not recognize its stores as locations. The party newspaper also leveled criticisms at Burberry, Adidas, Nike, New Balance, and Zara for past statements on Xinjiang, some from as long ago as two years. Celebrities including pop singer Wang Yibo announced they were breaking endorsement contracts.

“Normally in our work, it’s easier to get the brands to say they’re doing the right thing than it is to get them to do it. That has flipped to a degree on this issue,” said Nova. “If their position is that their level of access to China’s consumer market is more important to them than not being directly complicit in the worst human rights crimes that are taking place in the world today, their consumers have a right to know that.”

Then there are those, he argues, that have simply done nothing. “We’ve seen nothing whatsoever from Target, nothing whatsoever from Walmart. Nothing except rhetoric from Amazon, among many others,” Nova says. (Neither Target nor Walmart replied to Vox’s requests for comment; Amazon issued a statement that read, in part, “Amazon expects all products sold in the Amazon Stores to be manufactured and produced in accordance with our Supply Chain Standards. Whenever we find or receive proof of forced labor, we take action and remove the violating product and may suspend privileges to sell.”)

One promising new tool in supply chain transparency is technology developed by a company called Oritain, which can analyze a cotton fiber and determine its point of origin. Cotton from different locations bears different molecular blueprints: Distance from the sea will affect its sulfur content, for instance, while altitude will impact its hydrogen. However, Grant Cochrane, Oritain’s CEO, cautioned, “We’re not a standalone service. We work with other systems: really solid traceability systems.”

Even if the US cotton ban is made airtight, to work optimally, “It’s very important that a cotton ban … be a global effort,” said Johnson Yeung, urgent appeal coordinator and campaigner at the Clean Clothes Campaign. Yeung points to Muji, the Japanese retailer, which has said it has stopped sending Xinjiang cotton products to the US but will continue to sell them in countries without the ban. In Hong Kong, where Yeung is based, Muji actively advertises the presence of Xinjiang cotton in its products — a practice it jettisoned in Western markets after an uproar in the human rights community — attempting to brand “Xinjiang” as an upscale, luxury marker.


In the meantime, for Uyghurs in the diaspora, an act as simple as clothes shopping has become fraught. Zumretay Arkin is the program and advocacy manager at the World Uyghur Congress, part of the coalition asking brands to leave the Uyghur region. “I’m not an angel,” said Arkin. “I used to shop fast fashion.” Now, though, when Arkin sees cotton clothes in stores, “I just freeze there, thinking, ‘Maybe one of my relatives made this piece.’”

Arkin’s grandmother was a retired seamstress who used to sew clothing for Arkin using colorful printed cloth, sometimes cutting up her old dresses and veils to use as materials. Arkin brought these handmade garments along as a treasured memory when she immigrated to Canada at age 10. When Arkin’s grandmother passed away in 2017, Arkin could not go back for the funeral. The risk of detention was too great. Today, long dresses like the ones Arkin’s grandmother both wore and repurposed for Arkin’s wardrobe have been criminalized in Xinjiang. Uyghur women are stopped on the street to have long dresses shortened with scissors on the spot.

Rushan Abbas, founder and executive director of the nonprofit Campaign for Uyghurs, also finds it fraught to shop for clothes these days. In retaliation for Abbas’s activist work in the US, she alleges, authorities in Xinjiang detained her sister, a retired medical doctor, in September 2018. (Radio Free Asia has confirmed her detention.) “I’m afraid of going out and buying some of the things in the store now. Because I don’t know where my sister is,” or whether she is being forced to make products, Abbas said. Although China’s government has framed its labor transfers with the dystopian euphemism of “job training” programs, Abbas notes that “Uyghurs being held and sent to those factories to work, they are professors, writers, doctors, successful business people, elites — they’re professionals in the different fields.”

Abbas lives with her husband, who is also Uyghur, in Herndon, Virginia. His parents, both over 70, have been missing since 2017. So have four siblings and their spouses, along with 14 nieces and nephews. The Abbas family is far from exceptional in this, she said. “Me and my husband are the example of every single Uyghur in the diaspora.”

The United States’ link to the Uyghur internment camps isn’t just a matter of parallel histories.

US corporations have played a central role in creating the situation in Xinjiang today, and consumers have been their unwitting accomplices. “When you pour money into a region where there’s rampant forced labor, you’re both supporting and profiting from forced labor,” said Nova.

“Forced labor is a spectrum,” Gill said. “People in forced labor very often have agency, they are often making very hard choices. But genocide — genocide is different.”

“We hear a lot of different arguments for basically ignoring these atrocities, one being, well, the US needs to clean up their own act first,” said Julie Millsap, director of public affairs and advocacy at the Campaign for Uyghurs. “It’s not that simple. This is also our issue. We don’t get to say that while we’re improving things … in the States that we’re going to outsource human rights abuses.”

Sofi Thanhauser is the author of Worn: A People’s History of Clothing, forthcoming from Pantheon Books on January 25, 2022. She teaches in the writing department at Pratt Institute.

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The war on terror and the long death of liberal interventionism

By removing all troops from Afghanistan shortly before the 9/11 attacks’ 20th anniversary, President Joe Biden sent a none-too-subtle message: He wanted America, and the world, to see that he was turning the page — that the war on terror era was well and truly over. In a speech last week justifying his decision, he stated the rationale explicitly: “It’s about ending an era of major military operations to remake other countries.”

It’s easy to be skeptical of Biden’s seriousness. US forces remain engaged in counterterrorism operations across the globe. After an ISIS suicide bombing at Kabul airport during the withdrawal killed an estimated 170 people, including 13 American service members, the US launched drone strikes against ISIS targets in Afghanistan — killing at least 10 Afghan civilians. And some of the attacks on Biden’s policy from the Washington foreign policy establishment suggest its appetite for war is hardly sated.

Yet the Afghan withdrawal shows a significant break with the post-9/11 order — at least among liberals.

Since the 1990s, a dominant military paradigm on the center left has been liberal interventionism: the notion that the United States has the right, even the obligation, to intervene in far-off countries to protect human life and freedom. Liberal interventionism emerged out of a specific constellation of events: the fall of the Soviet Union, the rise of the US as the world’s lone superpower, and the genocides in Rwanda and the Balkans. It paired a morally righteous critique of US foreign policy with post-Cold War optimism about America’s ability to improve the world.

But in subsequent decades, the intellectual scaffolding propping up liberal interventionism took hit after hit.

9/11 was a key inflection point. The attack prompted leading liberal interventionists to marry their doctrines to the Bush administration’s war on terror, becoming some of the most prominent boosters for a disastrous war in Iraq waged by a Republican president. Later, the Obama administration’s experiences in Afghanistan and Libya reinforced lessons about the dangers of intervention.

More recently, an expansionist Russia and rising China raised questions about America’s capability to intervene in countries with competing influences. Donald Trump’s 2016 victory and subsequent attempts to overturn the 2020 election revealed urgent threats to liberal democracy — not abroad, but here at home.

As a result, the center of intellectual gravity among liberals has shifted.

“The most remarkable fact about liberals today is that, aside from a few, they’ve all learned their lesson,” says Samuel Moyn, a law professor at Yale University and repentant liberal ex-hawk. “Joe Biden’s choices are kind of inexplicable absent that.”

Liberal interventionism is being supplanted by a loose alternative that could be termed “fortress liberalism”: a belief that saving liberal democracy means defending it where it already exists — and that crusading wars for democracy and human rights are distractions at best and disasters at worst.

This is not to say that America has gotten out of the war business. Biden’s administration requested $753 billion in national security funding from Congress for 2021. The Washington foreign policy consensus is still quite hawkish, entertaining military solutions for problems ranging from ISIS affiliates in Somalia to Russia’s war in Ukraine to Chinese adventurism in the South China Sea.

But new wars waged on behalf of human rights and democracy are not really on the table (at least on the left). Part of the reason the criticism of the Afghan withdrawal has been so harsh is that some liberals are reckoning with the fall of one of their gods — conceding that, for better or worse, the era of liberal interventionism is over.

The rise of liberal interventionism

In the 1990s, a geopolitical shift brought forth a more globally assertive, interventionist liberalism.

The collapse of the Soviet Union left the United States without any serious rivals. During the Cold War, America had built a military capable of intervening relatively swiftly around the world. Absent any peer or even near-peer threat, the United States was free to engage in wars of choice with a reach unmatched by any previous global power.

Now the United States stood as the world’s first liberal hegemon. The US victory in the Cold War was seen not merely as a matter of power politics, but as a vindication of liberal democracy as a political model.

“We were on a euphoric high having won the Cold War,” says Rep. Ro Khanna (D-CA). The country “had really bought into this narrative of the march of the liberal democracy and that America’s force could really facilitate that.”

This zeitgeist, America’s “unipolar moment” at “the end of history,” created the conditions under which the United States could become a nation that could project its moral ideals — by force if need be.

Two events pushed the American liberal elite toward embracing this vision: genocides in Rwanda in 1994 and Bosnia in 1995.

In Rwanda, a campaign of murder by the Hutu majority against the Tutsi minority killed an estimated 800,000 people in just 100 days. At the time, United Nations peacekeepers were on the ground in Rwanda but prohibited from intervening by their UN mandate. Romeo Dallaire, the Canadian general in charge of the UN force, pleaded with UN officials to let him do something — and they refused. The Clinton administration was also warned of an impending mass slaughter; the White House not only did nothing but worked to block UN action.

Susan Rice, who would later become one of President Barack Obama’s national security advisers, was at the time a Clinton official working on peacekeeping issues. The experience, for her, was shattering. “I swore to myself that if I ever faced such a crisis again, I would come down on the side of dramatic action, going down in flames if that was required,” Rice told liberal interventionist Samantha Power in a 2001 interview.

A little over a year after Rwanda, a different UN force in Bosnia declared the town of Srebrenica a “safe zone”: a place where civilians fleeing the fighting consuming the Balkans could stay under international protection. Neither the peacekeepers nor prior NATO intervention in the conflict deterred Serbian forces from seizing control of the town. They systematically murdered Bosnian Muslim residents of Srebrenica, killing thousands in a matter of mere days.

Power, who would go on to serve with Rice in the Obama administration as UN ambassador, reported from the ground during the Bosnian conflict — witnessing slaughter that, she argued, could plausibly have been prevented with a more assertive NATO response.

In her 2002 book A Problem From Hell, Power asserts that Rwanda and Srebrenica were part of a pattern; America’s problem historically has not been its capacity to stop genocide, but its will. “No US president has ever made genocide prevention a priority, and no US president has ever suffered politically for his indifference to its occurrence,” she wrote. “It is thus no coincidence that genocide rages on.”

This was the essence of post-Cold War liberal interventionism: the notion that an absent America was a complicit America.

It was a vision of a superpower embracing its moral calling, protecting human rights wherever they needed defense, and it was a doctrine that became influential among liberal intellectuals and pundits after Rwanda and Bosnia. Among its most prominent advocates were the editors of the New Republic, the closest thing to a house organ for American liberalism at the time.

Near the end of Clinton’s presidency, these thinkers’ ideas received real-world vindication.

In 1998, war once again broke out in the Balkans, this time in Kosovo. Once again, ethnic Serbian forces singled out a civilian group — Kosovar Albanian Muslims — for slaughter. But this time, the Clinton administration chose to act, leading a NATO bombing campaign that began in March 1999. By June, Yugoslav President Slobodan Milosevic (who led the Serbian side) had been battered into accepting an international peace agreement. Kosovo would become an independent state; in 2000, the authoritarian Milosevic was toppled in a popular uprising and stood trial for war crimes in the Hague in 2002.

Moyn, the Yale professor, worked on Kosovo policy during the war in a junior White House position. He believed they were doing the right thing — but would come to change his mind in a few short years.

“The thing we really missed is that, when you argue for illegal interventions for humanity’s sake, you’re allowing pretexts for future actors,” he says. “We didn’t reckon with the enormous risk at the time — and it was incurred soon after.”

9/11, Iraq, and the decline of the liberal hawks

In 2001, the world pulled the rug out from under liberals interventionists’ feet. The 9/11 attacks, and the George W. Bush administration’s aggressive response, turned American attention away from genocide and toward terrorism — a move that would lead liberal interventionists in a disastrous direction.

Bush’s wars in Afghanistan and Iraq were not textbook liberal interventions. Both were primarily justified on traditional security grounds, first and foremost combating the threat from terrorism and weapons of mass destruction. They were masterminded and implemented not by liberals but by neoconservatives and right-wing hawks.

Yet to build support for the war, the administration invoked liberal concerns, like the Taliban’s abuse of women and Saddam’s gassing of Iraq’s Kurds in the city of Halabja. And it worked. Leading liberal interventionists in the Democratic Party, academia, the media, and Washington think tanks bought in — casting war on terror hawkery not as a break with the interventionism of the 1990s but as its logical extension.

“Thanks to the courage and bravery of America’s military and our allies, hope is being restored to many women and families in much of Afghanistan. … [Women’s rights] are universal values which we have a responsibility to promote throughout the world, and especially in a place like Afghanistan,” then-Sen. Hillary Clinton wrote in a 2001 op-ed in Time.

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“Morally, there is no significant difference between Halabja and Srebrenica,” New Republic literary editor Leon Wieseltier wrote in March 2003, on the eve of the US invasion of Iraq. “Unlike the villain of Srebrenica, the villain of Halabja is in the position to perpetrate the same atrocity again, and worse. How can any liberal, any individual who associates himself with the party of humanity, not count himself in this coalition of the willing?”

But it wasn’t just that they passively accepted Bush’s claims: It’s that they developed their own elaborate arguments for Iraq and the war on terrorism, couched in fully liberal terms.

Books by leading liberal hawks, like scholar Paul Berman’s Terror and Liberalism and New Republic editor Peter Beinart’s A Fighting Faith, argued that radical Islam was a civilizational challenge to liberalism — the next great battle after fascism and communism. The messianic liberal energies once focused on genocide prevention became redirected toward defeating jihadism and spreading democracy in the Muslim world.

“America’s destiny is literally at stake,” then-Sen. Joe Biden said in a speech at the 2004 Democratic National Convention. “The overwhelming obligation of the next president is clear: Make America stronger, make America safer, and win the death-struggle between freedom and radical fundamentalism.”

But the war in Iraq swiftly proved disastrous. Hundreds of thousands died as a result of the US invasion, which uncovered no weapons of mass destruction. Instead of stabilizing the region and promoting democracy, it gave birth to ISIS and a fragile Iraqi state few wanted to emulate. During the conflict, American troops committed atrocities — including mass murder and torture — that undermined US claims to moral superiority. Meanwhile, Bush neglected the occupation of Afghanistan; Osama bin Laden escaped and the Taliban reconstituted itself, evolving into an effective and deadly insurgency by the time Bush left office.

Ben Rhodes, who would become one of Obama’s leading foreign policy advisers, began his career in in the midst of the early-2000s war fervor — a “24-year-old pissed off about 9/11,” as he puts it. Like most Democrats, he bought into the notion that the war on terrorism would be a “generational endeavor” — only to have his faith shattered when Bush, backed by the bulk of the national security establishment, used this premise as a justification for the invasion of Iraq.

“I never got over that,” Rhodes tells me. “It was a warning sign to me that you could put an intellectual framework around anything, even something as manifestly dumb as invading a country that had nothing to do with 9/11 and then occupying it.”

The catastrophe in Iraq and the long quagmire in Afghanistan undermined two fundamental liberal interventionist premises. First, that America could be trusted to attack the right targets — that liberal ideals would not be abused to justify unjust wars. Second, that defeating murderous tyrants would produce better humanitarian outcomes.

These twin lessons played a pivotal role in the decline of liberal interventionism. Barack Obama won the 2008 Democratic primary in no small part because he had opposed the Iraq War from the outset — while Hillary Clinton, infamously, had supported it. It was a sign of the hawkish tide’s waning, of the rise of a more cautious spirit on the center left.

But liberal interventionism wasn’t quite extinguished yet. As president, Obama surged troops into Afghanistan in an effort to defeat the rising Taliban insurgency. When faced with a potential mass slaughter in the Libyan city of Benghazi in 2011, he chose to launch a Kosovo-style intervention — multilateral, primarily airpower, no large-scale postwar American occupation.

The US and its allies not only stopped the conquest of Benghazi but also toppled Libyan dictator Muammar Qaddafi — arguably exceeding their UN mandate in doing so. And there was no subsequent quagmire as in Iraq and Afghanistan.

But the war was hardly an unmitigated success. Shortly after Qaddafi’s fall, Libya degenerated into violence and civil conflict. It became an anarchic and violent place, a weakly governed space exploited by jihadist militants — one that remains unstable today.

It’s possible — likely, in my view — that Libya would have been even worse off absent US intervention. But for Obama and many liberals, the war was proof that even a “light footprint” intervention typically isn’t worth the costs. Rhodes recalls a conversation with Obama about intervening in Syria’s civil war that crystallized where liberalism had moved to by the mid-2010s:

After Libya, I remember sitting in the Situation Room saying, “We have to consider doing more [in Syria].” And Obama was in the meeting and he was like, “What do we do, Ben?” with some exasperation … he was very easily leading me to the logical conclusion that any limited intervention would either accomplish nothing or lead to a much more significant intervention, for which there was absolutely no political support and was likely to fail in the same way that Iraq, Afghanistan, and Libya did.

When it comes to liberal interventionism in the Obama years, Rhodes believes that “Libya ended all of it.” The refusal to intervene in Syria, followed by Biden’s Afghanistan withdrawal, were more steps down the same path — toward a new posture among liberals.

China, Trump, and the emergence of “fortress liberalism”

After the catastrophes in the Middle East, the most prominent liberal interventionists went in different directions.

Power and Rice are both serving in the Biden administration, but neither works on military or defense policy: Power is the head of USAID while Rice runs Biden’s Domestic Policy Council.

Other hawks are once again warning of alleged existential threats to liberalism, albeit from a different corner: Wieseltier and Berman have both evolved into critics of “cancel culture” and the alleged excesses of the left. Still others, like Beinart and Moyn, have spent years grappling with what they now see as the terrible mistakes of the 1990s and 2000s, becoming influential skeptics in debates over the US use of force.

But on the whole, what was once a vital intellectual and political movement has dissolved. No one event illustrates this more clearly than Biden, who voted for the Iraq War, supervising America’s withdrawal from Afghanistan.

Some liberal interventionists, like the Atlantic’s George Packer, attacked the Biden withdrawal, as did many “straight news” reporters and Washington think tank denizens. But most of these objections focused on either the withdrawal’s execution, like a failure to evacuate Afghan allies quickly enough, or national security concerns (like the terrorist threat posed by a Taliban-controlled Afghanistan).

The liberal move away from interventionism is not solely the result of America’s Middle Eastern misadventures. It is also a reaction to deeper transformations in global politics.

First, the United States is no longer unrivaled in the way it was when the Berlin Wall fell. Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, intervention in Syria, and meddling in the 2016 election refocused American attention on its old enemy. Even more important, the rise of China suggested that America might actually face a peer competitor in the future — a rising power that, unlike Russia, might be able to overtake America in global influence.

Russian and Chinese assertiveness has led official Washington to refocus on “great power competition”: a foreign policy primarily concerned with US relations with large rivals rather than the internal affairs of smaller, strategically marginal states. In this paradigm, some liberals began to see wars for human rights as a costly distraction — aligning with realists in a renewed emphasis on traditional power politics.

“I don’t actually think that the failures of foreign policy in the Middle East alone were enough to catalyze this shift” against interventionism, says Emma Ashford, a senior fellow at the Atlantic Council think tank. “I think it’s the rise of China, and more broadly the fact that America is in relative decline … that is where we start hearing some talk of constraints.”

Biden invoked this concern, quite explicitly, in his speech justifying the Afghanistan withdrawal: “Our true strategic competitors — China and Russia — would love nothing more than the United States to continue to funnel billions of dollars in resources and attention into stabilizing Afghanistan indefinitely.”

But it’s not just Russia and China that have doomed liberal interventionism. American liberals now face a threat closer to home: Donald Trump, an increasingly authoritarian Republican Party, and the rise of illiberal populism inside democratic states.

The shock of far-right populism did not just undermine the sense of destiny that motivated liberal global ambitions in the 1990s. It also made liberals acutely aware that the great ideological battle of today would not be waged abroad but at home. Liberalism, on the offensive since the Cold War, has been backfooted by far-right populism.

“How can a country that has January 6 fix Afghanistan?” Rhodes asks, referring to the insurrection at the US Capitol.

It’s a question that captures the shifting mood among liberals — and the rise of fortress liberalism. Twenty years after 9/11, liberals are deprioritizing the spread of liberal values in favor of protecting them where they are already in place.

“Rather than wasting its still considerable power on quixotic bids to restore the liberal order or remake the world in its own image, the United States should focus on what it can realistically achieve,” Mira Rapp-Hooper and Rebecca Lissner, both current Biden NSC staffers, wrote in a 2019 Foreign Affairs essay.

Fortress liberalism is not a clean break from what came before it. Biden, for example, has been quite clear on his willingness to use force against terrorists around the world.

While the door may still be open to future liberal interventions, it is clear that liberal interventionism as a doctrine — that American military policy should be oriented around stopping genocide and spreading liberal values — has been supplanted.

But for all its errors — and they were myriad and massive — liberal interventionism did contain a core insight worth preserving: that a life is no less valuable because it is lived outside America’s borders.

The greatest sins of American foreign policy have not been the result of an excess of concern for foreign life but a lack of it. From the genocide of Indigenous peoples to the transatlantic slave trade to imperialism in Latin America to Cold War-era support for mass murders and torturers, America has a long and horrifying track record of sacrificing people on the altar of its own economic and strategic interests.

Liberal interventionists were right to recoil from this past and seek something better. But they were too quick to conclude that the solution was moralized militarism — to see the use of American might against manifestly bad actors as righteous rather than dangerous.

Preserving the moral outlook of ’90s liberal interventionism while abandoning its militarism means discharging our moral duties to non-Americans through nonviolent means: leading the world in the fight against climate change, opening America’s doors to many more refugees, and sending humanitarian aid to the world’s impoverished.

It also means recognizing the toll that any war, however just-seeming, has on civilians — and, as a result, opposing the use of force as anything but a last resort under truly desperate circumstances.

Liberal interventionism barely had a pulse these past few years; Biden’s withdrawal is less its formal end than a long, drawn-out coda. Today’s liberals do seem to have internalized at least one key lesson from its failures: concluding, as John Quincy Adams put it, that America should not survey the world “in search of monsters to destroy.”

But they should also remember the second half of Adams’s formulation: that the United States must also proclaim “the inextinguishable rights of human nature and the only lawful foundations of government,” that “wherever the standard of freedom and independence has been or shall be unfurled, there will her heart, her benedictions and her prayers be.”