In March 2010, clashes erupted between two of Afghanistan’s most important insurgent groups in northern Baghlan Province. A days-long battle between Hizb-i-Islami and the Taliban left nearly 60 militants and 20 civilians dead. Hostilities between the two sides flared again in Wardak Province in July, where ongoing clashes killed 28 Taliban fighters, including an important local Taliban commander. The skirmishes, sparked by the growing reach of the Taliban and turf battles between the two groups, mark a significant fissure in the country’s militant movement. This article provides a closer look at these frictions and at Afghan government and Coalition efforts to exploit them.

Read the full report here.

The murder was horrifying, yet few villagers would come to the defense of anyone charged with spying for the hated foreign forces. But slowly, the details of the story emerged. The Taliban in the area were involved in a weeks-long campaign to collect donations — money, food or weapons — from the local population. They had demanded either a large sum of money or a weapon from Mullah Qudoos, the ill-fated boy’s father. Qudoos, poor and jobless, had neither. So the insurgents took his son as revenge and killed him as an example.

When villagers learned the truth they erupted in fury. They openly vowed to fight the Taliban. Some called the Taliban “our oppressors.” Others swore never to help the insurgents again.

As General David Petraeus, a key architect of counterinsurgency doctrine, takes the reigns of Obama’s struggling Afghan campaign (his confirmation hearings begin today) the most pertinent lessons he learns might be from places like Hiratian. For now the most effective ounterinsurgency force in Hiratian is not the Western military alliance — it’s the Taliban. Hiratian lies amongst the rural stretches of Sangin district, in an area that is outside the government’s authority and has been under nearly continuous Taliban control for years. The political bankruptcy of direct Taliban rule in these areas has succeeded in doing what the Americans have not: turn the population against the insurgents.

While residents of Hiratian have not yet expressed their sentiment through action — by pushing out the insurgents, for instance — villagers in other areas have. The Taliban exerted complete rule over large parts of Gizab district, in Dai Kundi province of central Afghanistan for years, until many villagers started refusing to cooperate with them earlier this year. Locals in parts of Deh Rawud district, in the southern province of Uruzgan, and Arghestan, in Kandahar, have made similar moves in recent years.

All these areas have something in common. Five years ago, these regions had few troops and had instead been under firmly entrenched Taliban control. The insurgents became practiced in impunity, and the population suffered for it. Even after the large influx of troops to the south over the past few years, the dynamic persisted: the Taliban were so powerful that it obviated the need to win over the population.

On the other hand, in those areas where the insurgency’s growth roughly coincided with or followed the arrival of the foreign forces — in the provinces near Kabul, for example — the Taliban have been more sophisticated. They have had to compete with the foreigners for the population’s allegiance, and in the process had to administer their rule with a softer touch. In such places, troop presence actually makes the insurgents more popular in local eyes. Minus the U.S., the Taliban are robbed of their legitimacy.

It is a trend that belies conventional wisdom. A central element of the strategy that Petraeus will oversee is the reliance on a large U.S. military footprint. But after more than eight years, the United States has failed to rally rural Pashtun villagers to its side or break the back of the insurgents. For this reason many of these Pashtuns call for a negotiated ceasefire to end the war and maintain that only they can solve the Taliban problem, and on their own terms. It won’t be easy, and it may take years or even generations. But as the Taliban in Hiratian showed, they can be their own worst enemy.

Mr. Hekmatyar, who is believed to be hiding in Pakistan, discussed the peace negotiations with the Monitor in a rare e-mail interview, with high-ranking associates of his verifying his identity. Here are excerpts from the interview.

In March, a delegation of yours visited Kabul to explore peace negotiations. Why did your group decide to start talks now?

We started our efforts for peace just after [US President] Obama and other Western leaders mentioned for the first time the possibility of withdrawing their forces from Afghanistan. They said that the chaos of Afghanistan does not have a military resolution, that they could not defeat the opposition by fighting.

We [presented our proposal now] because after the withdrawal of these troops, we don’t want a repeat of what happened after the withdrawal of the Russians [i.e., civil war]. We wanted all Afghan sides to agree to stop fighting forever.

Is the withdrawal of the foreign troops the only way to stop the fighting?

The presence of foreign troops is the fundamental reason for the continued fighting. Foreign troops should leave Afghanistan. Moreover, the interference of neighboring countries and other powerful forces should stop, because their competition is the cause of this chaos.

What role do you see for yourself in a post-US government?

Right now I just want the freedom of my country. I am not thinking about other issues. I don’t want anything for myself, nor have we asked for anything for me or Hizb-e-Islami.

We want that Afghans choose the position of each party and person. And they should not ask the foreigners to insure their desired positions.

If your group stops fighting, what effect will this have on the Taliban?

If Hizb-e-Islami agrees on a proposal for ending the chaos, most of the fighters from the resistance will also agree [to stop]. Most of the nation will support it.

If the United States withdraws, how can you ensure that Al Qaeda will no longer use Afghanistan as a haven?

Right now, Al Qaeda does not have an active or widespread presence in Afghanistan. Iraq and Somalia are more preferred and ideal centers for Al Qaeda.

In our proposal, we said that after the foreign troops leave, there will be no foreign fighters in Afghanistan. Afghans are ready to guarantee this.

Recent reports say Hizb-e-Islami and the Taliban have been fighting in the north.

For the past year, some suspected Taliban groups, following the orders of foreign agents who made the Taliban and Hizb fight each other in the past, decided to fight Hizb. In some places, small fighting took place. But we don’t want to drown in fighting with an Afghan group.

Hard times develop some people’s ability to tolerate problems. Or it brings some people to hopelessness. Thanks to God, I am in the first category. I didn’t feel any weakness or hopelessness in my 42 years of fighting. Never.

The list of the killed Taliban reads like a who’s who of the movement’s prominent figures in Wardak. There is Mullah Yassin, killed in October; Yassin, a notoriously cruel commander with a penchant for young boys, was widely feared and hated by the population. In addition to organizing attacks on convoys, his men routinely kidnapped engineers and doctors. In the weeks since he was killed, nine of his subcommanders were killed as well. There is also Maulavi Sharif, the head commander of insurgent forces in Nirkh district. Sharif was killed in a night raid in November. A number of subcommanders of Ustad Yassir, a senior Taliban leader based in Pakistan, have also been killed.

Dozens of others have been detained. Maulavi Sher Ahmed, a popular commander, was nabbed in a night raid in Nirkh district. Ahmed headed Wardak’s religious police during the Taliban days and enjoyed good relations with tribal elders. Mullah Rohullah, one of the province’s most prominent commanders, was captured early this year. He headed the Taliban’s Military Commission in Wardak, which was responsible for directing overall strategy and deciding on the fates of prisoners. His deputy (and cousin) Mullah Ghafor, a hated figure known for his fire-scarred face, was apprehended with him.

The list goes on. But despite such stunning military successes, locals in Wardak say that the political and security situation on the ground has not changed at all. The Taliban still control the majority of the province. The American presence is still deeply resented. And the police are still widely viewed as corrupt and predatory. In short, the U.S. has been unable to transform a military success into a political one, and the reasons why point to the deeper challenges confronting the entire American effort here.

First, the Taliban often replace leaders as fast as the Americans remove them. A steady flow of recruits from Peshawar has come to Wardak in recent months, ready to fill the shoes of their predecessors. These newcomers are often much younger, more disconnected from traditional Afghan society and more radical than the previous generation. They are more careful than their predecessors, often spending more time in the mountains. They are able to very quickly resuscitate the groups of the fallen commanders, or form new groups. They are able to draw from the large pool of young Wardak men who are jobless, bored, fed up with the American presence, disillusioned with the local government, or just looking to make a quick buck.

Second, killing insurgent leaders comes with a heavy price. For every raid that succeeds in killing or capturing a Taliban commander, there are others that get the wrong person. Such was the case of Hajji Ghani Khan, a deaf, 90-year-old tribal elder who was widely respected in his native Chak district of Wardak. U.S. forces killed Khan earlier this spring in a night raid. Dozens of others civilians in the province have shared his fate in the past few months, prompting repeated angry popular outbursts.

U.S. forces rely on a network of informers to find targets for their raids. But with tribal feuds, clan rivalries, grudges from 30 years of warfare, disputes over land and water rights and frequent opportunities to exploit the current state of lawlessness, garnering accurate battlefield intelligence is exceedingly difficult. It’s simply far too easy for someone to settle a land dispute, or get even with his enemy, by accusing them of being connected to insurgents and having the U.S. forces take care of the rest. The result is that civilians keep getting killed as the raids continue.

Third, a military success must leave viable political structures in its wake for it to be lasting. But such structures are scarce in Wardak (or in much of the rest of the country). Locals say that the police steal and kill with impunity. Earlier this month U.S. forces apprehended a 12^th-grade student named Azim in Wardak’s Jaghatu district because he had Taliban propaganda videos on his cell phone (which many Wardak civilians have). After interrogation they turned him over to the Afghan National Police, who accused him of being a Taliban member, summarily executed him and dumped his bullet-ridden body by the roadside with a note pinned to his body warning others that they would share Azim’s fate if they opposed the police.

It would be useful to keep this in mind as the U.S. prepares for a massive push in Kandahar this summer. Special forces have prepared the ground by launching a series of raids throughout the city and surrounding districts. In Senjaray, an insurgent hotbed a few miles west of the city, a number of leading Taliban commanders were nabbed in a series of recent raids. Other insurgent leaders have been killed in Arghandab, to the city’s north. But like in Wardak, for every few successful raids there are also those that go terribly wrong. In Kandahar city’s District 10, international forces recently detained eight people that the locals insist are civilians. During the raid, enraged neighbors called the Afghan police, who responded to the scene only to be shot at by the international troops. Two Afghan police officers were wounded in the attack.

And the governance challenges in Kandahar—where Ahmad Wali Karzai and other hated, pro-government strongmen reign with impunity—dwarf those of a provincial backwater like Wardak. U.S. military planners seem to have begun to understand this, as they have retreated from planning a full-on offensive in Kandahar in recent weeks to a much more modest series of operations in and around the city. The crux of the new push, officials say, will be a focus on “counterterrorism” strikes, such as targeted assassinations, coupled with efforts to rehabilitate local government. Such Taliban assassinations may count as military successes, but as with the famous reply of a North Vietnamese Army commander when told that his side never defeated the Americans in a battle, “That may be true. It is also irrelevant.”

Gulbuddin Hekmatyar, the leader of Hizb-i-Islami, one of Afghanistan’s three main insurgent factions, told the Monitor in an e-mail interview that his group decided to open talks with the Afghan government after US President Barack Obama and other Western leaders mentioned the possibility of starting to withdraw troops as early as July 2011.

“They said that the chaos in Afghanistan does not have a military solution. They said they could not defeat the opposition to this regime by fighting,” Mr. Hekmatyar wrote from an undisclosed location. “Because of that, we gave a complete and logical proposal” for peace to the government.

High-ranking officials with Hizb-i-Islami, including the group’s spokesman, verified that the responses were Hekmatyar’s.

The prospects of a deal with Hekmatyar are still far off, given that some of his demands – such as foreign troop withdrawal this year and early elections – are unlikely to be accepted by the US and the Afghan government. And any deal is unlikely to sway the Taliban, the strongest of the insurgent groups, to themselves come to the table.

Still, though smaller than the Taliban, Hizb-i-Islami has an active presence in large parts of the country’s north and east. It has carried out many attacks against Afghan and Western forces, including a 2008 assault near Kabul that killed 10 French soldiers.

Peace jirga attacked

This week’s peace jirga, where nearly 1,600 notable Afghans have assembled to debate strategies for reaching out to insurgents, did not extend invitations to any militant group. In turn, Hizb-i-Islami issued a statement dismissing the meeting because “the participants consist of persons who are state favorites.” A Taliban spokesman also condemned the jirga, calling it a “show” and not a serious initiative.

Indeed, the jirga’s opening was met with attacks – three rockets landed near the area of the meetings, and a gun battle erupted with a suspected suicide bomber as the jirga started.

High-level talks

Contacts between the Hizb-i-Islami and the Afghan government picked up early this year, Afghan officials say. A high-ranking delegation visited Kabul in March – and met with several senior politicians, including President Hamid Karzai. They delivered a 15-point peace plan that included several controversial demands.

The proposal said that foreign troops must begin withdrawing by July and early elections held, according to a copy seen by the Monitor. Some analysts believe that leaders of Hizb-i-Islami, which remains popular among segments of Pashtun society, think they can win such an election.

According to the proposal, the government would continue in its current form after the troops left and the newly elected parliament would review the Constitution.

The group also hints that it would prevent Al Qaeda from operating in the country. “In our proposal, we said that after the foreign troops leave, there will be no foreign fighters in Afghanistan,” Hekmatyar wrote, referring to Al Qaeda, although analysts doubt if he could deliver on such a promise.

Members of the group blame Washington for hamstringing negotiations by demurring on troop withdrawal. “The Americans are not ready for talks. That’s why we continue to fight,” says Haroun Zarghun, a close associate of Hekmatyar’s, speaking on the phone from an undisclosed location.

Prospects for a deal

US officials counter that Hizb-i-Islami has not effectively demonstrated its intent to cut links with Al Qaeda, and that withdrawing forces beginning this summer is premature. Hekmatyar and his group have also been accused of a long list of human rights violations.

Some of the terms may also be unacceptable to the Afghan government. “We do not accept any condition that is against the Afghan constitution,” says Siamak Herawi, a spokesman for the President Karzai. “Elections can only be held every five years, so their proposal [for new elections] is against the constitution and not acceptable.”

Some Western and Afghan officials say they welcome reconciliation with Hizb-i-Islami but are wary of any government role for Hekmatyar, whose forces notoriously shelled Kabul in the 1990s, killing thousands, despite his being prime minister at the time.

Hekmatyar denies any personal aspirations in extending the olive branch. “I just want freedom for my country,” he says. “I don’t want anything for myself, nor have we asked for anything for me or Hizb-i-Islami in our proposal.”

Observers say that Hekmatyar and fellow leaders of the group might be tired of fighting – as one of Afghanistan’s oldest insurgent groups, they have been on the battlefield first against the Russians, then against other Afghan warlords, and now against the Americans, for nearly 30 years.

Some Afghan officials say that the group has hit the extent of its reach – in recent months, it’s fought several turf battles with the Taliban. In the latest blow, in May a prominent Hizb-i-Islami religious cleric was gunned down in eastern Kunar Province, most likely by the Taliban.

Ripple effect?

Even if a peace deal eventually materializes, a major concern is that it would not significantly dampen violence, since the Taliban is the dominant force in most of the country. It is unlikely that Hizb-i-Islami would have the ability to influence the Taliban. “There will be no effect on us if Hizb-i-Islami talks with the government,” says Qari Ziaur Rahman, a prominent Taliban commander who is active in Afghanistan and Pakistan, speaking by phone from Kunar.

“Hizb has not been effective in the last eight years, they haven’t had any major successes in these years,” he adds, hinting at the growing tensions between the two groups.

But others insist that getting the group to lay down its weapons will mark a significant step toward peace. “They are weaker than the Taliban, but they are still quite popular in many areas,” says Wahid Muzjda, a Kabul-based policy analyst. “They can still cause problems. That’s why everyone is taking them seriously.”

It was from a charismatic man of medium build, intense eyes, and a knack for fiery oratory. In a brief meeting, he rallied the troops, discussed strategy, and disappeared into the night.

Most of the commanders present there in late January had not met him before. But in southern Afghanistan he needed no introduction. He was Mullah Abdul Qayyum Zakir, the man who some Western officials and insurgents say is now the day-to-day leader of the Taliban.

“He has tremendous power now,” says a tribal elder in the southern province of Helmand, who knows Mr. Zakir and met with him recently. “He can design military strategy and appoint or fire” Taliban shadow governors.

As the United States escalates its troop numbers to try to roll back a raging insurgency, combating the efforts of Taliban leaders like Zakir will be key. Zakir is known for his battlefield abilities as an organizer, motivator, and tactician. He wields tremendous influence in southern Afghanistan, the heartland of the insurgency and the site of another major offensive set for this summer.

A former Guantánamo detainee, he is believed now to be a deputy to reclusive Taliban leader Mullah Omar, a position he assumed upon Pakistan’s arrest of the movement’s former No. 2, Mullah Abdul Ghani Baradar, and a number of other Taliban leaders.

Pakistani intelligence agents arrested Zakir and a close associate earlier this year in early February, according to Western and Afghan government sources, but both were later released without explanation.

Zakir’s rise to power was pieced together through more than a dozen interviews in Kabul and Lashkar Gah with his current and former associates, some of whom spoke on the condition of anonymity.

Raised in prosperity

Hailing from a well-off Pashtun family with roots in southern Helmand Province, Zakir grew up in the northern province of Jowzjan. His associates say he is in his early 40s, making him too young to have joined the anti-Soviet resistance of the 1970s and ’80s as his older brother had done.

Instead, like many boys at the time, he was sent to study in madrasas, or religious schools, near the Afghan-Pakistani border that taught an extreme version of Islam. He attended such a school in Quetta, Pakistan, then a hotbed for radicalism. There he met an influential figure who would later become a major Taliban commander and his partner in arms, Mullah Abdul Raouf.

By 1997, the pair had returned to Afghanistan and joined the Taliban, the movement of religious students who had swept into power on a platform of law and order and a puritanical, often violent interpretation of Islam.

Mullah Raouf became the commander for the Taliban’s Central Corps, and Zakir was one of his key deputies.

Zakir commanded an important reserve brigade of more than 1,000 soldiers that operated out of the current presidential palace. It was heavily involved in the fight against the opposing Northern Alliance, an assemblage of warlords led by Ahmed Shah Massoud, who was assassinated just before the 9/11 attacks.

Born Abdul Qayyum, his nom de guerre on the Taliban’s walkie-talkie network was “Zakir,” a name that stuck as stories of his military prowess grew. He became known as a skilled tactician, more than once rescuing surrounded Taliban troops using audacious moves behind enemy lines.

“He was a legendary battlefield commander,” recalls Mullah Abdul Salaam Rocketi, a former Taliban commander and now a member of parliament. “His fame brought him to the attention of Mullah Omar, and the two became close over time.”

Zakir’s troops, known as the Helmandi Brigade, inspired fear across the country. The brigade acted as a Taliban special forces of sorts, used for daring raids and to keep the conventional troops focused on the demands of battle.

“They were true believers,” says Gul Wazir, a Taliban commander who has been fighting since that era. “Sometimes when the fighting became too difficult and people on the front lines wanted to flee, they would capture us and bring us back to the front lines.”

Driven by ideology

His associates paint a picture of Zakir as a highly ideological fighter, in contrast to some Taliban who may have fought for material gain.

“He was very well versed in sharia [Islamic] law and always followed the orders of his leaders and ulema,” or religious clerics, says a tribal elder and former Taliban commander who fought alongside Zakir.

Zakir was injured numerous times, including in one attack in the late 1990s where a bomb killed four of his close friends and injured him severely. This sparked a period of depression that would resurface in the coming years. At times, he would become suddenly morose and withdrawn mid-conversation. Occasionally, he even dropped out of all activities.

But he repeatedly returned to the battlefield, leading Taliban troops in the north – until one day in late 2001.

Amid the US bombing campaign meant to topple the Taliban government, close to 10 besieged top Taliban commanders met in secret. These included Zakir, Raouf, and Mullah Dadullah, a Taliban leader of legendary brutality. According to two people present at the meeting, all but Dadullah voted to surrender, possibly out of the expectation that they would be released and allowed to go home.

Time in Guantánamo

Zakir and Raouf gave themselves up to the forces of Gen. Rashid Dostum, who turned them over to the Americans, who sent them to Guantánamo.

Under American control, the pair pretended to be low-ranking conscripts – Zakir gave US interrogators a false name, “Ghulam Rasoul.” He portrayed himself as a country boy who went to Kabul “just to see the city” before being pressed into service on the front lines, according to a summary of transcripts from his review board at Guantánamo, which became public as the result of a Freedom of Information Act request.

“I have seen pictures that Afghanistan is being rebuilt, and I am happy that Americans are rebuilding my country,” he told a review panel sometime between 2004 and 2007. “I see no reason why I should be against the Americans.”

Raouf kept up a similar facade and told interrogators that he merely served food to the Taliban.

“If I did not cooperate with them they were going to confiscate my land,” he said in a hearing in 2005. “All I want to do is go there and work on my land.”

The two got a chance to do just that when they were transferred to Afghan custody in late 2007. They were released in early 2008 – possibly due to pressure from tribal elders, Afghan officials say – and quickly reestablished links with their former comrades. Zakir took command of military affairs in southern Afghanistan, Raouf in the north.

Wrote Taliban rule book

Zakir soon became identified with the Taliban’s more pragmatic wing, which was mindful of public opinion. He helped draft a Taliban rule book that urged fighters to limit civilian casualties. He headed a committee that received complaints about abusive local commanders and removed them if necessary. He mediated between factions and with the Pakistani Taliban when tensions arose.

Taliban fighters and Afghan officials say that, unlike most leading Taliban figures, Zakir regularly crosses into Afghanistan to meet with field commanders, inspiring loyalty among the rank and file and winning him credibility within the leadership.

“He has a high standing in the jihadi community,” says Jeffrey Dressler, an analyst at the Institute for the Study of War in Washington. “This makes him a powerful force.”

According to Western and Afghan sources, the arrests of Zakir and Raouf by Pakistani intelligence agents in late January were part of a wider crackdown on Taliban leadership. But Afghan officials and Taliban members agree the pair were later released. The arrest and release may have been the work of different arms of the Pakistani government, or the leaders may have been temporarily held to put pressure on the insurgent movement. But Pakistani officials have declined to comment on the issue.

‘Wants to win at any cost’

Many experts consider Zakir to be one of the important figures in the insurgency, though it is unlikely that his power will reach that of his predecessor, Mullah Baradar.

“Even though Zakir is at the top, there will be a more collective leadership in place, instead of one person making all the decisions like before,” says an Afghan intelligence official.

Officials are now waiting to see if he brings changes to the group’s direction. Baradar is widely rumored to have been open to negotiations with the Afghan government, but Zakir’s associates say that he is much less likely to have such an orientation.

“I don’t think he will want to negotiate,” says the tribal elder from Helmand who says he visited Zakir recently in Quetta. “He wants to win this war at any cost. That’s what makes him dangerous.”

Achin district, a home of the Shinwari tribe, is part of an ambitious countrywide U.S. push to fund tribal militias to stand against the Taliban and stabilize the violence-plagued region. A months-long feud between Shinwari clans has brought Achin to a standstill, however, threatening to undermine the effort and illustrating the difficulties in enlisting tribes to combat the insurgency.

The initiative encourages tribes and other community groups in a number of areas around the country to defend their territory from the Taliban. A similar effort in Iraq is widely credited with diminishing the violence there.

The groups don’t receive weapons — which already are plentiful in Afghanistan — but U.S. Special Operations Forces provide money and in some cases training. The militias are meant to complement uniformed Afghan forces and Western troops.

Locals say that tribal dynamics complicate such initiatives, however. “We want to solve the Taliban problem, but not cause a whole series of other problems in the process,” said Moyen Shah, the deputy head of the provincial council, which helps govern the eastern province of Nangarhar.

The drive began last summer in the rugged, mountainous district of Achin. Insurgents and smugglers regularly crossed the nearby Pakistani border into the area, which consists of a small bazaar and clusters of homes behind mud-brick walls.

In July, two Shinwari leaders raised a militia to attack these insurgents. The tribal force killed a key Taliban commander and expelled a small band of insurgent fighters from its territory.

The rare uprising sparked a series of meetings between some tribal leaders and U.S. troops, according to Shinwari elders, after which the leaders pledged early this year to bar the Taliban from Achin.

It was one of the clearest anti-Taliban stances that any Afghan tribe had taken in recent years. “If we catch anyone harboring Taliban, we will fine him and burn down his house,” said Malek Osman, one of the elders who made the pledge. “The Shinwaris are a huge tribe. We can make a major difference.”

U.S. military officials rewarded the tribe with $200,000 and promised more development funds to come.

With the funds and newfound prestige, however, came infighting. Like most other Afghan tribes, the Shinwari are subdivided into a tangle of clans and sub-clans, each with its own leaders. Only one of the clans, the Shobli, had made the pledge against the Taliban.

“We haven’t participated in that decision,” said Muhammad Nabi, an Achin resident and member of another Shinwari clan, the Ali Sher Khel. “Those tribal elders don’t represent us, and they don’t speak for all Shinwaris.” A number of others who were interviewed agreed with this sentiment.

Shortly after the decision to expel the Taliban was announced, the Ali Sher Khel claimed that the Shobli had occupied part of their land on the outskirts of the Achin bazaar, and launched an attack. Thirteen people were killed and 35 injured, and most of the houses there were reduced to rubble.

Many Shobli fled, leaving behind smoldering ruins and heightened tensions. Locals said life still hadn’t returned to normal. “Look around,” Achin resident Abdul Habib said, pointing to a gaunt, nearly deserted central bazaar. “There is fear everywhere. The (clans) don’t trust each other and they think fighting will start again at any minute.”

The Shobli that remain in the area don’t patrol or otherwise attempt to enforce the Taliban ban, for fear that it would further stoke tensions. Moreover, the police rarely venture far from the main bazaar into the patchwork of farms and orchards in the countryside or the nearby barren flatland, where many Ali Sher Khel live.

As a result, the Taliban still roam openly in parts of Achin, according to locals and government officials.

Tensions also are brewing between Shobli elders and the Afghan government. “The government is made up of thieves and mafia men,” Osman said. “We prefer to work for the Americans.”

The Afghan government, in turn, is wary of tribal groups that are beyond its control, something that it said could undermine the development of the national army and police. Ahmad Zia Abdulzai, the Nangarhar provincial spokesman, said the government aimed to incorporate the tribal militias into the Afghan police force.

North of here, in the northern province of Kunduz, a multiethnic area that has a large Taliban presence in the Pashtun regions, dozens of militias have sprouted recently. Many of their commanders are former warlords who participated in Afghanistan’s civil war in the 1990s and were disarmed in the years after the U.S.-led invasion of the country in 2001, only to rearm in recent months. In some areas — particularly those without large Pashtun populations — locals report that the militias have been reducing the Taliban threat.

In other parts of Kunduz, however, locals say that the new militias are even worse than the Taliban are. In the district of Imam Sahib, a militia leader known as Commander Nizam is widely accused of crimes that include looting and rape.

“His people stopped our bus one night,” recalled Fardin Rasouli, a businessman from the area, “and took all of our money, even the jewelry from the women. During the day these people are supposedly providing security, but during the night they become thieves.”

Kunduz government officials acknowledged that Nizam and other militias occasionally crossed the line. “There have been some complaints about the militias,” said Mohebullah Saidi, a spokesman for Kunduz province. “Members of the suspected militias have been arrested, and there is an investigation ongoing.”

Still, he said that the militias were needed until the government could field its own effective security force. U.S. Special Operations Forces are widely thought to have provided money to Nizam and other commanders, but neither side would comment on the issue.

Military officials say that the use of militias is subordinated to the development of Afghan security forces. The “over-reliance on tribal- or community-based security can promote instability or abuses of power that are associated with warlordism,” said U.S. Navy Lt. Cmdr. Thomas Porter, a spokesman with the international forces. “At the same time, we’ve learned that it’s not productive to work against the grain of Afghan culture, which means respecting the existing system of tribal and communal ties.”

Nonetheless, it’s no surprise that governments are wary of any plan to arm the militias.

“We have a dangerous history in this country with militias,” Abdulzai said, referring to the country’s civil war, in which thousands died as a result of warring militias. “We need to learn from that experience and make sure we don’t repeat the same mistakes.”

North Waziristan, the second-largest of Pakistan’s Federally Administered Tribal Areas, is the most important springboard for violence in Afghanistan today, much as it has been for decades. The most important militant group in the agency today is the Haqqani Network. The legendary Afghan mujahideen commander Jalaluddin Haqqani left his native Khost province and settled in North Waziristan’s capital, Miram Shah, in the mid-1970s; his son, Sirajuddin, was raised in the area.[i] Jalaluddin quickly became the most important mujahideen commander in eastern Afghanistan during the 1980s; Sirajuddin now manages the network his father built, employing it to support violence against U.S. and NATO forces. Like his father, Sirajuddin uses North Waziristan to recruit, as a safe haven, and for strategic depth. North Waziristan is well-suited for all of these purposes because of its geographic isolation, difficult terrain, and relatively stable coalition of tribal militants.

Besides the Haqqanis, the largest militant coalition in North Waziristan is headed by Hafiz Gul Bahadur, of the Mada Khel clan of the Uthmanzai Wazir. Bahadur does not have the track record of his collaborators in the Haqqani clan, but he does have something they do not: a strong tribal base in the rugged mountains between Miram Shah and the Afghan border. This provides important strategic leverage over militants who must traverse his territory to reach Afghanistan. Bahadur’s deputy, Maulana Sadiq Noor, is from the Daur tribe and leads a coalition of both Wazir and Daur tribesmen. Sadiq Noor is very close to the Haqqanis and Bahadur seems to follow Haqqani guidance on difficult questions, such as whether to attack Pakistani troops in the region.

North Waziristan has been a safe haven for successive waves of militants fleeing U.S. or Pakistani military operations. Shortly after the fall of the Taliban regime in Afghanistan in late 2001, thousands of Taliban members associated with the regime flooded into North Waziristan. Many took shelter in the agency’s treacherous and heavily forested Shawal Valley, which became a refuge for all sorts of foreign militants, including those from al-Qaeda. Pakistani government forces subsequently targeted other Pakistani safe havens, including South Waziristan. In 2004, a wave of militants arrived in North Waziristan after being pushed out of South Waziristan’s Shakai Valley. More recently, a variety of militants associated with the Mehsud tribe in South Waziristan is believed to have sought safe haven in North Waziristan.

Militants in North Waziristan have tended to be less fractious than their cousins in South Waziristan, largely by avoiding divisive tribalism. But the divisions among North Waziristan militants are important. For example, Rasool Khan leads a group of fighters who chafe at Bahadur’s prominent role in the agency. Khan’s support for Uzbek fighters—who have angered many Pakistani militants—is one reason, but Khan’s operation also seems to have a strong criminal element that may seek greater autonomy. Similarly, a contingent of foreign and local fighters led by Abu Kasha al-Iraqi has squabbled with Bahadur’s chief commander, Sadiq Noor, who resents the Abu Kasha group’s foreign leadership. As in other parts of the Federally Administered Tribal Areas (FATA), the most common strategic disagreements are over the role of Arab and Central Asian fighters and whether to attack Pakistani targets in addition to U.S. and NATO forces in Afghanistan.

Although they are not tribal, the disputes among militants in North Waziristan do have a geographic element. Bahadur’s stronghold is west of Miram Shah; the militants opposed to his leadership tend to operate in and around Mir Ali, which is slightly farther from the border with Afghanistan. The Haqqani Network seems to have a powerful mediation role among militants in North Waziristan. Both Jalaluddin and Sirajuddin Haqqani are widely respected, and the younger man has intervened many times over the past five years to resolve disputes among militant groups in North Waziristan and other areas of the FATA. The Haqqanis’ reputation of effective military action in Afghanistan gives them influence over North Waziristan militants who lack their own networks across the border. Moreover, the Haqqanis’ long relationship with the Pakistani military and intelligence establishment makes them effective interlocutors between militants and the Pakistani state. And despite their differences, the militants know that internal squabbling weakens the effort in Afghanistan and makes each group susceptible to pressure from the Pakistani military.[i]

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Yet here in the provincial capital of Helmand Province, where NATO forces just waged its biggest offensives against the Taliban in nine years, one structure near the town’s center stands as a testament to more normal times. Locals are reopening the Lashkar Gah Cinema Hall, the only movie theater in all of southern Afghanistan. For years it sat damaged by numerous wars and shuttered by Islamic extremism. Its resurrection is hoped to bring a rebirth of artistic expression in this restive corner of the country.

“In a place like Helmand, which is only known for fighting, we need these sorts of things,” says Nasima Niazi, a provincial lawmaker. “It gives a little hope to Helmandi people that there’s more to life than just war.”

Movies had been banned by the mujahedeen, hard-line Islamic guerrillas who fought the Soviets throughout the 1980s, and by the Taliban who took over afterward.

Both groups saw films as indecent, especially when they portrayed women on screen – a major offense to their conservative mores.

Even after the Taliban’s fall in 2001, film has been slow to revive. Deep-seated conservatism continues to pervade much of the south, and many of the former mujahedeen have returned to power.

Packed audiences

The theater’s main hall nowadays is piled with dust-caked, mangled chairs, and homeless men have made the corridors their home. But the Helmand government is renovating the theater and converting part of it into a cultural center that will house plays and musical performances. The British Provincial Reconstruction Team, a section of the military forces here that help with development, provided much of the funding. The theater is set to reopen next month.

As residents here tell it, the cinema’s past is a window into Afghanistan’s tumultuous history. The hall opened in the 1960s, the last era of peace, and became an instant success. People traveled for miles to watch Indian, Iranian, and occasionally American films. A big hit was Layla Majnun, an Indian take on a classic Arab love story.

“We couldn’t even understand the language, but we saw it many times,” says Sana Gul, a Lashkar Gah resident.

One of the most popular actors was Bruce Lee, whose martial arts antics captivated audiences. A ticket cost less than 10 cents, and every Friday the hall was packed to standing room only.

Suspicions linger

But years of war brought challenges. During the Russian presence, films would be ferried here by air because the ground route was often too dangerous. After the fall of the Soviet-backed government in 1992, the mujahedeen’s arrival to power heralded a new era of destruction and conservatism. They turned their guns on one another in a scramble for power, unleashing a devastating civil war that killed thousands. They also closed theaters throughout the country, deeming them “un-Islamic.”

“It was a time of chaos,” recalls resident Ghulam Farouq. “We were afraid to say openly that we enjoyed cinema. There was no government, just warlords and looters.”

When the Taliban arrived in 1994, they ousted the hated mujahedeen from power, but extended their conservative doctrines. In addition to cinema, music and other arts were banned. They converted the cinema house to a station for Radio Sharia (which means “Islamic law”), the government’s main news outlet.

The effects of the era linger: Some residents today doubt if showing films is necessary or even appropriate. For now, the Helmand government plans to use the center mainly for poetry readings and performances, with only the occasional film.

Still, some hope the reopening can encourage an artistic revival in Helmand. Indeed, the first movie made by Helmandis debuted last month.

“We want Helmand to have something positive to offer the world,” says Ms. Niazi, the lawmaker, “and this is our first attempt.”

Lashkar Gah, Afghanistan–Weeks after a major United States-led offensive overturned Taliban rule in the southern Afghan town of Marjah, another force continues to hold sway over the population.

“We are ruled by fear now,” says Gul Muhammad, a shopkeeper from the dust-caked market town, speaking by phone. “We don’t know who will ultimately win here, or who will end up back in power.”

Stuck between the Taliban, an untested new governor, and predatory former leaders trying to reclaim power, many of Marjah’s residents say they are afraid to cast their support in any direction.

Yet establishing a suitable local government that wins over this hesitant population is one of the biggest and most important challenges the US faces. It could determine the success of the offensive, one of the largest in the nine-year Afghanistan war and a high-profile test of the US’s “clear, hold, and build” strategy.

Taliban’s haunting presence

The Taliban, who imposed de facto rule in Marjah in 2008, appear to have scattered since the offensive, but their influence still looms. The leaders of the insurgency mostly fled, locals say, and their shadow government – complete with Islamic courts and a “police” force – has disbanded.

But the residue of nearly two years of Taliban rule remains. Most midlevel leaders and the rank and file have simply melted back into the population. “They still have spies and supporters everywhere. If they catch us talking to the troops they can behead us,” says Musa Aqa Jan, a laborer, echoing a widely shared view.

Western forces, meanwhile, only have direct control of the three bazaars that make up Marjah’s commercial centers, US and Afghan officials say. Outside these bazaars, government officials still cannot move without heavy armored protection because of the threat of mines and ambushes.

“There are thousands of mines everywhere,” says Daoud Ahmadi, the spokesman for Helmand Province, where Marjah lies. “We didn’t expect this. This is slowing things down for us and the Americans.”

Insurgents have even littered farmers’ fields with mines, dissuading some who fled the fighting from returning to their homes. Some of these farmers are huddled in refugee camps just outside Helmand’s capital, Lashkar Gah. “We are living in open-air tents, we don’t have any roof over our heads,” says Yaka Khan, a refugee.

Shura makeup worries locals

Many of those who have fled have returned, however, and say they are ready to brave the possibility of Taliban threats. But for them an even greater potential danger lurks: the new government slated to take the Taliban’s place.

The man tapped to be Marjah’s governor is Abdul Zahir, a Helmand native who has spent the past 15 years in Germany and is unknown to most of the local population. He only travels with heavy protection and has yet to visit most parts of Marjah. It may take months before his efforts can be appraised, Helmand authorities say.

In the meantime, he is helping assemble one of Marjah’s key governing institutions: the local shura, or council. This group will draw from local notables and will aid Mr. Zahir in running day-to-day affairs. The Afghan government will ultimately pick the body’s members, but with input from the local population and Western officials.

It’s the makeup of this council that stokes the most concern among locals. At the heart of the fears is whether it will include a notorious veteran mujahideen commander who has played a central role in Helmand’s politics for more than 20 years. Abdur Rahman Jan was the province’s police chief until 2006, and he heads a 34-man council of landlords, elders, and commanders that ruled Marjah until the 2008 Taliban takeover.

While in power the council became so infamous for abuse that some say it turned locals away from the government. “The main reason the Taliban grew in Marjah is because of these people,” says Qasim Noorzai, a government official in Helmand who works with tribal elders from the area. A number of other government officials, Marjah elders, and locals agree with this assessment.

Marjah elders who met President Hamid Karzai earlier in the month insisted that their backing of the new government depends on whether the old officials are excluded, authorities say. “But they [the old officials] have really good connections and backing in Kabul, so they are not out of the picture yet,” says Mr. Noorzai.

As Afghan officials work to develop a new council, the old council is angling for influence in the post-Taliban administration. “We want to convince the Afghan government and the Americans that only we can stabilize Marjah,” says Muhammad Salim, a council member, interviewed in Kabul. He and more than a dozen others have traveled to the capital several times in recent months to lobby lawmakers and associates of President Karzai.

Worse than the Taliban?

The moves are sparking concerns because a number of government officials, human rights organizations, and locals accuse Mr. Jan and his associates of human rights violations.

Dad Muhammad, a Marjah elder, tells a variation of an oft-repeated complaint that men associated with Mr. Jan’s private militia attacked his house, forcibly evicted his family, and took his land.

The old council led by Jan has “grabbed more than 20,000 jeribs of land from poor people,” says Mr. Ahmadi, the provincial spokesman. One jerib, an Afghan unit of measurement, equals roughly half an acre.

Others speak of being hauled into secret prisons or being robbed. “My brother and I owned a cell phone shop, and Tor Jan’s men [a commander of Abdur Rahman Jan] ransacked it,” says Faizullah Zaher, a Marjah shopkeeper. “They took everything and there was nothing we could say.”

The Afghan government removed Mr. Jan from his post in 2006 after accusations from Western officials that he was involved in drug trafficking, but he continued to wield influence in Marjah through the council. Jan was not available for comment. Members of his council defend him, however, and say that those who were arrested or had land taken from them were associated with the Taliban.

Locals are paying attention as he seeks to maneuver back into power.

“We’ll be watching all of these” developments, says Yaka Khan, the refugee. “If the same mistakes happen this time, we will lose our people to the Taliban again.”