Feuds Simmer Beneath a Warlord’s Gaze

With their gold and silver turbans glistening in the afternoon sunlight, the men from Kandahar laid down their weapons and sat at the feet of the warlord of Herat. Ismail Khan, the self-proclaimed emir of five western provinces, stared down at them, serene and impassive.

Many of the visitors were former members of the Taliban from the very city where that regime had jailed Khan for three years. Now, in a cool green garden just after noon prayers, they were seeking his favor. They wanted their jailed comrades freed from the warlord’s prison.

Khan did not oblige them, but he did grant them a jalsa, a collective meeting for airing grievances. After three hours of arguing and posturing, of veiled threats and somber pleas for reconciliation, it was decided that not even the emir of the west could solve everyone’s problems in a single day.

Instead, they would form a committee.

The men from Kandahar, along with elders from three other southern provinces, would select three men to resolve their complaints in negotiations with three of Khan’s men. The Kandahar men accuse the warlord’s gunmen of killing, kidnapping and robbing their sons, fathers and brothers after Khan drove the Taliban from the western provinces in November. At least 600 of their men are being held incommunicado at Herat’s central prison, the Kandahar contingent claims.

The Kandaharis and their confederates left mollified, if not satisfied--a sign that postwar Afghanistan has the capacity to resolve disputes, or at least defuse them, by talking instead of shooting. But oaths of revenge muttered by some of the armed visitors as they left made it clear that the rule of the gun is not over.

How lingering feuds from the latest war in Afghanistan are resolved will be crucial to the survival of the interim government. Leaders of the 150-man southern delegation said they had consulted with interim Prime Minister Hamid Karzai; his photograph graced the windshields of their dusty SUVs. They also had the blessing of the man who rules their southern provinces--warlord Gul Agha Shirzai, Khan’s rival.

During the meeting in Khan’s garden this week, there were tense moments. One visitor wagged his finger in the emir’s face, a grave insult. Another, an elder, shouted Khan down and shoved a fat file of written complaints into his hands. Yet another lectured him about honor. Several times, the warlord’s bodyguards tensed and edged toward his guests. Above his flowing white beard, a smile played on Khan’s lips.

That his former enemies would drive across Afghanistan to seek his indulgence put Khan in an expansive mood. He seemed to savor every minute of their uncomfortable presence as supplicants in his kingdom. They are ethnic Pushtuns. He is Tajik. With an alluring smile, he assured them that the difference didn’t matter.

Visitors Are Left to Sip Green Tea for an Hour

He invited them into his whitewashed villa on a hill above his military garrison, with its stunning view of Herat’s legendary blue mosque. Then he let them wait, restlessly sipping green tea, for an hour while he reviewed his private army. He made sure his guests could see the long green formations, row after row of armed men, and his two dozen tanks and armored vehicles in the hazy distance.

Then he took them to his mosque for noon prayers.

Only later, when the Pushtuns were sated by the great feast of roast chicken and lamb that Khan had set before them, would he upbraid them.

The southerners were still finishing their cold Pepsis, sitting cross-legged on 25 new Iranian carpets Khan had bought at the bazaar that morning, when the emir rose to address them. He was conciliatory. He offered to speak Pashto, not the Dari tongue of the Tajiks. He called them his “brothers of Kandahar.” He advised them to stop speaking of Tajiks or Pushtuns, of Kandaharis or Heratis, because now everyone is simply an Afghan.

Khan spoke for nearly 30 minutes, without notes. No one interrupted him. Each Pushtun addressed him as “Your Excellency Emir,” the title that Khan’s functionaries insist upon from visitors.

Khan reminded his guests that Afghans had erred by allowing Russians, Pakistanis, Arabs and Iranians into the country to meddle or conquer. At the mention of Iran, the elders murmured, because Khan has been accused of accepting money and arms from that country, where he took refuge after escaping from Taliban custody. He assured them that such charges are propaganda and that he fully supports the interim government in Kabul, the Afghan capital.

Hanging over the meeting was the question of who had been Talibs. Dozens of the visitors wore thick, wild beards and massive turbans in the Taliban style, yet no one could be found who admitted to having served in the movement. Khan played along, but finally he spit out, “Ninety percent of the people in the Herat jail are your Taliban.”

The Pushtuns stirred, and Khan seemed to sense a belligerency among them.

“We are ready for a fight if need be, but it’s better to talk,” he told them. “I tell you, my brothers, the only way is to sit together and solve our own problems.”

Upon hearing this, the Pushtuns erupted in a chorus of “Allahu akbar!” (God is great).

The head of the council of elders in Kandahar, Said Zahir Agha, rose unsteadily on his cane. He asked Khan for a gift: the release of their men.

“If our sons and brothers have murdered, kill them,” Agha said. “If they have stolen, punish them. If not, please release them.”

Amid the Outbursts, an Ever-Present Smile

Khan did not respond. Agha asked him for a private meeting with his delegation’s top four elders. Khan nodded, almost imperceptibly, agreeing to that request.

Next to speak was silver-bearded Haji Abdul Raouf Noorzai, from Kandahar.

“We appreciate what you say,” he told Khan. “But we don’t want words. We want action.”

There were shouts of approval.

“You call yourself emir of these provinces,” Noorzai went on, “so try to keep honor among your people.”

Khan’s smile did not leave his face.

“I try my best,” he said evenly.

Suddenly, one of the Pushtuns walked up and squatted before the seated emir. He said that two of Khan’s soldiers had killed his two nephews and stolen six cars and 15 motorcycles from his dealership. It was this man who thrust his finger in the warlord’s face. Khan motioned for his police commander.

“Is this true?” he asked the officer.

“Yes, it’s true, but the violators have been jailed.”

“If they are in jail,” Khan declared, “then the law will decide.”

The Pushtuns cried out: “No! You must kill them! They killed our people!”

Khan raised his hand and the shouting ceased.

“No, you cannot take the law into your own hands,” he said.

One of the elders tried to get Khan to read the stack of complaints the Pushtuns had brought--kidnappings, carjackings, rapes, murders, evictions. Khan glanced at them, then withdrew a written complaint of his own from the daybook he carried. Stapled to it was a photo of a teenage boy.

“Those Taliban bastards kidnapped this young boy,” Khan said. “I have hundreds more cases like this in my office. You should come see them.”

Then he summoned his police commander again. The officer described how the Taliban stole every vehicle from the Herat police force and drove them to Kandahar.

“Maybe you were driving one of them,” he said to one of the Pushtuns.

More Pushtuns rose to register grievances, but Khan cut them off.

“Stop!” he said. “I don’t have time to hear your problems.”

He proposed the six-man commission, three from each side, “to solve all these problems and dispense justice.” The Pushtuns agreed, and selection of the panel was set for the next day.

Then Khan stood and issued his decision on the jailed men: Anyone held in his prison and found to have been a Talib would not be released. For all the prisoners, there would be proper trials, he promised.

If a man is convicted of murder, he will be executed, Khan said. If he is convicted of torture, he himself will be tortured.

The Pushtuns fell silent. Khan stared down at them and slowly repeated, “I will not release any Taliban.”

He fixed his narrow brown eyes on one of the Pushtuns who had been arguing with him and said, “Even if he’s one of yours, I won’t release him.”

There was nothing more to say. The meeting was over. The Pushtuns loaded their weapons onto their convoy. Some of them vowed to take up arms to free their comrades. Others said no, give the new commission a chance. The southerners sped from Khan’s villa in a cloud of white dust, their turbans bouncing against the roofs of their SUVs.

Khan’s security men hustled him into a silver Toyota Land Cruiser and he too was gone, taken to safety somewhere in the province he rules.