Former Hezb-i-Islami tank driver Naquibullah (L), and brothers Eidmajan (9 yrs), former TTP commander Gulzaman (30), and former TTP fighter Nikzaman (22). Since reintegrating they have been jobless outcasts | Julius Cavendish
Very little of the money allocated by donors to offer an alternative livelihood to insurgents willing to put down their weapons is actually reaching Taliban turncoats
About 18 months ago, Haji Ismail, an elderly government official in southeastern Afghanistan, received a letter from an old friend. “Whether this peace process, which our elders are discussing with the government, succeeds or fails,” it read, “I want to come in.” It was signed, with a blue-ink ballpoint pen, by Maulawi Sangeen — one of the Taliban’s most dangerous battlefield captains and a deputy to veteran jihadist Jalaluddin Haqqani himself.
Not only was the erstwhile implacable jihadist seeking peace terms; he was also, if Ismail understood correctly, offering the release of the only U.S. soldier in Taliban captivity as part of the deal. “We have something that belongs to the Americans,” the letter said. “It is safe. And we will talk about this as well.” The letter was written on a Taliban letterhead and was drafted in a faltering Pashto script. It was political dynamite.
The only problem with Ismail’s story is that it was also, according to analysts, an elaborate lie — part of “a long tradition” in Afghanistan of political fakery. “I don’t see how you can reach any conclusion other than it’s a wheeze by Ismail to persuade someone to give him more money,” says Michael Semple, an academic and leading expert on the Taliban. Ismail insists the letter is genuine. “I don’t lie,” he told TIME. “If I’m lying, then punish me, stone me.” But others analysts concur with Semple, arguing that the last thing any senior insurgent trying to defect would do is provide signed evidence of his intentions to a garrulous local official. Continue reading
