Narrator: In the Afghan countryside, graveyards dot the landscape, their flags—white for the Taliban, tricolor for the government—a silent testament to a 40-year cycle of violence. These fields of the dead have grown relentlessly, swallowing farmers, soldiers, and insurgents alike. In 2019, former President Hamid Karzai, speaking to a group of elders, lamented this tragic reality. He pointed out how the graves of Taliban fighters and Afghan soldiers lay side-by-side, surrounded by the graves of innocent civilians caught in the crossfire. This endless, fratricidal conflict, he argued, served only the interests of foreigners. This haunting image of a nation burying its own sons in a seemingly unwinnable war captures the central puzzle of America's longest conflict.

In his comprehensive historical analysis, The American War in Afghanistan: A History, Carter Malkasian provides a definitive account of why the world’s most powerful military failed to achieve its objectives. He argues that the outcome was not determined by military might alone, but by a fundamental misunderstanding of the cultural and ideological forces at play.

Narrator: A central failure of the American-led effort was the inability to grasp the true source of the Taliban's resilience. It wasn't primarily about money, Pakistani support, or tactical prowess; it was about identity. In 2014, at a State Department discussion, the newly appointed US ambassador to Afghanistan, Michael McKinley, listened as experts debated why the Taliban continued to fight. When suggestions like money and jobs were offered, McKinley interjected with a profound observation. He said, "Maybe I have read too much Hannah Arendt but I do not think this is about money or jobs. The Taliban are fighting for something larger."

That "something larger" was the potent combination of Islam and resistance to foreign occupation, two pillars of Afghan identity. The Taliban successfully positioned themselves as the true defenders of Afghan values against what they framed as an infidel invasion. As the scholar Thomas Barfield notes, in Afghanistan, it is impossible to separate religion from politics, as every relationship is validated by faith. The Taliban's narrative resonated deeply in the countryside, where the war was most intensely felt. They were seen not just as insurgents, but as righteous warriors fulfilling a religious duty to expel outsiders, a narrative deeply embedded in Afghan history from the British and Soviet invasions. The US-backed government in Kabul, despite its modernizing efforts, could never compete with this powerful claim to legitimacy. It was perceived as a foreign-propped entity, and its soldiers were often seen as collaborators. This ideological advantage gave the Taliban an inexhaustible well of support and motivation that American firepower could never extinguish.

Narrator: The seeds of failure were sown in the immediate aftermath of the 9/11 attacks and the swift toppling of the Taliban regime in 2001. The initial success bred an overconfidence that led to a series of critical errors. The Bush administration, particularly Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld, championed a "light footprint" approach, prioritizing counterterrorism operations against al-Qaeda over the messy, long-term work of nation-building. Rumsfeld famously resisted investing in a new Afghan army, arguing against the US paying for it and worrying about getting bogged down. When he finally relented under pressure, he capped the army's size at a level far too small to secure the country.

This minimalist approach created a power vacuum. More critically, the US purposefully excluded the Taliban from the post-war political process, starting with the Bonn conference. Viewing them as a vanquished evil, the administration dismissed early peace feelers from senior Taliban leaders who were willing to reconcile. In 2004, when President Karzai attempted to open backchannel talks, the Bush administration explicitly forbade him from negotiating with top Taliban figures. This decision to eliminate rather than integrate a major party to the civil war was a monumental error. It alienated a significant portion of the Pashtun population and ensured that disillusioned fighters, who might have laid down their arms, had no choice but to regroup and continue the fight from sanctuaries in Pakistan.

Narrator: By 2006, the consequences of these early mistakes became brutally clear as the Taliban launched a major offensive. The US and its allies found themselves supporting an Afghan state that was increasingly seen as illegitimate and predatory by its own people. President Hamid Karzai, while a master of balancing competing interests, also actively manipulated tribal politics to consolidate his power, often at the expense of national unity. This dynamic was starkly illustrated in the strategic Arghandab valley, a prosperous area just north of Kandahar City.

For years, the valley was secured by the powerful Alikozai tribe under the leadership of the respected Mullah Naqib. When Naqib died in 2007, Karzai intervened in the selection of his successor, bypassing the tribe's experienced choice and instead anointing Naqib's young, weak son. This move deliberately fractured the Alikozai tribe's leadership, preventing the emergence of a potential rival. The result was catastrophic. The weakened tribe could no longer hold the valley together, and Taliban fighters began to infiltrate. By 2008, the Taliban had captured Arghandab, giving them a direct gateway to Kandahar City. This loss was a direct result of the Karzai government's strategy of weakening tribal structures for political gain, which created the very instability the Taliban thrived on. The government's corruption and infighting proved to be a more effective ally for the insurgency than any weapon.

Narrator: When President Barack Obama took office in 2009, he inherited a rapidly deteriorating war. Faced with the potential collapse of the Afghan government, he initiated a prolonged and contentious policy review. His military commanders, led by General Stanley McChrystal, advocated for a massive troop surge to implement a full-scale counterinsurgency (COIN) strategy, focused on protecting the population. However, Obama was deeply skeptical of an open-ended commitment, especially with the US economy in crisis. He famously told his advisors he had a two-year window of public support, stating, "The nation that I am most interested in building is our own."

The final decision was a compromise. Obama authorized a surge of 30,000 troops, but with a firm deadline to begin withdrawal in July 2011. The goal was no longer to defeat the Taliban, but to reverse their momentum and create space for Afghan forces to take over. This timeline, however, sent a clear signal to the enemy. The Quetta Shura immediately responded, telling its followers that Obama’s "cleverness cannot pass" and that they simply needed to wait out the American presence. While the surge achieved tactical successes, particularly in clearing parts of Helmand and Kandahar, it was a strategy fundamentally at odds with itself. It sought to build a durable Afghan state while simultaneously announcing its departure, a contradiction that ultimately defined the final decade of the war.

Narrator: Carter Malkasian’s exhaustive history concludes that the American war in Afghanistan was lost not on the battlefield, but in the realm of identity and belief. The United States and its allies won nearly every major battle, but they could not create an Afghan government that commanded the loyalty and legitimacy of its people. The Taliban’s enduring strength came from their ability to tap into the deep currents of Afghan identity: a fierce devotion to Islam and a centuries-old tradition of resisting foreign invaders. The US-backed government, plagued by corruption and seen as a foreign creation, could never offer a compelling alternative.

The book leaves us with a challenging question that haunted US policymakers for two decades: Why didn't America just leave? The answer lies in a complex mix of the initial moral clarity after 9/11, the persistent fear of a terrorist resurgence, and the immense political cost of admitting failure. The war became a self-perpetuating cycle, driven by the hope that the next strategy or the next troop increase would finally turn the tide. Malkasian's work is a powerful reminder that in modern warfare, understanding the culture, history, and beliefs of a people can be more decisive than any military advantage.