Forty years ago, Afghanistan experienced its second military coup d’état within five years. The authoritarian President Muhammad Daud had seized power in 1973 without much attention abroad and even little notice in Afghanistan – Daud was a sardar (prince) and seen as just another new king, although he proclaimed a republic. It was the second coup, on 27 April 1978, that changed Afghanistan forever. The ‘Saur (April) Revolution’ toppled Daud and killed most of his family. Within 19 months, Soviet troops would invade to save the regime. The invasion, and the reaction of the West and regional powers, internationalised the conflict and turned into the last hot battle of the Cold War. AAN’s co-director Thomas Ruttig looks back at the events and their background.
The following is part 1 of a short series about the events of April 1978. The next part, on the day of the anniversary, 27 April, will present eyewitnesses’ accounts of the events. Another part will look at the relationship between the PDPA and the Soviets after the Soviet military intervention in late 1979.
On 27 April 1978, parts of the Afghan army’s 4th Tank Brigade based in Pul-e Charkhi on the eastern outskirts of Kabul moved towards the former royal palace where President Muhammad Daud was chairing a cabinet meeting. (1) The tanks were ostensibly meant to protect the president — that was what the brigade’s chief of staff, Lieutenant-Colonel Muhammad Rafi, and two battalion commanders, majors Muhammad Aslam Watanjar and Sherjan Mazduryar, told their commander. But actually the tanks were on their way to topple Daud.
What the commander did not know (unless he was complicit) was that the three young officers belonged to a clandestine left-wing network in the military linked to Hezb-e Demokratik-e Khalq-e Afghanistan (People’s Democratic Party of Afghanistan, PDPA), a semi-legal party founded in 1965. Their civilian leaders had been arrested the day before, and the cabinet was meeting to decide their fate.
The arrests of the PDPA leaders came after the murder of the party’s main theoretician Mir Akbar Khaibar on 17 April 1978, followed by mass protests at his burial two days later. About 10,000 to 15,000 people poured into Kabul’s streets in what the government saw as a show of force for the PDPA after its reunification less then a year earlier, in July 1977. Since 1967, because of tactical differences and personal feuds among some of its leaders, the PDPA had split into factions. The largest factions were Parcham (banner) led by Babrak Karmal (Khaibar also belonged to it), and Khalq (People), led by Nur Muhammad Tarakay. (2) Both factions maintained networks in the armed forces. Karmal and Tarakay were among the leaders whose arrests provoked the reaction from the young officers. Both of them would also assume ministerial posts and be quickly removed from them again in the tumultuous months that followed.
The PDPA claimed to have 18,000 members in 1978, although independent sources estimated the party’s membership at 4000, up from 1500 a decade earlier. (3) It had gained a following among university and high school students, as well as the small but growing ranks of industrial workers. Starting in 1965, students had been protesting against difficult living conditions, particularly for poorer students from the provinces who lived in dormitories in Kabul where food rations were handed out irregularly. Other issues were corruption in the entry exams and the lack of job opportunities after graduation – problems that sound familiar in Afghanistan today (see AAN analysis here). The workers demanded better working and living conditions, and the right to set up legal trade unions. At the time, the only worker associations permitted were self-help groups that collected money for colleagues falling ill or passing away.
Organised labour activities had increased significantly by 1968. One source listed 21 workers’ strikes between April and June that year alone. This was not confined to Kabul but also spread to towns such as Gulbahar, Jabal us-Seraj, Pul-e Khumri and Kunduz, where decades of government development programmes and private investment had created an industrial base. The workers were supported by students and farm labourers. Andreas Kramer, a German development worker, describes how workers from the the refineries in Shebarghan and the textile mill in Pul-e Khumri marched hundreds of kilometres toward Kabul in 1968, before the police broke up their procession by force. At least one other strike, at Kabul’s largest industrial site, Jangalak, also ended in violence. These strikes were either organised by the PDPA or its Maoist rivals from Shola-ye Jawed (Eternal Flame) (read an AAN paper about this group here). (4)
The PDPA’s small but vocal group of four MPs elected in 1965 – all later Parchamis – brought up these problems in fiery speeches in parliament. (5) A well-known contemporary image shows Karmal at the forefront of a Parchami First of May demonstration in Kabul. It was during this period that Afghan politicians earned the activist bona fides they would later bring into power during the Soviet occupation: Karmal, whose self-chosen second name translates as “friend of labour”, marched alongside his unofficial romantic partner Anahita Ratebzad, a parliamentarian who would later become Minister of Education, and alongside Sultan Ali Keshtmand, who later served as Prime Minister.
In the same year, when the first commoner in the position of prime minister faced a vote of confidence (the position was previously reserved for members of the royal family), Parcham encouraged students to occupy parliament. This resulted in clashes with the West German-trained riot police, the ghund-e zarba, which shot dead three students. The day, 3 Aqrab, (23 October) became a students’ action day for many years.
The clandestine officers’ groups and Parcham
One of the clandestine officers’ groups had been founded in 1964 by Khaibar, whose murder sparked unrest four years later. Olivier Roy, a French scholar, described him as the “only real Marxist” in the PDPA. Various sources refer to the officers’ group as the Revolutionary Army Association or the Communist Union of Army Officers, but it is unclear if the group ever used an official name. There was a parallel Khalqi network within the security forces run by Tarakay’s deputy Hafizullah Amin, a teacher who did some postgraduate studies in the US but was expelled for left-wing political work before graduating—and who also climbed briefly into Afghanistan’s highest office in 1979.
Khaibar, a graduate of Kabul’s military academy, had been imprisoned for political agitation in the armed forces in 1950. In prison he met Karmal, a leading voice of the students’ association at Kabul University. (6) Khaibar was said to have ‘converted’ Karmal, four years his junior, to Marxism during their time in custody. When both of them were released in 1956, Khaibar returned into the ranks of the police as an instructor at the Kabul Police Academy. In 1960, both founded one of the first mahfel, political discussion circles, that preceded the PDPA. Khaibar also became joint editor-in-chief of Parcham’s eponymous party newspaper during its short existence in 1968 and 1969. It can be assumed that Khaibar started his recruitment within the armed forces on the PDPA ticket and, after the party’s split in 1967, merged the clandestine officers’ group with his cellmate’s Parcham faction.
It is not clear whether the leading officers of the 1978 coup — Rafi, Watanjar and Mazduryar — belonged to the same or different networks in the military. Rafi was later known as a Parchami, while Watanjar and Mazduryar were Khalqis. In any case, the difference cannot have been that big as they seem to have cooperated closely during the coup.
The Daud-Parcham alliance and its end
Daud had known the Parchami leader – the son of a general and part of the Afghan elite himself – since Karmal’s student activism days in the late 1940s. Although serving as Minister of War (1946-48) and Interior (1949-51) during that period, Daud had already been plotting to take power then, trying to ally himself with the reform-minded intellectuals and students such as Karmal. (The attempts were not particularly successful and he played a role in suppressing the reformist movement.) Daud’s ambitions then were put on the backburner for a while when the monarch, Muhammad Zahir, appointed him Prime Minister in 1953. He held the post for ten years, until 1963.
But in 1963, Daud was sacked and sidelined as a result of his confrontational policies toward Pakistan, which had led to severe economic problems for landlocked Afghanistan. He also suffered as a result of the king’s political reforms, turning Afghanistan from an absolute into a constitutional monarchy. Ironically, the plan was Daud’s own; he had proposed the changes to the king himself in 1962. But the reforms did not happen the way Daud suggested. The new constitution that came into force in 1964 barred members of the royal family from holding government offices and from becoming members of a political party. Many Afghans, among them the sidelined ex-prime minister himself, saw the constitution mainly as a means to keep Daud away from power. This put Daud back onto a path of confrontation with the king, and he turned to Parcham for support. Daud sought the backing of Parcham’s clandestine officers network starting in 1971, some sources report. This did not remain secret. Embassy cables later revealed that US diplomats were aware of Daud’s preparations to take power latest by 1972 (read the document here).
The alliance with Parcham worked out in 1973, during the overthrow of the king. Half of Daud’s first cabinet was made up of Parchamis, and many of the young officials he dispatched to the provinces to revamp the country’s ineffective, corruption-ridden administration were members or sympathisers of the group. Many of them had studied in the Soviet Union. (7) But, as the historian Amin Saikal wrote, the alliance between Daud and the Parchamis “was not based on ideology” rather solely on Daud’s desire “to wreak vengeance on Zahir Shah and seize power in pursuit of his own vision of Afghanistan.”
The Daud-Parcham alliance was over again soon, as Daud started sidelining Parcham. With one exception, all its ministers were removed from the cabinet by 1975. Karmal, who never had received a cabinet or similar position under Daud, was under de facto house arrest. Daud also dismissed or demoted many Parcham members in the armed forces. Colonel Abdul Qader, one of the leaders of the July 1973 coup who had been made deputy commander of the Air Force, was particularly humiliated: In 1974, after he challenged the president to make good on his promise to legalise political parties, Daud made him the director of the Kabul slaughterhouse.
These moves prompted the PDPA’s Khalq and Parcham factions to re-unite in July 1977, facilitated over more than a year by the Indian Communist Party and Ajmal Khattak, a leftist Pashtun nationalist poet and politician from Pakistan who lived in exile in Kabul. The unification took place in Jalalabad, and Tarakay became party leader with Karmal as his deputy, likely due to the fact that Khalq had more members than Parcham (2500 against 1000 to 1500). Their clandestine military networks were kept separate but cooperated against Daud after the arrest of the party’s leaders in April 1978.
It is still unknown who killed Khaibar, the event that triggered the April 1978 upheavals. Hezb-e Islami (Gulbuddin) claimed the assassination years later, but a more common theory points at Daud’s secret police and at his Khalqi rival Amin. Bruce Flatin, who served as a US Embassy political counsellor in Kabul from 1977 to 1979, later said that a West German police officer, who was then a police adviser to the Afghan Ministry of the Interior, told him that the same weapon used to kill Khaibar had been used earlier to kill another union leader. (8) and “that fact indicated that both killings may have been a government-type assassination” (read interview here). Amin may have wanted to sideline Khaibar and his Parchami military organisation in the re-united PDPA and take over himself by provoking a coup among the remaining left-wing officers who, as with Watanjar and Mazduryar, were closer to Khalq. Cordovez/Harrison’s finding that Qader, a Parchami, was initially hesitant to join the coup indicates that he may have perceived it as Khalqi-led. (9)
… and the PDPA turned the first tank that entered the palace into a memorial for the ‘Saur Revolution’. Source: Afghanistan Today/Afghanistan Hoy, propaganda book, Moscow 1986
The PDPA takes over
Qader endured his assignment at the slaughterhouse and returned to his military duties, reinstated as Air Force chief of staff, but seized the opportunity to seek revenge for his humiliation. On 27 April 1978, fighter jets flown by pilots under his command supported Watanjar’s tanks and started pounding the presidential palace. When commando units also joined the coup, the resistance put up by Daud’s Republican Guard at the palace broke down. After Khaibar’s assassination, Daud might have wrongly assumed that the threat against him emanating from leftist army infiltration was over. Several sources even reported that the army units were still celebrating the PDPA leaders’ arrest when the coup started.
This coup was much more violent than the first one in 1973. The PDPA regime later talked about some 100 people killed on 27 April. Western eyewitnesses quoted in the Washington Post described the fighting:
“I never knew the Afghan army had so many tanks […]. They were everywhere, hundreds and hundreds of them, and many of them had been knocked out in the battles. It was all very fierce stuff.” […]
(Read the full story here.) Louis Dupree, another eyewitness, recounted how, in the weekend traffic, private cars were swerving in and out of tank columns and how traffic police tried to give directions to the tanks.
Daud refused to capitulate and drew a pistol on the officers who came to arrest him. He was executed along with all 18 of his family members in the country at the time, including his wife, his brother, and their children and grand children, five of them underage. (10) They were buried in unmarked graves until 2009, when Daud received a state burial (read here).
It was also Qader who, as the head of a Revolutionary Military Council, announced the success of the coup over national radio on the afternoon of 27 April. (According to one source, Watanjar read out the same text in Pashto.) Two days later, the military council handed power over to a civilian government. On 30 April, the first two decrees of the new government wee published, announcing that PDPA leader Tarakay was appointed head of state and prime minister. Karmal and Amin were made his deputies; Amin also was foreign minister. All of them had been liberated by the military plotters on 28 April who knocked down the mud wall of Sedarat prison in central Kabul with their tanks. Amin was leading operations with a handcuff still around one wrist. Qader became the PDPA’s first defence minister. The country was renamed Democratic Republic of Afghanistan.
The new regime allied itself with the Soviet Union, while claiming to be non-communist, and embarked on radical reforms. This alienated the landed elite and the religious establishment, as well as large parts of the population. Growing armed resistance, often spontaneous, was organised by nationalist and even leftist groups, although both were later completely sidelined by the mujahedin parties. This rebellion soon brought the regime to the brink of collapse. It answered with brutal repression against everyone it considered an enemy. While related atrocities in Kabul are relatively well-known (see AAN reporting here and here), similar ones in the provinces are less notorious. For example, the author was told by a tribal elder in Uruzgan province in 2008 how the local PDPA leadership invited all provincial elders for a shura, only to have them arrested: “They were tied together with ropes around their necks and led away. We never saw any of them again.”
In September 1979, Amin assassinated Tarakay and put himself at the helm. Tarakay had established a close personal relationship with then Soviet leader Leonid Breshnev, so the killing cost Amin the backing of Moscow. (Qader, Rafi, Watanjar and Mazduryar had all long been sidelined.) Allegations spread in the party that Amin was a CIA agent. His alleged plans to broker a peace deal with Hezb-e Islami leader Gulbuddin Hekmatyar, who belonged to the same tribe as Amin, finally persuaded the Soviet leadership to intervene militarily. They toppled and killed Amin, replacing him with Karmal, in an alliance with the Khalqi officer group around Watanjar.
The rest is history. The country, a backwater of the Cold War that had preserved its non-aligned status and used it to attract massive foreign aid from both East and West, became the last battleground of the Cold War where the US also took revenge for the Soviet-assisted defeat in Vietnam.
What caused the coups?
The 1973 and 1978 coups did not emerge spontaneously and are closely linked. Lesser-noticed domestic developments had undermined Afghanistan’s relative internal stability of forty years that followed Zaher Shah’s accession to power in 1933 after the assassination of his father Muhammad Nader Shah, and led to the build-up of domestic political tension and finally the first coup in 1973.
This included profound changes in Afghanistan’s social fabric as a long-term result of Amanullah’s modernising reforms in the 1920s and demographic change. These reforms have often been described as a failure. But they were never reversed, only slowed down. Over the following decades, they led to a growth of the educated class that was inadequately absorbed by the stagnating state bureaucracy, dominated until 1964 by the extended royal clan. The educated youth and the growing intellectual class – called roshanfekran (enlightened thinkers) in the country – turned into a breeding ground for the re-emergence of the reformist political current that began with the first constitutional movement (mashrutiat) at the start of the century. This movement continued with the Young Afghans who inspired and pushed forward Amanullah’s reforms and became active again during a political opening in the late 1940s and early 1950s under the name Wesh Zalmian (Awakened Youth). They were the recruitment pool for the new political groups that emerged after the passing of the 1964 constitution.
Secondly, there were tense relations with Pakistan immediately after British India’s partition in 1947. The failure to grant the Pashtun-inhabited areas of the new country the choice of independence or re-accession to Afghanistan led to permanent irredentist politics in Kabul. In 1949, a Loya Jirga in Kabul proclaimed its support for the self-determination of ‘Pashtunistan’ and declared the 1893 Durand Agreement void. Since then, Afghanistan has not given up its claim to these areas and Kabul has supported armed rebellions among the Pashtuns and Baloch in Pakistan. Daud became a prime protagonist of this policy, building his appeal among the reformist and nationalist intelligentsia.
Thirdly, Afghanistan’s rejection by the US drove Daud into the arms of the Soviets. Since 1944, Kabul was repeatedly told by Washington that the country was of no particular interest. The US told Kabul in 1951 that “it would help if the Pashtunistan claim is dropped” and in 1954 that “extending military aid to Afghanistan would create problems not offset by the strength it would create.” In 1955, Afghanistan declined to give in to pressure from Washington to join the anti-communist Baghdad Pact (later CENTO) and remained neutral. The USSR opened its territory when Pakistan blocked the transit trade with land-locked Afghanistan. As a result, Kabul started military cooperation with the Soviet Union that year. An increasing number of Afghan officers and civilians were trained in the Soviet Union. Some of them adopted communist, or at least nationalist anti-Western ideas, and started recruiting followers. The increasing Afghan-Soviet relations and activity of left-leaning political forces also led to a crisis between the Afghan monarchy and the Islamic clergy which traditionally had bestowed religious legitimacy on the leadership.
Fourth, the crackdown by Daud and his Parchami against the Islamist groups gave Pakistan a chance to mirror Afghanistan’s policy of supporting armed insurgents on its territory. Pakistan received the fleeing Islamist survivors with open arms and offered training. The US became part of the game early on, contributing financial aid to the Islamist leaders as early as 1973, according to Pakistani officials involved then (quoted here). After the Soviets invaded, these Islamist groups became the basis for the mujahedin movement fighting them and the major force opposing the PDPA regime.
These social and political tensions were exacerbated by an environmental crisis, resulting in the drought of 1969 to 1972 which led to crop failures, food shortages and food price hikes across the country. Thousands died of starvation, mainly in the northwestern provinces of Herat, Badghis and Ghor, parts of the Hazarajat and Badakhshan (see telegrams from the US Embassy in Afghanistan here; here and here). German magazine Der Spiegel reported in October 1971:
Thousands of Afghans leave their villages in the Southwest of the country. They move to Iran or West Pakistan. Afghans attack Afghans. They fight for food and access to water. (…) The herdsmen and farmers slaughter their animals or sell them at knockdown prices to their neighbours in Iran, the USSR or West Pakistan. [… A]t least 70 per cent of sheep flocks will not survive the winter unless foreign countries urgently help the Afghans.
The inadequate response of the government further undermined the legitimacy of the monarchy. US sources (here and here) reported that foreign aid, including wheat, was left to rot at the Kabul airport. According to the US Embassy, “provincial officials including governors [showed] extraordinarily poor leadership” or often were “ruthlessly exploiting the situation,” selling food aid in the markets. Journalists and foreigners were kept out of most affected areas, and the central government was reluctant to declare an emergency in order to avoid being blamed (read more here). Afghan-German writer Matin Baraki wrote that a large part of the assistance delivered by the UN was misappropriated by a member of the royal family who was the honorary chairman of the Afghan Red Crescent, redirected to the military, hospitals and boarding schools or sold in the bazaar. Donors criticised the lack of a coordinated plan of action and the absence of a relief coordinator at the cabinet level. This behaviour undermined the standing and legitimacy of the monarchy among large parts of the population.
Inter-dynastic problems also played a role. While Daud stood for political reform and saw the Islamists as the major challenge to his aims, a more conservative strand of the royal family – represented by his uncle, Sardar Shah Wali Khan and his son General Abdul Wali, the commander of the central army corps in Kabul – had the King’s ear and was able to slow the pace of reform. There were even tensions over private relationships, indirectly alluded to by the historian Saikal as “the context of an intensified polygamic-based power rivalry.”
In any case, Daud’s coup d’état in 1973 ended a ten-year interlude under Zaher Shah that had been relatively democratic in the context of Afghan history. It also set an example that violent regime change was possible. The PDPA learned this lesson. Daud’s regime was also much less effective than often described. Flatin, the former Kabul-based US diplomat, deflated this posthumous mystification, calling Daud’s post-1973 republican regime “a one-man type of rule“ and Daud as not having “enough energy to found and run this new republic of his properly. There was dissatisfaction everywhere.“
First page of first issue of “Khalq” newspaper, 1966. Source: screen shot
Where did the PDPA come from?
The PDPA was only one of a number of parties-in-waiting that emerged after Zaher Shah started his top-down democratic opening in 1963. They included royalists; Islamists; liberal and social democrats; Pashtun and non-Pashtun ethno-nationalists; as well as Marxists, both pro-Moscow and pro-Beijing. The PDPA was officially founded on 1 January 1965 in Kabul after a series of meetings between a number of mahfel, who had established a PDPA kamita-ye tadaruk (preparatory committee). Finally only five of them participated, those of Tarakay (who became party leader), Karmal (his deputy), Taher Badakhshi (who later founded his own leftist-ethnonationalist group, known as Settam-e Melli), Ghulam Dastagir Panjsheri (a later minister) and Zaher Ufoq. In contrast, some moderate leftists opted out of the party during the preparation process, in particular senior historian Mir Ghulam Muhammad Ghobar who had been a supporter of reformer-king Amanullah and elected parliamentarian in 1949. Karmal and Tarakay, too, had gained political clout as activists during the first democratic period and later suffered prison or exile.
In its documents, the PDPA avoided the term Marxism-Leninism. Instead, it talked about the “scientific world view” – and everyone knew what it meant. “This party did not hide that its aim was the establishment of a socialist society,” one of its co-founders, Karim Misaq, was later quoted as saying. The Soviets were less enthusiastic about the PDPA, particularly because of its notorious factionalism; they did not want to be forced to say whether Parcham or Khalq was the ‘real’ brotherly party in Afghanistan. (As a rule, the USSR only recognised one communist party per country.) Vladimir Plastun, a leading Soviet specialist on Afghanistan, told the author that Moscow did not believe either of the two factions were really communist parties as per the Soviet definition.
While the new constitution contained the right to form political parties, its implementation was predicated on a pending law on political parties. This law had passed parliament and awaited the king’s signature. The king chose not to sign the law, however, fearing that extremist groups might get the upper hand in parliament (read US Embassy cable here). Laws about provincial councils, the right to demonstrate and an independent judiciary were also unsigned (see here). This “royal indecision and caution” proved to be, as Saikal called it, a “fatal mistake.” While the moderates obeyed, either dissolved their groups or decreased their activity, the leftists and the Islamists went underground and started to infiltrate the armed forces, viewing a coup d’état as the only possible way to power. As a result, this only half-hearted democratic opening, almost paradoxically, led to a further destabilisation of the country and to a radicalisation and diversification of the opposition that opened the way for the second, PDPA-led coup in 1978.
Did the Soviets orchestrate the 1978 coup?
There seems to be a growing consensus among those studying Afghanistan that, despite close contacts between PDPA leaders and the Soviet Embassy in Kabul, the Soviets did not engineer the 27 April coup. Much of what was written earlier was coloured by the Cold War. It was clear, though, also to the Soviets, that various groups including the PDPA were working toward a military takeover. On the part of the PDPA, these preparation were well advanced in 1977. Khaibar’s assassination and the remaining party leaders’ arrest likely resulted in the coup plans being accelerated.
A large volume of analysis written after the Cold War seems to show that the Soviets were surprised by the coup. Soviet documents show instructions to their ambassador in Kabul and the chief military advisor, ordering them to have no dealings with the PDPA leaders and leave it to the local KGB. The KGB people, however, told Tarakay and Karmal that the conditions were not ripe for socialism in Afghanistan and that they should instead unite to support Daud. Rodric Braithwaite, a former British ambassador to Moscow who studied all available Soviet sources about Afghanistan for a book published in 2011, comes to the conclusion that “reliable evidence that the Russians were behind the coup is lacking.” At best, KGB advisors were privy to plans for a coup at a later stage, but the coup came, as Braithwaite put it, “like a bolt out of the blue to Soviet officials in Kabul, even the KGB representative.” Former US president Jimmy Carter wrote in his memoirs that even Brezhnev had told him that the Soviets first heard about the coup on the radio.
This does not contradict Rubin’s assumption that the PDPA “probably received financial assistance from the Soviet Union, aided by some Parchamis whose state position gave them access to Soviet aid and trade.” The Swiss editors of a collection of Soviet documents concluded that even though Daud’s relationship with the USSR had become less close in his final years, a change of power in Kabul “was in no way in the interest of the Kremlin in spring 1978.” In other words, they found Daud still much more reliable than the notoriously squabbling PDPA leaders.
That the Soviets were not behind the coup does also not mean that some PDPA leaders were not interlocutors, informants or even agents of Soviet intelligence services. This has been repeatedly claimed, among others by Vassili Mitrokhin, a KGB archivist who defected to the West and claimed the KGB had recruited “long-serving” Karmal in the mid-1950s; Tarakay “possibly” at the same time; and Qader and Ratebzad “informally.” Former PDPA leaders also made such allegations in books published after they fell from power.
The end of the revolution: Soviet military debris at Kunduz airport. Photo: Thomas Ruttig (2007)
Coup or revolution?
The question of whether the events of April 1978 were a coup or a revolution is not a theoretical matter and remains hotly contested in Afghanistan. The answer has been a make-or-break question particularly for leftist, former leftist and pro-democratic groups and has prevented them at various times from joining hands against what they perceive as the overriding problem for their country, the Islamist threat. Many of them are successor organisations of the now defunct PDPA (renamed Hezb-e Watan, or Fatherland Party in 1990; read AAN analysis here) while others stood on the other side of the barricades between 1978 and 1992 and were persecuted by the PDPA. For the next generation of progressive Afghan politicians, it remains a central matter of concern whether the groups that emerged from the PDPA develop a critical look at the regime’s deeds or continue glorifying it.
There is however no question that the takeover of power was achieved by a military coup. Some authors have described the three-day delay before the handover from the military council to the civilian PDPA government as a measure to avoid exposing the PDPA leaders’ involvement in case the coup went wrong. This argument does not carry water: There was no need to conceal any PDPA role. Daud was informed by his intelligence services that there were coup preparations (which he took too lightly, after Khaibar’s death); the links between Khaibar’s officer group and Karmal’s Parcham as well as the close relationship between the two men were equally well known; and the remaining key leaders’ arrest after Khaibar’s funeral showed that they were not unknown entities. The quick handover of power from the military council to the civilian PDPA government, though, was unusual for leftist military revolutionaries in countries without a strong Marxist party (see Mengistu’s Ethiopia). This most likely indicates that there was no plan to establish a military dictatorship.
This could have opened the way for the coup to become a real revolution that overturned Afghanistan’s socio-political relations. The radical reforms envisioned – including land reforms; debt cancellation for landless farmers; implementation of a 42-hour working week; paid maternity leave for working women – could have led in this direction. But the PDPA leadership, overconfident after their easy takeover of power, underestimated the resistance particular their land reforms would create because of the strength of relations between landowners and share croppers, whom the PDPA simplistically viewed as between ‘oppressive feudals’ and ‘oppressed farmers’ waiting for liberation. They also underestimated the influence and staying power of the clergy, and started answering any resistance with brutal force. This cost them most of their initial support. The Soviet invasion in late 1979, meant to stabilise their regime, dealt their project the death blow. Under the conditions of a full-blown guerrilla war, it became nearly impossible to carry out any constructive reform programme.
The authoritarian and bureaucratic model with its one-party state, mostly copied from the Soviet Union, was also incapable of mobilising sufficient support for such a programme. When the Soviet leadership under Gorbachev realised this in its own country and told Karmal in October 1985 to “broaden the base of the regime, forget about Socialism, share power with those who have real influence, including with mujahidin leaders […] and try to act so that the people will see that it is getting benefits from your revolt,” it was too late. Too much blood had already been shed.
Edited by Graeme Smith
The above rendering of the fateful events on and around 7 Saur 1357 (27 April 1978) is based on the following literature, as well as the author’s research on the democratic movements of 1947-52 and 1963-73 and political party development in Afghanistan:
All possible misinterpretations or mistakes should only be blamed on the author, who also declares his interest to hear from readers if they have more information about the events described (please contact info@afghanistan-analysts.org).
(1) Read Barnett Rubin’s 1994 biography of him in Encyclopaedia Iranica here.
(2) In most sources in non-Afghan languages, Tarakay is spelled Taraki. The author chose the lesser used version to reflect that the name is not pronounced as Tarakee but with the diphthong “ai” as in “to buy” or in Khaibar (in English sources often: Khyber).
The author also uses the adjective Khalqi only for the eponymous PDPA faction or its members, not for the entire PDPA – according to its Dari name, Hezb-e Demokratik-e Khalq-e Afghanistan – whose members are often also summarily called “Khalqis.”
(3) See a list of the quote and other literature consulted for this text above, above, at the end of the main text.
(4) Shola-ye Jawed, just as Khalq and Parcham, were not the official names of the groups but of the groups’ often only shortlived newspapers which were much better known publicly than their actual names. Shola-ye Jawed, for example, was called Jamiat-e Demokratik-e Nawin (New Democratic Association), a term borrowed from Mao’s rulebook who had coined it for the system in his own country.
(5) Those four got seats in the 1965 parliamentary election, so far the most open one in Afghanistan’s history. Also Tarakai, Amin and some more Khalqis had run, but with no success. In 1969, when the government’s grip had been tightened again, only Karmal made it again, but also this time Amin, giving the Khalq faction its only ever seat in parliament.
(6) The Kabul University Students Association was the first-ever social organisation in Afghanistan legalised, and initially even encouraged by the government. It existed only from March to November 1950. The association was banned again after it started challenging the monarchy; one student started a public conference without mentioning the king in his opening remarks, a behaviour unthinkable of at that time. In 1951, students held demonstrations in favour of its re-legalisation. One protest, on 21 June 1951, began with a meeting at French-supported Esteqlal Lycée and led to the royal palace where, among others, Karmal gave a speech which led to his arrest. He was released in 1956.
(7) Even Daud’s adopted son Sayed Abdulillahi, who became Vice President in 1977; his chef de cabinet Muhammad Hassan Sharq, another future prime minister under the PDPA; and the first commander of his presidential guard Zia Majid were said to be Parcham sympathisers. (The PDPA’s Khalq faction remained in opposition throughout Daud’s reign.)
See a rendering of the events on the day of the 1973 coup by an accidental witness in the New York Times here.
(8) His name was Enam-ul-Haq Gran, a leader of the pilots’ union at the state carrier Ariana. The pilots went on strike in 1977 and Gran was shot by unknown assailants.
(9) Cordovez/Harrison also have one of the most accurate rendering of 27 April events, from the military side, is their 1995 book Out of Afghanistan (pp 25-8, online here)
(10) Wikipedia lists Daud’s direct family members murdered in April 1978 here.
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Today’s MCIS slides installment comes from Lt. General Sergey Kuralenko, the Deputy Commander-in-Chief for Peacekeeping Operations of the Russian Ground Forces. This comes from the breakout session on soft power as a tool to pursue military-political objectives.
Sadly, it seems that the Russian MOD has not posted video or speech texts from the breakout sessions, so I’ll provide a brief summary here, in addition to the slides. Kuralenko’s speech can be summarized in three points:
Kuralenko was followed by Vladimir Padrino Lopez, the Minister of Defense of Venezuela, who made the argument that many countries use soft power as a tool for political domination of weaker countries without having to resort to military force. He contrasted positive soft power, a tool for cooperation as practiced by Hugo Chavez when he led Venezuela, with negative soft power, as practiced by the United States for subjugation and regime change. He also helpfully pointed out that the United States was using the humanitarian crisis in Venezuela to destabilize the country and also noted that there was no humanitarian crisis in Venezuela…
The sole American speaker, Ariel Cohen, highlighted the transition of the concept of soft power from a national branding tool to a weapon. Starting from Joe Nye’s original conceptualization of soft power, he focused on soft power as a tool for expanding national influence through persuasion and attraction, rather than through military or economic pressure. Soft power is the idea that any product of human activity can be weaponized to achieve geopolitical goals.
He was followed by the Russian journalist and television personality Vladimir Soloviev, who gave a typically inflammatory speech. Soloviev opened by saying that he didn’t believe in soft power, since it can only be useful in addition to hard power rather than in and of itself. He argued that the West had rejected all of the norms of international law and had aggressively rejected diplomacy as well. He likened the West (and the United States specifically) to a casino owner telling the players what the rules should be. He accused Boris Johnson of lying about the Skripal case. His larger point was that the West was using soft power together with its technological advantages to solve its military and political issues, with the dollar being the most effective soft power tool. He argued that a new iron curtain was descending over Europe, but this time from the Western side.
Soloviev made the argument that Russia needs to become more active in defending itself against soft power attacks. Russia, for him, has not been pushing an ideology. Furthermore, since it does not own or operate the platforms, it will always be behind. It therefore needs to leave the casino altogether and stop playing the game.
Soloviev’s arguments were seconded by Yakov Kedmi, an Israeli expert who has developed a reputation for his pro-Russian positions. In discussing soft power, he highlighted that power is the key word in that phrase, with the soft modifier being secondary. Soft power is used to pressure opponents or support allies in circumstances when military power can’t be used. He then argued that soft power is as illegitimate as any other use of force and should therefore be prohibited through international law and countered with military power, as that is the most effective tool against it.
After a completely unmemorable presentation by the first deputy defense minister of Argentina, the final (and best) presentation was given by Dan Smith, director of SIPRI. He countered Kedmi’s perspective quite effectively, noting that power is not the same thing as coercion or the use of force. The most effective kind of soft power is silent, intangible and irresistable. It comes from culture, economic strength, and reputation and offers influence and helps diplomacy. At its most effective, it stops conflicts before they start. It can change the nature of the game. Soft power in the world has declined in general as trust of other countries has declined. No state has as much power today as it used to and none are viewed as models for others.
Here are Kuralenko’s slides… I’ll have one final post on MCIS later this week with overall impressions and takeaways.
will take place on 25 April, 10:00-12:30 (in camera 9:00-10:00), 14:30-18:30 and on 26 April, 8:30-10:00 and 11:00-12:30 in Brussels.
Organisations or interest groups who wish to apply for access to the European Parliament will find the relevant information below.
Protests in Helmand calling for a ceasefire and talks between insurgents and government are about to enter their second month. The pro-peace demonstrations which began in what are often described as the Taleban’s ‘southern heartlands’, have been spreading: they can now be found in half of Afghanistan’s provinces and for now, at least, they are transcending tribal and ethnic divides. As AAN’s Ali Mohammad Sabawoon reports (with input from Thomas Ruttig), both Taleban and government appear to have been wrong-footed by the protesters, unsure how to respond.
The relatives of victims, activists and other residents from Helmand – both men and women – who began a sit-in for peace following a car bomb suicide attack in the provincial capital of Lashkargah in late March 2018 which left dozens of civilians injured or dead (see a media report here), are now taking their initiative a step further. Spontaneous reactions in other parts of Helmand, where tents were erected and other forms of protest occurred, have spread to neighbouring Kandahar, as well as to other provinces – 16 in all. Sit-ins in support of the Helmand protestors have been organised Herat, Nimruz, Farah, Zabul, Kandahar, Uruzgan, Ghazni, Paktia, Kunduz, Kunar, Nangrahar, Balkh, Parwan, Daykundi, Maidan Wardak and Jawzjan.
A tent was erected in Sheberghan, Jawzjan’s capital, for example, on 20 April, where Tolo News quoted Farzin Fahimi, a female activist there, as saying this was a message to those who choose war: join the peace process. She added that civil society would help them with their legal demands, ensuring they would be accepted. Another tent was erected in Maidan Wardak province on 19 April in support of the movement. One of the protestors, Dr Najiullah Samun, told Pajhwok News Agency that the people were fed up with war. He called on both sides of the conflict to observe a ceasefire as soon as possible in order to pave the way for peace talks.” In Charikar in Parwan province, civil society activists also erected a tent (see media report here), where Pajhwok news agency quoted Khalida, a female participating activist, as saying “This move is in support of the people of Helmand.” Muhammad Sabir Fahim, a civil activist who spoke on behalf of the protestors, called on the Afghan government, armed groups and the United Statesto end the conflict in the country. “The people are tired of war,” he said. Support meetings have also been held in two other provinces, Bamyan and Badakhshan (although only some of these have been reported in the media, see here; and here).
These place names clearly indicate that people from non-Pashtun areas have also joined the protests, potentially making this a countrywide movement for peace.
Another protest tent was also planned for the capital, Kabul. A few days ago, one of the organisers, Eqbal Khaibar (a local journalist and youth activist) and his team met the relatives of victims of attacks in Kabul, as well as other civil society members and youth activists who told him they would support the Helmand initiative. However, officials have not allowed their tents to be erected in Zarnegar Park. They argued it was too close to the high-security Serena hotel, one of the few places where foreigners on official trips can still stay (they made no mention of its use by government officials, although that might also have been on their minds). Until now, the government had not objected to tents being put up in this park, which has been a popular location for similar protests on several earlier occasions. Khaibar told AAN on 16 April that they would choose another place for the tents. Up till now, no protest tent had gone up in the Afghan capital. Khaibar further told AAN he had had meetingsin Kabul with nearly 320 civil society representatives, as well as political groups, government and media.
Khaibar told AAN that a large gathering – a ghunda in Pashto – is planned for today, 23 April, in Lashkargah, in which representatives from all provinces will participate. There, they plan to reach a consensus and declare their decision to go to Musa Qala, the district centre that has served as a ‘capital’ for the Taleban since they took it over in 2015 (read AAN analysis here) to meet insurgent representatives. This was the initial plan when protests began, but it had to be postponed. Khaibar said, “We are very thirsty to go there.” According to Khaibar, the protestors see themselves as intermediaries between both sides and want to bring about talks between the Taleban and the government.
For this, the protestors want to muster additional public support. On 17 April, Khaibar said, a preparatory gathering in Lashkargah was held in order to appeal to the Taleban to allow telecommunication companies to resume their services, phone connections in Helmand have been down since 14 April, which has hindered plans for rallying supporters. However, protestors have announced that teams will go from street to street, to villages, schools and madrassas in order to inform people of the outcome of the ghunda. The Taleban, however, have claimed that closing down mobile phone services had been taken for the protestors’ security (they did not explain further).
In the past, Khaibar explained, the Taleban had been afraid that armed people would join the peace march and therefore refused to let protestors come to Musa Qala. At the same time, he said, there was support from “local Taleban; we are in contact with them every day.” But, he said, “the real problems” were with the ministries of defense and interior and the National Security Council, who, in his opinion, do not have a real plan for peace, while “the president and a limited number of people around him are determined to work for peace. “When we work on the Taleban mindset and make some progress,” he said, “the government forces carry out an attack or airstrike that negatively affects the Taleban mindset”and this, he said, throws their initiative off-track.
How the initiative began
The sit-in for peace in Lashkargah and the Helmand Peace March initiative began on 26 March 2018 when a protest tent was erected at the Ghazi Ayub Khan Stadium in Lashkargah, two days after after a suicide bomber drove his car into a crowd leaving a wrestling event at the stadium, killing over a dozen civilians and injuring 40 others. Youths tied white banners around their heads with the slogan “Jang bas dai, sola ghwaru,” (Enough war, we want peace). Protestors asked the Taleban to initiate talks with the government.
Youth activists took the street asking Taleban and government for peace. Photos: c/o Helmand Peace March Initiative, 2018.
One of the victims’ relatives and one of the first to join the Helmand protest is Obaidullah, originally from Nawzad district but now living in Helmand. He told AAN that four of his nephews had been killed in the explosion at the in Ghazi Ayub stadium. “Six others of our family members were injured, two of whom are still in the hospital.” He added that he was also at the stadium but had gone to pray just three minutes before the explosion. “Our tears have not dried yet.” He said. “We want the Taleban and the government to stop killing innocent people.”
On the second day of the protest, women’s rights activists as well as those who lost their relatives in the war also joined the sit-in. The protestors declared their intent to march on Musa Qala, 87 kilometres to the north of Lashkargah, conveying their message of peace to the Taleban. They demanded that, in order to facilitate the march, both insurgents and the government must declare a ceasefire for at least two days and that the government delay their planned “Operation Nasrat” (Victory) against the insurgents.
The women would play a very specific role in this. In Afghan tribal tradition, when women perform nenawati (entering a house to demand help or seek forgiveness), the request is rarely rejected, although such traditions have been worn threadbare over the last four decades of war. Female members of the High Peace Council voiced their support for Helmand’s women on 1 April, saying in a statement, “We support the voice of Helmandi women who have lost their sons, brothers, husbands and relatives in the war.”
By then, the protestors had adopted the name ‘Helmand Peace March’ for this initiative – which is also the hashtag for their mobilisation on social media – and De Sole Wulusi Harakat (People’s Peace Movement). An organiser told AAN that their leadership council comprises nearly 20 people, but said he would not disclose all the names. Some of the organisers are known, however, as they have spoken to the media and been active on social media. Apart from Eqbal Khaibar, those who started the sit-in include Muhammad Erfan, a medical doctor, Qais Hashemi, a Helmandi singer famous for his song Sola Ghwaru (We Want Peace), Bacha Khan, another youth activist, as well as Ahmad Jan and Safiullah Sarwan. Khaibar described the group’s members as “people who have a national mindset,” ie not having any affiliations with organisations or militant groups, be they mujahedin or other. As is customary, the participating women’s backgrounds were not provided. It is very rare for women in southern Afghanistan to be allowed to be seen outside of their households, not to mention take on a political role.
The protestors indirectly responded to President Ashraf Ghani’s announcement on 28 February 2018 that his government was ready to talk with the Taleban without any preconditions, in any location (see AAN analysis here). The Taleban have not yet published an official reaction to Ghani’s offer; indeed both sides intensified their military activities in the weeks following the offer of talks.
The demonstration was inspired, in part, by the Pashtun Tahafuz (Protection) Movement, which also uses the name parlat (Pashto for ‘sit-in’) and was launched in Islamabad, the capital of Pakistan, on 1 February 2018. The protestors’ core demand was that the Pakistani security establishment stop the torture and extra-judicial killings of Pashtuns following the high-profile death of a young Pashtun shopkeeper, allegedly at the hands of police in Sindh. That protest lasted until 10 February, when Pakistani authorities promised that it would fulfill the demands within a month. The protestors announced the end of the sit-in but warned of future strikes if their demands were ignored.
The Taleban and the government’s reactions
On the first day of the sit-in, local Taleban reportedly welcomed the demonstration and its demands. Provincial authorities also showed an interest in a dialogue with the protestors and reiterated the government’s position that they were ready for peace talks without preconditions.
But the first official statement by the Taleban was less sympathetic (see here in Pashto). On 28 March they told the protestors they “should go to Shurab and Kandahar airbases of [the] American forces and ask them for peace instead coming to Musa Qala.” The statement warned that protestors should not go to Taleban areas because international forces or intelligence services might take advantage of the situation “and something might happen to you.” The statement added that the Taleban “would be compelled to react” if the march were to be instrumentalised, “and then the responsibility will fall on your shoulders.” The statement noted a widespread desire for peace in Afghanistan and claimed that the Taleban had made sacrifices for the sake of security in the country. “It’s now the duty of the whole nation including you [the protestors] to raise your voice against invaders”, the statement said.
There was also serious wavering on the government’s side. When the protestors went to the provincial government’s office in Lashkargah asking for a ceasefire so they could start their march to meet the Taleban, the government asked for time. Khaibar told AAN that the provincial government had told the activists it had submitted their proposal to the National Security Council in Kabul and would soon respond. But no response came before the deadline set by the protestors.
The response of the protestors
The Taleban’s negative message and the lack of a timely and concrete reply from the government provoked a furious response from the protestors. On 29 March, they announced the march to Musa Qala would be delayed and some of them converted their protest to a hunger strike that same day. A video spread on social media showing one of the organisers weeping and pleading for peace. Hashemi, the singer, expressed his anger at both sides (here on Facebook): “You have destroyed the lives of the people. My tears became dry.” Khaibar told AAN that the march would be delayed “until we receive a response from the government [about] whether or not they accept our proposal of ceasefire, at least to present to Taleban that we have this commitment from the government and now this is your turn.”
As the hunger strikers also refused to drink water, six of them soon had to be hospitalised. Seeing this, Sayed Gul Sarhadi, a local journalist based in Lashkargah and a participant of the sit-in, told AAN a group of religious scholars with a reputation for impartiality intervened and pleaded with the hunger strikers to stop. They also offered to mediate between the government and the strikers. The hunger strike was ended after 48 hours. But the protestors remained in their tents and their protest started to spread throughout the country. They also set out conditions for those to join: government officials could not participate; they would not eat in the tents and only drink water (but not bottled mineral water); and slogans and demands should only be about peace; no other slogans were allowed.
A local scholars’ committee consisting of 15 religious figures was formed on 1 April, headed by Sheikh Habibullah, a famous religious scholar in Helmand who was accepted by the protestors as a trustworthy personality. The scholars decided they would also take part in the sit-in and would continue the struggle until their demands for peace were accepted. At the same time, the scholars warned the protestors that preparing any future peace march on Musa Qala would require time for preparation.
On the same day the protests spread to Nawa and Gereshk, two Helmand districts that have been heavily embattled over the past months, and where demonstrators have also set up tents. On 3 April residents of Washir, a third district in the province, gathered to support the sit-in and planned to set up their own tents the following day. Washir is home to conservative Taleban who control 95 per cent of the district. Protest co-organiser Khaibar said the local Taleban had endorsed the demonstration and that their relatives were among the protestors. But “some outsiders” – referring to Taleban from other districts or provinces – were against it, so they decided against erecting a tent there, for fear that a conflict might occur – “and we stand against conflict.” Khaibar added, “We are working on Garmsir district, too.”
On 9 April Khaibar told AAN “We [also] managed to set up tents in Zabul and Kandahar and we are now in Kabul finding the families of the martyrs of Zanbaq square [the 31 May 2017 tanker truck bomb – see here] and other bomb attacks and talking with them. We would erect the tent in Kabul through them.”
How did other parts of the country react?
The protest first caused reactions in neighbouring Kandahar. On March 28, dozens of elders, including members of the provincial council and religious scholars, gathered in the provincial capital and called on the Taleban to give a positive response to the demands of the people raised in Helmand. One of the religious scholars, Mawlawi Muhammad Haq Khatib, said “now it is time the Taleban give a positive respond to the demands of the people regarding peace.” He also said that this parlat should not be limited to Helmand province but should spread countrywide. Khatib is a leading member of De Wolus Ghag (Voice of the People), a local political movement established recently. (1)
In the meantime, in Kabul, another sit-in was launched in support of the demands of the Pashtun Tahafuz Movement in Pakistan at Chaman-e Hozuri, a popular spot near the national stadium. Its participants also voiced their support for the aims of the Helmand peace sit-in. This sit-in was another example of the significant risks linked to such gatherings and demonstrations in Afghanistan, as on its ninth day, on 4 March, an explosion killed one protestor and injured fourteen others. The incident was attributed to a magnetic bomb (media report here). No insurgent group has claimed responsibility for the attack. Shortly afterwards, protestors held a press conference and told journalists that they would continue their demonstration. (2)
On 1 April, members of the Meshrano Jirga, or upper house of parliament, discussed the sit-ins in Helmand and offered their support. Initiated by a Helmandi senator, the house called on the inhabitants of other provinces of the country to support the Helmandis and raise their voices for peace. On 2 April, the Wolesi Jirga, or lower house, followed suit and unanimously declared its support for the Helmand demonstrations.
On the same day, dozens of civil society activists and youths from northern Balkh province gathered at the Hazrat Ali Shrine in Mazar-e Sharif in support of the Helmand protestors with the slogan: “Dear Helmandis! You are not alone. We are with you.” (media report here). Since then, local residents have erected a permanent tent to show their support to Helmandi protestors there, too (see here).
AAN approached several older civil society groups and political movements for their reactions. Raihana Azad, a member of the leadership council of Jombesh-e Roshanayi and MP for Uruzgan province, told AAN on 8 April, “Really, they are the voice of those who are the victims of the war. In this peace protest we hear the voices of mothers who have lost their sons, the voices of the widows who have lost their husbands and the voices of those who have lost their relatives.” Aziz Rafiee the member of Transitional Justice Coordination Group (TJCG) and director of the Afghanistan Civil Society Forum (ACSF) also told AAN that he supported the peace sit-in in Helmand and thinks that it is a response to an “urgent need of the people.” He said he had also done so in the media and hoped for “a fruitful outcome.” Ahmad Parwani, a member of Jombesh-e Taghir wa Rastakhez (Uprising for Change Movement) also welcomed the sit-in. He said their leading members were not currently in Kabul. Otherwise they would have also raised their voices in support of the Helmand sit-in. All three more or less cited the alleged lack of interest in peace on the part of the government and regional powers as reasons why an ‘all-Afghan’ peace movement had not arisen until now. Enthusiastic support also has a different chime to it.
Moving beyond Afghan divides
This is the first time – in spite of significant risks – that people in southern Afghanistan have publicly, and over a sustained period of time, raised their voices against Taleban violence and mobilised publicly, and with such energy. Even the initial unfavourable response has not made them give up; it has actually strengthened their resolve. This protest is also remarkable insofar as it is happening in an area often described as the ‘heartland of the Taleban’.
Indeed, the Taleban control more than half of Helmand’s territory while the government’s hold is limited to the administrative centres of six districts – Nawa, Marja, Nadali, Gereshk, Garmsir and Washer – as well as Lashkargah, the provincial capital. The population in the Taleban-controlled areas provides them with refuge, food and money but it is difficult to say how many do so voluntarily and how many by coercion. It is also clear that the never-ending war has inflicted significant costs to many inhabitants in Helmand province and they are getting more and more tired about this. The protest makes clear that there is dissent due to the Taleban’s violent actions among many in this Pashtun-majority province. Moreover, the Taleban’s control over large areas gives the people an address where they can their concerns and complaints to the Taleban.
The Lashkargah stadium bombing has led those who lost their loved ones to raise their voices, take to the streets, protest against the war and ask for peace, put public pressure on the Taleban. The images of Taleban attacks killing innocent civilians that have spread across social media may have contributed to undermining their prestige and raised questions about the legitimacy of their war. These reactions indicate that people are tired of the fighting and cannot endure further atrocities. As Pashto idiom says: “The power of people is the power of God.” If the civilians can bolster the Taleban, they can also undermine them.
It is unsurprising that leaders from both sides of the conflict have demonstrated so little enthusiasm for the Helmandi protestors. The government took so long to react to their request for a ceasefire, the march on Musa Qala had to be postponed; the official Taleban reaction was even more discouraging. Furthermore, neither side has shown much interest in brokering peace. Since the conclusion of the second peace conference in Kabul, neither party has decreased its military activities. On 2 April, an Afghan airstrike killed and injured at least 150 civilians in Dasht-e Archi district in Kunduz province. This kind of incident drives recruitment for the Taleban and feeds the narrative among insurgents that peace talks are just a money-making project for government officials.
Against this backdrop, the success of the organisers of the Helmand Peace March depends on their ability to keep their initiative up and mobilise more people in their province as well as countrywide. Scores of people have lost relatives in the war and a number of recent, large attacks have generated public outrage as well as protests (see AAN reporting here and here) – this is a large constituency to tap into.
The protest organisers are now systematically reaching out, and, given the number of protest tents that have gone up as well as other support activities, they have achieved much already. Remarkably, the protest has transcended the south-north divide, most notably between Pashtuns and non-Pashtuns. However, the less than enthusiastic reaction from some civil society activists in Kabul that AAN noted indicate that there still seem to be reservations and maybe even scepticism and bias towards what appear to be newcomers on the scene.
The protestors have tried to maintain their impartiality by preserving their distance from the government and by not allowing other interests to take over, hence the ban on slogans on anything other than for peace. They have not heeded, however, the Taleban’s demand that protestors go to US military bases.
It is also striking that ordinary Pashtuns on both sides of the Durand Line who are tired of the insecurity in their particular areas are protesting in large gatherings, rallying young people in mostly peaceful protests. Regardless of whether inspiration is mutual or even whether there are any direct exchanges among those mobilising, organisers on both sides claim they want to build civil movements for obtaining basic rights and have expressed commitment to the peaceful pursuit of democratic aims.
Edited by Graeme Smith and Thomas Ruttig
(1) Some sources from Kandahar told AAN said Khateb was close to the Karzai family and that the head of the provincial council, another Karzai ally, was present at the meeting.
(2) On 23 July 2016, the big TUTAP protest (AAN analysis here) in Kabul organised by the Enlightenment Movement (Jombesh-e Roshnayi) was attacked by suicide bombers causing a large number of casualties (UN report here).
Today’s installment of MCIS slides comes courtesy of Sam Charap, who attended the breakout session on regional security in the MENA region. The panel was led off by Lt. General Stanislav Gadzhimagomedov, the Deputy Chief of the Main Operational Directorate of the Russian General Staff. Unfortunately, the Russian MOD has not made available speech texts or video of the breakout sessions. (I’ll have a report on Monday on the other breakout session on soft power, which I attended.)
Iraq may be on track to become the first export customer for South Korea’s T-50 Golden Eagle family of supersonic jet trainers and lightweight fighters. But the KAI/Lockheed Martin plane ran into a familiar set of international competitors, plus one dark horse contender. In the end, the dark horse won. Iraq will begin flying Czech L-159s in 2013, and begin receiving the main body of the order in 2014.
Iraq’s basic trainer purchase was Hawker Beechcraft’s T-6 Texan II, but a jet trainer is required as an interim step between the T-6 and more advanced planes like the F-16s that Iraq is buying. DJ Elliott of ISF Order of Battle says that South Korea’s TA-50 was suggested in fall 2007 to the Iraqi Ministry of Defense, by MNSTC-I’s Coalition Air Force Transition Team. Other contenders can also be equipped as light attack jets, albeit without the same loaded supersonic capabilities. Iraq evidently decided that was good enough.
L-159T and L-159A
April 20/18: Delivery schedules & KAI HQ visit Iraq’s Foreign Ministry said in a statement this week that it expects delivery of a further six T-50IQ advanced jet trainer aircraft from Korea Aerospace Industries (KAI) by the end of the year. So far, Baghdad has received 12 T-50s in two batches since contracts were signed for a total of 24 aircraft in 2013. The news comes following the recent visit of Iraq’s ambassador to South Korea, Haider Shayya al-Barak, to KAI’s South Korean headquarters, where he received updates on the program.
January 31/18: Deliveries-First Look Pictures have surfaced of six FA-50 aircraft—the fighter attack variant of the T-50 Golden Eagle advanced trainer—recently delivered to the Iraq Air Force. Designated the T-50IQ, Baghdad looks to add a further 18 units to make up two squadrons over the coming years, as part of a 2013 order with Korea Aerospace Industries (KAI). The aircraft can be armed with air-to-air and air-to-surface missiles, machine guns and precision-guided bombs.
September 18/17: An investigation by South Korean prosecutors into corruption at Korea Aerospace Industries (KAI) has been widened to include a $2.65 billion sale of T-50IQ light attack aircraft to Iraq. According to prosecutors, officials at KAI inflated the value of the proceeds of the 2013 sale, which saw 24 of the advanced trainer aircraft sold as part of Baghdad’s air force modernisation. They have also uncovered circumstantial evidence of corruption in the KF-X indigenous fighter contract. The fraud allegations at KAI were first raised in 2015 when the state auditor’s inspection found that KAI pocketed some 24 billion won in illicit profits by manipulating development costs in the Surion helicopter project.
June 20/14: L-159s. The Czech Republic’s Defense Minister Martin Stropnicky says that they are in talks to sell 7 of their 17 Russian-built Mil Mi-24 attack helicopters to the Iraqi Defense Ministry. The Czechs, keen to push an advantage, are also pushing Iraq to buy L-159 light attack jets. Aero Vodochody had lost (q.v. Dec 12/13) that contract to Korea’s KAI, but the FA-50s won’t even begin arriving until 2015 – 2016.
The Iraqi government has already lost Kirkuk to the Kurds, and most of the northern and eastern Sunni areas to hard-line Islamist forces that are backed (for now) by local Sunni tribes. Attacks are now intensifying near Baghdad. If the Mi-28s were ever delivered in late 2013, there haven’t been any announcements, nor have there been battlefield reports of their use. At this point, Iraq needs any flying attack platform that can be delivered quickly.
The Czechs have about 8 jets in storage that they could deliver fairly quickly, and that may be enough for Iraq’s immediate needs. If Iraq wants more, restarting the L-159 production line won’t solve their problem in time. If the Czechs divert L-159 planes directly from their own air force, on the other hand, they could offer almost-immediate as part of a helicopter/jet package deal. The Czechs would then be able to choose whether to refurbish the 8 stored L-159s for their own use, and/or backfill CzAF stocks with the new L-169 that’s in development. We’ll have to see what gets negotiated, if anything. Sources: Defense News, “Iraq Eyes Czech Mi 24 helos To Combat ISIL Militants”.
Dec 12/13: FA-50. Iraq signs a $1.1 billion deal to buy 24 T-50IQ light fighters, which Korean news agencies cite as an FA-50 variant. The price works out to about $46 million per plane, but it necessarily includes added costs like initial training infrastructure. If the Iraqis have learned anything from their other programs, it will also include a solid initial supply of spare parts. KAI expects a 25-year, $1 billion T-50IQ support deal to follow shortly.
These “T-50IQs” will apparently serve double duty: as the IqAF’s advanced jet trainers once pilots graduate from T-6B turboprops, and as a backup fighter force. The deal is a big save for KAI, as Iraqi interest in the TA-50 armed trainer had apparently waned in favor of the Czech L-159T. Increased instability in the region may have helped revive their interest, as it will take more than the IqAF’s 36 ordered F-16IQs to provide even reasonable airspace control. A supersonic “F-16 lite” provides Iraq with better air defense, though it may come at the cost of some counterinsurgency strike performance relative to the L-159. KAI is quoted giving a delivery window of 2015 – 2016, while Reuters cites April 2016 – 2017.
Note that the Yonhap article has a key error. The plane exported to Indonesia, Peru & Turkey is KAI’s KO-1/KT-1 turboprop trainer and counterinsurgency aircraft, not the T-50 family. The T-50 family has been exported to Indonesia, and the Philippines is negotiating. KAI hopes that the breakthrough in Iraq may trigger interest elsewhere in the Middle East. Perhaps it will re-open the UAE’s 48-plane armed trainer pick, which has been stalled since 2009. Sources: KAI, “KAI has signed the contract with Iraq for exporting T-50 supersonic advanced jet trainer & light attack” | Korea Times, “Korea exports 24 attack jets to Iraq” | Reuters, “S.Korea’s KAI sells fighter jets worth $1.1 billion to Iraq” | Yonhap, “S. Korea to export 24 FA-50 light attackers to Iraq “.
FA-50 contract
Feb 22/13: No finalization. Czech media are saying that the Iraqi L-159 deal has failed, implying that Aero Vodochody doesn’t want to invest in an entire production line for 24 planes. That’s an odd explanation, since the company presumably understood the contract it signed.
Aero CEO Ladislav Simek has conformed that the contract hasn’t taken effect yet, though some preparatory steps have been taken within the supply chain. Meanwhile, they’re negotiating “some commercial and technical details,” and a new contract might be expected, including the accompanying weapon deals.
Talk of a new contract is a significant setback. Former Czech defense minister Alexandr Vondra makes a point about needing “patience, patience and patience again… [with Arabs, who] have a different notion of time than we in Europe.” Even so, Iraq needs to grow its air force, and delaying too long will create a problem. Prague Monitor.
Oct 12/12: Iraq. Iraq signs a $1 billion deal with the Czech Republic to deliver 28 L-159 trainers and light attack aircraft, and train Iraq’s pilots. Local Iraqi TV says that they’ll also set up a T-72 tank upgrade facility within Iraq, which may have been the decisive edge that helped them clinch the L-159 deal.
Aero Vodochody has confirmed that all of Iraq’s planes will be 2-seaters. The initial 4 will be converted from stored L-159As to L-159T trainers, retaining their previous attack and air policing capabilities. Those 4 are scheduled to arrive within 7 months. Another 24 new 2-seat L-159BQ jets will be delivered later, built to Iraq’s full specifications. They’re expected to begin arriving within 26 months, which is to say by December 2014.
Iraq is beginning to have obvious trouble with its airspace, as flights from Iran to Syria are taking place without any ability to stop them. It’s a convenient excuse for buying the jets, anyway. Iraq’s government, and its Shi’ite majority, both remember the Sunni Muslim terrorists who infiltrated Iraq from Syria, and caused so much trouble during the civil war. A government of those people next door is seen as an even worse outcome than Assad, though other factions within Iraq will see this situation differently. Meanwhile, Iraq needs advanced jet trainers, and also needs aircraft that can back up its handful of F-16s in basic air policing and ground attack roles after 2014. Aero Vodochody pre-announcement | Ceske Noviny in Czech and English | Agence France Presse | AP | Lebanon’s Daily Star | Russia’s RIA Novosti.
Contract: 28 L-159s
May 23/11: L-159. Iraqi Prime Minister Nouri al-Maliki says that a deal for Czech L-159s is close after a meeting with his Czech counterpart Petr Necas. This is the first trip to Iraq by a Czech prime minister since Saddam Hussein’s government fell in 2003, and the delegation also includes Czech Defence Minister Vondra. L-159 negotiations were described as “intensive” but not final in Czech newspapers.
The Czech delegation is busy with a range of initiatives, and one noteworthy non-defense deal involves Czech-made Zetor tractors, once known in Iraq under the Antar trademark, and license-built in Iskandariya, Iraq. A deal appears set to re-open that asesembly line, and the size of Iraq’s agriculture sector makes it an attractive opportunity on its own merits – even if Zetor/Antar isn’t done as a defense deal industrial offset. Ceska Pozike | Ceske Noviny || Russia’s RIA Novosti.
2009 – 2010T-50 cockpit
Oct 25/10: L-159. Prague Monitor and Iraq Business report that the Czech Republic might sell up to 25 used Aero L-159s to Iraq. Iraq had been holding a competition for 24 jet trainers between Korea’s T-50, the UK’s Hawk, and Italy’s M-346. The L-159 offers a competitive entry from the same manufacturer as the L-39s they used to fly, all in a package that’s fully compatible with NATO standards, and capable of carrying precision guided weapons and air-air missiles.
If the L-159 has become a focus, rather than just a competitor, it’s likely that the price of new aircraft proved prohibitive, and that Iraq is now looking at value over newness. Time will tell.
April 29/10: Competition. A report in the Times of London notes that the Iraqi trainer purchase has become a full-fledged competition. Officials from the Iraqi Air Force will reportedly be in Britain in May and June 2010 to test BAE Systems’ Hawk, which would compete with KAI/Lockheed’s T-50 and Alenia’s M-346.
The T-50 is being delivered to South Korea’s air force, while Italy and Iraq’s neighbor the UAE have ordered the M-346. The Hawk trainer has been available for decades, and variants fly for regional owners Bahrain, Kuwait, Oman, Saudi Arabia, and the UAE.
The Times says that the expected 24-plane Iraqi deal could be worth GBP 500 million initially (currently about $760 million), rising to GBP 1 billion over the life of the aircraft once servicing and maintenance contracts are included.
Competition
Feb 24/09: T-50. Iraq officially requests T-50 trainer jets during the Korea-Iraq summit in Seoul. The Korea Times reports:
“When the MOU was signed in late February, Talabani asked Lee to sell T-50 trainer jets and other advanced communication equipment to the Middle Eastern country,” a source close to the deal told The Korea Times, asking not to be named… “Once the terms and conditions of the sale, including prices, are met, they agreed to include them in a binding contract,” he added.”
The 2 countries also struck a $3.55-billion deal to develop oil reserves in southern Iraq near Basra, a move that could double or even triple the amount of oil to which South Korea has assured access. At the same time, ROK President Lee Myung-bak and Iraqi President Jalal Talabani signed a memorandum of understanding (MOU) to give South Korean firms the right to participate in rebuilding projects inside Iraq. The Korea Times reports that Iraq plans to spend $150 billion on power plants and other forms of public infrastructure over the next 8 years.
Jan 15/09: T-50. Yonhap news agency and the World Tribune both file reports concerning Iraqi Defense Minister Abdul-Qader al-Obeidi’s ongoing visit to South Korea. The minister was briefed concerning South Korea’s ongoing projects with Turkey, which include the K9/K10 Thunder mobile howitzer and the new XM2/Altay main battle tank.
Minister al-Obeidi also inspected the KAI/ Lockheed Martin T-50, and said that a defense expert in his entourage had recently test-flown the jet in Korea and expressed satisfaction. The Yonhap News Agency translation quotes him as saying that “The T-50 proved to us that South Korea has modern technology of an international standard.” Al-Obeidi added that more review would be required before the T-50 could be added to Iraq’s air force. Yonhap report | World Tribune.
Appendix A: TA-50s and the Region Iranian SaeghehThe T-50 family comes in a number of variants, from pure T-50 jet trainers, to a T/A-50 trainer that can act as a secondary fighter, to the full F/A-50 version that began serious development in late 2008.
A purchase of T/A-50s with their APG-67v4 radars, advanced Sidewinder missiles, and ability to carry precision guided weapons would effectively offer Iraq its first jet fighters. A T/A-50 would have to depend on superior situational awareness and piloting if confronted by Syrian or Iranian MiG-29s, but their induction would give Iraq qualitative parity or better versus many of the fighters currently flown by its semi-hostile neighbors: Syria’s MiG-21/ MiG-23/ Su-22s, and Iran’s F-4E/ F-5 variants/ F-7 MiG-21 variants. In a volatile region where hayba counts, those kinds of perceptions matter.
So, too, do personal ties. South Korea sent a 3,600-strong contingent to the northern Iraqi city of Irbil in September 2004 as part of the U.S.-led coalition, and a total of 18,000 South Korean troops served in rotation around northern Iraq until the end of their deployment in 2008.
That work was apparently valuable in establishing ties, and the countries are now discussing ways to broaden their economic relationship as well as their defense relationship. A February 2009 agreement that opens Iraqi public infrastructure contracts to Korean firms, while securing ROK investment to develop some of the oil fields near Basra in southern Iraq, appears to have set that process in motion.
Additional ReadingsDID thanks Iraq Order of Battle author DJ Elliott for his assistance.