This visit, like the countless others that followed, had a similar rhythm and feel. We drove out of ISAF’s compound and south on Bibi Mahru Road, a wide old boulevard now truncated by checkpoints and blast wall barriers. We passed the Spanish ambassador’s residence, housed in a graceful old mansion, and after another checkpoint entered a traffic circle with an old building, now used by U.S. intelligence and overlooked by a machine-gun position mounted on a guard tower, on our left. It was near this circle in 1996 that the Taliban had coaxed former president Mohammed Najibullah from his refuge in the U.N. headquarters, then tortured and reportedly castrated him before hanging him for public display. The drive was a grim reminder of the perils of Afghan politics.
We drove straight and entered the palace grounds. The palace had the look of an old fort, but its location on low ground meant serious defense was never intended. The stone walls enclosed a compound of inner buildings, a courtyard, and modest but pleasant gardens. As we arrived, workers were repairing outer walls and some of the inner buildings, but the heaviest damage had been fixed a few years before. Even in its heyday, I suspect the complex possessed dignity, but no Versailles–like grandeur.
President Karzai’s office sat in one wing of a two-story building within the compound, not far from what had once been the quarters of the king. Security was tight and each visit took me through the President’s Protective Service, or PPS. By 2009 the U.S.-trained PPS, similar to the U.S. Secret Service, had become highly professional. Many spoke English and over a year of visits and multiple trips around Afghanistan, I developed a deep respect and fondness for them as they looked out for me with almost obsessive care, often pulling me through crowds or into vehicles.
After a friendly greeting to the PPS detail on duty, and a head nod to the uniformed military guards at the door, I’d walk up a flight of stairs to a large second-floor waiting room where an array of chairs and couches held waiting visitors. Some stood nervously alone as though rehearsing in their minds what they would say to their president; others huddled in small groups in animated conversations as if plotting. Three-piece suits mixed with traditional Afghan outfits from every region of the country. On some days, I ran into noted personalities who were there seeking favors, or chatting quietly with ministers or diplomats I knew. On other days, I’d smile at bearded men in turbans, often in from distant provinces, as we sat in silence, uncomfortably separated by our languages. And I was always amused by the practiced nonchalance some officials and visitors displayed, as though entering the president of Afghanistan’s office was nothing remarkable. I tried to remember that it was.
In that room I was reminded of the intricate challenge of ruling Afghanistan. Tajiks and Uzbeks from the north; Hazaras from central Afghanistan; and Pashtuns from almost every corner of the country were represented by tribal or business leaders, many of them powerful khans or landowners, carrying demands, entreaties, and sometimes threats. In addition, government officials, foreign ambassadors, and even an occasional general like me would come to convince, cajole, and pressure. The flow of people placed a nonstop succession of issues and opportunities on the desk of a president with precious few resources to provide and little direct political power. His was a perpetual balancing act to retain support, influence, and legitimacy across a diverse range of constituencies. It was a high-wire act in the stiff wind of Afghan politics.
The president was invariably punctual. An aide would open a door to the waiting room and would ask me to enter. Even if the president’s previous meeting had involved heated discussion, Karzai walked to the door and warmly greeted each visitor. I learned to appreciate the physical stamina, the compartmentalization of other frustrations, and the personal self-control required of the man. Karzai was now into his eighth year of a job that was not only exhausting but dangerous. Nearly all his predecessors—the kings and leaders of Afghanistan—had been assassinated or deposed. The Taliban energetically sought to maintain this track record, and their attempts on President Karzai’s life since 2001 were sure reminders of this history.
On that day, after greeting me at the entrance to his office, he led me to a chair and sat in its twin on the other side of a small table. Two sofas accommodated other attendees, normally his chief of staff and security ministers. An aide quickly served tea.