Written by Farzana Panahi, translated by Shekib Jaghori
Recent remarks by former U.S. President Donald Trump about reclaiming Afghanistan’s Bagram airbase have reignited debate over the Taliban’s legitimacy and the future of their rule. The comments have stirred political tensions: they raise questions about the group’s long-standing narrative of jihad, its covert ties with Washington, and the implications for ordinary Afghans.
The roots of the current situation trace back to the 2021 Doha Agreement, which paved the way for the U.S. military withdrawal and the Taliban’s return to power. While the agreement’s details remain largely unknown to the Afghan public, its consequences have been far-reaching. Since the Taliban takeover, reports suggest the U.S. has been sending $40–$60 million in cash to Kabul each week. These funds are officially described as humanitarian aid; however, critics argue they have helped sustain the Taliban’s financial infrastructure.
This has led to growing public suspicion that the Taliban’s rise was not solely the result of battlefield victories but also of a behind-the-scenes arrangement with Washington. For many Afghans, this perception undermines the group’s ideological claims and raises uncomfortable questions about its future direction.
The prospect of renewed U.S. interest in Bagram presents the Taliban with a strategic dilemma. A full-scale American military return appears unlikely; however, if the Taliban fail to maintain Washington’s support without offering concessions such as limited access to Bagram, they risk losing critical financial aid and diplomatic leverage.
Some analysts believe the Taliban’s pragmatic wing may be open to compromise, especially if it helps secure political and economic stability. This possibility gains weight in light of recent moves by the U.S. Congress, which has authorized intelligence cooperation with former Afghan military units and the resistance groups opposing the Taliban. The message is clear: rejecting U.S. overtures could lead not only to financial isolation but also to the empowerment of rival groups.
Any deal involving Bagram would carry significant ideological costs. The Taliban’s identity has long been rooted in resistance to foreign occupation. A renewed U.S. presence—even symbolic—could fracture the group internally. Hardline factions, particularly those aligned with Taliban leader Haibatullah Akhundzada, may view such a move as a betrayal of their fallen fighters.
This could deepen existing divisions between the Taliban’s traditionalist and pragmatic wings; it may potentially lead to internal splits. At stake is not just political control but the very narrative that has sustained the group for over two decades.
Even if the Taliban manages to justify a shift in policy, they face a skeptical public. Many Afghans already believe the group’s rise was transactional. Any attempt to reframe U.S. involvement through religious reinterpretation or increased censorship may only fuel further dissent.
The Taliban’s challenge is not just ideological: it is existential. Without foreign aid, their regime could face rapid economic decline. Yet embracing cooperation with the U.S. risks alienating their base and triggering internal unrest.
For ordinary Afghans, the stakes remain high. Whether the Taliban chooses confrontation or compromise, the country continues to grapple with poverty, repression, and uncertainty. A weakened Taliban does not automatically mean a better alternative, unless internal divisions give rise to new movements capable of challenging the status quo.
The future of Bagram may serve as a litmus test for the Taliban’s ability to balance ideology with governance. For Afghanistan’s people, the deeper question is whether they can leverage this moment of crisis to reclaim their rights, or whether they will once again be caught middle of power struggles between Washington and ethnic nationalist factions.
