‘Afghanistan will go again into civil war’

In a 2005 speech, four years after New Zealand first deployed to Afghanistan, then-Defence Minister Phil Goff defended the continuing mission by saying the reason for committing troops was not simply because the Taliban regime was involved in appalling human rights abuses – girls banned from attending school, women prohibited from the paid workforce, weekly executions at the Kabul football stadium, were a few of the examples he listed – but because we had accepted our responsibility to end the country’s hosting of Al Qaeda.

We would help create stability and prosperity in a country that after 20 years of civil war had become a failed state.

He warned it was unrealistic to believe transforming a country from feudalism and anarchy to a modern 21st century state could be achieved overnight. Inevitably, he said, such a huge challenge would take time.

This past February the incumbent Minister Peeni Henare announced that 20-year deployment would finally come to an end and the remaining six New Zealand soldiers in Afghanistan – the very tail end of the 3500 who served there – would leave by May.

It actually happened sooner than expected: within weeks of his statement the New Zealand flag was lowered in Kabul, with scant acknowledgement, no fanfare, back home.

In the 16 years between Goff and Henare’s statements, other ministers, politicians and military leaders lauded the mission as a success. But in that time, 10 New Zealand soldiers were killed and many more wounded.

The deployment is widely reported to have cost $300 million, though that figure has been cited since 2013 so the true cost (in purely financial terms) will be much, much higher.

Back in 2017 when Stuff Circuit first began investigating New Zealand’s deployment, a source with a distinguished military career observed that while our Provincial Reconstruction Team in Bamyan did a ‘‘great job’’, once they leave, he said, ‘‘their work becomes meaningless’’.

‘‘It’s like putting your hand in a bucket of water. Once you take it out, the bucket of water is still the same.’’

Everything is short term, was his message. He wanted us to know we were mistaken if we believed we had built a legacy.

US forces, whose ‘‘war on terror’’ we were supporting, will be withdrawn from Afghanistan by September. And while US intelligence agencies believe the immediate terrorism threat from Al Qaeda has diminished, the 2021 threat assessment report predicts the Taliban will make battlefield gains and a peace deal is unlikely.

The Washington Post reports the many signs the group is undiminished after 20 years of war; ‘‘I can’t drive more than four kilometres in any direction without hitting a Taliban checkpoint’’, said the head of a provincial council.

And the bloodshed continues in ever more heartbreaking ways; witness the bomb attack last weekend that killed more than 80 schoolgirls in a neighbourhood of Kabul settled by the persecuted Shiite Hazara ethnic minority.

During our 2017 investigation we met soldiers who’d worked exceptionally hard in Afghanistan and believed strongly in their purpose and collective achievements. We also met soldiers suffering extreme PTSD as a result of deployment.

We learned of homelessness and broken relationships. We met family members of fallen soldiers who profoundly expressed their feelings of the futility of it all.

With the complete withdrawal of international forces imminent, a rational society would reflect on what was actually achieved: whether the hundreds of thousands of lives lost and the trillions of dollars spent are offset in some way by a tangible and enduring benefit.

The history of conflict in Afghanistan dates decades – centuries – further back than 2001 when our soldiers first embarked on their ‘‘hearts and minds’’ mission.

A contact in Afghanistan wrote to me last week that his life is in danger. ‘‘I think history will repeat’’, he said. ‘‘Afghanistan will go again into civil war.’’

In that context, and given the horror continuing to emerge, there must be a rigorous interrogation of whether the war on terror was ever likely to succeed, and whether, therefore, New Zealand ever had any legitimate role to play.

Our hand is now out of the bucket. The water remains, at best, unchanged.

A source with a distinguished military career ... wanted us to know we were mistaken if we believed we had built a legacy.