Veil of fear and repression descends on Kabul once again

With the Taliban having consolidated their hold on Afghanistan with the fall of the capital, Kabul, the question in the mind of its inhabitants is how their new rulers will behave.

Will they roll out their extreme version of Sharia law or will they, as some Taliban spokesmen have suggested, show a more lenient side? From what the inhabitants of recently taken provincial cities have discovered, most Taliban are the hard-line fanatics of old – women have been ordered from their workplaces and told not to venture from their homes without a male guardian.

Harsh justice is to be expected for those regarded as having collaborated with “infidel” American or Nato forces over the last two decades. It is also likely that the rich will be subjected to stiff “taxes” by Taliban officials desirous to boost their treasure chests. But what of the ordinary populace?

This is a young country with more than 60 per cent of the population aged under 25

Certainly, few young people will have any idea what to expect beyond what they have seen on social media and heard from their elders. This is a young country with more than 60 per cent of the population aged under 25 – no one in this age group will have any recollection of the last time the Taliban held Kabul, from 1996 to 2001 when they were ousted from power by invading US-led forces.

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I suspect the people of Kabul, particularly the youth, could be in for a shock. I have visited Afghanistan often over the years – for the first time in 1994, as the Taliban were emerging as a military force – and spent several weeks there as a journalist in 2000 when they were firmly in control of the city. It was a grim period and my relations with the black-turbaned officials of their foreign ministry were strained – I was eventually ordered out of the country and taken under escort to the border with Pakistan. In the time I spent there, I came to know the Taliban’s uncompromising rules first hand.

No one can pretend that Kabul was a pleasant place in the years before the arrival of the Taliban in 1996. The country was in the grip of a bitter civil war and rockets from the besieging mujahideen forces would periodically rain down on the capital’s hapless citizens. But somehow there was life in the streets and the people had their freedom. With the arrival of the Taliban, a veil of fear and repression descended on Kabul and most of the country.

There was hardly any traffic on the streets during the Taliban time – perhaps the only gift they brought to the congested city – and most of the shops and restaurants were closed. I remember only one grimy kebab place where my interpreter and I once hid as the religious police patrolled outside, whipping stragglers who had not already gone to the mosque for afternoon prayers. The few women who went out in public were clad in head-to-toe burkas, moving tents of mid-blue or drab brown, forbidden to laugh or even talk. Schooling was banned for females over the age of 12.

The windows of houses were painted black so no one could see inside

Taliban rules have always been strict: no television, no toys for children and no music or dancing. I remember a conversation with some young men in a market place – heavily bearded, their eyes rimmed with black kohl – who swore they hated music and had no place for it in their lives. As someone who had grown up with Van Morrison and U2, I found this difficult to fathom but they were adamant. The windows of houses were painted black so no one could see inside. The only books allowed were religious texts approved by the Taliban and no images of living things were allowed.

We were a small band of visiting journalists, myself and a group of Italians, most of us based as foreign correspondents in the Indian capital, New Delhi. Each of us was assigned a minder who every day brought us to the Taliban foreign ministry. The officer in charge of media affairs had removed all pictures from his walls and wrapped in plastic the heads of animals adorning his elaborately carved desk. We stayed in the Inter-Continental hotel, most of whose staff had fled. At night, the Italians would go into the kitchen and cook pasta for us.

I regret not returning to visit Kabul Museum for, in early 2001, Taliban officials began smashing anything in human or animal form that they believed blasphemous to Islam with hammers and axes. And I regret not having taken up an invitation from the Italians to join them on a trip to the ancient, carved statues in Bamiyan. In March 2001, Taliban commanders planted explosives around what were once the world’s tallest Buddha statues and blew them to smithereens.

The already struggling economy was fast driven into the ground by the Taliban who, though proficient fighters, were not much good at administration. Their offices were mounds of scrawled paperwork, edicts and decrees. Most officials preferred to sit on carpets on the floor, holding court with their minions, while any computers they had inherited were cast aside in the corner.

For the youth who wander Kabul's shopping malls and arcades . . . this will be a bitter pill to swallow

It remains to be seen whether, in their latest incarnation, the Taliban prove to be more proficient governors. Their administration of justice, unless it has undergone a radical rethink, will probably still include stoning to death for adultery, public hangings and amputation of limbs for repeated theft.

For the youth who wander Kabul’s shopping malls and arcades in their fake designer jeans and T-shirts, this will be a bitter pill to swallow. The young women, who go about with uncovered faces, will have to make a hasty retreat behind closed doors. The young men, who today play football and cricket in the parks, will have to pack away their sporting gear. Many of those who have been able to afford it, have already left and many more will try to follow in the coming weeks and months. But for most of the four million inhabitants, especially those living in the shanty settlements and mud-brick huts on the hillsides, there will be little choice but to hunker down and bear it – just as they did a 25 years ago when the Taliban first seized control.

• David Orr is an Irish Irish journalist based in France and formerly a foreign correspondent