Ashraf Ghani and the Art of Historical Evasion

By all honest accounts, Ashraf Ghani was never the reformer he pretended to be. Draped in the language of technocracy and Western enlightenment, he was, in practice, little different from the warlords he so often denounced—except perhaps more self-righteous and insulated by elite credentials. His recent interview from exile in Dari (link) is yet another attempt to whitewash his legacy by shifting blame—Zalmay Khalilzad, Abdullah Abdullah, unnamed “Northern warlords,” and of course, the easy scapegoat of U.S. corruption. But the core truth remains untouched: Ashraf Ghani’s presidency didn’t collapse because others failed him. It collapsed because he failed Afghanistan—because he valued power more than peace, image more than reform, and legacy more than results.

In the video, Ghani once again casts himself as the victim of U.S. missteps, a passive observer of mismanaged aid, institutional corruption, and an American strategy devoid of long-term vision. He laments how most aid bypassed the Afghan government and how warlords profited from U.S. contracts. He decries human rights violations and inflated spending on military logistics, blaming the very system he helped design. But this isn’t the outcry of an innocent man. It’s the calculated deflection of someone who was not only complicit but central to the system’s creation.

Let’s not forget: Ghani was obsessed with power long before the U.S. invasion. In testimony preserved by the Association for Diplomatic Studies and Training, scholar Barnett Rubin revealed that Ghani had openly expressed a desire to be the prime minister of a future Taliban government—before the regime even fell (source). This wasn’t the humility of a civic-minded technocrat; it was the ambition of a man waiting for his chance to seize the throne.

Ghani now claims the U.S. never intended to build a nation in Afghanistan. And yet, he eagerly returned in 2001, joined the transitional government, and helped construct the very financial and administrative architecture that later facilitated mass corruption. As a former World Bank official, he knew how systems should function—but instead of building transparency, he helped engineer opacity. If he knew the aid system was broken, why didn’t he resist it? Why didn’t he resign or speak out?

The answer is simple: because Ghani wasn’t building a country. He was building a political résumé.

Throughout his presidency, Ghani masked contradiction with polish. He blasted warlords but empowered new ones when convenient. He won a disputed 2014 election that ended in such chaos it required U.S. Secretary of State John Kerry to impose the disastrous “National Unity Government.” Ghani accepted the deal, shared power with Abdullah Abdullah—whom he now scorns—and stayed in office. If he truly had principles, he would have walked away. But he didn’t. Because power mattered more than principle.

Even when the U.S. sidelined him and began negotiations with the Taliban in Qatar—negotiations that excluded his own government—Ghani could have drawn a red line. He could have resigned in protest to assert Afghan sovereignty. But instead, he clung to the palace, only to flee it in cowardice when Kabul fell, abandoning the people he claimed to serve to terror and uncertainty.

Now, from exile, Ghani laments betrayal. But his words ring hollow. Not because they’re entirely false—yes, the U.S. made grave errors—but because his outrage is entirely self-serving. What did he build? A functioning democracy? A legitimate security force? Or merely a fragile state stitched together by donor money and warlord alliances?

Ashraf Ghani didn’t just squander an opportunity. He betrayed a generation of Afghans who believed in change. He was not the man to lead a post-Taliban Afghanistan into a democratic future. He was simply another power-hungry opportunist—fluent in English, dressed in suits, well-spoken at Davos—and yet fundamentally indistinguishable from the men of violence he claimed to oppose.

The tragedy of Afghanistan is not just that the U.S. gave up. It’s that Ashraf Ghani, the man who promised reform, played the same old game—only with better manners. And now, from the safety of exile, he rewrites the past, hoping the world forgets who he truly was: not a savior, but a survivor. Not a reformer, but a failure dressed as one.

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