The assassination of Ahmad Shah Massoud on September 9, 2001, reverberated through Afghanistan with a shock akin to that felt in the United States following the attacks just two days later on September 11.
The scale of tragedy differs. Nearly 3,000 lives were lost on that fateful day in America, while in Afghanistan, it was the death of a single militia leader. Yet, Massoud’s killing marked a seismic shift in the Afghan political landscape and profoundly impacted the fate of a nation already burdened by decades of conflict and instability.
Massoud was reportedly assassinated by two al-Qaida operatives disguised as reporters in the Khwaja Bahauddin district of Afghanistan’s Takhar Province, approximately 90 miles from his native Panjshir Valley.
In a desperate attempt, his lifeless body was transported to a makeshift hospital, a temporary medical facility in Tajikistan that had been set up by India to treat wounded members of his resistance forces during the first Taliban regime in Afghanistan (1996-2001). His body was eventually flown by helicopter to his home province and laid to rest on September 16 in his native village of Bazarak, in the Panjshir Valley.
In the context of Afghanistan’s turbulent history, Massoud stands as one of the few key figures from the past five decades of war whose remains were returned to his homeland and who received a proper burial – an honor in Afghan culture that many, amid the chaos of war, have been tragically denied.
His legacy is woven with threads of both reverence and controversy, reflecting the complexities of Afghan history. From his fierce battles against the Soviets – who regarded him as a formidable adversary – and his resistance to the first Taliban regime, to the illicit exploitation of Afghanistan’s emerald-rich mountains and brutal killings in Kabul during the civil war, Massoud’s life encapsulates both heroism and the darker sides of conflict.
The mix of admiration and controversy surrounding him made his assassination seem unimaginable. It sent shockwaves through Afghan households.
Many recounted legends of the “Lion of Panjshir Valley,” a man who battled powerful adversaries for freedom. Others, however, viewed him as a warlord and a foreign agent – one who exploited the valley’s mighty mountains and sold its precious emeralds on the black market, destined for the affluent world.
As a young student in the 1970s, Massoud became a member of the Islamist Movement Party in Afghanistan – home to several figures who would later play pivotal roles in the civil war – and emerged as one of the earliest challengers to Afghanistan’s first self-proclaimed president, Mohammad Daud.
Following the pro-communist coup in 1978, the brutal murder of Daud, and the subsequent Soviet invasion of Afghanistan – an event that ignited widespread public outrage – Massoud found an opportunity to secure backing from both Afghans, who viewed the invasion as an assault on their land and faith, and Western powers amid the Cold War. As a prominent leader of Jamiat-e Islami, a faction within the broader Mujahideen resistance during the Soviet-Afghan War in the 1980s, he garnered significant support from the West, led by the United States.
His troops were primarily rooted in the Panjshir Valley. However, as a former student at Kabul Polytechnic University, sponsored by Soviet Russia, his resistance in the valley became both legendary and controversial. Many Afghans accused him of double-dealing, alleging that he received funds from both the West and the Soviets during the Cold War, effectively acting as a double agent. This duality remains a contentious topic in Afghan history.
The disastrous emerald mining practices in the valley, which involved blasting the gems from the mountains to supply jewelers in Europe and North America, reportedly financed much of his activities. His family remained in the emerald trade long after the Soviet war.
After the pro-Soviet government collapsed in April 1992, Massoud’s faction seized control of Kabul and he was appointed minister of defense. However, the Mujahideen victory quickly spiraled into chaos as the movement’s factions fractured, descending into a brutal power struggle. The ensuing civil war (1992–1996) resulted in thousands of civilian deaths, widespread abuse, and forced displacement. Educational institutions, hospitals, and libraries became strongholds for militia groups battling each other for power.
As the minister of defense for a government contending for control of Kabul, Massoud commanded air force bombers and artillery from the heights surrounding the city, targeting the residential neighborhoods where his opponents were entrenched.
Occasionally, a video surfaces on Afghan social media showing Massoud on Kabul’s “TV Hill,” directing militias as they fired upon the Darul Aman Palace, located 16 kilometers southwest of downtown Kabul. The palace symbolizes a significant chapter in Afghanistan’s historic quest for modernization in the 1920s.
His troops’ assault on Afshar, a modest residential area in Kabul, in 1993 stands out as one of the war’s worst atrocities. Human Rights Watch characterized it as massacre.
While for a French person strolling along Rue du Commandant Massoud in Paris, the plaque reading “Héro National de l’Afghanistan” may symbolize resilience, bravery, and the pursuit of justice, for many Afghans, Massoud’s name evokes memories of a time when the capital city’s vibrant heart was shattered, leaving deep, unhealed scars.
Nafeesa Nafees, one of the few remaining female theater actors in Afghanistan, often shares details of the harrowing experiences on her YouTube channel. Among her memories, the day she lost her mother stands out most vividly.
“One day during the civil war, my mother and I were washing clothes when I heard a deafening explosion. I cannot recall anything after that, and I don’t know how long I lay in a pool of my own blood until I regained consciousness,” she recalled in one of her YouTube videos.
“The first thing I did was look for my mother. I couldn’t move, and I thought I had gone blind. But after a little while, I could see and hear again, and then I saw my mother – she was cut to pieces.”
Painful memories like these continue to overshadow Massoud’s image in Afghanistan. While he is often romanticized in the West as a man who read poetry, spoke foreign languages, and championed women’s rights – an issue of heightened relevance today given the Taliban’s near-total ban on women’s education and progress – his legacy remains complex and contested within Afghanistan.
While there is scant evidence of his direct contributions to women’s education, freedoms, and prosperity in areas he controlled, the tragic story of Nahid, a young girl who took her own life to preserve her honor, serves as a grim testament to the suffering endured by countless women who were raped, killed, and abused during his tenure as minister of defense.
Notably, his wife, who was kept strictly out of the public eye, recounted their marriage in her memoir “Pour l’amour de Massoud,” describing it as a secretive union between herself, a 17-year-old with little understanding of life, and Massoud, a mature man of 34. He had restricted her from meeting even male relatives, denying her freedoms that many Afghan women, even under the Taliban, still retain, such as visiting family members.
Apparently, this complex personal and public legacy led to skepticism among some policymakers. In his introduction to Sandy Gall’s book “Afghan Napoleon,” British author and politician Rory Stewart referenced U.S. Deputy Secretary of State Richard Armitage, who told the BBC that “because of the atrocities committed by his troops, Massoud was an unacceptable ally.”
Similarly, Stewart quoted Robin Raphel, former U.S. assistant secretary of state for South and Central Asian affairs, arguing that Massoud had charmed and misled many in the West. While Massoud told Western officials, “Choose us because we are smart, because we read books and talk to you,” he was ultimately “a warlord,” Raphel noted, adding, “It was not for us to choose between warlords, who were all tainted.”
His involvement in warlordism, ethnic discrimination, and the brutal civil war are key reasons some observers, such as Sarah Chase, attribute to the rise of the Taliban in Afghanistan. Chase, who spent years covering Afghanistan, provided a detailed analysis of how the Taliban emerged and why many Afghans welcomed them.
In 1996, the Taliban not only ended the civil war but also brought an end to Massoud’s reign in Kabul. He was forced to retreat to his stronghold in the Panjshir Valley, where he formed the Northern Alliance, a coalition of rebels against the Taliban. As the Taliban pushed the Northern Alliance forces into increasingly confined areas toward the end of the 1990s, Massoud received supplies from India and Iran, both of whom were concerned about Pakistan’s support for the Taliban.
Although Massoud did not live to see the Taliban’s defeat and retreat from Kabul in November 2001, his legacy set the stage for his son, Ahmad Massoud, who has vowed to continue his father’s resistance and defeat the Taliban. As he navigates a country still scarred by conflict, Ahmad grapples with the weight of his father’s legacy, the harsh realities on the ground, and his own inexperience both in Afghanistan and on the battlefield.
Afghanistan has changed significantly since the 1990s, when the only connection with the outside world was a phone call that was often impossible even from Kabul. Today, many Afghans are connected to the internet, marking a stark shift from the past. In the last two decades, the literacy rate in Afghanistan has increased dramatically, with many Afghans receiving higher education in the West. Unlike during the elder Massoud’s time, when the population was severely affected by illiteracy, many Afghans are now actively reading and digging for the truth.
Unlike his father, who primarily fought on the front lines, 35-year-old Ahmad has spent most of his life abroad and has never been involved in any battles. This reality is both his strength and his weakness: He lacks the experience of climbing the mountains of the valley to confront the enemy in the scorching sun and icy winters of Afghanistan, but he has not committed the kinds of horrific acts his father did amid war.
He is inexperienced in Afghanistan, as he spent much of his childhood in Iran and his youth primarily in England, where he attended King’s College London and Sandhurst. He operates from abroad but strives to unite the opposition against the Taliban.
Since fleeing the country in August 2021, Ahmad Massoud, who now leads the National Resistance Front – a replica of his father’s Northern Alliance – has focused his efforts on garnering support from both Afghans and the international community. He has primarily made appearances with Western media outlets and attended meetings with a select group of Afghans in the diaspora.
However, his lack of understanding of the political nuances in Afghanistan has occasionally made him a target of criticism, particularly from Afghans.
Many criticized and questioned his perspective after his National Resistance Front condemned the assassination of Hamas leader Ismail Haniyeh, calling him a “shining star” in fighting for the “freedom” of the Palestinian people.
Ahmad Massoud also faced a backlash from a wave of angry Afghan youth after appearing in a July 2024 interview with a close friend of former CIA contractor Erik Prince. During the interview, Massoud was presented with an unusual gift: an “Unplugged” phone, developed by Prince himself, that “can’t be tracked by Google, Amazon, or big tech,” according to the host.
Prince is the founder of the private security firm formerly named Blackwater, notorious for the 2007 massacre in Nisour Square in Baghdad, one of the most heinous war crimes of the Iraq War. Prince’s reported $5 billion plan to privatize U.S. military operations in Afghanistan in 2017 was dreaded and the thought of Afghanistan descending into the control of numerous war contractors was unbearable to many.
In the recent interview, Ahmad was referred to as “commander,” a title that seemed incongruous with the lived experience of the younger Massoud, who enjoys life in London playing tennis and flaunting Oxford shirts and shorts. Even more perplexing was the display of affection between the war contractor and the son of a former warlord.
His suggestion in the interview that Uyghurs were among over 21 terrorist groups “actively” operating in Afghanistan under the Taliban sparked further criticism on social media. Many questioned his understanding of regional affairs and the plight of the Uyghurs, an oppressed Muslim minority in neighboring China.
In his desperate quest for international recognition for his resistance movement – an effort some Afghans view as a family business or a bid to capitalize on his father’s legacy – Ahmad continues to engage with Western leaders and the media. He positions himself as a voice for Afghans opposed to Taliban rule.
Nevertheless, Ahmad Massoud’s position, even if symbolic, underscores Ahmad Shah Massoud’s enduring legacy, which continues to shape narratives in Afghanistan.
As Ahmad navigates the contemporary political landscape from abroad and primarily online, it is crucial to learn from history to avoid repeating past mistakes. Lionizing “heroes” will not bring about the peace Afghans have sought for nearly five decades or address the many wrongs that have been wrought upon the Afghan people, by their heroes and their villains alike. Instead, fostering accountability, acknowledging grievances, and listening to the public in Afghanistan are essential for pursuing a stable and equitable future for one of the world’s most devastated nations.