TODAY, August 31st, Afghan politicians and writers will gather to mark Baluch-Pushtun Unity Day, which celebrates the cultural bonds between the two ethnic groups. The day might not be entirely upbeat, though. At the same event last year one of the speakers warned that “common enemies” were victimising Baluchis and Pushtuns. Such language is routine in Afghanistan, a country frazzled by tribal divisions. But how did these tensions start, and how do they influence Afghan life today?
Afghanistan has been ethnically diverse for millennia. Herodotus, an ancient Greek historian, wrote about the Pushtuns in the fifth century BC. Tajiks, the country’s second-largest group after Pushtuns, are ancient too. About 2.5m Uzbeks live along the northern mountains, and a similar number of Hazara live in the middle of the country, west of Kabul. Smaller clusters of Arabs and Punjabis, among others, also huddle among Afghanistan’s hills and valleys. All told, 14 recognised ethnic groups live in Afghanistan today. Each is honoured in the national anthem and protected by the constitution.
Foreign influences have chiselled these communities into distinctive shapes. Religion is a prime example. Most Afghans are Sunni Muslims, but the Hazara people adopted Shiism from the Safavid Persians. Indian Sikhs also found converts in Afghanistan. Outsiders have moulded Afghan culture in more ostensibly practical ways, too. Persia contributed to its neighbour’s linguistic diversity: half of all Afghans now speak Dari, the local form of Persian. Many Afghan Tajiks, with links to cosmopolitan Iran, live in towns. This is in jagged contrast to the rural Baluchis. These differences have also been sharpened by politics. Pushtun attempts to unify the country in the 19th century caused widespread resentment in other groups. At the same time, foreigners have widened tribal differences for their own gain. Shia Iran backed Hazara militias against the Soviets in the 1980s, whereas Pakistan and Saudi Arabia have helped the predominantly Pushtun Taliban.
The results of this are clear today. Many Afghans clutch at their tribe rather than their country. These attitudes slide into political life. Regional politicians appeal to their own clan rather than to the national interest, and officials are often promoted on kinship instead of merit. None of this encourages good governance: ethnic disputes in parliament have ended in punch-ups. Similar problems taint society generally. Students bicker about whether signs at Herat University should be written in Dari or Pushtun. Radio stations fire up supporters with sectarian rhetoric. The country’s violence is also linked to these ethnic tensions. Some Pushtun troops are reluctant to fight their kinsmen in the Taliban, a group that other Afghans see as an extension of Pushtun supremacism. The government is not oblivious to these problems. Inciting ethnic hatred is now a crime, and new identity cards focus more on a shared national character. But even if they do not say it publicly, many Afghans remain suspicious of the “common enemies” inside their own country.
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