The world may have moved on, but the crisis in Afghanistan has not ended. Far from it.

Four years ago, Afghanistan didn’t collapse without warning. The warnings were everywhere. 

The Washington Post’s Afghanistan Papers made it painfully clear that Afghan security forces could not hold Kabul — or much of anything — without sustained U.S. support. Military advisers across administrations recommended maintaining a residual force and a strategic base. 

Instead, former President Joe Biden’s withdrawal was precipitous, chaotic, and final — leaving billions in U.S. equipment behind, later paraded by the Taliban. We didn’t just exit. We pulled the rug out.

Four years after the Taliban’s return to power, Afghanistan is no longer front-page news in Washington. But it is not stable. It is not normal. 

And it is not improving.

The Taliban continue to rule under the banner of the “Islamic Emirate.” Their government remains all-male, dominated by hardliners, and unrecognized by Western democracies. A handful of countries maintain diplomatic engagement, but formal recognition remains elusive.

Security has shifted rather than disappeared. Large-scale civil war has faded, yet ISIS-K remains active, carrying out deadly bombings, often targeting civilians and minority communities like the Hazara. Border tensions with Pakistan have flared repeatedly, with artillery exchanges and trade disruptions tied to militant sanctuaries and cross-border instability. The Taliban seek regional legitimacy through diplomatic outreach, but trust remains thin.

The human rights situation is also stark.

Girls remain barred from secondary school and university. Women face increasingly sweeping restrictions on employment, travel, and public life. Taliban morality patrols enforce dress codes and movement rules. Activists, journalists, and civil society figures face detention or harassment. International prosecutors have moved to pursue Taliban leaders over gender persecution — a remarkable but largely symbolic step given current enforcement realities.

Economically, Afghanistan remains deeply at odds. After 2021, foreign aid collapsed, reserves were frozen, and investment dried up. The Taliban’s poppy ban drastically cut opium production — a blow to narcotics trafficking, but also to rural livelihoods. 

No replacement economy has materialized.

The humanitarian picture is sobering. The majority of Afghans now rely on some form of assistance. Malnutrition remains widespread. Aid funding has declined. Meanwhile, neighboring countries have deported or pressured large numbers of Afghan refugees to return, deepening strain inside the country.

Afghanistan today is governed, but not integrated. Pacified in parts, but not secure. Connected diplomatically, but not recognized. And for ordinary Afghans — especially women and girls — daily life remains sharply constrained.

And there’s another layer to Afghanistan’s story — one that rarely makes Western headlines.

Since 2021, the Taliban have tried to replace lost Western aid with something far more transactional: extraction. Mining contracts. Energy corridors. Revenue-sharing deals with foreign investors. Afghanistan has become what you might call a resource bargaining state — selling access to copper, oil, lithium, and now gold in exchange for political survival.

Unsurprisingly, mineral-hungry China moved fastest.

Beijing already had legacy projects like Mes Aynak copper and Amu Darya oil. But record-high gold prices have triggered a rush in northern provinces like Takhar and Badakhshan along the Tajik border. In some reported cases, more than half the profits flow directly to Taliban authorities. That revenue is lifeblood for a regime cut off from Western funding.

But here’s the problem: revenue without legitimacy breeds resentment.

Chinese projects equal Taliban revenue.
Taliban revenue equals political control.
Political control without broad consent equals instability.

In short, the Taliban won the war — but they do not fully control the country. Northern Afghanistan remains layered with armed factions, criminal networks, smugglers, tribal grievances, and cross-border tensions. The mountainous Tajik frontier is porous and historically volatile. Add river dredging that alters border lines, local communities excluded from mining profits, and periodic clashes with Tajik forces, and you don’t just have economic friction.

You have sovereignty friction.

Chinese nationals have become visible symbols of Taliban-backed deals — foreign, exposed, and soft targets in a lawless environment. Since late 2024, multiple incidents have killed or injured Chinese workers in and around the border region. Equipment has been burned. Cross-border attacks have escalated.

This is now a test of China’s model: can economic extraction stabilize a fragile state without political reform? Beijing prefers non-interference, but instability doesn’t respect doctrine.

Afghanistan is no longer simply a U.S. withdrawal story. It is a Taliban governance stress test, a Chinese security dilemma, and a simmering Central Asian flashpoint — all unfolding while ordinary Afghans remain poor, restricted, and hungry.

The war ended. Stability didn’t.

What happens next?

And will any Western media outlets bother to report on it?

(Contributing writer, Brooke Bell)