The Economist - USA (2020-11-21)

The EconomistNovember 21st 2020 Asia 33

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nounced plans to cut the American force to

2,500 by the end of Mr Trump’s term, in

mid-January, over the objections of nato.

Air strikes, which in 2019 reached the high-

est level in the two decades of the American

intervention, have since been limited.

Yet instead of stepping back to foster di-

alogue, the Taliban have seized the oppor-

tunity to strengthen their position mili-

tarily. On October 27th the United Nations

announced that civilian casualties have

not fallen since the start of talks. In some

parts of the country violence has escalated.

In recent weeks the Taliban have launched

attacks to try to take control of districts

such as Panjwai, near the city of Kandahar

(see map). On October 12th insurgents at-

tacked Lashkar Gah, the capital of Helmand

province, the first big assault on a city in

over a year. The Afghan army retreated en

masse, and the Taliban were eventually

beaten back only by American air strikes—

the first in months. Several hundred Af-

ghan soldiers have died just in the past

month (and probably a similar number of

Taliban). The Taliban have also been assas-

sinating more government officials.

Death and taxes

The sense of siege comes from more than

the violence. The Taliban first took power

in the 1990s, when Kandahari merchants

paid them to provide security on the roads,

for which they charged less than the war-

lords of the day. They seem to be applying

that method again. At the edge of Kabul, the

boss of a company that imports cooking

gas says the security of his tankers has ac-

tually improved over the past year, because

the Taliban control more roads. They

charge 35,000 afghanis ($455) for every lor-

ry travelling from Herat, on the Iranian bor-

der, to Kabul. “In the past there were no Ta-

liban taxes,” he says. “But they used to

shoot us with rpgs [rocket-propelled gre-

nades]. So we are happy with the taxes.”

In Taliban territory there is a shadow

government. Per Muhammad, a 38-year-

old farmer who lives in Zabul province, in

the south-east, says that the 134 families in

his village each pay a flat tax of 2,500 Paki-

stani rupees ($15) to the Taliban annually,

as well aszakat, which is proportional to

wealth. In exchange, they get access to the

Taliban’s brutal but efficient justice. Local

Taliban leaders solve most disputes. Bigger

ones—over land, say—go to the district

chief. He does not have an office, says Mr

Muhammad, but can be reached easily by

phone. “He is always with five mullahs and

some armed Taliban.” They hear both sides’

claims and make a decision immediately.

“Nobody can reject a ruling,” he says, be-

cause it is enforced by armed men.

In Taliban-held territory, government-

funded schools and clinics often continue

to operate, says Ashley Jackson, a research-

er at the Overseas Development Institute, a

British think-tank, especially if local resi-

dents are keen on it. In some areas the Tali-

ban insist that teachers, who are paid by

the government, actually turn up to work.

Some ngos operate in Taliban territory

quite happily, working with “ngoco-ordi-

nators” appointed by the local commander.

“It is the government we are afraid of,” says

one employee of an aid agency. “With the

Taliban, we can co-ordinate.”

This ambiguous arrangement means

that boys, at least, can still get an education

and the sick can receive health care in areas

occupied by the Taliban. But it also helps to

legitimise the insurgents, who take credit

for providing services paid for by foreign

donors. On October 14th Britain’s Foreign

Office had to remind ngos not to pay taxes

to the Taliban.

What might happen next? Afghan gov-

ernment officials say that the Taliban think

they have defeated America and see the

talks in Doha as the negotiation of the gov-

ernment’s surrender. Yet outright military

victory is unlikely. The Afghan army is de-

moralised but not yet defeated. It has a new

air force of its own. Trying to conquer big

cities would be risky for the Taliban. In-

deed, it could well bring America back into

the war. The attack on Lashkar Gah, many

in Kabul suspect, was not approved by the

Taliban’s political leadership in Doha.

The longer talks go on, however, the

weaker the Afghan government gets. Attri-

tion—from deaths, injuries and deser-

tion—is sapping the army. In August Ashraf

Ghani, the president, revealed that in the

preceding six months over 12,000 soldiers,

police and civilians had been killed by the

Taliban. American estimates published

last month showed that Afghan casualties

increased by 5% in the third quarter of the

year compared with a year earlier. The siege

is accentuating political divisions within

the Afghan state, says Timor Sharan, who

served as a deputy minister until last year.

That heightens the likelihood that the

talks in Doha will produce a deal that fa-

vours the Taliban, especially given Mr

Trump’s precipitous withdrawal. With

their shadow government and growing as-

sertiveness, the Taliban act as, and would

like to be seen as, a government in waiting.

In Doha they style themselves the “Islamic

Emirate of Afghanistan”, as they did when

in power in the 1990s.

In urban Afghanistan, their return

would be fiercely unpopular. Najia Sadat, a

doctor who works at a government clinic in

Herat, a thriving city near the Iranian bor-

der, says she is deeply concerned that the

Taliban might return. She remembers their

rule: “We were not allowed to go out of the

home.” Their fall made her training and ca-

reer possible. The clinic where she works is

supported by foreign donors, including

usaidand International Rescue, a charity.

If the Taliban came back, all that could dis-

appear. It seems increasingly likely. 7

TAJIKISTAN

PA K I STA N

AFGHANISTAN

IRAN

UZBEKISTAN

Kandahar

Herat Kabul

HelmandPanjwai

Zabul

Wardak

Lashkar

Gah

250 km

Taliban-controlled

districts

Contested districts

Source: Long War Journal

(October 2020)

A

s covid-19 spreadthrough Japan this

spring, a doctor despaired. What ap-

palled him was not the pace of infection, or

a lack of protective equipment, but the ar-

chaic systems used to tabulate test results

and so track the course of the epidemic.

“Even with corona, we’re handwriting and

faxing,” he groaned on Twitter.

Japan has excellent health care. Life ex-

pectancy at birth is 85 years, the highest in

the world. But doctors have been slow to

embrace the efficiencies of information

technology, despite Japan’s reputation for

technical wizardry. The oecd, a club most-

ly of rich countries, ranks it last among its

members for its management and use of

data in health care. A commission of ex-

perts convened by the Asia-Pacific Initia-

tive, a think-tank in Tokyo, declared Japan’s

response to covid-19 a “digital defeat”.

But the coronavirus is also providing a

sharp spur for change. The new prime min-

ister, Suga Yoshihide, has made digitising

Japan the centrepiece of his economic

agenda. The potential benefits are espe-

cially big in health care, because costs are

rising as the population ages. Spending on

health accounted for 11% gdplast year, up

from 7% in 2000.

Telemedicine could help cut costs. But

the Japan Medical Association (jma), a

powerful lobby, has long opposed online

consultations, citing concerns about safety

and privacy. Resistance is in part genera-

tional. Japan’s 327,000 doctors are ageing

alongside their patients: nearly half are

over 50. In small clinics, the average age is

TOKYO

The pandemic is at last prompting

doctors to go digital

Health care in Japan

Technological

stunting