The Promises the Afghanistan War Left Behind

Por Zahra Rahimi — The Diplomat

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Five years after the U.S. withdrawal from Afghanistan, the relationships built over 20 years of war still matter. 

U.S. Air Force loadmasters and pilots assigned to the 816th Expeditionary Airlift Squadron, load passengers aboard a U.S. Air Force C-17 Globemaster III in support of the Afghanistan evacuation at Hamid Karzai International Airport (HKIA), Afghanistan, Aug. 24, 2021.

“It felt almost like you were playing God with their life at that moment,” recalled Joe Laude, executive director of the Operation Allies Refuge Foundation (OAR),  reflecting on the final days of the U.S. evacuation from Kabul. A Marine machine-gunner with Echo Company, 2nd Battalion, 1st Marines who served at Abbey Gate during the evacuation in August 2021, Laude witnessed firsthand the impossible choices facing Americans as approximately 123,000 people were evacuated and thousands of Afghans sought a way out.  

Every decision – to let someone through the gate, to turn someone away – carried life-altering consequences. When the last U.S. aircraft departed Kabul on August 30, 2021 , those decisions lingered. For people like Laude, the uncertainties remained: Who could he have helped? Who was left behind? And what did it mean to feel responsible for people he could not protect? 

Psychologists describe these experiences as moral injury , the psychological and ethical harm that occurs when individuals witness, participate in, or are unable to prevent actions that violate their deeply held moral beliefs and values. In the aftermath of the United States’ 20-year war  in Afghanistan, that injury can take the form of responsibility, helplessness, perceived betrayal, and the painful belief that a promise was left unfulfilled. 

For two decades, Americans and Afghans worked shoulder to shoulder in pursuit of a shared mission. Afghan interpreters, journalists, civil society leaders, educators, and security personnel risked their lives alongside American soldiers, diplomats, and aid workers. These relationships were often more than professional. They were built through years of shared danger, trust, friendship, and a belief that those who had stood beside one another would be protected if the situation deteriorated. However, with the Taliban’s return in August 2021, much of that shared progress disappeared almost overnight.

Lida Kharooti Sayeed, who served as a judge on Afghanistan’s Anti-Corruption Serious Crimes Court for 13 years before the Taliban returned to power, remembers with gratitude the Americans who tried to help her and others like her. 

“I do not blame the individuals who tried to help us,” she said. “Many of them showed kindness and compassion where people were frightened and uncertain about their future. Their efforts meant a great deal to Afghan people like me.”  

Sayeed’s gratitude complicates an easy narrative of American failure. The people who formed these relationships fought on the same side of a war. They were people who trusted one another. 

That trust also made the withdrawal so difficult for those who were unable to protect the people they had worked beside. Laude describes the guilt he felt: “I had betrayed the Afghan community, even though it was ultimately our leadership’s decision that led to what happened.”

That distinction did not necessarily ease the burden. Knowing that institutions and leaders made the ultimate decisions did not erase the responsibility he felt toward the Afghans who were calling, asking for help, and waiting for a way out. 

Helping Afghan allies became a way to channel that unresolved feeling into action. Through OAR, Laude has turned his experience in Kabul into work supporting veterans struggling with moral injury through peer support, humanitarian service, research, and advocacy.  

Laude acknowledged that staying busy also meant putting his own emotions aside. “Part of what I did was try to mask the emotional side of this situation through work. That’s why I started OAR. I tried to take away from my own healing and help other people.”

For some, continuing to serve Afghan partners may be a form of moral repair – not an attempt to pretend the past can be fixed, but a decision to remain accountable to the values and friendships that still matter. 

For Afghan partners left behind, the story did not end with the evacuation. Families remain separated, immigration cases stretch on, and careers and lives are disrupted. 

Sayeed is still rebuilding the life she lost. She’s now a visiting scholar and researcher at the William & Mary Law School. 

“We survived very difficult days, but surviving was only the beginning,” she said. “We are still trying to rebuild our lives, support our families, continue our education, and find meaningful opportunities.”

Five years later, Afghanistan is still often discussed in terms of the political failures surrounding the withdrawal. Those debates are important, but they do not capture everything that remained after the last plane left Kabul. What happens to the relationships built during 20 years of war when the war itself is over? Can there be closure?

For some, the answer has been to keep showing up.  “That closure isn’t necessarily going to come through the leadership that betrayed you. Instead, I think it comes through relationships at the grassroots level,” Laude said.

For Laude, those relationships offer more than a path toward closure. They shape how he answers a harder question about the war itself: whether the years of service, sacrifice, and relationships built along the way ultimately mattered. 

“One of the most important long-term psychological questions is whether any of it mattered,” Laude said. “I believe it does matter.”

What endures, five years later, is not only the memory of the withdrawal, but the relationships and obligations it could not erase. The war may have ended, but for those who believed they were responsible for one another, the question of what was owed did not end with it.

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“It felt almost like you were playing God with their life at that moment,” recalled Joe Laude, executive director of the Operation Allies Refuge Foundation (OAR),  reflecting on the final days of the U.S. evacuation from Kabul. A Marine machine-gunner with Echo Company, 2nd Battalion, 1st Marines who served at Abbey Gate during the evacuation in August 2021, Laude witnessed firsthand the impossible choices facing Americans as approximately 123,000 people were evacuated and thousands of Afghans sought a way out.  

Every decision – to let someone through the gate, to turn someone away – carried life-altering consequences. When the last U.S. aircraft departed Kabul on August 30, 2021 , those decisions lingered. For people like Laude, the uncertainties remained: Who could he have helped? Who was left behind? And what did it mean to feel responsible for people he could not protect? 

Psychologists describe these experiences as moral injury , the psychological and ethical harm that occurs when individuals witness, participate in, or are unable to prevent actions that violate their deeply held moral beliefs and values. In the aftermath of the United States’ 20-year war  in Afghanistan, that injury can take the form of responsibility, helplessness, perceived betrayal, and the painful belief that a promise was left unfulfilled. 

For two decades, Americans and Afghans worked shoulder to shoulder in pursuit of a shared mission. Afghan interpreters, journalists, civil society leaders, educators, and security personnel risked their lives alongside American soldiers, diplomats, and aid workers. These relationships were often more than professional. They were built through years of shared danger, trust, friendship, and a belief that those who had stood beside one another would be protected if the situation deteriorated. However, with the Taliban’s return in August 2021, much of that shared progress disappeared almost overnight.

Lida Kharooti Sayeed, who served as a judge on Afghanistan’s Anti-Corruption Serious Crimes Court for 13 years before the Taliban returned to power, remembers with gratitude the Americans who tried to help her and others like her. 

“I do not blame the individuals who tried to help us,” she said. “Many of them showed kindness and compassion where people were frightened and uncertain about their future. Their efforts meant a great deal to Afghan people like me.”  

Sayeed’s gratitude complicates an easy narrative of American failure. The people who formed these relationships fought on the same side of a war. They were people who trusted one another. 

That trust also made the withdrawal so difficult for those who were unable to protect the people they had worked beside. Laude describes the guilt he felt: “I had betrayed the Afghan community, even though it was ultimately our leadership’s decision that led to what happened.”

That distinction did not necessarily ease the burden. Knowing that institutions and leaders made the ultimate decisions did not erase the responsibility he felt toward the Afghans who were calling, asking for help, and waiting for a way out. 

Helping Afghan allies became a way to channel that unresolved feeling into action. Through OAR, Laude has turned his experience in Kabul into work supporting veterans struggling with moral injury through peer support, humanitarian service, research, and advocacy.  

Laude acknowledged that staying busy also meant putting his own emotions aside. “Part of what I did was try to mask the emotional side of this situation through work. That’s why I started OAR. I tried to take away from my own healing and help other people.”

For some, continuing to serve Afghan partners may be a form of moral repair – not an attempt to pretend the past can be fixed, but a decision to remain accountable to the values and friendships that still matter. 

For Afghan partners left behind, the story did not end with the evacuation. Families remain separated, immigration cases stretch on, and careers and lives are disrupted. 

Sayeed is still rebuilding the life she lost. She’s now a visiting scholar and researcher at the William & Mary Law School. 

“We survived very difficult days, but surviving was only the beginning,” she said. “We are still trying to rebuild our lives, support our families, continue our education, and find meaningful opportunities.”

Five years later, Afghanistan is still often discussed in terms of the political failures surrounding the withdrawal. Those debates are important, but they do not capture everything that remained after the last plane left Kabul. What happens to the relationships built during 20 years of war when the war itself is over? Can there be closure?

For some, the answer has been to keep showing up.  “That closure isn’t necessarily going to come through the leadership that betrayed you. Instead, I think it comes through relationships at the grassroots level,” Laude said.

For Laude, those relationships offer more than a path toward closure. They shape how he answers a harder question about the war itself: whether the years of service, sacrifice, and relationships built along the way ultimately mattered. 

“One of the most important long-term psychological questions is whether any of it mattered,” Laude said. “I believe it does matter.”

What endures, five years later, is not only the memory of the withdrawal, but the relationships and obligations it could not erase. The war may have ended, but for those who believed they were responsible for one another, the question of what was owed did not end with it.

Zahra Rahimi is an undergraduate student at William & Mary and a research assistant at AidData. She works with Dr. Narayani Sritharan on research examining the resettlement and integration experiences of Afghan migrants in the United States across different immigration pathways. Her writing on Afghanistan and Afghan resettlement has appeared in The Diplomat and The Counterpart.

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Fonte: The Diplomat