At the heart of the system lies an unprecedented concentration of power in the hands of Hibatullah Akhundzada. Unlike modern authoritarian leaders who rely on party structures, militaries or technocratic bureaucracies, Akhundzada governs primarily through religious authority. His leadership style reflects a deliberate rejection of institutional politics. Kandahar, not Kabul, serves as the nerve centre of decision-making, reinforcing a model in which legitimacy flows from clerical decree rather than administrative performance or public consent.
This approach has produced short-term cohesion but long-term fragility. Centralisation has minimised open dissent, yet it has also paralysed policy innovation. Ministries function largely as implementers of orders rather than problem-solving bodies. Even senior officials are constrained by an environment in which debate is viewed as disobedience and deviation as heresy. As a result, governance has become reactive, rigid and opaque.
The Taliban’s internal structure further complicates this picture. While the leadership projects unity, power is unevenly distributed across factions. Kandahar-based clerics dominate ideological direction, while networks such as the Haqqanis retain operational autonomy, particularly in security matters. This arrangement has allowed the regime to maintain internal balance, but it has also created a dual system in which authority is centralised in theory and fragmented in practice.
The absence of a clearly articulated succession framework adds to this uncertainty. In a system so dependent on a single figure, leadership continuity is a structural vulnerability. History suggests that movements built on personal authority rather than institutional rules often struggle during transitions, and Afghanistan’s current model offers few safeguards against internal rupture should that moment arrive.
One of the most revealing aspects of Taliban governance is its approach to dissent within its own ranks. Religious scholars and senior officials who questioned policies — particularly on girls’ education — have been sidelined or removed. This indicates not merely political intolerance but a narrowing of acceptable religious interpretation itself. By criminalising internal theological debate, the regime risks undermining the scholarly traditions that once gave Afghan religious life its diversity and resilience.
Nowhere is the tension between ideology and functionality more visible than in the education sector. The Taliban’s decision to place education directly under the supreme leader’s authority reflects an understanding that ideas, not just territory, shape power. However, the systematic removal of civic, legal, economic and social sciences from curricula represents a strategic gamble. By hollowing out disciplines essential for administration, markets and diplomacy, the regime is sacrificing future capacity for present control.
The continued exclusion of girls from education is not only a humanitarian concern but a governance dilemma. Afghanistan’s economy, already under severe strain, cannot afford the long-term productivity losses that such a policy entails. More importantly, the issue has become a fault line within the movement itself, highlighting the gap between ideological absolutism and social realities in a country with deep-rooted traditions of religious pluralism.
The Taliban’s security record illustrates a similar pattern of partial success and underlying risk. The reduction in large-scale violence and containment of ISIL-K demonstrate improved territorial control. Yet security gains rest on informal arrangements with multiple armed groups, many of which retain distinct ideological identities. The integration of former fighters into security forces has boosted numbers but diluted professionalism, increasing the likelihood of fragmentation under pressure.
Economic governance remains the regime’s weakest pillar. Afghanistan today survives less on production than on restraint — limited spending, humanitarian inflows and modest revenue collection. With unemployment soaring and the majority of the population dependent on aid, the state’s social contract is virtually non-existent. Restrictions on female participation in aid delivery have further strained humanitarian operations, while large-scale returns of displaced Afghans have overwhelmed local capacities.
Crucially, the Taliban appear untroubled by the absence of public accountability. Sudden policy shifts — such as nationwide internet restrictions imposed and reversed without explanation — reflect a governance style that prioritises control over communication. Such decisions may reinforce authority in the short term, but they erode predictability, a key ingredient for economic recovery and public trust.
For the region, Afghanistan’s trajectory presents a complex challenge. The Taliban have achieved what many doubted possible: consolidation without civil war. Yet consolidation alone does not equal stability. A system that relies on ideological uniformity, coercive compliance and centralised religious authority may endure, but it remains vulnerable to shocks — economic, political or generational.
From a regional perspective, engagement with Afghanistan must be grounded in realism rather than illusion. The current order is neither on the brink of collapse nor on a path to transformation. It is a rigid system managing decline through control. Encouraging moderation, economic integration and institutional development will require patience and calibrated diplomacy, not expectations of rapid reform.
Ultimately, the Taliban’s greatest challenge is not opposition but governance itself. Power has been secured; legitimacy not. Until the regime reconciles authority with inclusion and ideology with functionality, Afghanistan will remain stable only in appearance — a country governed by decree, but still searching for a state.