This interview took place on August 21, in the evening, by telephone.
Ahmad Massoud, son and successor of the legendary Commander Ahmad Shah Massoud, is entrenched in the Panjshir from where he, a few hours earlier, as Kabul was ending its fall, launched a resounding call for resistance.
He is cut off from the world.
Cannot access any media.
The Taliban encamped at the entrance to the valleys and besieged it.
Sometimes, their leaders suggest that this heir without experience, without means or back, will not be able to last very long.
Earlier, on social networks, the rumor spread that he would be in talks with them and on the point of announcing, him too, like the rest of the Afghan elites, his surrender.
What is it really ?
What are the intentions and, above all, the capacities of this young man whom I knew, here, a year ago, double of his father, entrusting me with his projects for democracy and women’s rights in his country?
And can we, when we wage war in spite of ourselves and love nothing in this world so much as planting gardens and observing the stars, improvise the Churchill, the de Gaulle, the Mustafa Barzani or, quite simply, the new Massoud of an Afghanistan let loose by its allies and grappling with the most obtuse obscurantism?
It is Commander Muslem Hayat, veteran of the anti-Soviet wars and met, in 1998, when he commanded the close guard of Massoud Père and when I had come, in Panjshir, on a report for Le Monde, who organized the contact.
The line he installed is secure but unstable.
The voice is clear, well timbre, but choppy.
And I must, when it cuts, call back and have them repeat.
Young Massoud, anyway, weighs his words.
Sometimes the judgment bursts.
But, often, he takes his time, takes it several times, thinks.
And I know he’ll spend long hours, then, through Sunday night and day, after we hang up, rereading his words over another encrypted messenger.
So many things are at play here. His destiny. His life. But also the honor and the fate of his people of whom he embodied, at this moment, almost alone, the indomitable thirst for freedom.
All this on his shoulders.
Bernard-Henri Levy
Dear Ahmad! Finally … I have been trying desperately to reach you, for several days.
I know. I am in a remote place of Panjshir. And the connection here is very bad.
First off, how are you?
Well. I told you the morning of the fall of Kabul, the last time we could speak to each other: we lost a battle, but not the war; and I am more determined than ever.
There are reports circulating in Europe and the United States that you are preparing to stop fighting too.
It’s propaganda. And there are, apparently, naysayers among you who take their wishes for realities. Well no. Let it be known. There is no question of stopping the fight. Our resistance here in Panjshir has only just begun.
Haqqani, the Taliban leader, just declared on Twitter that you were “withdrawing”. So is it wrong?
I repeat that this is disinformation.
So, it’s clear: no surrender?
Of course, no surrender. I’d rather die than surrender. I am the son of Ahmad Shah Massoud. Surrender is a word that is not in my dictionary.
Despite the Americans leaving? The betrayal of your allies? The collapse of the state?
When you came to see me, in my stronghold of Panjshir, a year ago, I told you that my father was more than a father, that he was my mentor. My dad wouldn’t let me surrender.
People in Europe doubt. They say that you are not a warlord, that you will not make it.
My father taught me one thing. What makes the strength of a people is, beyond the imbalance of forces, the spirit of resistance. This is what matters. You have to believe with all your might in your mission. And, for me, it is irrevocable, whatever the cost. My father had that strength in him. He never doubted. I will do anything to show myself worthy of his example, his resolve and his quiet courage.
Sorry to insist, dear Ahmad, dear friend. But the line is really bad. I want to be sure I understand correctly. So the rumors that you are speaking with the Taliban are false?
Talking is one thing. We can talk. In all wars, we talk. And my father always spoke with his enemies. Always. Even at the height of the war. But surrender is another thing. And I repeat to you that there is no question for my commanders and I to surrender. There is no question.
Why speak, then?
Because I am a man of peace and I want the good of my people. Imagine the Taliban starting to respect the rights of women, those of minorities, democracy, the principles of an open society, etc. Why not try to tell them that these principles would benefit all Afghans, including themselves? But, once again, and at the risk of repeating myself, I will never accept an imposed peace whose only merit would be to bring stability. Freedom and human rights are infinitely too precious goods. You can’t trade them for the stability of a prison.
So, if I understood you correctly, you are in the same position as last week, when you left Kabul to join your stronghold of Panjshir. You do not accept the speech that says that all is over, that the war is lost, that prolonging the fight is useless …
My father, when I was a child, told me about General de Gaulle whose Memoirs you had given him. At the military academy in Standurst where I studied, I also read the Memoirs of Churchill. At the same time as de Gaulle, he addressed his people: “I have nothing to offer you but blood and tears; we will never surrender. I do not yet know what our struggle has in store for us and I dare not compare ourselves to these glorious examples. But I assure you that they are present in me and that they inspire me the greatest respect.
As we speak, do you fear an assault from the Taliban?
The Taliban are formidable. They took control of the American arms stocks. And besides, I cannot forget the historical error of those from whom, until a week ago, in Kabul, I asked for weapons. They refused them to me. And these weapons, this artillery, these helicopters, these American-made tanks, are today in the hands of the Taliban! But the Panjshir Mountains have a long tradition of resistance. Neither the Taliban before 2001, nor the Soviets before them, succeeded in violating their sanctuary. I think it will be the same today.
On the eve of the fall of Kabul, through my review, La Regle du Jeu, you appealed to the Afghans to join you. Where are you ? Is this appeal heard?
Absoutely. Thousands of men are joining us. Among them are activists, intellectuals, politicians, officers of the Afghan army. And that’s only the beginning.
How, in concrete terms, are things going?
They arrive on foot, on horseback, by motorcycle, in private cars. They brave all dangers. And they join us. They are very seasoned. They are former members of the special forces. It is a great asset for our movement.
Can a guerrilla survive by being cut off from its rear? Your father had Tajikistan. He had helicopters left until the end. You don’t have any helicopters and …
Yes. I have equipment. But I’m going to need the means to keep them operational.
So I can say, in my country, in the United States, elsewhere, that you remain hopeful?
Yes. If we stand firm in the storm, the tide will turn. And, even more, if we get help.
From whom?
Who wants. And, I hope, from your country. I, with you, when I came to Paris, met President Macron. I was impressed by this young president who admired my father and General de Gaulle. I can’t imagine him letting us down. He knows that the resistants of Panshir are a shield against barbarism. Not just for the Afghan people. For all free citizens around the world.
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