When Britain carved Pakistan out of its former colony of India in 1947, it imposed the Durand Line as the border with Afghanistan. The Pashtuns of western India who found themselves in Pakistan had never really been part of Britain’s India. When it suited their purposes, they would fight on the side of the British, but the British never controlled them. The Pashtuns in Pakistan were socially, economically, religiously, and through family connections part of Afghanistan, and the area in which they lived, once part of the Afghan Empire, was naturally part of Afghanistan.
Pakistan’s new provinces were named for their major ethnic groups—Sindh for the Sindhis; Balochistan for the Balochs; and Punjab for the Punjabis. For the province that was majority Pashtun, Pakistan kept the British name the “Federally Administered Tribal Areas.”
After Daoud became prime minister, he proposed that these Pashtuns should decide for themselves whether they wanted to be part of Afghanistan, Pakistan, or an independent state—the same right of self-determination that many other ethnic groups were being given, including the Muslims, who had demanded the creation of Pakistan itself. When Pakistan refused, Daoud was outraged. To him this area would always be Pashtunistan and rightfully part of Afghanistan. Daoud’s attempt to reunite Pashtunistan with Afghanistan would cost him his life.
When the United Nations voted to accept Pakistan as a new member, Afghanistan was the only country to vote no.
Pakistan was the United States’ newest ally only because India, having been harshly ruled by Britain for over a century, became close to the Soviet Union. When U.S. vice president Richard Nixon met with Daoud in Kabul before his visit to Pakistan in December 1953, my father sat next to Daoud. Nixon announced that as a condition for resuming U.S. assistance (which had been stopped because of Daoud’s ties with Russia), Afghanistan must sign the Baghdad Pact, a mutual defense agreement among Great Britain, Pakistan, Turkey, Iran, and Iraq. Daoud said he would do so only if the United States would support self-determination for the Pashtuns in Pakistan. Nixon refused, but his next words had my father stirring in his seat. “If Afghanistan will sign the Baghdad Pact, the United States is willing to use its influence with Pakistan to give Afghanistan access to the Arabian Sea.”
Daoud was unmoved. “Afghanistan will never recognize Pakistan’s right to Pashtunistan,” he said. “I will not sign the Baghdad Pact until the Pashtunistan issue is resolved.”
“Then there is nothing more to discuss,” Nixon said, and the meeting was over. My father was devastated. Nixon had opened the door to Russia.
In the days following the meeting, my father tried to convince Daoud to accept Nixon’s offer. “Our country needs access to the sea,” he told Daoud. “You can deal with the Pashtuns in Pakistan another time.” But Daoud gave my father a look that Baba knew only too well—the look of the stubborn child he had known in Paris. In a speech to the Pakistan Parliament the following day, Nixon ridiculed Daoud’s position on Pashtunistan. Seething with anger, Daoud called a meeting of his ministers.
That night Uncle Ali came to our house. “I know you’ll be meeting with Daoud tomorrow,” he said to my father. “And I know that Daoud has been approached by Russia. I don’t agree with this, and I know you don’t either. But for your own sake as well as that of your brothers, when Daoud mentions this, you must hold your tongue, or it could cost us our positions.”
“I don’t know who is more difficult to argue with, you or Daoud,” Baba said impatiently. “I have listened to you, but there are things about which you cannot compromise, and one of them is the future of our country.”
“If you don’t keep quiet, you’ll destroy our family,” Ali warned.
“And if I don’t speak out, I will have to watch the destruction of our country, knowing I kept silent.” He paused briefly before he spoke again. “If anyone suffers, it will be me.”
At the meeting the next day, Daoud said, “Russia has offered me twenty thousand military advisors and its support on Pashtunistan. I intend to accept.”
The room was silent.
Daoud looked at my father. “Mr. Popal, why are you so quiet? This isn’t like you.”
“Don’t misunderstand me, Mr. Prime Minister,” Baba replied. “I believe Pashtunistan should be part of Afghanistan as much as you do. Send the Pashtuns arms if you want and let them fight for their freedom. Nixon offered us the strength of the Baghdad Pact and access to the Arabian Sea. I think it would be foolish to lose this opportunity. The Russians have sought to control us for a long time. If we invite them in, it will be like the lamb inviting in the wolf.”
“You of all people should know I will never give up Pashtunistan.”
“I understand, Mr. Prime Minister. I am a Pashtun like you and share your passion. But we are a country of fourteen million. Pakistan has seventy million and the support of the United States. We cannot fight Pakistan; we cannot fight the United States; we cannot fight Russia. If we cannot solve the problem with Pakistan ourselves, how is Russia going to help? Solving this problem with war will never work. And the Russians are dangerous. Once they are here, they will never leave. If we try to use them to reclaim Pashtunistan, we will only destroy ourselves.”
“What do you suggest we do then?”
“Pashtunistan must seek independence through self-determination. It is naturally a part of Afghanistan. If we remain patient, this division will not stand. Provide the Pashtuns with money and arms, and when they’ve won their freedom, the world will accept it. I tell you as a servant of this country I love very much that the policy you propose is foolhardy. You should not let your disdain for Nixon cause you to destroy our country. As your deputy foreign minister, I advise you to sign the Baghdad Pact and negotiate access to the Arabian Sea.”
Daoud erupted. “You sound like you are talking for Pakistan!”
“If you don’t realize whose country I’m speaking for now,” Baba replied, “you never will.”
My father rose from the table. “You are making a grave mistake, Mr. Prime Minister, and I will not be part of this decision. Since you refuse to listen, you leave me no choice but to resign.”
Baba stood up and left the meeting. He walked to the Foreign Ministry and made his way down into the basement, where he opened the large leather-bound journal filled with his handwriting in which over the years he had recorded all the ministry’s important meetings. After making one last entry, Baba returned to his office and cleaned out his desk.