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A Strong Army or a Strong Nation?
Why Afghanistan’s Future Depends on People, Not Generals

By Wahab Raofi

 

A familiar argument insists that “a country with a strong army is a country that respects itself.” For Afghanistan, a land scarred by invasions, this idea holds a powerful emotional pull. The vision of a unified, professional military symbolizes sovereignty and an end to the cycles of violence that have defined its modern history. Yet, this pursuit has repeatedly conflated the symbol of strength with its substance, often at the nation's ultimate expense.

Historically, the Afghan army bears responsibility for successive coups that dismantled relatively stable systems. The rule of King Zahir Shah and later President Sardar Daoud in 1970s was ended not by foreign powers or popular revolt, but by tanks rolling out of the barracks. This shattered a foundational principle for any democracy: that the military must remain subordinate to civilian authority and stay out of politics. Furthermore, despite decades of international investment that created a force of over 300,000 soldiers with modern weaponry, this army proved shockingly inefficient against the motorcycle-riding, sandal-wearing Taliban in 2021. Its collapse revealed a hollowness that numbers and equipment could not fill—a lack of cohesive national spirit, endemic corruption, and a reliance on foreign support that proved to be a house of cards.

Beyond internal fragility, an aspiration for a conventionally “strong” army can be counterproductive geopolitically. It risks alarming neighboring countries, turning potential partners wary and fueling regional security dilemmas. Afghanistan’s greatest need is not to project power but to foster cooperation and economic integration.

Most importantly, Afghanistan’s own history offers a profound lesson in the true source of its resilience. When the British Empire invaded in the 19th century, and when the Soviet Union occupied it in the 20th, it was not a professional, uniformed army that ultimately expelled the invaders. It was the people—the ordinary farmers, villagers, and tribesmen—who, with little more than determination, local knowledge, and simple means, forced history’s greatest empires into retreat. This proves that Afghanistan’s ultimate security does not lie in a costly, centralized military, but in the unity and will of its citizens.

Skeptics will rightly argue that a state cannot forfeit its monopoly on legitimate force. The goal, however, is not to create a security vacuum, but to redefine ‘legitimate force’ in a way that serves, rather than threatens, the nation. Afghanistan's gravest dangers are internal—fragmentation, terrorism, and criminal networks—not a conventional invasion. A large, politically ambitious army has historically been ill-suited and even counterproductive in addressing these threats. The required monopoly on force can be maintained by a capable, professional, and strictly apolitical constabulary force, focused on internal security and operating under firm civilian control. This shifts the paradigm from national defense against external enemies to public safety for its citizens.

Therefore, the most pragmatic and self-respecting path forward may be to consciously abandon an unaffordable and historically problematic model. Afghanistan does not need generals with stars on their shoulders while its population begs the world for aid. Instead, it needs a lean, affordable, and strictly domestic-focused force—a capable National Guard dedicated to internal security, disaster response, and counter-terrorism. This would free the nation’s scarce resources for the true foundations of strength.

The money saved must be left in the national pocket to provide basic services: to pay teachers, doctors, and civil servants; to rebuild shattered infrastructure; and to invest in the agriculture and industry that allow a people to thrive. Afghanistan needs a few good men for domestic security, and a great many good schools, roads, and clinics for its future. A country respects itself not by maintaining a burdensome army it cannot afford, but by ensuring the dignity, education, and basic well-being of its citizens. That is the sustainable strength, forged not in military barracks, but in the hearts and homes of its people.

Afghanistan could look to a surprising group of nations for a different model of sovereignty. Several countries, including Costa Rica and Iceland, have chosen not to maintain traditional standing armies, and others, like Liechtenstein, have found it a necessity. Costa Rica famously abolished its military in 1949 following a civil war, choosing instead to invest in education, healthcare, and environmental protection—a decision enshrined in its constitution. Similarly, Iceland, a founding member of NATO, has no standing army but ensures its security through alliance membership and bilateral agreements. Meanwhile, the small principality of Liechtenstein abolished its army in 1868, deeming it too costly, and maintains its security through neutrality and cooperation with neighboring states. These nations demonstrate that formal state defense can be organized through robust diplomacy, regional partnerships, and capable domestic police or national guard units. While Afghanistan's regional context is more volatile, their example is instructive not in mimicking their specific security arrangements, but in demonstrating the principle of consciously aligning military posture with national priorities and fiscal reality. For Afghanistan, this principle means investing first in the internal cohesion that has always been its real shield. They redirect the immense financial and human resources required for a conventional military toward building the foundations of a stable society: its institutions, its economy, and its people. Afghanistan, with its deep history of popular resilience and its pressing need to rebuild, might find in their example not a sign of weakness, but a pragmatic formula for authentic and sustainable strength.

 Examples of Nations Without Standing Armies

The table below summarizes a few key examples of how different countries manage their national security without a traditional military.

Country	Status of Army	Primary Security Arrangement	Notable Context
Costa Rica	Abolished in 1949	Police force (Public Force); regional treaties	Constitutionally prohibited; funds redirected to social programs
Iceland	No standing army since 1869	Member of NATO; defense agreement with the U.S.	Maintains a coast guard and air policing via NATO allies
Liechtenstein	Army abolished in 1868	Policy of neutrality; informal agreements with Switzerland & Austria	Deemed a standing army too costly to maintain
Panama	Abolished in 1990 (constitutional in 1994)	National police and public forces with som

 

Afghanistan has already tested the belief that a strong army creates a strong nation, and the result is written in coups, corruption, and collapse. Respect is not earned by maintaining a force a country cannot afford, control, or root in society, but by building legitimacy among its people. History shows that Afghanistan endured not through centralized military power, but through social resilience and popular will. Its future will not be secured in barracks or parades, but in classrooms, clinics, farms, and roads—where dignity replaces desperation and loyalty becomes organic. Choosing people over military illusion is not weakness; it is realism, restraint, and the only form of strength that has ever lasted in Afghanistan.