Kabul is dying, not to the sound of explosions, but to the sound of mechanical shovels, the sharp smell of fresh asphalt, and the heavy shadow of substandard towers that grow taller every day. Many of our citizens see these sounds and shadows as signs of prosperity: a road that has become wider, a building that has risen eighteen floors, and people who take photos of these changes and send them to relatives abroad. But the truth is more bitter than this picture. What is happening in Kabul is not development. It is a planned catastrophe built on collective unawareness, a psychological need for hope, and the interests of a particular group. Wider roads have made traffic worse, tall towers have dried up water resources, and the taxes collected from handcart pushers and street vendors fill the pockets of the very people who are leading the city toward a slow death. This article was written neither for consolation nor for gentle words. It is for those who still think that taller buildings and wider roads mean progress. It is time to break this illusion.
After the Taliban returned to power, Kabul became a grand stage for display. Widening roads, demolishing some of the old buildings, paving routes with asphalt, and issuing permits for towers of up to eighteen floors quickly became part of the official narrative of “reconstruction.” It is natural that people weary of decades of war and disorder, on seeing a new road and a tall building, feel that perhaps times are changing. Travelers from the provinces see these changes when they come to Kabul and describe them to others after returning home. People from Afghanistan living abroad, watching videos by affiliated YouTubers, imagine that the city is leaping forward. But this picture is misleading. The appearance of a city can be changed in a few months, but its real capacity cannot. When buildings go up, but the water table goes down; when roads become wider, but we spend more hours in traffic; and when the poorest are taxed while the benefits go into the pockets of particular capital owners, this process can no longer be called development. It is a deception whose cost will be paid by future generations.
Widening roads is one of the most dangerous illusions. The common assumption is that traffic results from a lack of space, so roads should be made wider. The science of transport planning has challenged this assumption for years. The phenomenon of “induced demand” points to exactly this issue: when road capacity increases, travel time may decrease temporarily. That same reduction in travel time encourages people to use private cars more. Those who previously traveled during off-peak hours, those who used minibuses, and even those who did not travel at all now come onto the road in private cars. The result is that after a few years, traffic returns to its previous level or becomes even worse. In many urban areas, an increase in road capacity can be accompanied by a similar increase in traffic volume.
The experience of cities around the world has shown this repeatedly. In New York, every time Robert Moses built a new bridge to reduce congestion, traffic increased on that bridge and on the old bridges. An endless cycle of highway building began, but the city was never freed from traffic. In Texas, the Katy Freeway, at a cost of nearly three billion dollars, became one of the widest highways in the world, with up to twenty-six lanes in some sections. Even so, morning travel times increased, and evening travel times became more than fifty percent longer. A huge amount of money was spent, and homes and businesses were demolished, yet traffic got worse.
Kabul is following the same path. Statistics released by the Traffic Directorate show that in the past year and a half, the number of driving licenses has increased by about forty percent and vehicle registration documents by about forty-seven percent. The widened roads have not only failed to reduce congestion but have increased it. Kabul residents also say that despite the new and widened roads, traffic conditions have become much worse. The main winners of this process are car manufacturing and import companies. The main losers are ordinary people, who pay for these fruitless projects through taxes and also waste more hours of their lives in traffic. Widening roads in Kabul, without developing efficient public transport, managing car parking, building safe sidewalks, and distributing urban services in a balanced way, only deepens dependence on private cars and destroys the culture of cycling. This is neither a solution nor progress. It is the reproduction of a crisis on a larger scale.
High-rise construction is the second catastrophe. A tall building is in itself neither good nor bad, but the vertical development of Kabul, given the state of the city’s infrastructure, can be disastrous. In cities where the necessary infrastructure is in place, high-rise construction can be beneficial. But in Kabul, where water resources are running out, electricity is unstable, there is no efficient waste management, and the culture of communal living in apartments has not taken shape well, building towers of up to eighteen floors without assessing infrastructure capacity is an extremely dangerous act. On land where a single family with limited consumption once lived, dozens of families may now be housed. Water and electricity consumption, waste production, and pressure on the sewage network multiply several times over. The area covered by concrete increases, and the infiltration of rainwater into the ground decreases. Kabul lies in an enclosed valley, and air circulation to disperse pollution also faces limitations. Vertical density, without calculating the ecological capacity of the city, piles problems into a smaller space.
Kabul’s water crisis is no longer a warning. It is a daily reality. According to some reports, the groundwater level has dropped by twenty-five to thirty meters over the past decade, and nearly half of the deep wells have dried up. The annual rate of water extraction is also estimated to be about forty-four million cubic meters more than the natural recharge of underground sources. Reports by international organizations and experts from Afghanistan have warned that if the current trend continues, Kabul may face a water “Day Zero” by 2029, a situation in which access to water would be severely disrupted for a large part of its residents. The return of millions of migrants and unchecked construction, including unplanned high-rise building, can accelerate this trend. Every new tower increases the demand for water. Without assessing the capacity of the area, monitoring groundwater extraction, and planning for the recharge of aquifers, an increase in the number of buildings can put even more pressure on water resources. A city that looks more beautiful from afar is drying up from within.
The political economy of these projects is too clear to remain hidden. Capital that was acquired through extortion and informal sources before the Taliban came to power may now be turned into official assets through construction, a process that can provide ground for money laundering. Distrust of banks has also created a strong incentive to convert cash into property. At the same time, collecting taxes even from handcart pushers and street vendors raises the final cost of goods. Part of this same revenue is again spent on widening roads and issuing permits for towers. The result can be a transfer of wealth from the poorest layers of society to large landowners and particular investors. The widening of a road increases the value of the land around it. The main benefit goes to those who already hold land, while everyone has paid for the cost of the project. This is neither development nor justice. It is a process that can lead to deepening inequality. Under such conditions, the poor become poorer, and the capitalist becomes richer, and the poor class of society is among the main victims of this construction.
If these projects were truly meant to be carried out professionally and based on the city’s needs, the Ministry of Urban Development and Land (MUDL), the Kabul Municipality, the National Environmental Protection Agency (NEPA), and experienced engineers and specialists should have played a fundamental role in the decision-making process. These institutions and experts should have been asked to assess the economic, social, technical, and environmental consequences of the projects. What is seen now shows that decisions are being made without sufficient attention to specialized knowledge and the real capacity of the city. It appears that the lack of awareness among some citizens about the consequences of these projects is being used to promote the official narrative of reconstruction, while the real costs of these policies will be paid by the people and future generations.
Demolishing buildings that violate the master plan, under current conditions and without considering alternative housing for poor families, is disastrous. The demolition of informal settlements (known locally as “beggar settlements”) means destroying the last asset of those who spent everything they had on building their small mud huts. This makes the city look tidier on the surface, but in reality, by such thoughtless action, we fuel the spread of poverty. Global experience shows that demolishing such buildings, without providing suitable alternatives, only leads to catastrophe.
In addition to their economic and environmental consequences, these programs also aim to change the ethnic composition of the city, a plan that has been worked on for many years to alter Kabul’s ethnic makeup. The impoverishment of the poor and the enrichment of capitalists are direct consequences of this process, and its main victim has always been the poor class of society.
Temporary employment in the construction sector cannot hide this reality either. When the construction of a tower is finished, the workers’ jobs end as well. If the city’s economy cannot create productive and lasting jobs, the employment effect of these projects will remain limited. Real development comes from production, agriculture, small industries, and sustainable services, not from temporary concrete pouring. If the country’s limited resources are spent on projects whose social and economic returns are unclear, the opportunity to invest in education, health, water supply, and agriculture is lost.
The destruction of the urban fabric is also a cost that does not appear in asphalt statistics. When homes are demolished to widen roads and families are displaced, one must ask whether fair compensation has been paid, whether local businesses have been destroyed, and whether people have been able to continue living in the same area. A city is not just roads and towers. A city is memory, social relationships, the small shop, and the way of life of its people. If, in the course of making the city’s appearance more beautiful, the lives of those who built it are ignored, this beauty will be nothing but deception.
Air pollution and the heat island effect are also intensifying. Kabul already faces severe air pollution. Poor building density, greater dependence on cars, the removal of green space, and weak environmental management make these problems worse. Asphalt and concrete absorb heat, and the reduction of vegetation cover increases the heat island effect. In a city facing water shortages, green space should be designed using low-water plant species and smart water management, not through the showy planting of a few trees that dry up after a few months.
The root cause of the crisis is the concentration of opportunities in Kabul. People come to the capital for work, school, hospitals, and their children’s future, not out of a love for living in a crowded and polluted city. Until economic opportunities and quality services are available in the provinces, the pressure of migration to Kabul will continue. Sustainable development of Kabul is not possible without balanced development of the provinces. Strengthening mid-sized cities, investing in agriculture and local industries, and expanding vocational training can reduce part of this pressure. People should not be forced to move to Kabul to gain access to the most basic opportunities.
Real development requires a different approach: a comprehensive urban plan that takes into account the capacity of water resources, transport, waste management, and natural hazards; scientific management of the water crisis through regular measurement, reduction of waste, and protection of aquifers; an integrated transport system that prioritizes public transport, safe walking, and reduced dependence on private cars; full transparency in budgets, contracts, and project outcomes; protection of low-income groups against forced displacement; and genuine participation of citizens and specialists in decision-making. These measures may not be as striking in videos as an eighteen-floor tower, but they can improve people’s lives and prevent future crises.
The measure of progress must change. Progress should not be measured by the number of floors in buildings. Instead, quality of life should be the yardstick: ease and safety of movement, sustainability of natural resources, access to clean water, breathable air, and fair economic opportunities. If buildings become taller but access to water becomes harder, if roads become wider but the cost of living rises, and if the city’s appearance changes but people remain excluded from participation in decision-making, this is not development. It is deception.
Conclusion
Kabul is dying, and this death cannot be stopped with concrete and asphalt. Widening roads have increased traffic, high-rise construction has increased pressure on water resources, and the show of reconstruction, instead of solving the city’s fundamental problems, has become a tool for laundering capital and deceiving public opinion. The Taliban government knows that its rule is not sustainable and, it appears, lacks the necessary emotional and historical bond with the city’s identity and heritage. Therefore, the long-term consequences of these policies for Kabul are not given priority. What matters is a short-term display and the conversion of black money into tangible assets. Citizens who are not sufficiently aware of the consequences of these projects may, on seeing the towers and wide roads, inadvertently lend legitimacy to this show.
It is time to break this cycle. Kabul does not need a show of development. It needs development in which life is possible: access to water, clean air, suitable transport, social justice, and economic opportunities. If we do not change the measure of success from the height of buildings to the quality of life, one day we will find ourselves among eighteen-floor towers and wide roads, facing water shortages, deadly pollution, and deeper inequality. On that day, these buildings will not be a symbol of progress but a reminder of the opportunities we have lost. It is not the height of its buildings that keeps a city alive. It is the water, the environment, the economy, and the lives of its people that give a city meaning. If we forget this truth, while we are busy watching towers rise, we will lose the real foundations of life in Kabul.
Sources
- Studies on induced demand and the experience of American highways, including the Katy Freeway and the programs of Robert Moses in New York
- Reports by Mercy Corps and analyses by Afghanistan water experts on Kabul’s water crisis and the forecast of reaching “Day Zero” by 2029
- Reports by international media on the decline of Kabul’s groundwater levels and the risk of water resources running out by 2029
- Principles of urban planning in arid and semi-arid regions and a critique of the tower-building model that ignores a city’s ecological capacity
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