their assistance to Afghanistan in every way they could think of. The Soviets poured in billions of dollars in aid. They built Afghanistan’s industry, paved its roads, and purchased its oil and gas. They invited thousands of Afghans to study in the USSR. They supplied the Afghan military with tanks and planes and artillery and filled its ranks with Soviet advisers. And now the president of the country was throwing their friends in jail.
Despite his youth, Ayazi had already seen enough of Afghanistan’s factional politics to understand the potential for serious conflict. In Kandahar, where he grew up, his father was the principal of a local high school. Early in the 1970s the student body had begun to fragment into competing blocs. No sooner had the school’s young Communists formed a discussion group than militant Muslims responded with a cell of their own. Ayazi’s father, a secularist liberal who disagreed with both tendencies, had banned all activism from the school grounds, earning him the enmity of both camps. Just for good measure he had also forbidden his son to get involved in politics until he was mature enough to make informed choices.
The tensions in Ayazi’s high school reflected what was happening in the country at large. President Mohammed Daoud Khan had originally sympathized with the Communists. In 1973 he had overthrown King Zahir Shah, his own cousin, and declared a republic with himself at the helm. The People’s Democratic Party of Afghanistan, the local version of the Communist Party, had helped him overthrow the king. But as the years went by, Daoud grew wary of his allies and maneuvered to avoid becoming an outright client of the USSR. He sought improved relations with the Muslim Middle East and particularly with Iran, America’s main regional ally.
The Kremlin viewed these efforts with a growing degree of alarm, and they transferred their dissatisfaction to their Communist allies inside Afghanistan. PDPA leaders grew increasingly vocal in their criticisms of Daoud’s policies. As a result, by the spring of 1978, Daoud’s friends on the Left were beginning to make him nervous. Tensions between the president and the Communists rose. In April one of the senior leaders of the PDPA was shot dead by two assassins who appeared at the door of his home. Who orchestrated the killing remains unclear to this day, but there is no dispute about the consequences. The Communists, scenting a government plot, railed against the government and staged a big protest march through downtown Kabul. Daoud hesitated for a few days, then rounded up the leaders of the PDPA. It was a declaration of war.
As he read the announcement of the arrests, Ayazi suspected that the Communists might attempt to fight back. Little did he know how quickly he would be proved right. As he and his friend walked out of the radio station, they were startled to see a tank lumber into the courtyard. Confused, the two men ran into the street—just in time to see more tanks heading toward them. As Ayazi watched, one of the tanks swiveled its turret and fired a shell into the nearby presidential palace. Soviet-made MiG fighter jets swirled overhead. Ayazi rushed off to warn hismother, who was working in another part of the city, and bring her home to safety, where they sheltered as the fighting continued.
The gunfire and the confusion went on for another twenty-four hours. By the end the Communists and their allies were able to celebrate their triumph. With surprising ease they had succeeded, in less than a day, in routing the government. Daoud and most of his family were dead, gunned down in the palace, where they had held out until the end against the rebels. The commander of the tank that fired that first shot became the new minister of defense.
When Ayazi returned to work, he discovered that he was out of a job. It turned out that most of his colleagues at the radio station, who were now proudly sporting red armbands, had been covert
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