How the Taliban Built an Air Force

The collapse of the Afghan state amid the United States’ withdrawal in 2021 gifted the new Taliban government with more than $7 billion worth of U.S. military equipment. Afghanistan’s new overlords suddenly found themselves with fleets of Humvees, mountains of machine guns, and forests of radars and satellite dishes. The vast hardware hoard also included dozens of aircraft: a motley mix of Hind and Blackhawk helicopters, cargo planes, and close air support props.

Before the Taliban even had time to inventory their new arsenal, Egyptian filmmaker Ibrahim Nash’at arrived in Kabul. From his home in Berlin, he had seen the scenes of civilians storming Kabul’s international airport in a desperate attempt to flee, and he had managed to obtain permission to come to Afghanistan and film. But his plan—to record the suffering of ordinary Afghans—was swiftly dashed. Accompanied by a Taliban minder at all times and forbidden to film anyone other than a Taliban commander and his men, Nash’at was forced to switch tack. That commander happened to be Mawlawi Mansour, the Taliban fighter in charge of creating a new Taliban air force from the equipment and pilots who were left behind.

Before the Taliban even had time to inventory their new arsenal, Egyptian filmmaker Ibrahim Nash’at arrived in Kabul. From his home in Berlin, he had seen the scenes of civilians storming Kabul’s international airport in a desperate attempt to flee, and he had managed to obtain permission to come to Afghanistan and film. But his plan—to record the suffering of ordinary Afghans—was swiftly dashed. Accompanied by a Taliban minder at all times and forbidden to film anyone other than a Taliban commander and his men, Nash’at was forced to switch tack. That commander happened to be Mawlawi Mansour, the Taliban fighter in charge of creating a new Taliban air force from the equipment and pilots who were left behind.

Under orders from Mansour, Nash’at became the unexpected chronicler of a high-profile facet of Afghanistan’s regime change. The result is Hollywoodgate, a 90-minute documentary named after the sprawling U.S. base in Kabul, where the Taliban created their new air force after U.S. forces fled. In a total of seven months in the new Afghanistan and assisted only by a lone translator, Nash’at shot 220 hours of footage, later culled down with a team of five producers and nine Afghan translators. Overcoming his subjects’ extreme suspicion, Nash’at managed eventually to blend into Taliban meetings, inspections, and military missions, becoming so invisible that his subjects forgot about his camera and relaxed.

Mansour takes command of the former U.S. air base and immediately sets to work. He inspects his new force and is impressed by the scale of U.S. resources. But he is appalled by their Spartan aesthetics; “plant some trees here” is a constant command to scurrying subordinates as Mansour strides across the base. Taliban conversations show a sudden inversion: Off-screen holdouts against the new regime are “the insurgents” opposed by “our special forces.”

For Mansour’s men, the order of the day is repairing aircraft, many of which were purposely disabled by departing U.S. forces. After a perfunctory grilling, a handful of pilots from the old Afghan air force are welcomed into the new force. (Many others had fled with their aircraft to neighboring countries.) Training new Taliban pilots will take time, but Mansour gets a course up and running, his lecturers aided by a cardboard mock-up of a cockpit.

Women are immediately pushed to the margins of the new Afghanistan. With a whiff of amusement at their past effrontery, Mansour dictates that women in his ministry may return to work, but only if they are veiled. His own wife, he brags to his staff, is a doctor, but he restricted her to the home upon marriage.

The mood among Mansour’s future Taliban airmen is upbeat. We see low-ranking fighters exulting in their victory over the Americans and “the Jews.” An ambitious lieutenant is showered in confetti to celebrate his acceptance into the new air force academy. A gleeful door guard flags every comrade passing him in the hall with his U.S.-made M-4 rifle—the cocktail of frivolity and danger that characterizes many an insurgency or militia in the poorest parts of the world.

At times, the new overlords can verge on endearing. Mansour and his men visit the base’s well-appointed gym, where one Talib struggles to press a pair of dumbbells above his head. The boss steps on a treadmill and happily plods along, ordering one sent to his home “to make my belly smaller.”

I witnessed a very similar scene when I was deployed to Afghanistan as a U.S. Marine more than a decade ago. When we handed over a coalition patrol base to one of the Afghan government’s paramilitary forces, the incoming commander breezed by the fortifications, operations center, and mess hall. But a derelict elliptical trainer in our sandy outdoor gym fascinated him. He hopped aboard with a big grin and churned away, to the bemusement of the handful of watching Marines.

Outside the tight circle in which he was permitted to film, Nash’at was far less welcome, he told me in an interview this summer. In his wordless brushes with Afghan civilians, he felt indicted by their stares. He was convinced that they saw him as an Arab propagandist—a voyeur who had come to Afghanistan to see and celebrate the Taliban’s triumph.

Despite the restrictions placed on him as an outsider, Nash’at managed to get glimpses of ordinary Afghan life. Children occasionally appear onscreen, and we get a sense of the extent to which they have been formed and traumatized by a lifetime of war. Hanging on a tow ring of a hulking mine-resistant vehicle, one boy in a camouflage shalwar kameez mumbles that he will “take a weapon and kill you all.”

After months of maintenance, training, and reorganization, Mansour gets his triumph. Toward the end of Nash’at’s filming, the Taliban stage a military parade for their own men and a handful of Russian, Chinese, and Iranian dignitaries. After a show of marching infantry, armored vehicles, and a battalion intended for suicide bombing on motorcycles, Hinds and Blackhawks fly past the grandstand. It’s a successful first operation for the Taliban’s new air force, even if the fly-by is bit too fast for Mansour’s liking.

In the film’s final scene, Mansour is seen on his cell phone berating an official at the Tajikistan Defense Ministry for harboring the Taliban’s enemies. Nash’at told me he believes that many Taliban have aims beyond Afghanistan’s borders. One high-ranking leader told him, “I can’t wait until we conquer Egypt.” The Taliban believe they and their forebears have turned Afghanistan into the graveyard of empires, defeating the British Empire, the Soviet Union, and now the United States. One fighter exults that “with American weapons we will rule the world!”

Whatever their intentions, the film also leaves viewers skeptical of the Taliban’s ability to wield meaningful military power. Like many journalists since then, Nash’at immediately picked up on the boredom among the Taliban fighters that followed on the heels of military victory. While negotiating Kabul’s traffic in a sedan just weeks after the city’s fall, one of Mansour’s lieutenants tells the filmmaker that he already longs for war: the return of the Americans, 500 bullets, and martyrdom. Late in the film, an enthusiastic crowd of Taliban tries to pile into an aircraft for a VIP test flight and are beaten off with curses by Mansour’s men. Afghanistan’s new rulers are likely to have their hands full just keeping discipline among their own former fighters.

Nash’at likened the realities of governing after fighting to coming down from a narcotic high. Building a bureaucracy seems much harder work than winning a war. Staff meetings and wrangling over budgets are a poor substitute for ambushes and assaults. Early in the film, one Talib waxes nostalgic for the life of an insurgent, showing Nash’at the cave he and a few other men took refuge in.

Despite his fear and disgust of the Taliban, Nash’at believes that the West should engage them. He said that if they are ignored, they will act out for the world’s attention, to the detriment of their own people and the region. But he harbors no illusions that such engagement will yield swift changes in the character of the Taliban.

With Hollywoodgate, now streaming after a limited theatrical release, Nash’at may not have made the film he originally set out to make. The suffering of the Afghan people was walled off from him. The Taliban’s strictures confined him to a narrow lane and, as he notes in an introductory voice-over, to the story they wanted to tell the world. But if the Taliban thought that they had put Nash’at on a short enough leash to force him to produce a piece of propaganda for the new regime, they were mistaken, too.

After Mansour’s air show, Taliban secret police demanded that Nash’at come to their office and show them all of his footage. As he told IndieWire in an interview, he knew then that his work was done: “I was filming the transformation of a militia into a military regime, and I realized at that moment the transformation was complete.” Through empathy, patience, and not a little audacity, Nash’at succeeded in capturing a story of Afghan nation-building—but a far different one than almost any Westerner could have imagined 20 years before.