On Sept 20, 2025, President Trump’s blistering demand to reclaim Bagram signals an American bid to restore deterrence — a move that quietly strengthens Israel’s regional security calculus.
Afghanistan has always been a land of ironies: a sparsely populated, road-scarred nation that nevertheless holds outsized strategic value — and a long record of turning great powers into cautionary tales. From Alexander to the Soviets and most recently the United States, outsiders who tried to dominate its valleys paid dearly for the attempt.
Bagram Air Base was not just another forward operating site. Built into the Afghan landscape as the largest U.S. base after 2001, roughly 50 kilometers north of Kabul, it became Washington’s operational hub: logistics, troops, command and control. Bagram also came to symbolize the moral and legal quagmires of modern counterinsurgency — secret detentions and controversial interrogations — and therefore the deep ambivalence that often accompanies foreign military footprints.
When the Taliban took Bagram in August 2021, they turned a powerful American symbol into proof of Washington’s costly retreat. That loss reverberated far beyond Afghanistan: it was a challenge to American credibility and to the regional balance of power.
So when President Donald Trump posted on social media on September 20, 2025 — in all caps — “IF AFGHANISTAN DOESN’T GIVE BAGRAM AIRBASE BACK TO THOSE THAT BUILT IT, THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, BAD THINGS ARE GOING TO HAPPEN,” it was no mere flash of rhetoric. His follow-up to reporters at the White House — “We’re talking now to Afghanistan… and if they don’t do it, you’re going to find out what I’m gonna do” — made clear this was a deliberate attempt to reclaim lost leverage and restore a concrete symbol of American might.
For states that prize deterrence and stable lines of defense, such as Israel, a revived U.S. posture in Afghanistan matters. It signals that Washington is prepared to put weight behind its strategic commitments and to confront non-state actors and hostile regimes that threaten regional order. Restoring Bagram would not be about nostalgia; it would be about sending a clear message: the era of easy withdrawals and symbolic losses is being contested.
The Taliban’s retort — confident, defiant, almost taunting — underlined their transformation. They are no longer merely a guerrilla force; they govern. They run ministries, courts, police forces, and a shadowed military structure with administrative reach. Their version of legitimacy is messy and widely rejected on human-rights grounds — especially due to draconian limits on women, education, and free media — but the reality on the ground is undebatable: they hold power.
That power is now financed to a surprising degree. Beyond donations and illicit networks, the Taliban collect taxes, customs, and revenues from trade and minerals — copper, lithium among them — and officials estimate these streams amount to hundreds of millions of dollars a year. Those resources pay salaries, stabilize patronage networks, and underwrite an emergent state apparatus. In short, the Taliban have moved from exile economics to budgetary governance.
This shift creates bargaining space. Despite uncompromising public rhetoric, the Taliban understand realpolitik. They need currency and recognition: money keeps the bureaucracy humming and fighters paid; legitimacy opens diplomatic doors and reduces isolation. Those needs make negotiation — not because their ideology has softened but because the mechanics of rule demand compromise — a live possibility.
What, then, can the United States do if diplomacy stalls? Economic leverage is one of the few durable tools left. Sanctions, asset freezes, blacklistings, and targeted restrictions on mineral exports could squeeze revenue flows and push the Taliban toward the table. But such measures cut both ways: they inflict pain on ordinary Afghans and risk further destabilization. The moral calculus is cruel and complex.
At stake is much more than a single base. Trump’s push for Bagram reflects a broader American intent to reclaim deterrence and repair a dented reputation. The Taliban’s posture reflects its dual strategy: harsh ideology for domestic control, pragmatic calculation when governance demands it. Between them sits a ledger of costs — human, financial, and geopolitical.
For allies who rely on American strength, a determined U.S. stance is welcome: it reduces the risk that regional adversaries will exploit power vacuums, and it reinforces alliances that depend on credible deterrence. But for Afghanistan, and for ordinary Afghans, the question is darker: who will ultimately pay the price — and who will gain the prize?
