Borders

The Afghanistan crisis is generally spoken of as a crisis of the hour in terms of the Taliban, outside power intervention, or an unsuccessful election season. Such framing is not as profound as the problem. The state and province conquests, bargaining, and coercion united Afghanistan, the state, but not a civic transaction between peoples. Although the significance of an actual national flag was yet to arrive, Tajiks, Uzbeks, Hazaras, Pashtuns, and minorities occupied different regions, related to regional leaders, tribal councils, and local trade routes. The power was not national but local and individual. The contemporary state emerged later, and at the inception of its emergence, it was naturally skewed in a manner that remained to fulfil the definition of politics.

The birth of Ahmad Shah Abdali, recalled as Ahmad Shah Durrani in the middle of the eighteenth century, could be recalled as one of the foundational legends. It was also when the military alliance of one community had become the core of the state’s strength. The shell of a state was built by Ahmad Shah through warfare, and the coalition of Pashtun tribes consolidated the territory and gained more lands, with the foundation of a heterogeneous and broad territory. The logic, however, was not inclusion. It was piety, preference, and blackmail. Peripheral territories like the non-Pashtun were to be ruled as they were expected to submit, pay, or surrender when the center was strong and to ignore when it was weak. That model had never killed with Ahmad Shah. It was a practice that has been emulated by other leaders who have come after and tried to play a stage of unity without building institutions that can be regarded as belonging to all groups.

The trend was established following the demise of Ahmad Shah. Kabul was rarely what it purported to be. Power moved around among leaders, but the leadership was generally stopped at metropolises, armies, and major highways. Large areas were something like semi-autonomous states, which cooperated with the state, fought it, or alternated in each of the seasons. When they say that Afghanistan has never had full rule of its own land, people are not hurting the country; they are saying a structural truth, which is that the center has never had sovereignty and has never received legitimacy on the full map. The actual authority was left to the ethnic groups, strongmen, clerics, and commanders. In that perspective, any change in Kabul became existential to the non-residents of the city, as the state was no competition referee but a prize.

Even the geography and the demography make this worse. Pashtuns have been estimated to be approximately 42 percent, Tajiks approximately 27 percent, and Hazaras and Uzbeks approximately 9 percent, and the rest are made up of Turkmen, Baloch, and others. Two official languages exist: Pashto and Dari, but the status of any language could never be a purely cultural one since it was always a political one. Even the name of the country, Afghanistan, is perceived by most Afghans as a loaded word, and that practice is tied to the Pashtun identity and leadership even when they are being applied as a national one. People are angry because of the gap between the way the label instructs us to feel and the way that people feel. Pleas of togetherness are empty when the name of a state is doubted even in real life.

The south, northeast, and many of the cities are then the Pashtun, Tajik, Uzbek, and Hazara distributions, respectively. These areas are not eliminated by violent migration, displacement in war, or careful political manipulation. Rather, the blurring would contribute to some new fault lines, and communities would need to be pushed into the interspace of their neighbors without an established system of solving disagreements without favoritism. The cross-border relationships include the Tajiks and Tajikistan, Uzbeks and Uzbekistan, and Pashtuns and Pakistan, and there is a stable tug-of-war that the neighbors and patrons can make use of. A low external and high center connection is a formula for continued disintegration.

This is the sphere where the aspect of security cannot be neglected. The decades of controversial control and open borders have transformed parts of Afghanistan into an attractive location for militants that occupy uncontrolled space. When the state cannot provide some kind of protection over territory, the armed networks take its position and deliver protection, taxation, ideology, and logistics. These networks do not have a localization. Training, financing, and planning have border-crossing characteristics, subjecting the region to an environment of a shared threat. At that, the question is not only a moral or historical one, but one of expediency: what are the political structures that may be implemented to make sure that Afghanistan will no longer remain a jihadist temptation to armed groups that can break the peace of its neighbors?

The solution is suggested in a provocative manner, and that is the territorial restructuring, a peaceful partitioning of the state along ethnic and regional lines: Uzbek majority areas become Uzbekistan, Tajik majority areas become Tajikistan, Pashtun majority areas become Pakistan, another separate state is established called Hazaras, etc. The appeal is obvious. It will eliminate the sovereignty of a group, a distinct line of power, and smaller political units, which might be more efficient to govern. It also tries to compare borders to lives in stating that when people believe that the state is an extension of them and not the rulers of the state, then stability is achieved.

The tiny, off-grid cabin looked almost unreal: made of repurposed oak it stood by a private lochan, with separate cedar sauna, cold outdoor shower, sunken hot tub, and a jetty with two hammocks and a pair of paddleboards. It screamed Finland or Sweden, not a sheep and deer farm in the Scottish Borders. It was the sort of isolated location that would set Ben Fogle’s heart racing in New Lives in the Wild. Two swans bugled my arrival. I felt a little embarrassed that all of it was mine.

Sometimes, we need to escape to a place where the phone coverage is bad enough to make you believe you’re somewhere truly wild. Tiny Home Borders, hidden in rippling foothills 10 miles east of Hawick, is such a place. Last August, owners David and Claire Mactaggart opened a second two-person cabin on their farmland (the first opened in 2022) and I jumped at the chance to stay, swim, soak, and – crucially – switch-off.

That first night, on the windblown deck a metre above the lapping water, I fired up the outdoor wood oven and tried to relax. But there was too much to do. First, I had a sauna. Then, I braved a cold plunge in the lochan and a rewarding soak in the burbling hot tub, with the smell of wood smoke filling my nostrils. A pizza followed beside the cabin’s crackling log burner, and later I stargazed using the cabin’s fabulous telescope.

As farms seek new ways to make money, farm stays and agritourism are, unsurprisingly a growing sector. According to Visit Scotland, the combined value of agritourism and farm retail could reach £250m by 2030, a rise driven by growing consumer interest in sustainable tourism. Fittingly, the country is to host the inaugural Global Agritourism Conference in June, and the big topic of discussion within farming is not only the increasing costs of food production but how to diversify and do so sustainably.

The Mactaggarts built their first tiny hut out of an old bale trailer, as an experiment more than anything else. The dream was to create an eco home away from home, with a mezzanine sleeping space above the lounge and kitchen, and with drama to match the setting below Rubers Law, a mini Ben Nevis on the banks of the River Teviot. Then, quickly, one cabin became two, the second built far out of sight of the other. Plans are afoot for a third cabin in another glen on the farm. And everything is as eco as possible, with hemp insulation, solar panels and batteries, reclaimed wood from the farm – and no wifi.

A 90-minute drive from Edinburgh, the location is a great base for exploring an undervisited part of the country. “The Borders is nothing more than a drive-through for many visitors coming north,” Claire said. “It’s a beautiful area, but it’s one so few know about,” David added.

Beside the location, breakfast is one of the delights of a stay. Fresh bread. Salty butter. Homemade marmalade. Farm eggs, when the hens are laying. Coffee on the deck and a set of binoculars provided. On my first morning, the sky shone saltire blue.

Wildlife adds to the picture. Red deer outnumber people in these hills, so with wellies on after breakfast, I headed up the gentle slopes of Rubers Law to look for the Borders’ Big Five: bellowing deer, plus sheep, fox, pheasant and red squirrel.

I passed along a muddy single track where wildflowers and wild garlic starting to sprout below hawthorn. Ahead, I saw two vicar-collared male pheasants, then, farther up the brae, five enormous hind deer that had come down from the cold of the hill. In the distance, where the path ended, I could see ducks, sheep, cattle and horses. It was Old MacDonald Had a Farm sprung to life.

Few parts of the Borders are lovelier than historic Hawick. This town of textile weavers is full of cosy cafes, craft shops and tweed retailers that are perfect for a hit of winter warmth, and the centre is stitched together by four bridges, but also by mills for some of the world’s best-known knitwear manufacturers, including Hawico and Lovat Mill.

Perhaps most striking is Johnstons of Elgin, home to a visitor centre, cafe and showroom designed to showcase the appeal of Borders knitwear. Thanks to Hawick’s longstanding tradition, its cashmere, merino and tweed pieces are now coveted by the biggest names in haute couture: Chanel, Dior, Louis Vuitton and Ralph Lauren.

After lunch at nearby Damascus Drum, a cafe-bookshop decorated with flat-weave rugs, I joined a guided tour of Johnstons of Elgin’s newly extended operation at Eastfield Mill, which opened last August. The mill is labyrinthine and atmospheric, home to hundreds of knitters, needle-workers and machines, all hand-finishing, stitching and whirring. Next to this is a yarn library holding 18 tonnes of kaleidoscopic colour, from gorse yellow to heathery purple.

My last stop was the Borders Distillery in the town’s former hydroelectric plant, a fitting place to finish on a winter’s day. With the rain pouring outside, the sky dark as slate, a glass of blended Scotch at the tour’s end from distiller David Shuttleworth felt like a blessing. The glass smelt of green apples and grass, and I was perfectly able to picture the Borders farms that grow the barley for the spirit’s malt.

“The whisky industry is about storytelling and ours is tied to Hawick’s landscape,” said David. “The Teviot brought us here and all our malt comes from 20 miles around the distillery.” That also translates to a low carbon footprint and a community-driven vision that, combined with a takeaway miniature dram, left me feeling heartened.

Back at the cabin, it was late, and, out there in the darkness, I sat under the deck’s awning in the rain, my glass of whisky drained. What a great wee place Hawick is, I thought. What a place of rural community and inspiration. And hopefully many newcomers will agree with the Mactaggarts – that this is a place that’s been overlooked by too many for too long.

The trip was provided by Visit Scotland and Tiny Home Borders. Tiny Home One sleeps two, from £180 per night B&B (two-night minimum, including pick up if travelling by public transport). Johnstons of Elgin tours cost £15. Borders Distillery tours, £20. For more information on visiting Hawick, see Scotland Starts Here