It has been a year since the Taliban disappeared from Afghanistan's capital. But in the red-rimmed eyes of Delawar Selab, little has changed.

Squatting on a staircase outside Kabul University, Mr. Selab, a senior, explains how a cousin and a friend were shot and killed by police last week during a demonstration demanding food and electricity for their dormitories. "There is no difference between then and now," says Selab, a medical student. "The only difference is that under the Taliban, we had to wear a turban and a beard."

That may be an aggrieved and not-quite-accurate assessment of how much has changed in the year since US-led allied forces teamed up with the Northern Alliance and drove the world's most fundamentalist Islamic regime from power. But it does reveal the frustration many here feel over the pace of change - and a certain disenchantment with both Afghanistan's leadership and the world's promises of massive reconstruction aid. And while much of the $4.5 billion pledged at a Tokyo donor conference in January has been trickling in, America's foreign policy focus - which was Kabul this time last year - is clearly Baghdad.

"The situation in Iraq has done no good whatsoever for the situation in Afghanistan," says Charles Heyman, a defense analyst and editor of Jane's World Armies in London, referring to a waning interest in solving the problems of this war-tattered nation. "Afghanistan is beginning to be put in the 'too-difficult' box."

Instead, the country's competing ethnic groups, the enduring power of local warlords, and a reluctance on the part of participating nations to expand the International Security Assistance Force (ISAF) beyond the capital has led to an approach Mr. Heyman defines as "covering over some patches when its possible, until anyone has some time to sort it out properly."

The unrest at Kabul University is a case in point. A dormitory built for 800 and reserved for out-of-town students now houses 3,000. Windows shattered by last year's fighting have been repaired, but on most nights the dorm is freezing and dark, lit only by a few gas lamps.

The students have complained about the lack of electricity - which Kabul residents usually get for about six hours each evening - and the lack of food. Last week, when the late afternoon meals - which mark a day of fasting for the Islamic holy month of Ramadan - ran out, 500 unfed students protested. Their numbers grew to between 1,000 and 2,000, and they tried to march toward the presidential palace.

"We thought this was a real democracy," Gulbeddin Fazli, an engineering student, complains in perfect English. "We didn't know we could be killed for demonstrating. Otherwise, we wouldn't have done it."

In addition to Selab's cousin and friend, three other students were killed at the demonstration, and several were injured, according to students. The students say that when they went to the hospital to visit their friends, they were turned away by doctors who warned them that the police would be watching and would later arrest them.

Area Police Chief Mohammed Sadiq says his men had orders to fire only in the air in order to turn back students. According to Mr. Sadiq, two other forces, including a division of the Afghan Army, were responsible for the shootings - an explanation confirmed by Western officials. The shootings are under investigation.

Page: 1 | 2 | 3