A great, and unreported, story: in Kabul and beyond, three and a half years after invasion

THE first free election in Afghanistan's history was a seminal event for that country and for our own. With their votes, Afghans risked their own personal security and advanced our national security: They implemented the first concrete act of President Bush's transformative foreign-policy strategy to replace tyranny and terrorism with liberty and opportunity. To borrow a phrase, Afghans' first step for individual freedom was a giant leap for world peace.

Despite the significance of these events--their potential to transform the Islamic world--both Western and Middle Eastern media have devoted scant coverage to them. My friend Rush Limbaugh and I were both frustrated by--and curious about--this virtual news blackout, and were delighted when USAID gave us an opportunity to join a delegation to see the progress in Afghanistan for ourselves.

At 30,000 feet, the appeal of Afghanistan to its many invaders is clear. Flying over the miles of snowcapped mountains and sweeping plateaus positioned in one of the world's most geographically strategic intersections, I thought of the ancient conquerors--Darius, Alexander, Genghis Khan--who swept across this land; of the traders who forged the Silk Road and fused European and Asian cultures; of the British and Russians whose clandestine Great Game left Afghanistan a legacy of institutional bribery; even of the American hippies who invaded in pursuit of the most meditative mountains--and (allegedly) best hashish--in the world.

This romantic history receded rapidly with altitude. Closer to the ground, Afghanistan's tragic modern history becomes all too evident. Between the savagery of the Soviets and the Taliban, and the devastating civil war, the once lush land has been reduced to a giant pile of smoky, gray rubble; as we descended into Kabul, the crystalline blue majestic aerial Afghanistan gave way to a muddy, outdated airbase secured by barbed wire, cement roadblocks, and lots of guys with big guns.

While Rush and I were trying to digest this forbidding terrain, the USAID folks looked as if they were having a family reunion. All the soldiers seemed similarly pumped. Oddly, everyone was most enthusiastic about all the mud, which covered everything and everyone. Ushering us into "hard cars," each with "shooters" riding shotgun, the locals gave us our first dose of Afghanistan reality: The revered mud was the result of a record snowfall that could reverse the ravages of a seven-year drought. It also tamped down the usual oppressive dust--dust so pervasive it produced the infamous "Kabul cough."

The unnatural dust is the upshot of decades of deforestation at the hands of would-be conquerors. It is not easy for a Western mind to comprehend the devastation that occurred in our generation. In addition to the deforestation, the Soviets and Taliban obliterated ancient cities; poisoned wells; mined, mortared, and laid waste to irrigation systems, roads, schools, and entire villages. Historic landmarks, like the Bamiyan Buddhas, were vaporized. Millions fled the country; those who remained were transported culturally to a 12th-century Islamic-extremist world.

There is a jarring incongruity between Afghans' attitude and their environment. Despite the terror that defines their recent existence, they display no signs of self-pity or despair, no sense of entitlement. We heard the same refrain everywhere we went, from old and young: "Thank you, America," and "Please do not leave." They want to rebuild their country themselves--but need us to help them with the tools. They admire America, and understand our mutual interest in making Afghanistan a modern country to prevent terrorists from reconstituting. They also have a keen grasp of how their democratic experiment could transform the Muslim world.

It is hard not to share their confidence that they will succeed in building a modern Muslim state; physical transformation is in evidence everywhere.

One of President Hamid Karzai's highest priorities was to rebuild Afghanistan's transportation infrastructure. Bombed-out roads, collapsed bridges, and blocked tunnels literally closed the country down. Afghans view the road from Kabul to Kandahar as a symbol of Afghanistan's promise: The 300-mile strip of smooth asphalt, along with hundreds of additional miles of newly regraded roads, has dramatically improved quality of life and accelerated economic growth. The roads provided the mobility needed to expedite commerce and to construct canals, sanitation projects, power-generation facilities, housing, and market places. Progress is obvious. Giant cranes and massive scaffolding hover over the bombed-out buildings. Trucks full of construction materials and farm produce speed along beside taxis--and us, in our armored humvees and bulletproof van. (We are told such transportation is necessary for our security, but the people all wave and smile at us from their curbside kiosks full of goods that were unattainable until recently.)