Bryan Denton for The New York Times
KABUL, Afghanistan — There are so many ways for an Afghan official to die: car bombs, suicide attacks, a volley of bullets or, in the case of one particularly enterprising assassin, a handgun hidden in the sole of a shoe.
On Thursday, a Taliban suicide bomber with a bomb hidden in his groin area tried to assassinate the new chief of Afghanistan’s intelligence service in Kabul, seriously wounding him. Two weeks before, insurgents welcomed two of the country’s newest governors with an armed assault in Helmand Province and a car bomb that leveled an entire city block in Wardak Province. Both governors survived and came away with an attribute essential for politicians here: a sharpened sense of fatalism.
“Assassination attempts are a part of the job,” said Abdul Majid Khogyani, the new Wardak governor, seated in a makeshift office in his compound’s frigid courtyard, the only place untouched by the bombing. “It comes with the package.” He actually grinned.
Government officials here do not worry so much about the wrath of constituents; a more immediate fear is coldblooded assassination at the hands of the Taliban. Public service jobs are among the most dangerous in Afghanistan, with hundreds of officials killed every year. The more important the official, the greater the risk — some particularly fortunate, and well defended, governors have survived more than a dozen assassination attempts.
In the last few years, the Taliban have stepped up their campaign against politicians, targeting dozens of provincial and district governors, police chiefs and even marginal officials. It has been an effective tool, demonstrating the insurgents’ power to inflict chaos and sow fear among government supporters. Last year, assassinations claimed 304 lives, the most since 2001, according to a United Nations report.
Barring the remote possibility of a peace agreement with the Taliban, the killings are only likely to rise as the American-led military coalition withdraws its combat forces over the next two years.
Perhaps the most favored targets are the 34 provincial governors, most of whom are far from the relatively secure enclave of Kabul. Appointed by the president, governors are often the highest-ranking officials most Afghans will ever see.
If the persistence of attacks suggests a high-priority target, Gulab Mangal, the former governor of Helmand Province, is a Taliban trophy. Mr. Mangal survived 17 deadly attacks in his five years in office, including a rocket attack on a helicopter, before he was replaced this year by President Hamid Karzai.
“Even my friends asked me to quit,” he said, emitting a burst of laughter. “But I loved my job and slowly, as time went on, I grew fearless.”
Not all politicians are so fortunate. Last year, a suicide bomber with explosives in his turban killed the mayor of Kandahar. This spring, the former governor of Uruzgan was fatally gunned down. A man wearing a police uniform with a suicide bomb vest underneath killed Gen. Daoud Daoud, the police commander who oversaw security in nine northern provinces, last year. The year before, insurgents killed the governor of Kunduz Province by bombing the mosque where he prayed.
Though some assassinations are carried out for personal reasons, most are political. Despite the risks, governorships have retained their allure. While the position pays an average of only $23,000 a year, the job affords great power, and abundant opportunities for patronage and corruption.
And after three decades of war — with the Soviets, among themselves or against the Taliban — some Afghans say they have become inured to the threat of death.
“The mind-set we have in Afghanistan is different,” said Farid Mamundzay, a deputy minister at the Independent Directorate of Local Governance. “We see people dying on a weekly if not daily basis. We’ve gotten used to it.”
“If you die, you die,” he added.
Still, politicians take security seriously, spending vast amounts, sometimes from their own pockets, and often taking a direct role in their self-preservation.