I watched a woman come through the North Gate of the Hamid Karzai International Airport holding a limp baby. It was tiny, pale, and naked against the hot, dry noon sun. I couldn’t tell for certain if it was alive or dead at that arms-length distance, but whether or not I would like to admit it, I think I know the truth. I know nothing about her, or her family; where they came from, where they ended up, or the fate of the child in her arms, but as I think back on my long two weeks in Kabul I think that vision is emblematic of the situation that was bared to the world in August. In some ways,...