In a recent press conference, Taliban foreign minister Amir Khan Muttaqi, while in India, commented that Afghanistan has many neighbours other than Pakistan, but none of them complain about cross-border terrorism from Afghanistan. Why is it only Pakistan that does that? The comment was circulated as a mic-drop moment from the Taliban; however, the answer to this question is very simple: none of Afghanistan’s neighbouring countries invested in building a cross-border jihadi infrastructure and network.
The occupation of Kabul by Mr Muttaqi et al., along with the TTP’s terror campaign in Pakistan, are both achievements of this Jihadi infrastructure that has bound Afghanistan and Pakistan into the neat “Af-Pak” construct of international media and policy circles. The question, however, is why Pakistan chose to invest in creating this very infrastructure, one that has led to Mr Muttaqi receiving such a grand welcome in India. If one is to look for the origin of the trajectory that got us here, the starting point would probably be the issue of Pashtunistan.
Kabul’s support for Pashtunistan began with the creation of Pakistan. This was just one of many cross-border regional claims across the world that were common after the end of the British Empire. For most of history, Pashtunistan remained a populist slogan to unify Afghans, and its support was mostly limited to diplomatic and rhetorical channels.
It wasn’t until 1960 that a firebrand minister and the cousin of the King of Afghanistan, Mohammad Daud Khan, launched a ground invasion in Bajaur. The incursion failed, and one of the main reasons was the support of locals in Bajaur who worked with the Pakistan Army to repel the Afghan forces. Many credit this moment with a change of strategy from Pakistan, to work towards a more friendly Kabul, and for that, the only viable option was to support the Islamists of Afghanistan.
In retrospect, and given the present-day consequences of that decision, it could be argued that this was an overreaction by Pakistan. The Pashtunistan issue was a bogeyman, and even in its slogan form, it was envisioned to be a country separate from Afghanistan and not a greater Afghanistan. This was because of the reliance of Afghanistan’s monarchy and nationalist governments on its non-Pashtuns, especially to counter Islamists who were predominantly Pashtun.
The legitimacy of the Taliban comes not from the Afghan people, but from a group of armed religious zealots willing to kill and die for their cause; the rank and file of TTP are very much part of this group
For non-Pashtun Afghans, the prospect of including Pakistan’s Pashtuns meant an even greater demographic marginalisation within Afghanistan. Furthermore, as the incursion in Bajaur proved, the Pashtuns on this side of the Durand were also not eager to join Afghanistan. This lack of seriousness about the threat was evident during Pakistan’s wars of 1965 and 1971, when its forces were concentrated on the eastern borders with India; yet, despite this opportunity, Kabul did not take advantage of the situation.
One can’t be sure how much those Pakistani strategists of the 1970s were invested in the creation of this cross-border jihadi infrastructure, but the level of US funding and support for the Afghan war, and Pakistan’s bleak macro indicators in 1979, made sure that this support for Afghanistan’s Islamists went beyond the level needed to check the issue of Pashtunistan. The subsequent investment in madrassas and jihadi training camps changed the situation in the Pashtun regions of Afghanistan and had a similar effect across the Durand Line as well. This is because the struggle between Pashtun Islamists and nationalists is not limited to Afghanistan; a similar competition exists in Pakistan’s Pashtun regions as well.
The jihadi infrastructure built on this side of the Durand Line has increasingly marginalised Pashtun nationalist parties like the ANP. By the 2000s, the ANP started refraining from using the word “secular” in its politics, as it was alienating its traditional support base. The War on Terror further upped the ante on both sides of the Durand Line; on the Pakistani side, the TTP unleashed a relentless attack on two major groups which represented the Pashtun consensus.
In the tribal areas, the TTP conducted a massacre of tribal elders, who were fighting to maintain the old tribal system of governance, while in the settled districts, it focused on the ANP, which openly declared the TTP to be a threat. The ANP lost hundreds of its workers in this struggle and was turned into an example by the 2013 election, when KP’s terrorism-weary voters distanced themselves from the party, fearing a TTP backlash. Meanwhile, the “Quetta” Shura, based in Pakistan, waged its jihad against Kabul’s government, which it ironically accused of being backed by foreign powers.
The eventual fall of Kabul in 2021 and the 2024 election results in Pakistan, in many ways, announced the official neutralisation of Pashtun nationalists on both sides of the Durand. This Af-Pak 2.0 was the culmination of decades of efforts and was a complete and thorough job. But did Pakistan really get the Kabul that it wished for in the 1970s?
The answer can be a clear and resounding “No,” because the very forces that achieved this Af-Pak 2.0 now represent its biggest threat. To be fair, it was naïve from the outset to expect the Taliban to behave like a conventional state that could simply discard a proxy militant group at Pakistan’s request. The Taliban never won a popular vote, and the TTP is far from expendable.
That is because the legitimacy of the Taliban comes not from the Afghan people, but from a group of armed religious zealots willing to kill and die for their cause; the rank and file of TTP are very much part of this group. It is this group of zealots that the Taliban must court for its survival, because losing these fighters to rivals like ISIS would mean losing Kabul itself. To this group of zealots, Shahbaz Sharif’s government is no different from that of Ashraf Ghani in its reliance on the US and international institutions, its policies regarding women, and other assorted practices which these zealots consider “un-Islamic.”
In pursuing Af-Pak 2.0, Pakistan has ended up with a theocratic Kabul determined to expand its reach into Pakistan. Unlike the Afghan nationalists of the 1970s–80s, this Pashtun-dominated regime is no longer dependent on Afghanistan’s non-Pashtuns. Therefore, instead of the hollow slogan of Pashtunistan, it now aims at a “Greater Afghanistan,” with its Pakistan franchise actively working on achieving that objective.
Similarly, the Taliban’s recognition of India’s claim over Jammu and Kashmir is something even the likes of Daud Khan and Hafizullah Amin never tried. It seems that right after its unboxing, Af-Pak 2.0 is already heralding the need for an Af-Pak 3.0; another round of strategic games, the cost of which will once again be borne disproportionately by Pashtuns on both sides of the Durand.