On 24 December 1979, the erstwhile Soviet Union invaded Afghanistan. Moscow justified its decision under the Brezhnev Doctrine, claiming it had to save the socialist government in Kabul from collapse. Afghan leader Hafizullah Amin had seized power, purged rivals, and unleashed chaos. The Soviets saw him as unreliable. They removed him, installed Babrak Karmal, and deployed their troops. For Moscow, it was about protecting socialism.
For Pakistan, it was about survival. The fear of Soviet tanks rolling down towards the Arabian Sea haunted Islamabad. General Muhammad Zia-ul-Haq made a fateful choice: Pakistan would become the frontline state in America’s Cold War. Refugees, weapons, and ideology all flowed in. The Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) and Saudi Arabia funnelled billions through the Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI). Afghan fighters were armed. Jihad was glorified. The tribal belt became a battlefield.
At the time, many Pakistanis believed this was the right path. Drive out the Soviets. Install a friendly government in Kabul. Secure “strategic depth.” Victory came in 1989 when Soviet troops withdrew. However, peace never arrived. Instead, Pakistan imported narco-terrorism, extremism, drugs, and militancy. The war was won, but society lost. Forty-five years later, the costs are undeniable.
When the Taliban returned to power on 15 August 2021, many in Islamabad celebrated. A friendly Kabul, at last. No more Indian influence. No more hostility. Nevertheless, that dream collapsed quickly. Violence surged. Cross-border terrorism multiplied. Instead of strategic depth, Pakistan got a strategic disaster.
The Pakistan Institute for Conflict and Security Studies recorded a 74% increase in militant attacks in August 2024 compared to July 2024. That single month saw 143 attacks, making it the deadliest month in more than a decade. Over 2,500 people were killed in 2024 alone. Soldiers, policemen, civilians—all became targets.
September 2025 showed the same pattern. In Bannu, 19 soldiers were ambushed and killed. In Balochistan, five more soldiers died in an IED blast. In Quetta, a suicide bombing killed 10 and injured 32. The Tehrik-e-Taliban Pakistan (TTP) operates freely across the Afghan border. The Afghan Taliban, despite promises, has done little to stop them. Its spokesperson, Zabihullah Mujahid, even asked Pakistan to “cooperate.” But Islamabad’s expectations have collapsed into bitter reality: the Taliban will not fight their ideological brothers.
Why has Pakistan suffered this fate while Afghanistan’s other neighbours have not? Look at the map. Afghanistan shares its longest border with Pakistan: 2,670 kilometres. Then comes Tajikistan with 1,206 km, Iran with 935 km, Turkmenistan with 744 km, Uzbekistan with 144 km, and China with just 106 km. Yet almost all the instability spills into Pakistan. Not into Tajikistan. Not into Turkmenistan. Not into Uzbekistan.
Why? The answer is not geography. It is a strategy. The Central Asian states, fragile after the fall of the erstwhile USSR in 1991, focused on securing borders, building state institutions, and, most importantly, investing in education. They took the Soviet legacy of literacy and carried it forward. Pakistan, by contrast, continued down the path of proxy wars.
The contrast is striking. According to the World Bank, Uzbekistan’s literacy rate is above 99%. Kazakhstan is the same. Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, and Turkmenistan also stand near 99%. These numbers reflect Soviet investment in schools, universities, and technical institutes. Women were educated. Doctors, engineers, and scientists were trained. Russian became a language of knowledge and research. By the 1970s, Central Asia was nearly fully literate.
Afghanistan never made that leap. In the 1980s, its literacy rate hovered around 20%. Progress was destroyed by war. Today, according to UNESCO, Afghanistan’s adult literacy rate is about 37%. Male literacy is 52%, female literacy is only 23%. Since 2021, 2.5 million girls have been banned from school. Generations are being robbed of education.
Pakistan, too, has struggled. Its literacy rate in 2023 was around 58% (UNESCO). That means almost half the adult population cannot read or write. Compare this with Kazakhstan at 99%. The difference is the difference between hope and despair.
Forty-five years after 1979, the lesson is clear: Wars win battles, but schools win futures
Therefore, the question must be asked: why did Pakistan not choose the Central Asian path? Why did we not build schools instead of training camps, as Afghanistan blames now? Why did we not invest in teachers instead of militias?
The answer lies in a short-sighted strategy. Pakistan’s leaders believed that weapons would secure the future. That a friendly Kabul was more important than an educated citizenry. That “strategic depth” mattered more than social depth. The result is plain to see. Central Asia, once seen as backward, is now modernising. Its cities are expanding. Its economies are diversifying. Its people are literate. Afghanistan remains broken. Pakistan, despite its potential, stands trapped in endless cycles of conflict.
History also carries irony. Pakistan’s role in the Afghan jihad of the 1980s was decisive in weakening the erstwhile Soviet Union. The CIA’s aid, Saudi money, and Pakistani logistics together made Afghanistan the “Soviet Vietnam.” Over 15,000 Soviet soldiers died. Billions of roubles were spent. The humiliation of defeat accelerated the USSR’s collapse in 1991. That collapse liberated the Central Asian republics. Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan, Kyrgyzstan, and Tajikistan became independent. In other words, Pakistan fought a war that freed Central Asia. However, it failed to free itself.
The scars remain visible. Militancy is stronger than ever. The TTP recruits among Pakistan’s marginalised youth. Refugees remain a constant pressure. Heavy-handed deportations and airstrikes across the border only fuel more resentment. The economy pays a heavy price: insecurity keeps investors away, while military budgets swallow funds that should build schools, hospitals, and universities.
Meanwhile, Central Asia prospers quietly. Astana, Tashkent, and Almaty host international investors. Their governments build railways and energy pipelines. Their people enjoy near-universal literacy. They are not free of problems such as authoritarianism, corruption, and inequality—but their foundation is strong. The foundation is education. The comparison could not be more tragic. Pakistan helped end the Soviet Union, yet the Central Asians reaped the reward. Pakistan bears the cost.
Today, Pakistan finds itself isolated from the very region it once dreamed of leading into a new era. Instead of trade corridors to Central Asia, Pakistan builds fences against Afghan militants. Instead of economic integration, it faces global media criticism for instability. Instead of celebrating a “Better Pakistan,” it buries soldiers week after week.
Forty-five years after 1979, the lesson is clear: Wars win battles, but schools win futures. Central Asia chose classrooms. Pakistan chose conflicts. Afghanistan was never given a chance. The tragedy is not only in the past. It lives in the present. Every child barred from school in Pakistan and Afghanistan is a lost opportunity. Every teacher ignored, every book unread, is a step further away from progress.
Therefore, the question must be asked, not just of the policymakers in Islamabad, but also of every Pakistani citizen: When will we learn? When will Pakistan stop clinging to the ghosts of “strategic depth”? When will it realise that no border strategy can succeed without literacy, without education, without hope?
Because history is not written only by armies. It is written by educated minds. Central Asia proves this. Afghanistan warns against ignoring it. Pakistan must decide where it belongs. The choice is not between war and peace alone. It is between war and education. Between a future of endless funerals and a future of classrooms full of children. Between strategic illusions and social reality.
Forty-five years is long enough. The time for Pakistan to choose schools over battlefields is now. Otherwise, this tragedy will repeat itself until there is nothing left to fight for. Yet, there is still a road not taken. Central Asia shows the way. Its republics invested in literacy, built universities, trained doctors and engineers, and created opportunities. They made peace with their geography and worked for prosperity instead of chasing phantoms of “strategic depth.”
Pakistan should do the same. It should seek stable and respectful relations with Afghanistan, not to control it but to coexist with it. The true depth lies not in strategy but in education, cooperation, and human development. If Pakistan dares to follow that model, then after forty-five lost years, it can still write a different ending to this story.