After the failure of the Istanbul negotiations, Pakistan and Afghanistan are now at each other’s throats. Afghans are being called “Namak Haram” (ungrateful/traitor to the salt) and unthankful by Pakistan, while the Afghans are calling Pakistan a hypocrite and a traitor.
In such a scenario, several senior former officials, the architects of a failed Afghan policy spanning decades, are seen presenting new narratives to hide their shame. I was watching a clip on social media where the former ISI Chief, General Ehsan ul Haq, in a seminar, was giving the palatable name of “Strategic Patience” to Pakistan’s past silence against all sorts of adventurism by Afghanistan on the Durand Line.
He was essentially confessing to a strategy of national destruction that can only be described as nothing more than folly. This was the deception that was presented as a national narrative by calling it wisdom and caution.
This was, in fact, the story of a dangerous, calculated gamble that tore apart the country’s social and national fabric, causing billions of dollars in losses to the economy and market. This was the era when the nation was always taught to not only patiently accept this passive and complacent policy but also to remain silent on the temporary internal and moral structural damages and compromises, so that a big, and seemingly “rational,” plan for national security could succeed.
This was the historical “Strategic Folly” due to which our state, economy, and society have not yet recovered. It was an incomplete dream of a so-called Islamic brotherhood, hidden within a deep contradiction under the guise of national security. This was the contradiction that repeatedly blurred the line between the imaginary Ummah and the real nation. This fundamental mistake turned Islamabad’s Afghan strategy into a nightmare. General Zia wrapped a global war in a religious cloak and mortgaged national sovereignty in the name of a proxy policy.
The “Mujahideen Industry,” created in collaboration with America, Europe, and Saudi Arabia, certainly caused the Soviet retreat temporarily, but after that, it was imposed upon the nation as a complete parallel security paradigm, resulting in the growth of the military power of non-state groups. The dollars, weapons, and global attention Pakistan received from the Afghan war were considered a panacea, and thus the entire society was handed over to religious extremism, the illegal flow of weapons, and drug networks.
“Jihad” was made a part of the state’s policy, and a harvest of extremism was sown in madrasahs. As a result, new warrior commanders were prepared from these religious schools instead of scholars and jurists. Power was given to groups that are now standing with arms against the state.
Although General Musharraf, after Zia ul Haq, gave the impression of withdrawing support for these so-called militants, after 9/11, Pakistan again appeared to be standing in two contradictory directions. General Pervez Musharraf joined the war against terrorism alongside America, but there were circles within the state that sympathised with the Taliban.
Thus, Pakistan was again accused of playing a double game: on one side, American pressure and financial aid, and on the other, silent cooperation with the Afghan Taliban. Unfortunately, this very contradiction became ingrained in the roots of Pakistan’s policy.
The United States called Pakistan a “Frontline Ally” but continued the refrain of “Do More.” Accusations of providing safe havens to the Taliban escalated, and Pakistan’s credibility across the world became suspect.
The storm of domestic terrorism took thousands of lives. The economy shrank, investment stopped, and fear enveloped the cities. Pakistan had become a participant in a war with no moral logic and no political endpoint.
In 2021, when the Taliban entered Kabul, a wave of joy swept through Islamabad.
Pakistan is confronting this terrifying reality for the first time. Jawans of the armed forces, police, and FC personnel are sacrificing their lives daily
In the final years of the Cold War, these masterminds saw a golden but misleading opportunity, dreaming of regional dominance by using Islamic militants as a proxy tool. This temporary victory actually became the foundation of a long-lasting and systemic destruction—a dangerous “double game” that ate the state from within like a termite and initiated three devastating phases of national suicide.
First, non-state armed groups were given a semi-state status, which forever erased the delicate strategic line between state policy and violent extremism, and the state handed over a part of its sovereignty to non-state actors.
The second phase was the systematic silencing of liberal and critical voices by labelling them traitors—the voices of journalists, intellectuals, enlightened circles, and artists were suppressed so that no questions could be raised about the moral and strategic justification of proxy wars.
The third and most devastating phase was that the warlords and their patrons gained immense wealth and influence, which led to the replacement of argument and dialogue with bullets and military force in the border areas, and then in the mainstream too, thus strengthening a warrior economy within the state.
As a result of these policies, Pakistan’s liberal and academic institutions suffered severe, deep, and long-lasting damage because the state protected militant networks on one hand while marginalising its own intellectuals, journalists, and artists by making them suspects and enemies of the state on the other.
Universities, which are the centres of intellectual guidance, were marginalised, their funds were reduced, and the social culture retreated into a deep pit of the politics of moral revenge.
This was not accidental, but a planned strategy in which legal and financial measures benefited militant networks while criminalising enlightened and progressive voices. Thus, “patriotism” was associated with proxy wars and the military narrative, and “liberalism” or constitutional criticism was equated with treason, which resulted in the shrinking of the civic sphere and the systematic decline of the rule of law.
But time proved that this was not a rational plan but a national folly and a strategic blunder, as a result of which we are now having to lift the coffins of our own people and security guards daily from the Afghan border.
This was the intellectual and military deceit that ate the internal structure of the state like a termite. This was the dangerous policy that continuously threw Pakistan into the fire of proxy wars.
Terrorism was institutionalised as a norm, resulting in non-state armed groups being endowed with unbridled power and semi-state status, and today these non-state groups, under the name of TTP, are attacking twenty-four districts of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa.
Today, these groups, with the help of the Afghan government, are insistent on establishing a parallel government in these areas. Since our policymakers have already made the country’s legal and constitutional institutions merely symbolic compared to these groups and have systematically hollowed out the social fabric, today the state and society are forced to pay the untold heavy price of this human and financial devastation.
But today, this self-deceptive strategic foundation has been severely exposed by the recent Durand Line conflict. This issue now stands before us like a delicate crossroads where, on one side, the Taliban government has joined hands with India, and on the other, Israel is also ready to give modern weapons to these jihadi buffoons.
This is why this destructive militia has linked its so-called universal Islamic concept of the Emirate with Pashtun identity, and they have abandoned the oppressed people of Kashmir and Palestine, instead clinging to India and Israel so that Pakistan can be fully punished for adopting the strategic patience policy.
The failure of the Istanbul negotiations was also driven by this same motive. Now they have decided to turn the Durand Line into a new battlefront, establish the writ of TTP’s terrorism in the border tribal areas, and then impose a parallel guerrilla war across all Pashtun regions of Pakistan.
Their reaction is no less than a slap in the face of all those schools of thought in Pakistan who have been calling them soldiers of Islam and enemies of the Jews and Hindus for thirty years.
Pakistan is confronting this terrifying reality for the first time. Jawans of the armed forces, police, and FC personnel are sacrificing their lives daily. But despite all this complexity, when Old Gods like General Ehsan still preach the lesson of the same strategic patience with a sarcastic smile, they are actually trying to hide their failures. Because whatever gamble they have played so far in the name of gaining “influence” in Kabul, they have always been checkmated.
When I was watching General Ehsan ul Haq’s video, the last forty years of national destruction were playing out before me like a movie. When the nation was told to silently endure temporary losses so that a bigger project of broader regional dominance could succeed.
This deceit of strategy kept the country the centre of proxy wars for decades, empowered non-state armed groups, hollowed out the constitutional structure and law enforcement agencies, and imposed a heavy price of human and financial devastation on the Pakistani state and society.
For them, the Durand Line was always the boundary where the foundation of their failed policy started to shake. Then these so-called policymakers would tell us to temporarily close our eyes to this matter. Thus, the entire edifice of “Strategic Patience” has come crashing down. This was a “double game” of our state that ate this nation from within. This strategy actually comprised three phases of national suicide. During this period, non-state armed groups were given a semi-state status, which blurred the line between national policy and extremism.
The complaint of the tribal people is no longer just an emotional slogan but has become a historical fact that in every war against terrorism, the blood always belongs to the Pashtuns
Moderate political parties and critical voices, journalists, intellectuals, and enlightened circles were systematically silenced by being labelled traitors. Tribal warlords and their patrons gained wealth and influence, and the bullet replaced argument in the border areas.
When the state protected militant networks, it simultaneously made its own intellectuals, journalists, and artists suspects. Universities were marginalised, and social culture retreated into the politics of moral revenge.
This was not an accident. This was a planned strategy in which legal and financial measures benefited militant networks and criminalised enlightened voices.
Thus, “patriotism” was associated with proxy wars, and “liberalism” was equated with treason. Consequently, the civic sphere shrank, and the rule of law systematically declined.
This damage is not merely ideological; it is a national tragedy. Tens of thousands of people were killed in terrorism and counter-operations over two decades.
This bloody tale is a collective psychological trauma whose cure has not even begun. Economically, this policy proved to be an “expensive suicide.”
According to conservative official estimates, Pakistan suffered billions of dollars in losses due to terrorism and instability.
Who ultimately benefited from this long proxy policy? Specific parts of state institutions, contractors, and vested interest networks—all garnered financial, political, and institutional benefits, while the public paid the price.
This was not merely personal gain but a structural capture, where short-term self-interested groups made the entire state agenda subservient to their benefit.
These shortsighted people knew well that the agreement reached in November 1893 between Sir Mortimer Durand, the representative of British India, and his contemporary Afghan ruler, Amir Abdur Rahman Khan, was not accepted as a border by the governments of Afghanistan immediately after the creation of Pakistan.
Every Afghan ruler declared the area up to the Attock Bridge on the Indus River as part of Afghanistan. Zahir Shah, in particular, was at the forefront in this regard. His government even voted against Pakistan’s membership in the United Nations.
In 1979, the Afghan parliament once again refused to accept the Durand Agreement through a resolution. Even the first Taliban government (1996–2001) under Mullah Omar refused to recognise the Durand Line.
The governments of Hamid Karzai and Ashraf Ghani also expressed reservations about the Durand Line. But the current Taliban government has crossed all limits. They are not willing to consider for a moment how great a devastation the Pakistani nation has gone through because of them, from the final years of the Cold War to 9/11 and then recently to the Taliban’s regaining power. Our military leadership was even hopeful that the return of the Taliban would establish a friendly government in Kabul that would bring stability and prosperity to Pakistan. But after 2021, the reality emerged contrary to this.
The Taliban government immediately adopted a cold and unfriendly attitude towards Pakistan, refusing to take action against the TTP. Whenever Islamabad complained, it termed the TTP’s terrorism as “Pakistan’s internal issue.”
Then, Pakistan was forced to carry out air strikes on TTP hideouts in Afghanistan. And the message has been given to Kabul that Islamabad’s “strategic patience” is over.
Because if Pakistan did not change its diplomatic and intellectual narrative according to this new reality, it would forever remain suffocated in the shell of the past.
As long as the Durand Line exists as an “undecided border,” distrust between the two countries can never end. For Afghanistan, it is an issue of identity; for Pakistan, it is security. If Kabul truly wants peace, it must respect Pakistan’s borders this is the guarantee of its own security.
Now the time has come for Pakistan to shift the foundation of its Afghan policy from military interests to institutional insight. The era of “proxy management” must end.
It should be replaced by a foundation of regional economic integration, educational cooperation, and cultural dialogue. State power is not just weapons; it is institutions—institutions that are strengthened by law, justice, and transparency.
Universities, media, literature, and arts—these are the fronts where the narrative of extremism can be defeated.
The crisis of Pakistan’s Afghan policy is also a crisis of state self-deception. When a state is confined within its ideological limits and makes reality subservient to its desires, it makes mistakes in decision-making.
There is a need to redefine the concept of national security, linking it with public, economic, and intellectual sovereignty, because nations are defeated not only by enemies but also by their own wrong strategies.
Pakistan has only one path: to learn from these strategic blunders and either formulate a new comprehensive strategy or bury its next generations in the debris of the same mistakes.
Pakistan’s Afghan policy is a mirror in which we can see that where patience becomes delay, vision dies. The lesson of history is that nations that delayed in recognising reality were ultimately buried under the burden of their “strategic successes.”
This damage was not merely ideological or intellectual; it proved to be a national tragedy whose price, both human and financial, is unbelievable.
Over two decades, tens of thousands of people were mercilessly killed in terrorism and its counter-operations, and this bloody tale is a collective psychological trauma whose treatment and acknowledgement have not yet begun.
The Durand Line conflict and the misconduct of the Afghan government are in their place, but the establishment never invested in the people of the tribal areas in terms of education, health, and communication.
This is why warlords of the merchant type have been given all the powers in the region of the Khudai Khidmatgars (Servants of God) and Red Shirts.
The complaint of the tribal people is no longer just an emotional slogan but has become a historical fact that in every war against terrorism, the blood always belongs to the Pashtuns.
Sometimes Operation Zarb-e-Azb, sometimes Rah-e-Nijat, sometimes Radd-ul-Fasaad—names changed, but the outcome remained the same. The same corpses, the same mourning, and the same destruction in the villages and settlements of Tirah Valley, Bajaur, Mohmand, North and South Waziristan, Kurram, and Khyber.
The absence of universities, technical centres, and modern educational institutions has left the youth helpless against extremist ideologies
The contradictions of state policies have kept these regions in constant uncertainty. Sometimes action against the extremists is started, and sometimes it is stopped after some time due to unknown reasons.
This incomplete mode of strategy is not only an obstacle to establishing peace but also undermines the trust of the common citizen. The tribal people rightly ask: If terrorism is truly a national issue, why is the burden of it placed only on their areas?
The lack of basic human needs in these areas also strengthens the roots of terrorism. From the communication system to educational institutions, everything is missing or dilapidated.
The absence of universities, technical centres, and modern educational institutions has left the youth helpless against extremist ideologies.
The state spent billions of rupees on military operations but did not create any sustainable plan for knowledge, employment, and social rehabilitation in these areas.
The result is that temporary peace comes with a bullet, but intellectual and social peace is still a dream.
Now it is necessary for the state to focus on human development instead of just operations. The eradication of terrorism is possible not with a gun but with a book.
Modern universities, technical institutions, and scientific centres should be established from the Tirah Valley to South Waziristan so that the light of knowledge can dispel the darkness of ignorance and extremism.
Along with this, it must also be understood that the seed of extremism is not limited to the tribal areas only. The narrow-minded intellectual change that is coming from Mansehra to Kohistan and Chilas can also be prevented through moderate education and intellectual dialogue.
If centres of knowledge and research are not built there, this mental constraint may give rise to another crisis in the future.
It is time for the state to acknowledge that the tribal people are not responsible for terrorism but are its biggest victims. Their sacrifices kept the whole of Pakistan safe, but in return, they received only debris and a suspicious status.
Dressing their wounds is not just a political responsibility but a national duty. If lasting peace is required, the book, not the gun, must be adopted. Otherwise, history will keep repeating the question—How long will the blood belong only to the Pashtuns?
If the Establishment and the government truly want a permanent end to terrorism and extremism in the former FATA and tribal districts, they will have to rely on books instead of gunpowder, and on philosophy alongside the army
This is a reality that cannot be denied: without investment in the establishment of modern educational institutions, universities, and vocational training centres in these regions, the dream of sustainable peace and social stability will always remain incomplete. Areas like Khyber, Bajaur, Mohmand, North and South Waziristan, and the Tirah Valley are still dark spots on Pakistan’s development map. Decades of terrorism, military operations, migration, and state indifference have destroyed the educational, communication, and economic structures of these regions.
In the Tirah Valley today, roads are still difficult, settlements are isolated, and communication links are cut off. The condition of education in the inner villages of Bajaur and Mohmand is so dire that hundreds of schools have either turned into heaps of mud or ruins.
The youth of Waziristan are forced to leave their homes in search of knowledge because the existence of universities in their own areas is merely a dream.
In contrast, there are hundreds of religious schools (dini madaris) in these areas that run on local donations. Although they have fulfilled a duty of religious education, the lack of modern sciences, scientific research, and technical training has created a void in which the seeds of extremism are easily thriving.
It is a tragic reality that the literacy rate in the tribal districts is only thirty per cent for men and ten per cent for women. Education and social development still hold a secondary place in the state’s priorities, while security measures are given precedence.
Similarly, intellectual stagnation and narrow-mindedness are also thriving in the northern regions from Mansehra to Kohistan and Chilas. There is an urgent need for institutions of moderate knowledge, dialogue, and intellectual breadth in these areas.
By establishing modern universities, technical institutes, and research centres, this region can become an example of peace and progress.
The path to true change passes through education. Guns can bring temporary silence, but real and sustainable peace is possible only through knowledge, awareness, and intellectual freedom.
The gun creates fear; education promotes certainty. The gun is a symbol of oppression. Education opens the way for acceptance and submission. It inspires the desire for peace.
Today, the state needs to consider education a mandatory part of national security. Because history testifies that military power has established empires, but civilisations have always been nurtured by knowledge.