During my early college years at Jahanzeb College, the oldest institution of learning in Swat, I found myself suspended between two political groups. Often, I would stand in their circles, clapping my books in rhythm with their slogans. The reason was simple: after matriculation, Jamiat-e-Talaba Islam (JTI) had campaigned actively on our school grounds and even helped me secure admission to Jahanzeb College. In parallel, my interest in Jamaat-e-Islami had grown through reading Naseem Hijazi’s historical novels.
JTI held study circles in which its leaders spoke about the ideas of Maulana Ubaidullah Sindhi—ideas that were far beyond our comprehension, yet appealing in their mystique. My attraction to Jamaat-e-Islami stemmed from two influential works by Maududi: Khilafat o Mulukiyat and Tafheem-ul-Quran. The latter fascinated me with its modern, scientific references used to explain Quranic verses.
A single incident pushed me away from the Islami Jamiat-e-Talaba. The Pakhtun Students Federation (PSF) had invited the famed singer Gulzar Alam for a programme in Wadudia Hall on the college premises. To me, this was nothing unusual, and like many others, I attended casually. But as soon as the programme began, a group of IJT activists stormed the hall. They had broken chairs into sticks and suddenly launched an attack, beating anyone in sight.
One of those sticks struck me as well. Within moments, the venue had turned into a battlefield. Eventually, PSF reinforcements arrived with Kalashnikovs. They fired warning shots into the air, scattering the crowd. Many students from both sides were arrested, and the college was shut down indefinitely. After this incident, I distanced myself from all student organisations, including IJT, and the following year I left the college for other reasons.
In Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, the hostility between these two parties has a long history. Recent events have once again brought this background to the fore. Across various universities, Pashtun students celebrated Pashtun Culture Day with music, dance, poetry, and colourful performances. One of the largest events took place at Punjab University in Lahore. It is worth noting that Lahore’s universities are more open in this regard; students from Pashtun, Sindhi, and Baloch backgrounds can freely express their cultural identities.
Friends sometimes ask: What would happen if a Punjabi cultural festival were held on university campuses in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa? How would students respond? The answer is uncertain. What we do know, however, is that the sheer size and diversity of Lahore’s institutions allow such cultural expression to emerge more naturally. Moreover, since Punjab does not have a nationalist party comparable to the ANP, student politics there is dominated by Jamaat-e-Islami, Muslim League factions, or similar right-leaning groups.
This conflict is a debate about the purpose of education itself: should universities produce obedient, morally regulated individuals, or critical, culturally rooted, politically conscious citizens?
Another significant celebration took place at the University of Malakand, the aftershocks of which are still being felt. A professor’s dance at the event went viral, as did the backlash that followed. The struggle between Jamaat-e-Islami and the ANP over cultural and political space is old, but in recent years another actor—the ulama groups associated with Jamiat Ulema-e-Islam—has become increasingly assertive. They appear eager to assume the role previously held by JI in resisting cultural expression on campuses.
The conflict between JI and the ANP in educational institutions is a deep-rooted and defining feature of student politics in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa. It is not a superficial rivalry but a clash between divergent intellectual traditions and social visions. Universities such as the University of Peshawar, Islamia College, the University of Malakand, Gomal University, and even Jahanzeb College have for decades served as theatres of this ideological contestation, reflecting the wider political tensions of the region.
JI, shaped by Maududi’s political Islam, seeks to impose a moral and religious order on campus life. Its student wing, IJT, polices student behaviour, opposes mixed-gender events, restricts cultural programmes, and presents religious norms as the “natural” environment of the university. For IJT, the university is not merely a place of learning but a frontline where Islamic morality must be defended.
The ANP, by contrast, draws its ideological lineage from Bacha Khan’s secular, non-violent humanism. Its student federation, PSF, promotes Pashtun cultural identity, linguistic rights, and democratic participation. For PSF, the university is a crucial space for reviving Pashtun culture, which has been under sustained attack for decades by extremism and militancy. Poetry, music, Attan, cultural days, and literary gatherings are not mere entertainment; they are acts of cultural survival.
These opposing worldviews shape everyday campus life. IJT regularly attempts to prevent or disrupt cultural events by framing them as un-Islamic. PSF, conversely, struggles to preserve these cultural spaces. Hostels, cafeterias, auditoriums, and student unions become symbolic battlegrounds. Administrators, often fearful of backlash, frequently capitulate to conservative demands, shrinking cultural freedoms and reinforcing moral policing.
This struggle profoundly influences the identity formation of Pashtun youth. IJT offers an identity rooted in religious discipline and obedience. PSF offers an identity grounded in Pashtun culture, history, and political agency. Students entering university—often from conservative households—find themselves navigating this ideological tension, which shapes their future political and social orientations.
Although not always violent, clashes do occur. These confrontations unfold against the broader backdrop of Talibanisation, cultural repression, and ideological polarisation in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa. In this context, IJT’s conservative stance resonates with state-supported religious narratives, while PSF’s cultural activism aligns with pluralistic and resistant traditions.
The consequences for educational environments are significant. Cultural expression becomes restricted. Women students face increased surveillance and pressure. Intellectual freedom is weakened as ideological battles overshadow academic debate. Administrators make decisions out of fear rather than principle, and students gravitate towards polarised political identities rather than independent thought.
Ultimately, this conflict is a debate about the purpose of education itself: should universities produce obedient, morally regulated individuals, or critical, culturally rooted, politically conscious citizens? Should Pashtun identity be subsumed under a homogenising religious narrative, or allowed to flourish in its cultural and linguistic diversity? Until educational institutions create neutral, democratic, and culturally inclusive environments, they will continue to reproduce the ideological divisions that fracture society.
Both parties are politically weak today, with minimal parliamentary representation, yet their influence in university politics remains strong. This contest must also be understood in the context of the Afghan jihad. During General Zia’s regime, Jamaat-e-Islami enjoyed state patronage, and cultural identities were deliberately suppressed to cultivate an ideological army for the war in Afghanistan. As children, we were often told that Americans were “people of the book” while Russians were atheists; therefore, jihad against Russia was justified.
Pakistan continues to bear the consequences of that war, fighting the very forces it once nurtured as strategic assets. In this sense, Wali Khan’s warning proved prophetic: the fire ignited next door would eventually engulf Pakistan itself. For two decades, it has done exactly that, and today those same forces are bearing their teeth at the state that once created and empowered them.