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The fading aftermath of a lost battle continues to smoulder quietly, and for Pakistan’s armed forces—particularly its beleaguered army under its current Chief—these remnants represent not resilience, but a lingering, unhealed wound. This wound was inflicted by the overwhelming setback suffered during India’s precisely orchestrated Operation Sindoor. The mission effectively laid bare the vulnerabilities and superficial nature of Pakistan’s covert strategies along the Line of Control (LoC). In the wake of this defeat, the response from Pakistan was not one of reflection or strategic recalibration, but rather a recommitment to exhausted methods—chiefly, the long-standing practice of sponsoring terrorism. This shadow conflict, which Pakistan has cultivated for decades, has recently been reignited with intensified zeal and even more ominous intent. Operation Sindoor dismantled the myth that the Pakistan Army maintains superiority in asymmetric warfare across the LoC. Employing intelligence-led targeting, coordinated civilian-military operations within Kashmir, and precision strikes, India succeeded in destroying several of Pakistan’s key terrorist infrastructure points. Numerous high-ranking handlers, operating in proximity to frontline military positions, were also neutralised. Pakistan’s infamous Border Action Teams, unprepared for the scale and precision of the assault, suffered significant losses. Reinforcements dispatched under the assumption of surprise advantage were instead ambushed with lethal efficiency. Conservative estimates suggest that more than 70 Pakistani regular troops and special forces were either killed or incapacitated in the course of the operation. However, these figures remain unacknowledged by Pakistan’s military media wing, the Inter-Services Public Relations (ISPR), based in Rawalpindi.
The consequences extended beyond a mere tactical defeat—it marked a profound symbolic breakdown. The veil was lifted, revealing to the international community the unmistakable nexus between the Pakistan Army and terrorist organisations falsely presented as ideological movements. As Pakistan’s military leadership staggered under the impact—wounded both physically and psychologically—it did not pursue introspection or institutional reform. Instead, its response was fuelled by vengeance. With its credibility in tatters and domestic cohesion eroded by mounting economic distress, the military hierarchy resorted to its familiar playbook: reinforcing the architecture of cross-border terrorism. Within the rugged landscapes of Pakistan-occupied Kashmir (PoK), a fresh wave of militant training camps began to emerge—spreading like malignant growths. The same geography that once served as refuge for insurgents in the early 2000s is being repurposed—not to defend, but to initiate offensive operations aimed at infiltration and sabotage. These installations are far more advanced than rudimentary jungle shelters; they are heavily fortified compounds, featuring structured obstacle courses, dedicated firing ranges, encrypted communication hubs, and efficient logistics chains—all operated with military-level discipline and overseen directly by Pakistani officers of field rank.
In the interior regions of Pakistan-occupied Kashmir (PoK), satellite surveillance and signal intelligence have revealed a notable uptick in activity linked to operatives of Jaish-e-Mohammed and Lashkar-e-Taiba—groups ostensibly proscribed by Pakistan but, in reality, sustained and armed by its military-intelligence apparatus. Historic infiltration routes through Kupwara, Uri, and Poonch are being revitalised, now augmented with modern techniques involving drone-based supply drops, underground tunnel systems, and nocturnal incursions enhanced by GPS jamming technologies. The danger lies not in covert denial, but in a conscious intensification of hostile intent. The Chief of the Pakistan Army, acutely conscious of the country’s precarious diplomatic and economic condition, is engaging in a hazardous strategic gamble. With increasing scrutiny over his leadership both within military circles and among the broader public, he appears driven to recapture a faltering narrative through the use of “strategic proxies.” Terrorism remains the most potent instrument in Rawalpindi’s longstanding arsenal—an instrument now employed with alarming recklessness. His leadership, beleaguered by internal factionalism and an unparalleled erosion of legitimacy, seems fixated not on reform or peaceful coexistence, but on expanding clandestine conflict. Alarmingly, this ideological decay is no longer confined to PoK. The most disconcerting evolution is now taking root within Pakistan’s Punjab province. Once regarded as the cultural nucleus and a relatively secular space in the national context, Punjab is experiencing a covert revival of urban terror infrastructure. In cities such as Lahore, Bahawalpur, and Multan, dormant terrorist cells are being discreetly reactivated. These are not improvised militias of disenfranchised youth armed with outdated weapons; they are increasingly professionalised units under the instruction of retired ISI personnel, many of whom now operate under the guise of NGOs, charitable entities, or religious seminaries. These fronts offer both ideological justification and logistical support for what appears to be a quietly resurgent domestic terror ecosystem.
Amidst an ongoing civil-military power struggle, one aspect of the Pakistani state’s machinery remains untouched: the consistent prioritisation of defence funding and so-called “strategic programmes.” Despite a population grappling with soaring prices of basic commodities such as wheat and petrol, billions of rupees continue to be funnelled into clandestine military activities. International aid, ostensibly allocated for flood recovery and infrastructure development, has seemingly vanished into unaccounted defence-related expenditures. The directives issued by the Army Chief appear concerned less with professional armed forces modernisation and more with psychological operations, refining doctrines of insurgency, and sustaining strategic equilibrium through non-state proxies rather than overt confrontation. Ironically, this intensified focus on exporting militancy coincides with the military’s own struggle against a growing insurgency within national borders. The tribal regions, once controlled through sheer force and temporary truces, are experiencing renewed unrest. Militant organisations such as the Tehrik-i-Taliban Pakistan (TTP), emboldened by regional instability and the decline of American presence in Afghanistan, have launched an aggressive internal campaign, particularly in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa and Balochistan. These insurgents have evolved beyond hit-and-run tactics; they now execute coordinated ambushes, capture military outposts, and even target mid-level officers for assassination. By conservative estimates, the Pakistani military has suffered more than 400 fatalities from militant assaults within its own borders over the past year. In North Waziristan alone, targeted attacks since January have claimed the lives of at least 80 soldiers. Yet, in the face of such heavy losses, the Army Chief’s priorities appear skewed—focused less on internal security and more on provoking tensions across the Line of Control. It seems the military establishment has acquiesced to a state of perpetual violence, both domestically and externally, in a bid to uphold its strategic narrative. Even more troubling is the army’s renewed alignment with radical ideological movements. A network of newly established madrasas—many reportedly funded by Wahhabi donors from the Gulf—has emerged across southern Punjab and rural Sindh. These institutions are not simply centres of religious study but have become active recruitment hubs. Children are subjected to extremist indoctrination, trained in the use of firearms by adolescence, and taught to view martyrdom across the LoC as a sacred obligation. Intelligence surveillance has recorded a 40% surge in new recruit movement towards training facilities in PoK, signalling that the terror infrastructure is not merely operational, but expanding at an alarming pace.
In recent months, Indian intelligence agencies have intercepted a number of disturbing communications. In one exchange, a Pakistani handler claims to have “fifty fresh mujahideen ready for deployment in Poonch.” In another, an ISI operative provides precise instructions for drone drop locations within Indian territory. These individuals are not unsanctioned actors; rather, they operate openly under the protection of the military, frequently utilising official vehicles and accessing military-grade hardware. Simultaneously, Pakistan’s diplomatic representatives persistently deny any involvement by the state. However, the emerging pattern is far too consistent, deliberate, and institutionally embedded to be dismissed as coincidental. Repeatedly, whenever Pakistan experiences internal turmoil—be it economic hardship, political instability, or military dissent—it reverts to its traditional strategy of asymmetric aggression. A noticeable increase in ceasefire violations often follows periods of domestic unrest. Likewise, each instance of public criticism directed at the Army Chief seems to coincide with a renewed infiltration effort across the Line of Control.
Pakistan’s current strategy reflects both desperation and peril.
For a nation grappling with a crisis of legitimacy, burdened by mounting debt, and increasingly isolated on the international stage, the promotion of terrorism has ceased to be merely a tactic—it has become a lifeline. However, the consequences of this approach are proving to be overwhelmingly detrimental. With a society marked by deep internal fractures, a politically polarised environment, and a growing insurgency, the country teeters on the brink of internal collapse. Despite this, its military leadership remains fixated on outdated notions, still pursuing the illusion of strategic depth that effectively disappeared decades ago. The current course charted by the Army Chief reflects not a path towards military success, but one of reckless obstinacy. By continuously dispatching more terrorists across the Line of Control, he not only provokes a more capable adversary, but also accelerates the erosion of Pakistan’s future under the crushing weight of its own misguided ambitions.
The Tehrik-i-Taliban Pakistan (TTP) today epitomises the unintended consequences of Pakistan’s own strategic miscalculations — a Frankenstein’s monster birthed by the very establishment that once nurtured it as a supposed asset. For years, the Pakistani military establishment has engaged in the perilous tactic of fostering militant proxies, under the mistaken belief that such forces could be wielded with precision and control.
The TTP is a direct outcome of this approach — conceived within the shadows of domestic power plays and geopolitical strategies, only to evolve into a force that now torments its originators. This is not a narrative shaped by external actors or foreign agendas, but one firmly grounded in Pakistan’s internal policies, particularly the militarisation of the Khyber Pakhtunkhwa (KPK) province and the consistent marginalisation of the Pashtun community. At the core of this destructive trajectory lies the military’s entrenched reliance on coercion over governance in managing the tribal regions. In the wake of 9/11 and Pakistan’s alignment with the United States in the war on terror, the tribal belt — especially South and North Waziristan — became a battleground of competing interests. The Pakistani military, balancing international expectations with domestic imperatives, initiated a series of operations across the tribal zones. What started as a mission to eliminate foreign militants rapidly expanded to include local tribes, most notably the Mehsud — the very community from which the TTP would ultimately arise.
The military’s strategy was blunt and indiscriminate. Entire villages were displaced, with little distinction made between suspected militants and civilians, as the region underwent intense militarisation. Daily life for the Pashtun population became dominated by curfews, checkpoints, and constant surveillance. The Mehsud tribe, in particular, bore the brunt of these operations, enduring severe hardship and loss. The military’s incursion into their lands, homes, and way of life sowed deep-seated resentment. Within this climate of humiliation and forced displacement, the TTP found both a steady stream of recruits and a rationale for its existence. It presented itself as a guardian of Pashtun honour, even as it perpetrated horrific acts of violence against both civilians and the state. A significant parallel in this pattern of radicalisation was the 2007 Lal Masjid incident in Islamabad. What began as a confrontation between the state and a radical Islamist faction escalated into a full-scale military operation, resulting in the deaths of numerous students, including young girls. The operation’s brutality, widely broadcast and sensationalised, had a profound impact across conservative and tribal areas of Pakistan, intensifying anti-state feelings. For many, especially among the Pashtun population, it exemplified the duplicity of a state that had long enabled religious extremism when advantageous, only to crush it with force once it posed a threat to the capital’s stability. This contradictory stance further entrenched the perception that the Pakistani state regarded its peripheral regions — particularly Pashtun communities — as disposable.
Complex Calculations Shape Pakistan-TTP Negotiations
The treatment of the large-scale displacement of Pashtuns during and after military operations starkly illustrates the state’s profound indifference towards the community. Millions were uprooted from the Federally Administered Tribal Areas (FATA) and surrounding regions, only to encounter neglect and suspicion in urban centres such as Peshawar and Karachi. Refugee camps were overcrowded, underfunded, and lacked even basic provisions. The displaced were frequently regarded as second-class citizens. Rather than support and reintegration, they were met with poverty, constant surveillance, and routine profiling by police and intelligence agencies. For many young Pashtuns — already suffering from trauma and anger — the TTP offered not just vengeance, but a sense of identity and belonging. This systemic exclusion was not merely a bureaucratic failure, but a manifestation of deeper cultural and political biases. For decades, dominant national narratives — largely shaped by Punjab-centric perspectives — have stereotyped Pashtuns as primitive, uncivilised, and innately violent. Such dehumanisation served dual aims: it legitimised the aggressive militarisation of Pashtun regions and deflected attention from their political demands. In textbooks, mainstream media, and public discourse, Pashtuns were seldom depicted as integral contributors to the nation — instead, they were constructed as ‘others’, romanticised as valiant fighters when useful, and vilified as security threats when expedient.
This cultural mischaracterisation has carried significant political ramifications. It fostered a deep distrust between the Pashtun population and the state — a void the TTP was quick to exploit. By presenting itself as the champion of the oppressed and the avenger of injustices, it garnered sympathy and support from a community that felt consistently marginalised and mistreated. The state’s unwillingness to engage with genuine Pashtun concerns — including demands for political inclusion, equitable resource distribution, and fundamental rights — only widened the divide. The rise of movements such as the Pashtun Tahafuz Movement (PTM) is a clear manifestation of this estrangement, as is the state’s heavy-handed repression of it. Ironically, despite PTM’s emphasis on nonviolence and democratic reform, the state has often regarded it with greater suspicion than the TTP — revealing its confused and contradictory approach to Pashtun dissent. The TTP, in many respects, represents the consequence of the establishment’s flawed policy of distinguishing between “good Taliban” and “bad Taliban” — a dichotomy more relevant in strategic deliberations than in real-world outcomes. During the early phases of Pakistan’s involvement in the Afghan jihad, military and intelligence agencies provided support to militant actors, including those from the tribal belt, in efforts to project influence into Afghanistan and counter India. This patronage persisted beyond 9/11, with certain factions shielded or permitted to operate in anticipation that they could still serve strategic objectives. However, these entities — particularly the TTP — soon evolved independent agendas, shaped by radical ideology, tribal traditions, and a desire for retribution. The creation had developed a mind of its own.
Today, the TTP has redirected its violence inward, targeting the very military convoys that may once have harboured its founders. It assaults outposts, police stations, and civilian targets across Khyber Pakhtunkhwa and beyond. Despite repeated declarations of its defeat, the group has consistently demonstrated a disturbing ability to regroup — not solely due to external sanctuaries, but because the domestic conditions that facilitated its rise remain unresolved. Each failed operation, each instance of extrajudicial killing, each displaced household — these are not mere incidental costs; they are the fertile ground from which insurgency resurfaces. There is a bitter irony in observing the Pakistani military — long regarded as the state’s most dominant institution — struggle against a creation of its own making. Ordinary citizens — particularly Pashtuns — find themselves caught between state oppression and militant brutality. This tragedy is further exacerbated by the enduring lack of critical reflection within the establishment. The prevailing discourse remains fixated on external threats, cross-border terrorism, and international conspiracies — all deflecting attention from the internal policies that have continually backfired. The TTP cannot simply be eradicated through military force, for it represents more than a security challenge; it is a manifestation of political and societal failure. Its existence is entrenched in decades of marginalisation, distortion, and abuse. Lasting peace will not be achieved through violence alone; it requires genuine justice, inclusive representation, and a confronting of historical wrongs. Until the state acknowledges the humanity, rights, and legitimate grievances of the Pashtun population — and abandons the militarised lens through which dissent is seen as betrayal — the cycle of violence will persist. Pakistan’s establishment now faces an uncomfortable reality: it cannot indefinitely wield fire without suffering the consequences. The TTP is no longer just an insurgency; it is a violent reflection of the state’s own enduring failures. The Frankenstein is no longer shackled — it roams freely across the mountains and valleys of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, a chilling testament to the fact that once unleashed, such monsters do not fade quietly.
In a region long afflicted by insurgency and instability, Pakistan’s military establishment has emerged not merely as a participant, but as a principal architect in the deliberate orchestration and international projection of terrorism. Far from being a collateral consequence of geopolitical upheaval, Pakistan’s facilitation of terrorism is a calculated, institutionalised component of its strategic doctrine—an enduring pillar of statecraft. From sheltering global jihadist organisations to now allegedly utilising ISIS to target both the Afghan Taliban and Baloch rebels, Pakistan’s military-intelligence complex has evolved proxy warfare into a systemic geopolitical instrument. Recent intelligence assessments from Afghan and Western security officials highlight a deeply unsettling trend: factions within Pakistan’s Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI) are reportedly enabling elements of the Islamic State-Khorasan Province (ISIS-K) to undermine the Taliban regime. Since the Taliban’s reassertion of power in 2021, relations with Islamabad have deteriorated—primarily over disputes concerning the Durand Line and the Taliban’s sheltering of Tehrik-i-Taliban Pakistan (TTP) operatives. In response, Pakistan appears to be recalibrating its approach—weaponising ISIS-K to destabilise Taliban rule and re-establish influence in Kabul.
This is not a product of conjecture. A series of ISIS-K attacks against Taliban figures and Afghanistan’s Shia minorities have reportedly been linked to training centres and safe zones within Pakistan’s Khyber Pakhtunkhwa and Balochistan provinces. Afghan intelligence authorities have consistently accused the ISI of facilitating the logistical operations of ISIS-K, enabling cross-border movements, and covertly supporting actors opposed to Taliban authority. The Taliban government itself has issued public statements alleging that ISIS operatives infiltrating their territory do so with the backing of foreign intelligence agencies—an implicit reference to Pakistan. Simultaneously, Balochistan remains engulfed in a protracted and brutal conflict. The Baloch rebellion, driven by long-standing economic marginalisation and violent repression, has intensified in recent years. Yet, rather than addressing these deep-rooted grievances, the Pakistani military has responded with increased militarisation and a particularly disturbing tactic: deploying jihadist groups, including Lashkar-e-Jhangvi and militants linked to ISIS, against secular Baloch nationalist leaders. In numerous instances, Baloch activists and combatants have been assassinated or abducted by groups publicly aligned with ISIS, only for subsequent intelligence to expose their connections to ISI operatives through intercepted communications and insider testimonies.
The manipulation is systematic. By deploying jihadist proxies, the Pakistani military achieves plausible deniability, evades international censure, and delegitimises the Baloch movement by associating it with religious extremism. This strategy is not novel—it is an extension of a doctrine that has been honed for over forty years. During the 1980s, Pakistan’s military and the ISI constructed a vast proxy network of extremist groups to project influence, acquire strategic depth, and suppress domestic dissent. The U.S.-backed jihad against the Soviet Union in Afghanistan served as the prototype. Billions in American and Saudi funds were channelled through the ISI to support mujahideen fighters—many of whom later evolved into the Taliban and al-Qaeda. This infrastructure did not dissipate with the end of the Cold War; it was repurposed. In Indian-administered Kashmir, the ISI actively cultivated groups such as Lashkar-e-Taiba (LeT) and Jaish-e-Mohammed (JeM), responsible for some of the most egregious terrorist incidents in India, including the 2001 Indian Parliament attack and the 2008 Mumbai massacre. Hafiz Saeed, founder of LeT and designated a global terrorist by the UN and the U.S., has operated openly within Pakistan for years, organising mass rallies and running charitable fronts that double as recruitment hubs. The scale of this state-terrorism nexus is staggering. A 2023 Financial Action Task Force (FATF) report observed that Pakistan still harbours more than 40 UN-designated terrorist entities, many of which continue to enjoy unimpeded movement, fundraising capacity, and operational latitude. Islamabad has made surface-level arrests and account freezes to avoid sanctions, yet its deeper strategic sponsorship remains untouched.
This duality—supporting terrorism while simultaneously portraying itself as a victim—has become Pakistan’s geopolitical hallmark. Domestically, Islamist groups are weaponised to suppress dissenting journalists, intellectuals, and minority communities. On the international stage, terrorism is wielded as a tool of state influence. Whether confronting the Taliban in Kabul, fomenting unrest in Kashmir, or directing ISIS-linked operations in Balochistan, the ISI’s unseen influence is a constant. Global counterterrorism efforts have failed to dismantle this duplicity. Osama bin Laden’s presence mere kilometres from Pakistan’s premier military academy in Abbottabad starkly revealed Islamabad’s lack of sincerity in combating terrorism. This pattern persists, evident in the state’s bifurcation between “bad terrorists” (who attack Pakistan) and “good terrorists” (who serve strategic interests).
What renders this strategy especially perilous in 2025 is the shifting geopolitical landscape. With China deepening its regional engagement via the China-Pakistan Economic Corridor (CPEC), Beijing is increasingly alarmed by the instability in Balochistan. Yet, rather than curtail militant violence, Pakistan’s military has escalated its reliance on extremist proxies to suppress opposition and secure Chinese investments—transforming CPEC into a corridor shadowed by systemic violence. The global community must cease its indulgence of Pakistan’s duplicitous stance on terrorism. The military’s entrenchment of terror as a tool of foreign and domestic policy has rendered South Asia a continual theatre of conflict, with reverberations reaching as far as Europe and North America. Continued Western support—whether in the form of aid, weaponry, or diplomatic concessions—only serves to embolden Pakistan’s militarised deep state.
Pakistan is not a casualty of terrorism—it is among its principal architects. Unless the international community acknowledges this reality and responds with decisive measures—targeted sanctions, terror designations, and a withdrawal of support—the region will remain hostage to a military that thrives in ambiguity, playing a lethal double game at immense human cost.
In the aftermath of India’s Operation Sindoor on May 7, which targeted militant infrastructure in Pakistan and Pakistan-occupied Kashmir, a familiar cycle of accusations and denials has resumed. Pakistani officials immediately labelled the operation a strike on civilians insisting that places of worship, and religious schools, were among the many targets.
Particular attention has been drawn to Markaz Subhan Allah in Bahawalpur, a facility long known as the headquarters of the Deobandi militant group Jaish-e-Mohammed (JeM).
It was here, notably, that Masood Azhar, the proscribed group’s founder, reappeared in December 2024 after years of purported house arrest, a stark reminder of how Pakistan’s most dangerous extremists often operate with impunity, even when officially designated as threats by the international community.
This narrative may resonate in some quarters of the international community, but it masks a deeper, long-running reality which is that many of Pakistan’s religious seminaries, or madrassas, have long played a central role in incubating violent extremism. While not all madrasas are complicit, thousands have served as ideological and operational feeders for some of the region’s most dangerous militant groups.
The connection between Pakistan’s madrassa network and its decades-old strategy of cultivating proxy groups is well documented. And yet, it remains largely absent from current discourses on terrorism globally. To understand the roots of regional instability and why efforts to counter terrorism often flounder, the international community needs come to terms with this institutional reality.
An Infrastructure of Indoctrination
Since the 1980s, after President General Ziaul Haq thrust Pakistan into the frontline of global jihad against Soviet Communists in Afghanistan with the support of United States and Saudi Arabia, the country’s intelligence services, particularly the Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI), have cultivated relationships with a range of militant groups. As the anti-Soviet jihad in Afghanistan folded in the late 1980s, Pakistani Army, having adopted the doctrine of “strategic depth,” the notion that non-state actors could serve as force multipliers in conflicts with neighboring states, redirected these Afghan Jihad returnees to Kashmir. Moreover, an umbrella of Kashmir-centric anti-India groups, such as Hizbul Mujahideen (HM), Lashkar-e-Toiba (LeT), and Jaish-e-Muhammad (JeM), were created to sustain the insurgency in Kashmir. It is instructive when Former President General Pervez Musharraf acknowledged as much in 2010 admitting how Pakistan had supported militant groups to “pressure India.”
But the more pressing question is how Pakistan’s military and its Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI) continue to sustain such a vast militant ecosystem. The answer lies in the decades-old nexus between militant outfits like Lashkar-e-Taiba and Jaish-e-Mohammed, and a wide network of religious seminaries (madrassas) that serve as sources of both ideological indoctrination and recruitment.
While madrassa system of education is not new to Pakistan, but their explosive growth over the last few decades has altered the country’s educational and religious landscape. From just a few hundred at independence in 1947, their numbers have ballooned to more than 30,000 today, a conservative estimate, with nearly half of these operating without state oversight.
While some offer basic religious instruction, many propagate an austere, puritanical version of Islam, often influenced by Saudi Wahhabism and Deobandi orthodoxy — that fosters sectarian intolerance and glorifies armed struggle. For instance, many of these madrassas, as highlighted by M. W. Malla (2020), have relied on curriculum which emotively glorifies “jihad – Islamic holy war – through vivid imagery for whom alif (A) was meant Allah, be (B) meant Bundook (Gun), jim (J) meant jihad, and ha (Ha) meant hathiyar (arms) and likewise.”
A Pipeline to Militancy
In theory, madrassas are meant to provide education and social support to the underprivileged. However, in case of Pakistan, a significant proportion of these Islamic schools serve as gateways to radicalization. The situation is compounded by lack of governmental oversight. For instance, while the officially registered madrasas, numbering nearly 17500 as per governmental statistics, cater over 2.2 million students, millions more are enrolled in the unregistered ones. Consequently, orphaned and impoverished children, often with no other schooling options, are drawn into a closed system where anti-Western and anti-Hindu narratives are presented as divine truth. Recruitment for jihadist groups often begins in these classrooms.
Incidentally, some of the most prominent Islamic religious seminaries of Pakistan such as Jamia Ashrafia in Lahore, Dar-ul-Uloom Banori Town in Karachi, and Jamia Haqqania Akora Khattak have been repeatedly linked to known extremist organizations. Take the case of Jamia Haqqania, which has been referred to as the “University of Jihad” and its former Vice Chancellor Maulana Samiul Haq as the “Father of Taliban.” Much of the Haqqania network leadership and cadre, which is part of Afghan Taliban, has received their religious training from these institutions with a number of them currently surving in the transitional government of Taliban in Afghanistan.
Even as international pressure has mounted, reform efforts have faltered. It is instructive how Pakistan’s current government quietly abandoned the 2019 requirement for madrassas to register with the Ministry of Education, a modest reform that aimed at bringing religious seminaries under state oversight. The reversal came in December 2024, as part of a political bargain with Jamiat-e-Ulema-e-Islam (Fazl), Deobandi religious party led by Maulana Fazlur Rehman, to secure the party’s support for a constitutional amendment that expanded the powers of the military establishment while curbing the judiciary’s independence. Pakistan’s leaders have often found it easier to co-opt these groups than to challenge them — a compromise that comes at significant cost.
Beyond the Madrassa
The culture of radicalization in Pakistan does not stop at religious schools. State-run public schools often include textbooks that promote intolerance, framing India and the West as existential threats. Clerics like Maulana Abdul Aziz, once the head of Islamabad’s infamous Lal Masjid, openly issue calls to violence. He has faced little accountability despite repeated clashes with the state.
This radical ecosystem is self-reinforcing. With 39 percent of Pakistan’s population living below the poverty line, many families have little choice but to send their children to madrassas that offer free food and shelter. But the pattern is not limited to the poor. In recent years, Pakistan has witnessed recruitment by extremist groups among the educated elite, including medical students and professionals drawn to the ideology of ISIS and its affiliates.
This widening appeal underscores that extremism in Pakistan is not simply a problem of poverty or illiteracy — it is one of systemic indoctrination and strategic tolerance. The madrassas are just the most visible node in a much broader network of radicalization.
The Global Dimension
That Pakistan has managed to sustain this infrastructure with relatively few consequences is, in part, a reflection of international inconsistency. During the U.S.-led war in Afghanistan, Islamabad was seen as a necessary, if difficult, partner. More than $33 billion in U.S. aid flowed into Pakistan post-9/11, even as evidence mounted that its military continued to support insurgent groups like Afghan Taliban, LeT, HM and JeM.
What is more problematic is how China, too, despite vying for the global leadership and having endured terrorism in its Xinjiang province, has largely refrained from pressuring Pakistan. This is being justified by its investment in the China-Pakistan Economic Corridor (CPEC) and its geopolitical competition with India. Moreover, while the state patronage of funding conservative religious education from Gulf countries has gone down, the role of religious groups has continued to foster this ecosystem.
In addition, in terms of global oversight, even the Financial Action Task Force (FATF), the global watchdog on terror financing, has struggled to enforce long-term compliance. Though Pakistan was removed from the FATF’s “grey list” in 2022, much of the underlying infrastructure remains intact.
A Familiar Playbook
The claims that India’s recent strikes targeted civilian infrastructure follow a well-established script. In 2019, following the Balakot airstrikes, it denied that any militant camp had been hit, despite independent verification of the target’s history as a JeM facility.
What makes Operation Sindoor different is not the nature of Pakistan’s response, but the context in which it occurs. Militant violence inside Pakistan has surged, with a 79 percent increase in attacks in 2023 alone. Many of these attacks have been carried out by groups the state once sheltered. The Tehrik-i-Taliban Pakistan (TTP), now re-empowered by the Taliban’s return in Afghanistan, has turned its guns inward.
In effect, Pakistan is now haunted by its own proxies, groups once deployed as strategic assets have grown autonomous and hostile. The madrassas that fed them remain largely untouched, a sign of the state’s reluctance, or inability, to dismantle the very apparatus it helped create.
The Consequences of Denial
The madrassa-militancy nexus is not the only reason for instability in South Asia, but it is a critical one.
As long as Pakistan continues to shield this infrastructure behind religious rhetoric and claims of victimhood, genuine counterterrorism cooperation will remain elusive.
For the international community, the lesson is clear: treating Pakistan as a willing partner while ignoring its internal contradictions only delays the reckoning. Madrassa reform, state accountability, and a broader ideological shift are not just domestic imperatives for Pakistan, but they are regional and global necessities.
Until then, any claims of targeting civilians in strikes like Operation Sindoor must be weighed against a broader, uncomfortable truth: some of the very institutions Pakistan defends as sacred have long functioned as sanctuaries for those who preach and practice violence.
Over the past couple of decades, Pakistan has steadily lost favours it once enjoyed with key allies, including the US, for its incessant instrumentalization of terrorism as state policy. As the post 9/11 world increasingly adopted global norms on no tolerance for terrorism, Pakistan remained stuck in its tactics of viewing militant networks as strategic assets, particularly deployed against India. Embarrassingly exposed time and again, the country currently finds itself amid multiple crises at once, from a precarious economic state to existentially threatening insurgencies, all exacerbated by a severely weakened global standing. This was laid bare during its recent hostilities with India, following the blood-curdling Pahalgam attack of April 22, as countries that have traditionally aligned with Pakistan refused to come to its aid.
Pakistan’s role in the proliferation of global terrorism began with its alliance with the CIA in arming the Afghan Mujahideen against the USSR in the 1980s. However, this policy of using militant proxies for geopolitical ends was soon institutionalized by the Pakistani establishment which then deployed the same tactics to undermine India, and specifically stir up Islamist militancy in Kashmir. Even as it projected itself as a US ally in the global war on terror, it continued to shelter and support radical elements, reflected in its infamous distinction between ‘good Taliban’ and ‘bad Taliban’. The primary reason why it covertly backed the Afghan Taliban was again as to secure an allied Islamist regime in Afghanistan as a counter to India. This could not be concealed for long and the US, frustrated by Pakistan’s duplicitous designs, significantly cut down on its economic and military aid to the country, in addition to distancing itself diplomatically.
On the other hand, the continuous terrorist attacks in India, evidentially linked to Pakistan, such as the 2001 Parliament attack, 2008 Mumbai attacks, 2019 Pulwama attack, among others, tarnished the latter’s global reputation as the epicentre of terrorism. In recent years, even Muslim majority nations such as the Persian Gulf countries, particularly Saudi Arabia and UAE, have shifted their foreign policy rationale from religion and ideology-based alignment with Pakistan to a more forward-looking cooperation based on the imperatives of economic pragmatism, regional stability and security, and the emerging new world order, with India.
Similarly, the Organization of Islamic Countries (OIC) has, in the past few years, demonstrated its respect and willingness to engage with India, much to the distaste of Pakistan. The first and quite heavy blow came when the forum invited India’s then Foreign Minister Sushma Swaraj as a ‘guest of honour’ in its 2019 meeting in Abu Dhabi, despite Pakistan’s objections. The next year, in a departure from its usual stance, the OIC declined to have Kashmir on its agenda, reflecting Pakistan’s deteriorating standing in the forum and India’s increasing global clout. Although amid the recent military escalations between the two neighbours in the wake of the Pahalgam terror attack, the OIC appears to have favoured Pakistan’s narrative on Kashmir, inciting censure from India, it remains questionable how long it is going to last, given Pakistan’s free-falling economic, security and diplomatic situation as well as the organisation’s history of snubbing the country’s requests more often than not.
Destabilizing Pakistan’s strategic calculus and exacerbating its internal crisis is its once intimate ally- the Afghan Taliban. Since returning to power in August 2021, an event that was looked at with much optimism and triumph in Islamabad, the Afghan Taliban have turned sour with their neighbour that accuses them of supporting the Tehreek-e-Taliban Pakistan (TTP) or the Pakistani Taliban. The TTP has recently emerged as the most potent insurgent group within the country, in addition to the Baloch Liberation Army (BLA), launching relentless attacks on security forces and civilians, and increasingly establishing proto-state pockets in Pakistani territory. The loss of the Afghan Taliban as a reliable ally against India despite years of covert and risk-laden backing certainly constitutes an existential setback for Pakistan, made worse by the growing engagement between the Afghan Taliban and India.
The decades of Pakistan’s instrumentalization of terror have left it in a position that it itself finds difficult to get out of. Not only has the sponsorship of terrorism backfired on its own people as it ranks 2nd in the Global Terrorism Index 2025, but the years of neglect of its internal issues has bred insurgencies that have attacked even Chinese workers and projects, jeopardizing its most strategic partnership. As Pakistan suffers from alarming inflation, dropping currency and foreign exchange reserves, and dependence on IMF bailouts and bilateral loans, its internal security crises have not only weakened it politically but also economically by staving off any potential investment.
Therefore, in order to prevent its own unravelling, Pakistan must take stock of the shifting geopolitical landscape wherein nations prioritize stability, economic cooperation, and counter-terrorism over religious or ideological affiliations. Its continued backing of terror has already cost it irreparably, both internally and externally. Unless it radically recalibrates its geopolitical strategy, one that has no space for militant proxies, the future seems grim for the country.
The Deadly Terrorist attack in Pahalgam on 22nd April claimed the lives of 26 tourists, leaving India as a nation seething with anger at the visuals of the dastardly attack. In the aftermath of the attack, India conducted Operation SINDOOR on the morning of May 6, followed by heavy shelling and killing of civilians by Pakistan in the Poonch area of Jammu and Kashmir. The threat of an all-out war looms large if Pakistan indulges in any bravado.
Just a day after the abhorrent attack, a slew of retributive measures was announced after a meeting of the Cabinet Committee on Security (CCS), led by PM Narendra Modi. It was decided to keep the crucial Indus Water Treaty in abeyance, the Attari-Wagah border was shut with immediate effect, Pakistani Nationals were asked to leave India, the Defence advisors of Pakistan in India were declared Persona Non-Grata, and the overall strength of the Pakistani High Commission in India was to be downsized to 30 from the present 55 officials. Pakistan, in response, closed its airspace for Indian airlines and suspended all trade ties with India. Complimenting Pakistan’s retaliatory measures, there was the usual nuclear sabre-rattling as well. Issuing an open threat to India, Pakistan’s Railway Minister Hanif Abbasi said that its 130 nuclear warheads are not only for display and have been kept for India, and if India tries to stop Pakistan’s share of water from the Indus, then the former should prepare for a full-scale war.
While on the surface, it may seem like a routine bilateral escalation between India and Pakistan, it wouldn’t be unreasonable to think that there may be some deeper strategic motives at play. Recently, US President Donald Trump slapped massive up to 245 percent tariffs on all Chinese imports, reacting to which the Chinese took up similar measures and raised the tariffs to 125 percent on American goods from the current 84 percent. The Trade war between the two biggest economies of the world sent ripples across the world, and India too was concerned as its manufacturing, mainly steel, auto, electronics, and pharmaceutical industries are heavily reliant on China for raw materials, and any disruptions in the supply chain could prove detrimental to the Indian economy and its consumers. But just as every cloud has a silver lining, so too does this trade war.
In a recently published report in the Indian Express, Richard Baldwin, a professor of Economics at IMD Business School, said that Middle power countries like India could secure a substantial foothold in global supply chains because of the US-China Trade War. He emphasized that if US tariffs persist on China, it could be beneficial to emerging markets as businesses would look to diversify and relocate, and India presents itself as a preferred destination for the same. It wasn’t just a speculation; this resonated on the ground as well, as Apple laid out its ambitious plan to shift all US-bound iPhone production from China to India by 2026. According to the Financial Times Report, Apple aims to produce more than 60 million iPhones annually in India to meet its demand back home in the US.
India was also actively involved in identifying and attracting several companies that were looking to shift their operations away from China. It tried to position itself as a natural alternative for companies moving away from China by portraying itself as a safe, secure, and stable democracy that offers a conducive environment for businesses.
But the recent Pahalgam attack and the escalation that followed between India and Pakistan gave China exactly what it needed. It was a chance for China to showcase the risk factors involved for businesses that were looking to relocate to India. The conflict served as an alarming reminder to the world, especially businesses, that the situation between the two South Asian arch-rivals is still volatile and could explode at any moment. The Chinese social media, in the recent past, has been flooded with the narrative of how this trade war between them and the US has given an undeserving opportunity for India to attract businesses and investments. Though Beijing openly urged both India and Pakistan to act with restraint, behind the curtains, it was actively pulling the strings to encourage Pakistan to escalate and stretch the confrontation with India. China also extended support to Pakistan’s demand for an impartial probe into the Pahalgam Terror attack.
Currently, Beijing is dealing with an economic slowdown, and the situation has only gotten worse after the trade war with the US. It wouldn’t be imprudent to guess that an active Chinese role is at play behind the scenes, as it would be in China’s interest to portray India as an unstable, unfavourable, and unsafe alternative to thwart the relocation efforts of various businesses. Using Pakistan as a proxy to further its objective by offering diplomatic and even military support, China has tried to spoil India’s image as a safe investment hub. Additionally, the terrorist attack in Pahalgam’s Picturesque Baisaran Valley has allowed India’s adversaries to cast doubt on the claims of the Modi government that the situation has drastically improved in Jammu and Kashmir post the abrogation of Article 370. India has been trying hard to build the narrative that the abrogation has ushered in an era of peace and progress for Jammu and Kashmir, and the recent attack challenges this claim of the Indian government. The attack directly hits the core of Jammu and Kashmir’s economic recovery, especially its tourism sector.
(The writer is a political strategist with expertise in media relations and geopolitical developments)
Pakistan has dozens of terrorist organisations which operate from its soil and export terrorism to rest of the world. These organisations have a financial ecosystem that has survived the international scrutiny and multiple operations from international agencies to stop terror financing.
Pakistan has five broad categories of terrorist organisations: (1) Globally oriented; (2) Afghanistan-oriented; (3) India-oriented; (4) Domestically oriented; and (5) Sectarian (anti-Shia).
The India-oriented terrorist organisations include: Lashkar-e-Taiba (LET) formed in the late 1980s; Jaish-e-Mohammed (JEM) founded in 2000; Harakat-ul Jihad Islami (HUJI) formed in 1980; Harakat ul-Mujahidin (HUM) was established in 1998; Hizbul Mujahideen (HM) was formed in 1989.
According to a study paper “Pakistan Army and Terrorism; an unholy alliance” done by Amsterdam based, European Foundation for South Asian Studies (EFSAS), Amsterdam, “Pakistan… plays a key role in funding these terrorist organizations. As per reports, the yearly expenditure of ISI(Pakistan’s intelligence agency) towards the terrorist organizations runs between 125-250 million USD, covering salaries, cash incentives for high-risk operations and retainers for guides, porters and informers.”
An internal report of Pakistan governments Financial Monitoring Unit(FMU) , titled “National Risk Assessment on Money Laundering and Terrorism Financing 2017” has details of how terror groups are generating funds in Pakistan. This report was never made public but excerpts of these reports were quoted by Noor Zahid and Madeeha Anwar in a Voice of America report published in 2017. The duo exposed the funding of Pak terror groups in a report titled ‘Pakistan Terror Groups Get Rich From Crime, Money Laundering’
According to Zahid and Anwar, “Waves of crime in Pakistan — including extortion, smuggling and kidnapping for ransom — are major sources of terrorist financing for extremist groups in the country. “Main sources of income of terrorists in Pakistan include foreign funding, drug trafficking, kidnapping for ransom, extortion from business, vehicle snatching,” according to the 45-page confidential report by FMU, which is an intelligence service department within Pakistan’s Ministry of Finance.
“The report, which had not been released publicly, says over 200 local and international terrorist organizations generate billions of Pakistani rupees to fund their activities. Annual operational budget of terrorist organizations is from 5 million rupees [about $48,000] to 25 million rupees [about $240,000],” the report said, according to The News website, which published these excerpts.
‘Terrorism Monitor’ of Jamestown Foundation revealed in December 2024 another important facet of terror funding in Pakistan. It said, “Terrorist groups in Pakistan frequently use high-denomination currency to finance their operations. Permitting a large number of high-value notes to be in circulation makes it easy for bad actors to transfer considerable amounts of money without a digital footprint, making illicit activities easier to conduct.”
The relatively high availability of such bills in circulation in Pakistan is due to the country’s underutilization of electronic payment systems, it added.
According to this report, Tunda, a notorious bomb expert for Lashkar-e-Taiba (LeT) who reportedly masterminded more than 40 bombings in India had told the Indian law enforcement agencies after his arrest with huge amount of Pakistan currency that large denomination bills were “kings who could do anything for them.”
“Pakistani denominations currently in circulation include 10-, 20-, 50-, 100-, 500-, 1,000-, and 5,000-rupee notes. It is noteworthy that Pakistan, which makes up 3 percent of the world’s population, accounts for 7.1 percent of the world’s unbanked adults,” says this report.
According to a research brief prepared by US Congressional Research Service in 2023, “Although Pakistan’s 2014 National Action Plan to counter terrorism seeks to ensure that no armed militias are allowed to function in the country, several United Nations- and U.S.-designated terrorist groups continue to operate from Pakistani soil.”
Islamic Charities
Almost all the terrorist organisations have set up Islamic charities as their fronts in Pakistan. These charities operate globally. In fact, USAID had funded many of these charities, revealed a recent report by the Middle East Forum, a US based think tank revealed. In addition the ‘Zakat’ collected from common people during the month of Ramadan by these charities are also funnelled to fund these terrorist organisations.
Since the 1980s, Pakistan has had a system of compulsory collection of zakat, relying on a state-administered zakat fund and zakat councils at federal, provincial and district levels. In 2024, the average zakat giver paid about 15,000 Pakistani rupees with over 50 million Pakistanis contributing. The total funds generated in Pakistan through Zakat was over 600 billion Pakistani rupees in 2024. A large chunk of this money goes for oiling the terror infrastructure established by Pakistani state and their proxy terrorist groups.
In a turn of events that lays bare the enduring proclivity of Pakistan’s military-intelligence apparatus for perfidious adventurism, the subcontinent has once again been plunged into the vortex of tragedy and retribution. On 22 April, the scenic tranquillity of Pahalgam in Jammu and Kashmir was shattered by a heinous act of terror—an attack carried out by assailants of Pakistani provenance, leaving in its wake a trail of innocent blood, most of it that of unsuspecting tourists.
This egregious violation of human sanctity provoked an unequivocal and resolute response from New Delhi. In a swift Cabinet Sub-Committee review chaired by Prime Minister Narendra Modi on 23 April, the Indian government charted a bold course of action, announced by India’s Foreign Secretary Vikram Misri. Among the arsenal of retaliatory instruments under consideration, it was the suspension of India’s obligations under the Indus Waters Treaty (IWT) that emerged as the most telling—and symbolic—rebuke to Islamabad.
This abrupt departure from what has long been a pillar of regional diplomacy signals a watershed moment—both literally and metaphorically—in South Asia’s geopolitical tapestry. For more than six decades, the IWT has served as an improbable exemplar of bilateral cooperation, a rare artefact of amity amidst a chronically discordant relationship. That India should now suspend this treaty reflects a fundamental recalibration of its strategic posture, particularly vis-à-vis Pakistan’s sustained dalliance with proxy terrorism. But before one delves into the ramifications of this audacious move, one must first examine the edifice of the Indus Waters Treaty—its origins, its operational architecture, and the significance it has come to assume in both geopolitical and existential terms.
A Riverine Pact Forged in Discord
Conceived in the crucible of Cold War anxieties and brokered under the watchful eyes of the World Bank, the IWT was inked in 1960 after an arduous nine-year negotiation. At the heart of the agreement lay the equitable distribution of the six rivers of the Indus basin—the Indus, Jhelum, and Chenab in the west; and the Ravi, Beas, and Sutlej in the east.
In what can only be described as an act of magnanimous restraint, India ceded exclusive control over the three Western rivers—comprising nearly 70% of the total water volume—to Pakistan, while retaining dominion over the three Eastern ones. This asymmetry, while glaring, was accepted in the spirit of regional stability and the hope that water, the most elemental of life’s resources, might also irrigate the parched soil of subcontinental peace. But alas, that noble aspiration has withered. Successive regimes in Islamabad have weaponised non-state actors, cultivating a cottage industry of jihadist terror that has repeatedly spilled across the Line of Control and stained Indian soil with blood. And yet, even amidst war and vitriol, India abided by the treaty, honouring its commitments with a stoic discipline that belied the provocations it endured. This forbearance, however, is not inexhaustible.
The Cost of Generosity
To understand the magnitude of India’s concession, consider the numbers. The Eastern rivers—Ravi, Beas, and Sutlej—over which India has unfettered rights, collectively yield about 41 billion cubic metres of water annually. The Western rivers, gifted to Pakistan, deliver nearly 99 billion cubic metres—more than double the volume under Indian control. This hydrological largesse has become the very artery of Pakistan’s survival. In a nation where agriculture constitutes over 25% of GDP and sustains approximately 70% of the populace, water is not a mere resource—it is an existential imperative. The Indus basin fuels its farms, powers its turbines, and feeds its people. To perturb this flow is to imperil the nation’s economic equilibrium and societal cohesion.
And yet, Pakistan’s security establishment has long treated this precious accommodation as a given—immutable, untouchable, and immune to the vagaries of geopolitical conduct. This misplaced confidence has emboldened it to pursue a duplicitous doctrine—of nurturing militant proxies even as it benefited from the benevolence of Indian water diplomacy.
The Straw That Broke the Canal
By suspending the IWT, India is sending a message steeped in symbolism but not lacking in substance. This is not merely an outburst of indignation—it is a calibrated policy shift. The message is unequivocal: India shall no longer subsidise its adversary’s antagonism with strategic concessions. If Pakistan insists on fomenting unrest through insidious means, it must also be prepared to forfeit the privileges accorded to it under treaties predicated on good faith.
One may argue, with some justification, that India’s current water infrastructure lacks the immediate capacity to divert or fully harness the Western rivers. The requisite reservoirs, barrages, and canal systems for such a hydrological overhaul are still under development. But in geopolitics, perception often precedes practice. The very act of invoking the treaty’s suspension has rattled the strategic calculus in Islamabad and laid bare the fragility of its assumptions.
For decades, Pakistan has operated on the belief that India’s strategic restraint—especially in the hydrological domain—was sacrosanct. It misread India’s civility as weakness. That illusion has now been spectacularly shattered.
A Faustian Bargain That Failed
What, then, has Pakistan gained from its Faustian pact with terror? Has its strategy of bleeding India through a thousand cuts yielded dividends? On the contrary, the costs have been profound and self-defeating.
Far from “liberating” Kashmir or coercing India into negotiations on its own terms, Pakistan finds itself internationally isolated, diplomatically suspect, and economically anaemic. Worse still, the terror groups it once mentored have now metastasised, turning their guns inward and threatening the cohesion of the Pakistani state itself. The logic of proxy warfare—premised on the deniability of violence and the expendability of cannon fodder—has unravelled. In its place stands a polity riddled with extremism, plagued by economic fragility, and mired in geopolitical ignominy. The international community, once indulgent of Pakistan’s strategic anxieties, now views its double game with growing exasperation.
The Geopolitical Ripple Effect
India’s suspension of the IWT, while unilateral in action, has multilateral implications. It signals to the world that New Delhi is prepared to reframe the contours of South Asian diplomacy. Water—long considered sacrosanct—can no longer be divorced
To paraphrase the ancient wisdom of the East, one cannot bathe twice in the same river—because the water has moved on, and so has time. Pakistan, too, must now move on—from the shackles of militancy, from the dogmas of military overreach, and from the delusion that duplicity can be a permanent policy.
If it fails to do so, history may not be as forgiving as the Indus once was.
Pakistan today finds itself in the throes of a deep and multifaceted crisis. A collapsing economy, political volatility, and a fraying internal security order have combined to expose the limits of the state’s resilience. Armed ethnonationalist movements in Balochistan and Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, along with a resurgence of transnational jihadist violence, now pose grave challenges to internal cohesion. Compounding this crisis of the state’s systemic dysfunction is the unprecedented erosion of public trust in the military — historically the most powerful and stable institution in the country.
In any functioning democracy, such systemic dysfunction might prompt serious institutional introspection. But Pakistan is not a conventional democracy. Its generals continue to dominate the national security and foreign policy apparatus, leaving little room for recalibration — particularly on matters where the military has long maintained primacy, such as its regional policy.
On April 15, General Asim Munir, Pakistan’s current Army Chief and undoubtedly its most powerful figure, delivered a politically charged speech aimed at salvaging the military’s diminished public standing.
Instead of reflecting on the domestic failures under his tenure, Munir fell back on a familiar script by invoking Kashmir as the nation’s unfinished cause, a “jugular vein”, which will be supported till the very last end. But this time, he cast Pakistan’s long-standing support for insurgency in Jammu and Kashmir through a more overtly communal lens, framing it within a polarizing Hindu-Muslim binary. Far from an offhand remark, this rhetoric not only distracts from Pakistan’s internal problems but also serves to reaffirm Islamabad’s continued reliance on militant proxies as instruments of foreign policy.
Disturbing, though not surprising, the consequences of General Munir’s provocative speech seemed to unfold just days later, with militants carrying out a deadly attack in Pahalgam, a popular tourist destination in Jammu and Kashmir’s Anantnag district.
Early reports indicate the armed assailants, mostly non-locals of Pakistani origins, having singled out victims based on their religious identity before launching a brutal massacre that killed at least 26 civilians and injured many more. The synchronicity between the timing of the speech and nature of the attack are difficult to dismiss as mere coincidence. Instead, they raise serious concerns about the ongoing connection between Pakistan’s powerful military establishment and the extremist groups it has long been accused of supporting behind the scenes. The group claiming responsibility, The Resistance Front (TRF), is widely recognized as a rebranded version of Lashkar-e-Taiba — a U.N.-designated terrorist organization with deep ties to Pakistan’s security establishment. TRF’s reinvention is widely viewed as a strategic manoeuvre to shield Islamabad from international censure, including scrutiny by the Financial Action Task Force (FATF).
The timing of the attack, so closely following General Munir’s speech, raises troubling questions. For decades, militant violence in Kashmir has often followed inflammatory statements from Pakistani leaders or shifts in the geopolitical landscape. The latest attack appears to follow this pattern, and its motive fits a familiar logic: force India back to the negotiating table by stoking instability.
There are three interconnected factors that may underscore how Pakistan’s fingerprints appear evident. First, the Pakistan Army’s public legitimacy is at its lowest point since the country’s founding in 1947, largely due to its deep and controversial involvement in domestic politics. Second, the Shehbaz Sharif-led government has repeatedly reached out to New Delhi to revive bilateral talks—an initiative that India has, quite justifiably, conditioned on Islamabad halting its support for terrorist networks targeting Indian interests. Third, since India’s 2019 constitutional reorganization of Jammu and Kashmir, the region has steadily transitioned from a “terrorism” flashpoint to a “tourism” revival story, leaving Pakistan’s decades-old Kashmir narrative and its attempts to internationalise the so-called dispute adrift.
The timing of the attack coinciding with U.S. Vice President J.D. Vance’s visit to India adds a provocative layer. It recalls a grim precedent: in March 2000, during President Bill Clinton’s visit to India, Pakistani-backed militants massacred Sikh villagers in Kashmir — Chittisinghpura massacre —an act widely seen as an attempt to draw global attention to Islamabad’s agenda. The parallels are hard to ignore.
But the most damning aspect of Pakistan’s strategy is that while it is increasingly self-defeating, it refuses to abandon this strategy despite its violent backfire. Militant blowback has rendered vast stretches of its own territory—particularly in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa and Balochistan—effectively beyond the reach of the central government, now largely controlled by Islamist extremists and Baloch nationalist insurgents, respectively. Extremist networks once deployed for strategic depth have turned inward, contributing to Pakistan’s domestic instability. According to the 2025 Global Terrorism Index, Pakistan now ranks as the world’s second most terrorism-affected country, surpassed only by Burkina Faso. Terrorism-related fatalities in Pakistan rose by 45 percent in 2024 alone.
Yet, despite these devastating costs, both in lives lost and in national stability, Pakistan’s military and political leadership remains either unwilling or unable to break with its long-standing policy of using militant proxies as instruments of regional strategy. This stubborn adherence to an outdated and corrosive doctrine has hollowed the state from within. The massacre in Pahalgam is not merely a cross-border atrocity; it is a symptom of a state trapped in its own delusions — one that continues to use extremist violence as a tool of policy even as it undermines its own survival.
While global powers have rightly condemned this latest act of terrorism at Pahalgam, expressions of outrage are no longer sufficient. The international community must adopt a firmer stance—one that combines diplomatic pressure, targeted sanctions, and enhanced monitoring of Pakistan’s financial and security networks. Islamabad must be made to understand that impunity is no longer an option as cost of inaction is steep.
For too long, Pakistan’s proxy war playbook has been tolerated as a regional irritant, which it is not. If this pattern continues unchecked, the risk of broader destabilization in South Asia — and the possibility of an escalation — will become all too real. The world must act before this proxy war metastasizes into something far more dangerous.