M A Hossain,
The latest spiral of violence between Pakistan and Afghanistan is less a sudden war than the resurfacing of an old, unresolved argument—about borders, sovereignty, militancy and the burdens of history. What happened this week was dramatic: airstrikes, retaliatory assaults, declarations of “open war.” But the underlying logic has been years in the making.
On February 21–22, Pakistan launched airstrikes into Afghanistan’s eastern provinces—Nangarhar, Paktika and Khost—targeting what it described as camps belonging to Tehreek-e-Taliban Pakistan (TTP) and ISIS-K. Islamabad called them intelligence-based, selective operations. Kabul called them violations of sovereignty that killed civilians. By February 26, the Afghan Taliban responded with cross-border attacks on Pakistani posts. On February 27, Pakistan escalated further, widening strikes and invoking 'Operation Ghazab Lil Haq'.
Both sides claim heavy enemy casualties. Both deny significant losses of their own. The numbers matter less than the pattern: a fragile ceasefire mediated last year in Doha has collapsed; the Durand Line (the 2,600-kilometer border drawn in 1893 between British India and Afghanistan) remains contested in Afghan political memory; and the militant ecosystem that once served as a geopolitical instrument has become a strategic liability.
To understand why Pakistan acted so forcefully, one must begin not in Kabul but in Islamabad and Peshawar. Early February brought a succession of deadly attacks inside Pakistan: a suicide bombing at a Shia mosque in the capital that killed dozens; cross-border raids in Bajaur; an assault in Bannu that killed Pakistani officers during an intelligence operation. The TTP claimed responsibility for several of these attacks. Pakistan insists the planners and facilitators operate from Afghan soil.
There is a cruel irony here. For decades, elements within Pakistan’s security establishment cultivated militant proxies as tools of regional influence—first against Soviet forces in Afghanistan, later against Indian interests. But geopolitics has a way of mutating its own creations. After the U.S. withdrawal from Afghanistan in 2021 and the Taliban’s return to power, TTP networks found renewed sanctuary and ideological encouragement across the border. What was once strategic depth has become strategic blowback.
Islamabad today sees the TTP not as a nuisance but as an existential threat. The group seeks to overthrow the Pakistani state and impose its own rigid interpretation of governance. Its attacks have killed hundreds in recent years. From Pakistan’s vantage point, diplomacy with Kabul has failed. A Qatar-mediated truce last year collapsed amid continued skirmishes. Officials now say “patience has run out.”
Yet force is a language that rarely translates cleanly across the Durand Line. Afghanistan’s Taliban rulers reject the legitimacy of that border altogether. They deny harboring TTP leadership, even as ideological affinities and personal ties blur distinctions. When Pakistan bombs what it calls militant camps, Afghan authorities call them civilian villages. Each side speaks past the other, appealing to domestic audiences as much as to international law.
The Durand Line itself is not merely a cartographic relic; it is a psychological scar. For Afghanistan, it represents a colonial imposition that split Pashtun communities. For Pakistan, it is an internationally recognized frontier that defines its territorial integrity. Every cross-border strike reopens that wound. Every militant incursion deepens mistrust.
International reaction has been cautious, almost weary. The United Nations has urged de-escalation and respect for international law. Regional actors—Qatar, Saudi Arabia, Iran—have offered mediation. India condemned Pakistan’s strikes as an attempt to externalize internal failures. Noticeably muted have been the United States and China, both of whom have significant stakes in regional stability but limited appetite for new entanglements.
This restraint reflects a broader geopolitical reality. The world’s attention is divided—Ukraine, Gaza, the South China Sea. South Asia’s border crises struggle to command sustained focus unless they threaten nuclear escalation. Afghanistan, after two decades of international intervention, has receded from daily headlines. But neglect does not equal irrelevance. Instability along the Pakistan-Afghanistan frontier can radiate outward: refugee flows, extremist safe havens, regional rivalries.
Pakistan’s decision to escalate also carries domestic dimensions. The country faces economic fragility, political polarization and strained civil-military relations. In such contexts, external action can consolidate internal unity—at least temporarily. Military operations against cross-border militants can rally public opinion and reinforce the narrative of a state under siege. Critics argue this risks conflating legitimate security concerns with political expediency. Supporters counter that no government can ignore attacks on its soldiers and civilians.
Afghanistan’s Taliban leadership confronts its own dilemmas. Having fought a two-decade insurgency against foreign forces, it is reluctant to appear submissive to Pakistani pressure. It must balance ideological solidarity with TTP elements against the practical necessity of avoiding a war with its largest trading partner. Its economy is fragile; international recognition remains elusive. Prolonged conflict with Pakistan would deepen isolation.
History offers sobering lessons. In the 1980s, cross-border sanctuaries turned Afghanistan into a battleground for superpower rivalry. In the 1990s, civil war metastasized into regional proxy conflict. After 2001, the porous border allowed insurgents to regroup, prolonging a war that exhausted both Afghanistan and its neighbors. Each time, tactical decisions compounded strategic instability.
There is also a legal dimension. Under international law, states have a right to self-defense against non-state actors launching armed attacks from another territory. But that right is constrained by necessity and proportionality. Was Pakistan’s use of airpower necessary because Kabul was unwilling or unable to act against TTP? Or did it exceed proportional bounds, risking civilian harm and broader conflict? These are not rhetorical questions; they are the hinge on which diplomatic legitimacy turns.
For the international community, the challenge is not merely to call for restraint but to create incentives for it. Qatar’s prior mediation suggests channels exist. Saudi Arabia and Iran—despite their own rivalries—have signaled interest in regional stability. China, with investments tied to the China-Pakistan Economic Corridor, has reason to discourage prolonged insecurity. Even India, despite condemning Islamabad, benefits from preventing militant spillover.
What would de-escalation require? First, a verifiable mechanism addressing Pakistan’s core grievance: cross-border militant activity. That could involve joint monitoring, intelligence sharing, or third-party verification—ambitious, perhaps unrealistic, but preferable to perpetual reprisal. Second, renewed dialogue on border management, even if the Durand Line’s political status remains contentious. Practical cooperation need not resolve historical disputes overnight. Third, humanitarian safeguards to minimize civilian harm, because every unintended casualty becomes propaganda for the next recruitment drive.
The tragedy of this week’s escalation is that both sides have legitimate security concerns—and both risk undermining them through unchecked retaliation. Pakistan cannot tolerate persistent attacks on its soil. Afghanistan cannot accept routine violations of its sovereignty. The space between those positions is narrow but not nonexistent.
Wars often begin with the language of inevitability. “Patience has run out.” “Open war.” Such phrases satisfy the emotional demand for resolve. They rarely satisfy the strategic requirement for stability. The Pakistan-Afghanistan frontier has endured empires, insurgencies and superpower contests. It will outlast this week’s strikes as well. The question is whether its leaders will learn from history’s hard arithmetic—or repeat it.
In geopolitics, as in life, force can silence a threat for a season. It cannot, by itself, settle a century-old argument about borders, identity and power. That settlement requires something rarer than airpower: political imagination, sustained diplomacy and the humility to recognize that yesterday’s proxy can become tomorrow’s peril.
M A Hossain, political and defense analyst based in Bangladesh. He can be reached at: writetomahossain@gmail.com
This article published at :
1. New Age, BD : 02 March, 26
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