The Merchant case therefore fits a recognizable pattern: recruitment outside Iran, deployment in third countries, and reliance on criminal intermediaries to carry out violent actions.

In March 2026, a U.S. federal jury convicted Asif Merchant, a Pakistani national with links to Iran’s Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC), on charges of terrorism and murder-for-hire.

Prosecutors argued that Merchant attempted to orchestrate the assassination of American political leaders during the 2024 election cycle, including president Donald Trump. The plot collapsed only because the individuals he attempted to hire turned out to be undercover FBI agents.

At first glance, the episode might appear to be another isolated case of a failed extremist plot. Yet the details emerging from court records, intelligence disclosures, and related cases reveal something more troubling.

Merchant’s trajectory—from alleged recruitment by the IRGC in Pakistan to his attempt to coordinate a political assassination inside the United States—illustrates the evolving architecture of transnational covert operations directed at American political targets.

For U.S. policymakers, the Merchant case should not merely be treated as a criminal prosecution. It is a warning signal about the persistence of state-linked assassination plots and the vulnerability of open democratic societies to external clandestine networks.

From Recruitment to Assassination Planning

According to U.S. prosecutors, Merchant began working with operatives linked to Iran’s Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) in late 2022 or early 2023 while in Pakistan. His responsibilities included laundering funds and establishing operational contacts outside Iran.

By late 2023, investigators believe Merchant had been tasked with a more ambitious assignment: identifying potential recruits for covert operations in the United States. In April 2024, he traveled to the country and began seeking intermediaries who could carry out violent acts against political figures.

Court filings describe a chilling sequence of meetings in New York during June 2024. Merchant reportedly explained to individuals he believed were professional hitmen that he required three services: document theft, organized protests at political rallies, and the assassination of a “political person.”

The operation was never realized. Merchant unknowingly paid a $5,000 advance to undercover agents and was arrested in July 2024 before leaving the United States.

In March 2026, after a federal trial in Brooklyn, a jury convicted him of attempting to commit terrorism and murder-for-hire, crimes that carry a potential life sentence.

What makes this case particularly alarming is the alleged state-linked dimension. U.S. prosecutors argued that Merchant was acting under the direction of IRGC operatives.

The Soleimani Factor and Iran’s Retaliatory Doctrine

To understand why American political figures might be targeted, analysts often point to a pivotal moment in January 2020: the U.S. drone strike that killed Qasem Soleimani, commander of the IRGC’s Quds Force. The strike, ordered by President Donald Trump, dramatically escalated tensions between Washington and Tehran.

Since Soleimani’s death, U.S. intelligence agencies have warned of Iranian efforts to retaliate through covert operations targeting American officials. In fact, the Merchant plot was widely interpreted by investigators as part of a broader revenge campaign.

The strategic logic is consistent with Iran’s historical reliance on asymmetric tactics. Rather than confronting U.S. military power directly, Iranian security institutions—including the IRGC and associated intelligence units—have frequently relied on proxy networks, covert agents, and deniable intermediaries abroad.

The Merchant case therefore fits a recognizable pattern: recruitment outside Iran, deployment in third countries, and reliance on criminal intermediaries to carry out violent actions.

Not an Isolated Case

The significance of the Merchant episode becomes clearer when examined alongside other documented plots attributed to Iranian networks.

One of the most prominent examples involves Shahram Poursafi, an IRGC-linked operative charged by the U.S. Department of Justice in 2022 for allegedly plotting to assassinate former national security adviser John Bolton.

Prosecutors said Poursafi attempted to hire a hitman and offered payments of up to $1 million for the killing.

Another case emerged in 2024, when U.S. authorities accused Farhad Shakeri, an alleged IRGC asset, of coordinating murder-for-hire operations targeting American and Iranian-American figures in New York.

According to investigators, Shakeri’s network sought to recruit criminal associates to carry out the killings.

Similarly, the FBI issued alerts in 2024 regarding Iranian intelligence operative Majid Dastjani Farahani, suspected of recruiting individuals to assassinate U.S. officials.

Taken together, these cases suggest a strategic pattern rather than isolated incidents. The use of intermediaries—often foreign nationals or diaspora contacts—allows state actors to maintain plausible deniability while extending operational reach.

Implications for U.S. National Security

The Pakistani Merchant conviction underscores a fundamental challenge confronting American security institutions: the growing intersection between state intelligence operations and transnational criminal networks.

Unlike traditional espionage, these plots do not rely exclusively on trained intelligence officers. Instead, they recruit businessmen, expatriates, or individuals with international mobility who can move between countries without immediate suspicion.

Merchant himself reportedly maintained business interests and family connections across Pakistan, Iran, and the United States, enabling him to travel and operate with relative ease.

For the United States, this raises a difficult policy question. Counterterrorism frameworks were largely designed to combat non-state extremist organizations such as al-Qaeda or ISIS. State-sponsored assassination networks, however, operate under different strategic assumptions.

They can leverage diplomatic cover, international logistics networks, and intelligence infrastructures that blur the line between criminal conspiracy and geopolitical confrontation.

In practical terms, the Merchant case highlights three vulnerabilities. First, the reliance on global business and migration networks can provide cover for covert operatives. Second, the use of freelance intermediaries complicates intelligence detection. Third, political polarization within the United States may increase the symbolic value of targeting prominent political figures.

A Test of Strategic Vigilance

The conviction of Asif Merchant represents a success for American law enforcement and intelligence cooperation. The FBI’s use of undercover agents prevented a potential assassination and provided prosecutors with decisive evidence.

Yet the broader lesson is not one of closure but of caution. Merchant’s case demonstrates how geopolitical conflicts can spill into the domestic political sphere of the United States. Whether acting under coercion, ideology, or financial incentives, individuals embedded in transnational networks can become instruments of foreign strategic agendas.

For the U.S. government, the challenge moving forward is not simply prosecuting individual operatives. It is recognizing that such plots may represent only the visible edges of deeper covert infrastructures. If the Merchant case is treated merely as a criminal anomaly, the larger pattern may go unnoticed.

In that sense, the verdict delivered in March 2026 should be interpreted less as the end of a story than as the opening chapter of a continuing security challenge—one that requires vigilance not only from law enforcement, but from policymakers responsible for safeguarding the stability of American democracy.

Disclaimer: Views expressed by writers in this section are their own and do not reflect Milli Chronicle’s point-of-view.

By organizing, leading, and, in some cases, fighting, Baloch women are challenging both state power and internal patriarchal constraints.

An extraordinary transformation is underway in Balochistan, one that unsettles long-held assumptions about protest, militancy, and gender in one of South Asia’s most militarized regions. Once pushed to the margins of political life and public dissent, Baloch women have emerged as the central force of a movement that is unprecedented in scale and distinctly indigenous in character.

From long marches demanding answers about enforced disappearances to visible participation in armed resistance, Baloch women are no longer peripheral to the struggle. Increasingly, they are defining it.

This moment marks a historic rupture. For decades, resistance in Balochistan was framed as a male-dominated, tribal insurgency—rooted in geography, kinship, and armed confrontation with the state. Women appeared mainly as mourners or symbols of suffering.

Today, that frame no longer holds. Political consciousness among Baloch women has been forged through loss, repression, and the systematic failure of peaceful avenues for justice, producing a movement that is emotionally charged yet politically sophisticated.

From Protest to Resistance

The immediate catalyst has been the persistence of enforced disappearances, extrajudicial killings, and collective punishment across the province, documented over the years by Pakistani human rights groups such as the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan.

Women—mothers, daughters, and wives of the disappeared—were often the first to mobilize publicly, precisely because men had been silenced through imprisonment, intimidation, or death. Their initial actions were resolutely peaceful: sit-ins outside press clubs, hunger strikes, and arduous long marches toward the capital of Pakistan, demanding little more than acknowledgment and due process.

When these nonviolent efforts produced no accountability, a profound shift followed. Baloch women began occupying spaces once considered unthinkable: leading mass rallies, confronting security officials, and, in some cases, joining armed resistance movements.

Footage released by the Baloch Liberation Army from the Nushki district, showing coordinated attacks on military installations with women visible in frontline roles, crystallized this transformation. The imagery was striking not only for its symbolism but for what it suggested—that sustained repression had expanded the movement beyond traditional gender boundaries.

An Indigenous Movement, Not an Imported Feminism

Despite their rising visibility, many Baloch women consciously reject identification with Pakistan’s urban, mainstream feminist movement. In interviews and public forums, they describe it as detached from Baloch realities and largely silent on state violence in the province. For them, the primary oppressor is not Baloch society per se, but the state’s security architecture.

This sentiment was articulated starkly by Dr. Shalee Baloch at the Saryab Literary Festival in Quetta, where she argued that the language of gender oppression imported from metropolitan centers fails to capture life under militarization. Her remarks echoed a widely shared belief that while patriarchy exists within Baloch society, it has been overshadowed by the far more intrusive violence of the state. When a man is abducted or killed, it is often the women who bear the longest and most visible burden—economically, emotionally, and politically.

The result is a movement that occupies a distinct political space. It neither mirrors liberal Pakistani feminism nor isolates women’s rights from national oppression. Instead, women’s emancipation is articulated as inseparable from the collective struggle for Baloch political rights, resources, and dignity.

Women at the Forefront, Not Behind the Lines

Crucially, this does not mean unquestioning alignment with male leadership. Prominent activists such as Mahrang Baloch have openly challenged men within Baloch society to support women’s education and political participation.

Addressing a massive rally in Quetta at the conclusion of a long march, Mahrang framed women’s empowerment as a measure of national self-respect, insisting that land, history, and struggle belong equally to women and men.

Her message captured a critical evolution. Baloch women are no longer mobilizing behind men as moral support or symbolic figures. They are organizing alongside—and often ahead of—them, setting agendas and redefining leadership in a movement long shaped by masculine norms.

A New Phase of Conflict

The scale of recent violence underscores the depth of this transformation. Coordinated attacks across multiple locations in Balochistan, reportedly resulting in significant casualties among security forces, drew national attention when images of female attackers circulated widely. For many observers, this shattered the assumption that militancy is an exclusively male domain.

Analysts argue that this shift reflects less ideological radicalization than strategic and emotional rupture. Political scientist Ayesha Siddiqa has noted in her writings on civil-military relations that when women enter insurgent movements, it signals the exhaustion of conventional deterrents. The cost of repression has become so normalized that even the deepest social taboos no longer restrain participation.

This pattern has been years in the making. The 2022 Karachi University bombing carried out by Shari Baloch, a highly educated mother of two, marked a grim turning point. Subsequent cases involving women such as Sumaiya Qalandrani Baloch and Banuk Mahikan Baloch suggested that female participation was becoming structurally embedded rather than exceptional.

Notably, many of these women came from educated, middle-class backgrounds, reflecting a broader shift in Baloch resistance away from tribal elites toward politicized, professional constituencies—a trend discussed in regional security analyses published by outlets like Dawn and The Friday Times.

Feminist scholars have long critiqued nationalism as inherently patriarchal, yet the Baloch case complicates that narrative. Here, women are not being asked to defer their rights until after liberation. They are actively reshaping the nationalist project itself, integrating gender equality into its core. By organizing, leading, and, in some cases, fighting, Baloch women are challenging both state power and internal patriarchal constraints.

Whether this experiment will succeed remains uncertain. What is clear, however, is that across Balochistan, women are no longer waiting on history. They are making it—forcefully, visibly, and at great personal cost.

Disclaimer: Views expressed by writers in this section are their own and do not reflect Milli Chronicle’s point-of-view

Pakistan’s Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI) is leveraging ISKP as a strategic asset to subdue the Afghan Taliban.

In the desolate, mineral-rich expanses of Afghanistan, a new chapter of the “Great Game” is being written, one where the old rules of insurgency and statecraft are colliding with the ruthless ambitions of the Islamic State Khorasan Province (ISKP).

For Beijing, the withdrawal of Western forces from Kabul was supposed to herald a golden era of economic expansion—a chance to extend the Belt and Road Initiative (BRI) into the heart of Central Asia.

Yet, as Chinese engineers break ground and diplomats shake hands with the Taliban, a sinister reality has emerged. China is no longer just an investor; it is a target. And arguably the most disturbing element of this security crisis is not just the ferocity of the jihadists, but the calculated geopolitical machinations of China’s “all-weather friend,” Pakistan.

The Dragon in the Crosshairs

The resurgence of ISKP in the post-US Afghanistan landscape poses an existential threat to Chinese interests that Beijing appears ill-equipped to handle. Unlike the Taliban, who crave international legitimacy and economic aid, ISKP operates on a nihilistic theology that views the Chinese state not as a partner, but as a godless oppressor of the Uyghur Muslims.

Intelligence reports and propaganda channels from the group have increasingly explicitly included Chinese citizens in their “kill lists,” marking a terrifying pivot from local sectarian violence to transnational terrorism.

This is not merely rhetoric. ISKP has engaged in a systematic campaign to obstruct the China-Afghanistan cooperation process. By attacking Chinese personnel, hotels frequenting Chinese businessmen, and infrastructure projects, they aim to achieve a dual victory: punishing Beijing for its Xinjiang policies and humiliating the Taliban administration by exposing its inability to protect its most powerful patron.

Every dead Chinese engineer is a billboard for the Taliban’s security failure, driving a wedge between Kabul and Beijing. For China, the risk is compounding; their economic strategy relies on stability, yet their very presence incites the instability they fear.

The Double Game: Islamabad’s Dangerous Proxy

However, to view the ISKP threat solely as a byproduct of Afghan chaos is to miss the deeper, more cynical geopolitical undercurrents. Security analysts and regional intelligence have long pointed to a disturbing pattern in Pakistan’s strategic calculus—a continuation of the “double game” that once bedeviled the Americans.

The central allegation, supported by a growing body of evidence, is that Pakistan’s Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI) is leveraging ISKP as a strategic asset to subdue the Afghan Taliban.

Islamabad finds itself in a precarious position. The Afghan Taliban, once their proxies, have become defiant, sheltering the Tehrik-i-Taliban Pakistan (TTP) and refusing to recognize the Durand Line. In response, observers argue that the Pakistani security establishment has tacitly allowed ISKP to operate as a counter-pressure force.

By facilitating—or at the very least, turning a blind eye to—ISKP sanctuaries, Pakistan aims to weaken the Taliban’s grip on power and force them into subservience. The logic is brutal but familiar: use one monster to fight another.

This strategy, however, comes with a catastrophic collateral cost for China. While Pakistan acts as Beijing’s closest ally, the very groups it nurtures to checkmate Kabul are the ones turning their guns on Chinese citizens. It is a perilous gambit where Islamabad attempts to walk a tightrope, utilizing jihadist assets for regional leverage while simultaneously claiming to be a victim of terrorism to secure international funds.

The Tirah Valley Revelation

Nowhere is this duplicitous reality more stark than in the recent, murky events of the Tirah Valley in Pakistan’s Khyber Pakhtunkhwa (KPK) province. This rugged terrain, historically a smuggler’s paradise and militant stronghold, has become the epicenter of a new security failure involving Chinese nationals.

Recent violent incidents in the region resulting in the deaths of Chinese personnel were swiftly framed by Pakistani narratives as the work of Baloch separatists or generic “militants.” The Baloch Liberation Army (BLA) is a convenient scapegoat; they are secular, anti-state, and openly hostile to Chinese investment. Blaming them fits a tidy narrative that absolves the state of religious extremism problems.

However, a forensic look at the Tirah Valley incident suggests a different author. The operational sophistication and the specific targeting methodologies bore the hallmarks of ISKP. Credible intelligence suggests that the Tirah Valley has been functioning as a sanctuary where ISKP operatives regroup, allegedly under the watchful surveillance of the ISI.

The accusation is damning: that elements within the Pakistani state apparatus, in their zeal to maintain ISKP as a thorn in the Taliban’s side, allowed these networks to fester until they lashed out at the Chinese.

The attempt to shift blame to the Baloch separatists serves a dual purpose for Islamabad. It demonizes the Baloch independence movement, justifying harsh military crackdowns in Balochistan, while simultaneously concealing the state’s lingering flirtation with Islamist terror groups like ISKP.

For Beijing, the realization is dawning that the “iron brothers” relationship with Pakistan might be riddled with rust. The Chinese are dying not just because of ideological hatred, but because they are pawns in a fratricidal struggle between regional intelligence agencies and the proxy groups they cultivate.

A Fracture in the Alliance

As China doubles down on its security protocols, importing private security contractors and demanding “thorough investigations,” the silence from Beijing regarding Pakistan’s role is deafening. It is a silence born of necessity; China has no other viable route to the Indian Ocean.

Yet, the blood spilled in the Tirah Valley and the streets of Kabul serves as a grim warning.

The resurgence of ISKP is not an accident of history but a monster fed by the cynical strategies of regional powers. If Pakistan continues to view ISKP as a useful lever against the Taliban, it does so at the peril of its most critical economic partnership.

For China, the lesson is harsh and historically consistent: in the Hindu Kush, the hand that shakes yours in friendship may also be the one feeding the tiger that stalks you.

Disclaimer: Views expressed by writers in this section are their own and do not reflect Milli Chronicle’s point-of-view.

While Khalistani men are courted for political leverage, daughters from the Sikh community are viewed by some within these same networks as fair game for sexual gratification.

On the cold evening of January 13, the streets of West London’s Hounslow erupted in anger. It was not a political rally or a trade union strike, but a visceral, desperate outcry from a community pushed to its breaking point.

Outside a flat on London Road, between 200 and 300 members of the Sikh community gathered, their chants echoing a frustration that has been simmering for decades. Inside, a 15-year-old Sikh girl had been held captive, allegedly gang-raped by a group of men of Pakistani origin.

While the immediate fury was directed at the perpetrators and the police officers protecting the property, a darker, more uncomfortable conversation is emerging within the diaspora. It is a conversation about the dangerous proximity between Sikh separatist factions—often termed “Khalistanis”—and the Pakistani state apparatus that supports them.

Analysts and community activists are increasingly arguing that this geopolitical “friendship” has created a Trojan horse, where the pursuit of political alliances has left the community’s daughters vulnerable to predatory exploitation by the very groups their leaders embrace.

The Hounslow Flashpoint

The incident in Hounslow serves as a grim microcosm of this broader betrayal. According to reports on the ground, the 15-year-old victim was located in a flat owned by a 34-year-old Pakistani man. She had been subjected to what sources describe as repeated sexual abuse over a prolonged period, involving up to six perpetrators.

The assault bore the chilling hallmarks of an organised grooming operation: the girl was reportedly isolated from her family, coerced through deception, and trapped in a cycle of abuse that culminated in her captivity.

The community’s response was swift and furious. Videos circulating on social media show Sikh men and women clashing with authorities, questioning why police were guarding the residence of the accused rather than acting sooner to save the child.

“This wasn’t just a failure of policing; it was a failure of our own vigilance,” noted one protester. The girl was eventually rescued through community intervention, but the event has reignited a firestorm of debate regarding the systematic Child Sexual Exploitation (CSE) of Sikh girls.

For years, certain Sikh separatist leaders among Khalistanis have cultivated close ties with Pakistani groups, driven by a shared anti-India sentiment. However, critics argue that this political marriage of convenience has blinded these leaders to a predatory reality on the ground. By lowering social defenses and encouraging cultural proximity under the guise of “shared grievances,” they have inadvertently granted predatory grooming networks easier access to Sikh youth.

The disturbing narrative emerging is one of exploitation: while Khalistani men are courted for political leverage, daughters from the Sikh community are viewed by some within these same networks as fair game for sexual gratification.

A History of Deception and “The Kara Strategy”

The Hounslow case is not an anomaly; it is a statistical inevitability born of a pattern that dates back to the 1970s and 1980s. Organisations such as the Sikh Awareness Society (SAS) and the Sikh Helpline have documented hundreds of cases that predate the infamous headlines of Rotherham and Rochdale.

The modus operandi is terrifyingly consistent and relies heavily on the exploitation of cultural trust.

One of the most insidious tactics recorded is the “false identity” strategy. Perpetrators often adopt Sikh names or wear the Kara—a steel bracelet and article of faith for Sikhs—to feign a shared identity.

This “Kara strategy” is designed to lower the guard of young Sikh girls, who are culturally conditioned to trust “their own.” Once trust is established, the grooming begins: gifts, alcohol, and drugs are introduced, followed swiftly by blackmail, coercion, and sexual violence.

A 2013 BBC Inside Out investigation brought some of these accounts to light, featuring Sikh victims who described being groomed, abused, and in some cases, forced into sham marriages or religious conversion. Yet, for decades, these cries for help were stifled.

The stigma of “shame” (izzat) within the families, combined with the silence of community leaders focused on political maneuvering with Pakistan, meant that victims were often left isolated.

In cities like Bradford, the intent has been even more explicit. Leaflets have been found circulating that encouraged men to specifically target Sikh women for rape and conversion, framing sexual violence as a tool of religious or communal dominance.

This historical context makes the current silence of pro-Khalistan groups even more deafening. By failing to condemn these predatory networks for fear of upsetting their geopolitical patrons, they are accused of sacrificing the safety of their women at the altar of political ideology.

The Numbers Behind the Narrative

The scale of this issue is often obscured by a lack of disaggregated data, but the available evidence is damning. The Alexis Jay Independent Inquiry into Child Sexual Exploitation in Rotherham (1997–2013), published in 2014, provided a shattering glimpse into the reality of grooming gangs. The report estimated conservatively that 1,400 children were exploited in Rotherham alone.

Crucially, the Jay Report noted that the perpetrators were “by far the majority… described as ‘Asian’ by victims,” and were predominantly of Pakistani heritage. The violence described was sadistic: girls as young as 11 were raped by multiple men, trafficked to other cities, doused in petrol, and threatened with guns.

While the media focus was largely on white working-class victims, the report and subsequent inquiries acknowledged that girls from minority backgrounds, including Sikhs and Hindus, were also targeted but faced additional barriers to coming forward.

Sikh activists argue that the “Asian” label often used in media reports serves to dilute the specific ethnicity of the grooming gangs, thereby shielding the Pakistani community from scrutiny while spreading the blame to the very communities being victimized.

“When a Sikh girl is raped by a Pakistani gang, and the news reports it as ‘Asian men,’ it is a double insult,” says a representative from the Sikh Awareness Society. “It erases the victim’s identity and hides the predator’s.”

The Price of Silence

The Hounslow incident has laid bare the consequences of ignoring these “broader trends.” The grooming networks operate with a sophistication that suggests they are confident of impunity. They rely on the silence of the police, paralyzed by fears of being labeled racist, and the silence of Sikh leadership, paralyzed by political expediency.

However, the tide may be turning. The 2017 documentary on Britain’s grooming gangs and the persistent work of grassroots organisations have begun to pierce the veil of secrecy. The protests in West London signify a generation that is no longer willing to be collateral damage in a political game. They are rejecting the narrative that “community cohesion” requires silence in the face of sexual predation.

The exploitation of the Khalistani narrative by Pakistani actors is becoming a focal point of this dissent. The realization is dawning that while these men may shake hands in political halls, on the streets of Hounslow, Rochdale, and Birmingham, the dynamic is one of predator and prey.

As long as this uneasy alliance persists without addressing the toxic undercurrent of sexual violence targeting Sikh women, the community remains vulnerable.

The Hounslow rescue was a victory for community vigilance, but it was also a warning. Unless the systemic nature of this targeting is acknowledged—by the police, the government, and the Sikh leadership itself—there will be more flats, more protests, and more stolen daughters.

The time for political correctness and convenient alliances is over; the safety of the next generation depends on facing this ugly truth head-on.

• The Featured-Image is Ai-Illustrated.

Disclaimer: Views expressed by writers in this section are their own and do not reflect Milli Chronicle’s point-of-view.

A return to the zero-sum mentality that dominated earlier epochs — where Kabul was binary: allied or hostile — will not suffice.

For decades Islamabad regarded Afghanistan as a strategic depth and a zone of influence — a buffer to be shaped, not simply neighboured. That assumption has been upended. What was once a relationship of patronage and leverage has become a volatile adversarial space in which Pakistan’s ability to shape outcomes is eroding fast.

The proximate causes are familiar: the Tehrik-e-Taliban Pakistan’s (TTP) resurgence, the Afghan Taliban’s evolving priorities, and renewed regional manoeuvring — but the deeper story is institutional: Pakistan’s coercive and diplomatic instruments have less purchase in Kabul than they did a decade ago, and the result is a dangerous ambiguity for peace along a porous frontier.

The unraveling of influence

Pakistan’s influence was built on long-term ties with elements of the Afghan insurgency, cross-border sanctuaries for proxies and a security apparatus that assumed it could cajole Kabul.

After the Afghan Taliban’s return to power in 2021 Islamabad briefly believed those ties would translate into control over insurgent groups that threaten Pakistan’s internal security, especially the TTP. That belief has been proven increasingly fragile.

Since 2023 and into 2024–25, the TTP has consolidated, carrying out a wave of attacks inside Pakistan and openly operating from Afghan territory, according to Pakistani officials and independent monitors — a reality Islamabad blames on Kabul’s unwillingness or inability to rein in militants.

The rhetoric has hardened into kinetic confrontation. October and November 2025 saw some of the deadliest border clashes since 2021, with both sides trading heavy accusations of cross-border strikes and of harbouring militants.

Pakistan’s military leadership framed the dispute in stark terms: peace depends on the Taliban preventing attacks originating on Afghan soil — an implicit admission that Islamabad’s old levers of influence are no longer decisive.

Kabul, for its part, denies institutional complicity while insisting it is a sovereign government contending with its own domestic pressures and complex local actors.

Analysts have been blunt. “Pakistan misread the Taliban and lost peace on the frontier,” wrote commentators after a string of confrontations, arguing Islamabad had underestimated the Afghan leadership’s need to assert independence from Islamabad and to cultivate alternative patrons and legitimacy.

The practical consequence is a loss of predictive power: Islamabad cannot reliably forecast which militant actors Kabul will tolerate or contest, and therefore cannot control the border dynamics that have long defined its security calculus.

New players, old grievances

The decline of unilateral influence does not mean Pakistan has been entirely sidelined; rather, the relationship has been recalibrated amid a broader regional realignment.

China and Turkey have moved to mediate and cajole, economic corridors and diplomatic initiatives have proliferated, and even India has quietly sought to re-engage with Kabul, reopening channels that complicate Islamabad’s calculations.

These shifts give the Afghan Taliban alternatives for diplomatic engagement and economic cooperation that do not depend on Pakistan’s patronage.

Inside Pakistan, the domestic politics of counter-terrorism and the resurging profile of the Pakistani Taliban have also altered official thinking. Policymakers face a grim choice: assertive military options across the border that risk escalation and international censure, or a patient diplomatic strategy that depends on a Kabul willing and able to act.

The ambiguity has produced episodic violence rather than a durable settlement; ceasefires have been brokered and violated, and confidence-building measures are fragile. Observers note that Islamabad’s traditional tools — patronage networks, cross-border pressure and economic inducements — are necessary but not sufficient to resolve the multi-layered conflicts now playing out.

The human cost is immediate. Civilians on both sides of the Durand Line have borne the brunt of the violence: displacement, disrupted trade and a renewal of mistrust that undercuts any long-term reconciliation.

The border is not simply a line on a map; it is a lived geography of interdependence and grievance. As violence spikes, international actors — from Qatar and Turkey to regional capitals — are scrambling to re-establish mediation channels even as the ground reality resists neat diplomatic fixes.

What comes next

If Pakistan’s grip is slipping, the strategic implication is that South Asia’s security architecture must be rethought. A return to the zero-sum mentality that dominated earlier epochs — where Kabul was binary: allied or hostile — will not suffice.

Instead, any viable approach must accept multiplicity: a Taliban government with agency, non-state militant actors with transnational reach and regional powers willing to assert influence through economic and diplomatic means. This requires Pakistan to invest in multilateral mechanisms, to deepen intelligence and law-enforcement cooperation that respects Afghan sovereignty, and to concede that punitive cross-border strikes are not a sustainable substitute for political solutions.

The stakes transcend bilateral rivalry. A durable peace on the frontier matters to refugee flows, counter-terrorism, narcotics trafficking and the broader stability of a region that is again the focus of great-power competition.

If Islamabad wants to protect its core security interests it must adapt to an Afghan polity that no longer responds predictably to old incentives. That adaptation will be neither quick nor comfortable, but it is necessary: failing to do so will leave both countries mired in a costly oscillation of strikes, reprisals and diplomatic ruptures that benefits no one.

As one regional analyst put it, the old script for influence has been burned; the question for Pakistan is whether it can write a new, more cooperative one before the next conflagration.

Disclaimer: Views expressed by writers in this section are their own and do not reflect Milli Chronicle’s point-of-view.

When hate speech targeting Afghans and Indians emerges from Pakistani-online spaces, it spills into wider global contexts—European suburbs, Canadian campuses, the Gulf labour markets.

In the fast-moving world of social media, we tend to dismiss hateful language as noise – careless insults, juvenile trolling. But that is a mistake. The damage done by words in this digital era is real—and sometimes lethal.

On platforms open to millions, slurs once hidden in fringe forums can metastasize into mainstream discourse, softening the path for discrimination, exclusion and violence. The global community must pay attention when organised campaigns emanate from one country’s online ecosystem, targeting whole populations elsewhere.

Specifically, we need to look hard at campaigns driven by Pakistan-based troll networks targeting both Afghans and Indians—because what appears as casual insult is in fact coordinated communal dehumanisation that crosses borders and deserves far greater scrutiny.

Two fronts of online hate

One front involves Afghans. The phenomenon of anti-Afghan sentiment is hardly new in the region, but what is alarming is how online Pakistani-origin networks have weaponised slurs like “Afghandu” (or variants thereof) to refer to Afghan refugees, migrants or even Pashtuns in Pakistan with Afghan origins.

These trolls mock Afghans as criminals, freeloaders, invaders — they cast entire communities as disposable and foreign, worthy only of scorn. That echoes long-standing prejudice but now moves unchecked into digital streams, where it reaches across geographies.

The second front involves Indians. In this case the slur “pajeet” (and its variants) has surfaced aggressively online.

According to the overview of the term, it originated on forums like 4chan and then made its way into broader platforms. What matters is not only that such a word exists, but that independent monitoring shows anti-Indian posts using it have spiked, with views counted in the tens of millions — indicating that this is not niche trolling, it is high-impact hate content.

These two strands may not always come from identical networks, but they share the mechanics: organised or semi-organised campaigns, cultural prejudice, coded language, and amplification.

Why it matters

You might say: these are just slurs, just trolling — let people speak their mind, free speech and all that. But that’s naïve. Research shows that when a group becomes the butt of organised digital mockery, the consequences go far beyond insults.

The study of hate speech in social media demonstrates that patterns of language—coded slurs, dehumanising labels—are upstream predictors of real-world violence.

For Afghan refugees in Pakistan, many of whom live in precarious legal status or under threat of deportation, the online vitriol reinforces physical insecurity and social marginalisation. When every social-media joke says “they don’t belong here”, the next step is often “why should they?”

For Indians abroad: what begins with “job-stealing” narratives or references to “dirty Indians” or “pajeets” can escalate into harassment, threats, even assaults. A slur becomes a statement: you are lesser, you are outside, you can be attacked.

The digital echo-chamber matters because it amplifies and normalises. And when a slur becomes accepted, it tarnishes entire populations, and sets the stage for the next worst step: discrimination, denial of rights, exclusion — and ultimately violence.

The Pakistani dimension (and why we must call it out)

Let’s be blunt: we’re not talking about a few rogue tweets. There is a pattern here with a Pakistani-origin dimension which we must call out frankly—not to stigmatise all Pakistanis, but to confront the source of many of these messages.

Some Pakistani users deploy the “Afghandu” slur when mocking Afghan refugees (or even Pakistanis of Afghan origin). Others embed “pajeet” in anti-Indian campaigns, sometimes coordinating across platforms, sometimes via diaspora networks or regional influence operations.

The danger is that if the Pakistani-origin digital networks marinade in these slurs, they spread outward — reaching diasporas in Europe, North America, Gulf regions. The conversation isn’t contained within South Asia. The rhetoric becomes transnational.

Let’s emphasise: this isn’t about diplomatic finger-pointing for its own sake—it’s about recognising where the seed-beds of online hatred are, so that civil society, platforms and global actors can target the origin rather than only treating the symptom.

What must be done — and done now

Here is where we get practical. If you are in the human-rights world, involved in digital civil-society, or part of a platform that hosts content, there are clear actions:

First, document. Start systematic recordings of “Afghandu” slurs in Pakistani-origin online communities: screenshots, trending hashtags, memes, high-traffic posts. Data is your lever. Without it, platforms treat these as isolated “jokes”.

Second, flag and report. When you see those specific slurs used in targeted harassment of Afghans or Indians, report them to major platforms (X, Telegram, Meta Facebook). Insist the slurs — not just the general harassment — be recognised explicitly in platform hate-speech policy updates.

Third, engage local civil society. Partner with Pakistani human-rights groups, digital-rights NGOs, Afghan-refugee organisations, Indian-diaspora organisations. Map the pipeline of hate from Pakistan-based networks to their international amplification. Understand how memes move, how diaspora picks them up, how they reverberate.

Fourth, press platforms for accountability. Demand transparency: How many posts with “Afghandu”? How many accounts removed? How many hashtags blocked? Use empirical models (such as those in the work by Network Contagion Research Institute at Rutgers University) to hold platforms’ feet to the fire.

Fifth, elevate the voices of the targeted. Allow Afghan and Indian victims of this digital hate to speak. Let their testimonies accompany the data — emotion alone won’t shift policy, but data plus lived experience will.

Why the world cannot stay silent

This is not merely a regional problem. Pakistan, Afghanistan and India do not exist in isolation. The region is deeply connected via language, migration, diaspora, regional policy flows. When hate speech targeting Afghans and Indians emerges from Pakistani-online spaces, it spills into wider global contexts—European suburbs, Canadian campuses, the Gulf labour markets.

If we don’t act now, we risk letting a cycle normalise: a slur becomes accepted, a stereotype becomes social, the next step is exclusion and violence. The Network Contagion research warns that online hate speech is an upstream predictor of real-world attacks. It is not abstract.

That means this isn’t merely some digital nuisance; it is a window into where oppression finds its pathways.

A final word

To human rights defenders: refuse the excuse of “just trolling.” Words matter. Slurs matter. When the term “Afghandu” is flung at refugees, when “pajeet” appears in job-theft threads against Indian professionals abroad, we cannot shrug and say “it’s just free speech” and move on.

It is time to call it by name, to act with our full arsenal: documentation, platform pressure, civil-society partnerships. And yes: to hold Pakistani-origin digital networks accountable for their role — not out of spite, but out of concern for human dignity and the principle that nobody should be reduced to a hateful label because of their origin.

Afghans. Indians. Whatever your nationality or language—recognise this pattern, push against it. The international human rights community needs to step in — not later, when it is too late, but now.

Disclaimer: Views expressed by writers in this section are their own and do not reflect Milli Chronicle’s point-of-view.

This duality—preaching unity while practicing duplicity—has become Pakistan’s diplomatic hallmark.

When the Taliban stormed into Kabul in August 2021, Pakistan’s powerful intelligence chief, Lt. Gen. Faiz Hameed, appeared at the Serena Hotel and assured journalists, “Everything will be okay.”

His confident smile captured Islamabad’s belief that decades of strategic maneuvering had finally paid off. Pakistan, long accused of nurturing the Taliban, assumed it would now wield decisive influence over its western neighbor.

Four years later, those hopes have turned to ashes. The Taliban’s rise, once hailed in Islamabad as a geopolitical triumph, has become a source of profound insecurity and humiliation.

The Tehrik-i-Taliban Pakistan (TTP), emboldened by its ideological kin in Kabul, has unleashed a deadly insurgency across Pakistan’s tribal belt. Hundreds of Pakistani soldiers have been killed in cross-border raids. The Taliban, despite Pakistan’s past support, has refused to curb the TTP.

The so-called “strategic depth” has instead exposed Pakistan’s strategic shallowness. A state that once boasted of controlling its proxies now finds itself hostage to them. The illusion of regional mastery has dissolved into a grim reality: Pakistan is isolated, insecure, and rapidly losing credibility.

Weaponizing Refugees

Having failed to tame the Taliban, Pakistan turned its frustration toward Afghan civilians. In October 2023, Islamabad launched the Illegal Foreigners Repatriation Plan (IFRP), targeting nearly 1.7 million undocumented Afghans. For decades, Afghan refugees had lived, worked, and raised families in Pakistan. Suddenly, they became scapegoats for Islamabad’s security failures.

By mid-2025, more than 600,000 Afghans had been deported in what international observers described as one of South Asia’s largest forced repatriations in decades. Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch chronicled chilling stories of police harassment, arbitrary detentions, and family separations.

Pakistan justified the campaign as a counterterrorism measure, accusing Afghan refugees of harboring TTP militants. But analysts saw it differently: an act of political retribution against the Taliban regime. Kabul condemned the deportations as a breach of international law and accused Islamabad of deepening Afghanistan’s humanitarian catastrophe.

This was more than just a border dispute—it was a symptom of Pakistan’s broader malaise. A state that once prided itself on being a refuge for the oppressed had turned into a place of fear and hostility. The moral cost of Islamabad’s Afghan policy was now unmistakable.

Airstrikes and Escalation

Pakistan’s response extended beyond deportations. Under the guise of pursuing TTP sanctuaries, it began conducting airstrikes inside Afghan territory.

In April 2022, bombings in Khost and Kunar killed 47 civilians, mostly women and children. Similar attacks followed in March and December 2024, targeting Paktika and Khost. In January 2025, fresh strikes were launched along the volatile Durand Line. Over a hundred civilians have died since 2021, according to regional monitors.

Each operation fuelled anger and anti-Pakistan protests across Afghanistan. The Taliban government condemned the attacks as violations of sovereignty, accusing Pakistan of hiding its failures behind a counterterrorism narrative.

By 2025, Pakistan’s western frontier was once again aflame—only this time, without American troops to share the blame. The Afghan war that Islamabad once believed it had outsourced had come home, exacting both human and diplomatic costs.

Diplomacy as Deception

The crisis reached a symbolic peak in September 2025, when Islamabad hosted the “Towards Unity and Trust” conference under the South Asian Strategic Stability Institute.

Despite the event’s conciliatory title, the Taliban government was conspicuously excluded. Instead, the gathering featured anti-Taliban activists and politicians, turning what was billed as a dialogue into an exercise in diplomatic provocation.

Just days later, Defense Minister Khawaja Asif labeled Afghanistan an “enemy state”—a stunning reversal from Pakistan’s earlier rhetoric of “brotherhood.”

This diplomatic whiplash mirrors a deeper inconsistency at the heart of Pakistan’s foreign policy. It speaks of a nation perpetually caught between ambition and insecurity, between Islamic solidarity and realpolitik.

Even its domestic realities now echo this hypocrisy.

In early October 2025, a story broke that underscored how deeply investor confidence has eroded under the current administration. Out of 23 oil and gas exploration blocks offered for bidding, no local or foreign bids were received for 22. The only bid came from Mari Gas, and even that was for a small block with negligible output.

Taimur Saleem Khan Jhagra, Pakistan’s opposition leader, wrote “investors know this is an illegitimate govt,” saying no company—foreign or domestic—was willing to invest in a country “without rule of law.” He accused the government of driving away foreign direct investment through arbitrary governance, economic mismanagement, and political repression.

This episode is emblematic of Pakistan’s larger credibility crisis. When even domestic energy firms shy away from state-backed ventures, the problem is not market dynamics—it is a collapse of trust. The same lack of accountability that defines Pakistan’s regional duplicity now poisons its economic foundations.

The Iran Paradox and the Palestine Hypocrisy

Pakistan’s double-dealing extends far beyond its Afghan misadventure.

In June 2025, Islamabad publicly condemned U.S. airstrikes on Iran’s nuclear facilities, declaring solidarity with Tehran. Yet, only days earlier, Army Chief Gen. Asim Munir had met privately with Donald Trump, reportedly discussing “regional stability.” In a surreal twist, Pakistan went on to nominate Trump for the 2026 Nobel Peace Prize, effectively undercutting its supposed alignment with Iran.

This duality—preaching unity while practicing duplicity—has become Pakistan’s diplomatic hallmark.

The same contradictions stain its stance on Palestine. While Pakistani leaders have long professed unwavering support for the Palestinian cause, history tells another story. During Black September 1970, Brigadier Zia ul-Haq, later Pakistan’s military ruler, helped Jordan crush the Palestine Liberation Organization, a massacre that claimed thousands of lives.

In July 2025, Pakistan awarded the Nishan-e-Imtiaz to U.S. CENTCOM Commander Gen. Michael Kurilla, despite his role in coordinating American military support for Israel during its Gaza operations.

At the UN General Assembly’s 80th session, Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif met Daniel Rosen, head of the American Jewish Congress, signaling a quiet but unmistakable outreach to pro-Israel circles.

For a country that brands itself the guardian of Muslim causes, the hypocrisy is striking. From Amman to Gaza, Pakistan’s leaders have consistently traded principle for expediency.

A Consistent Inconsistency

Across every theater—Afghanistan, Iran, Palestine, and even its own energy sector—a single pattern emerges: Pakistan’s promises collapse under the weight of its own contradictions.

It seeks influence in Kabul but alienates Afghans through bombings and deportations. It pledges brotherhood with Tehran while courting Washington. It proclaims solidarity with Palestine while decorating America’s military commanders. And now, it claims to welcome foreign investment while creating an environment so lawless that even local companies refuse to bid.

In the end, Pakistan’s gravest betrayal is not of its neighbors, but of itself. The erosion of credibility abroad mirrors the decay of governance at home. As investors flee, allies distance themselves, and insurgents advance, the message is clear: a nation that manipulates every alliance eventually stands alone.

For decades, Pakistan’s generals and politicians have built policies on the illusion of control. The Afghan gamble was meant to cement regional influence; instead, it has exposed a state adrift, distrusted by friends and foes alike.

The “everything will be okay” optimism of 2021 now rings hollow. For Pakistan, everything is decidedly not okay—and the world, finally, has stopped believing its promises.

Disclaimer: Views expressed by writers in this section are their own and do not reflect Milli Chronicle’s point-of-view.

The decision to dispatch Muttaqi to New Delhi is therefore not just about outreach to India — it is also a stinging rebuke to Pakistan.

In a significant turn that could recalibrate South Asian geopolitics, Afghan-Taliban Foreign Minister Amir Khan Muttaqi will travel to New Delhi on October 9 — his first official visit since the Taliban regained power in 2021. The United Nations Security Council has granted him a temporary waiver from international travel sanctions, allowing the trip to proceed until October 16.

The visit marks more than a symbolic breakthrough. It reflects months of quiet backchannel diplomacy between Indian officials and Taliban leaders in neutral venues such as Dubai, and culminated earlier this year in a direct conversation between India’s External Affairs Minister S. Jaishankar and Muttaqi.

In June this year, India handed over control of the Afghan consulate in Hyderabad to a Taliban appointee, Mohammad Rahman as the consular representative.

That call came soon after the Taliban condemned the Pahalgam terror attack in Kashmir — an extraordinary moment, considering the Taliban’s long association with Pakistan’s security establishment.

India has simultaneously expanded its humanitarian footprint in Afghanistan, delivering wheat, medicines, earthquake relief tents, and medical supplies. Since the Taliban’s takeover, New Delhi has sent nearly 50,000 tonnes of wheat, over 330 tonnes of medicines, and substantial food and shelter assistance.

Following the devastating September earthquake, India was among the first responders, dispatching relief material within days. For Kabul, Delhi is emerging as a partner willing to engage pragmatically and without the overbearing demands that have characterized Pakistan’s approach.

The decision to dispatch Muttaqi to New Delhi is therefore not just about outreach to India — it is also a stinging rebuke to Pakistan. For decades, Islamabad claimed the Taliban as its creation and asset. Yet today, that influence has eroded so sharply that the Taliban are actively seeking to diversify away from Pakistan’s orbit.

From Patron to Pariah: Pakistan’s Broken Bond

Pakistan’s role in nurturing the Taliban is well documented. Seminaries like Darul Uloom Haqqaniyah produced many of the movement’s cadres, and Pakistan’s intelligence agencies offered sanctuary, arms, and financing.

For Islamabad, the Taliban were a tool to secure “strategic depth” against India. But influence is not permanent, and Pakistan has squandered it through hubris, duplicity, and coercion.

One turning point was Islamabad’s airstrikes inside Afghan territory. In December 2024, Pakistani aircraft struck Barmal district in Paktika province, reportedly killing civilians under the pretext of targeting Tehrik-e-Taliban Pakistan (TTP) hideouts.

The Taliban reacted furiously, calling the raid a “violation of sovereignty” and warning of consequences. By repeatedly bombing Afghan soil, Pakistan crossed a line from patron to aggressor, undermining whatever goodwill remained.

Another blow came with Islamabad’s decision to expel Afghan refugees. More than 80,000 Afghans were forced to return earlier this year, many with nowhere to go. Kabul viewed this as a callous betrayal. Rather than brotherhood, Pakistan treated refugees as pawns in its strategic game.

For the Taliban, already struggling to manage humanitarian needs, the expulsions were proof that Islamabad valued leverage over solidarity.

The border dispute has deepened the rupture further. The Taliban refuse to recognize the Durand Line — the colonial-era boundary imposed by the British. Pakistan’s efforts to fence and formalize the border have sparked repeated clashes, especially at Torkham, where crossings have been closed and trade disrupted.

For Afghans, resisting the Durand Line is a matter of sovereignty; for Pakistan, enforcing it is a security imperative. The clash is zero-sum, and Pakistan underestimated the symbolic power of the issue.

But perhaps Pakistan’s most corrosive mistake has been its double game. For years, Islamabad “hunted with the hounds and ran with the hare” — selling cooperation to Washington while harboring Taliban leaders, then betraying them when convenient.

The Taliban leadership has not forgotten the arrests and handovers of commanders to the U.S. during the post-9/11 years. Those betrayals bred deep suspicion of Pakistani intentions.

Meanwhile, Pakistan’s internal security crisis has spilled across the border. The TTP, inspired by the Taliban’s victory in Kabul, has intensified its insurgency inside Pakistan. Islamabad demanded that Kabul rein in the group, but the Taliban balked at turning their guns on fellow militants.

The result has been open recrimination, with Pakistan accusing the Taliban of harboring terrorists and the Taliban accusing Pakistan of exporting instability.

Underlying all of this is a question of dignity. The Taliban, now rulers of Afghanistan, refuse to be treated as clients or proxies. Pakistan’s patronizing posture — airstrikes, expulsions, fencing, and demands — has alienated a movement that now insists on equal footing.

Kabul’s outreach to India, once unthinkable, has become a declaration of independence.

Why India, and Why Now?

India’s renewed relevance in Afghanistan is not ideological but pragmatic. For Kabul, Delhi offers what Islamabad no longer can: stability, resources, and respect.

First, India has sustained its humanitarian assistance. Wheat, medicines, earthquake relief, and development projects have directly benefited millions of Afghans. This tangible aid bolsters the Taliban’s domestic credibility at a time when international recognition remains elusive.

Second, India provides historic continuity. From constructing Afghanistan’s parliament building to investing in roads, dams, and schools during the 2000s, Delhi has built goodwill across generations. Even after 2021, when most Western embassies evacuated Kabul, India cautiously maintained a presence and continued delivering aid.

Third, India offers alternatives to Pakistan’s chokehold on trade. Through the Chabahar port in Iran, Afghanistan gains a maritime outlet that bypasses Karachi. For a landlocked country, this access is transformative — and strategically liberating.

Fourth, India’s diplomatic approach is carefully calibrated. It has engaged the Taliban without formal recognition, striking a balance between protecting its interests and avoiding premature legitimization. For Kabul, this provides engagement without subordination.

Finally, embracing India signals to other powers — from Russia to the Gulf states — that the Taliban are not beholden to Islamabad. Diversification of partners enhances Kabul’s strategic autonomy.

Pakistan’s Strategic Miscalculation

At its core, Pakistan’s loss of influence over the Taliban stems from one fatal error: mistaking coercion for control. By bombing Afghan soil, expelling refugees, fencing contested borders, and treating Afghans as pawns, Islamabad alienated the very force it once nurtured. Its duplicity — supporting militants while courting Washington — has left it distrusted by all sides.

The Taliban, in turn, have chosen pragmatism. They see in India a partner who delivers aid without interference, offers trade without humiliation, and engages without betrayal.

For New Delhi, the opportunity is clear: to secure its long-term interests in Afghanistan, to deny Pakistan its long-cherished “strategic depth,” and to assert itself as a stabilizing force in the region.

As Amir Khan Muttaqi steps into his meetings in New Delhi, the symbolism will be unmistakable. The Taliban — once Pakistan’s prized proxy — are now opening their doors to India, Islamabad’s arch-rival. It is more than a diplomatic engagement. It is the visible consequence of Pakistan’s failed policies, its double game, and its arrogance.

In the great chessboard of South Asia, Afghanistan is moving away from Pakistan’s shadow and toward India’s embrace. For Islamabad, the message is painful but clear: the days of monopolizing Kabul are over.

Disclaimer: Views expressed by writers in this section are their own and do not reflect Milli Chronicle’s point-of-view.

These questions are not niceties. They are tests of Pakistan’s credibility, and the answers will shape the future of U.S. engagement in South Asia.

As you read this, Pakistan’s Army Chief and Prime Minister are seated across from President Donald Trump in Washington, facing what may be the most consequential conversation of their careers. The room is heavy with subtext. Outside, aides shuffle papers and reporters speculate. Inside, the stakes are personal, political, and global.

This isn’t just another diplomatic handshake. It’s a reckoning.

Pakistan arrives at this meeting bruised and brittle. Just months ago, the May 2025 India-Pakistan crisis brought South Asia to the edge of nuclear war. Missile strikes, retaliatory air raids, and four days of high-stakes brinkmanship left the region shaken.

Now, with Pakistan’s economy teetering, its military entangled in governance, and its strategic loyalties drifting toward Beijing, the United States must ask hard questions — not tomorrow, not next week, but during the meeting.

President Trump, known for his blunt diplomacy, has a rare opportunity to demand clarity and accountability. These questions are not niceties. They are tests of Pakistan’s credibility, and the answers will shape the future of U.S. engagement in South Asia.

First – Will Pakistan End Enforced Disappearances and Deliver Justice?

Thousands of Pakistanis — journalists, activists, students — have vanished without trial. Many are believed to be held by state agencies, especially in Balochistan. Amnesty International has documented over 2,300 cases. UN experts in April 2025 called the practice “unrelenting” and a serious breach of international law.

If the U.S. is serious about human rights, it must demand a timeline for releasing detainees and prosecuting those responsible. Continued aid without accountability only deepens impunity.

Second – How Will Pakistan Prevent Civilian Casualties in Military Operations?

Just weeks ago, Pakistan’s military launched airstrikes in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa using Chinese J-17 jets, killing 30 civilians in their sleep. These are not isolated incidents. They reflect a troubling pattern of disregard for civilian life in counterterrorism operations.

President Trump must press for independent oversight and demand transparency in targeting protocols. Counterterrorism cannot be a license for indiscriminate violence.

Third – What Is Pakistan’s Plan to Escape China’s Debt Trap?

The China-Pakistan Economic Corridor (CPEC) has ballooned into a $9.5 billion liability. Power projects alone account for $7.5 billion. A January 2025 analysis warned of geopolitical strings attached, as Chinese loans deepen fiscal instability without delivering promised growth.

Washington must ask: What safeguards is Pakistan implementing to avoid becoming a client state of Beijing? Is there a plan for debt restructuring or diversified partnerships? The answers will reveal whether Islamabad remains sovereign or slides deeper into dependency.

Fourth – Will Pakistan Sever Ties with Anti-India Jihadist Networks?

Despite official denials, Pakistan’s military continues to be linked with jihadist groups targeting India. Lashkar-e-Taiba, Jaish-e-Mohammed, and the United Jihad Council operate with impunity, often under the guise of charitable or religious organizations.

A June 2025 MEMRI report exposed direct ties between these networks and military actors.

The recent Pahalgam attack, which triggered the May crisis, was traced to operatives with known links to Pakistan-based groups. Trump must demand concrete actions — asset freezes, prosecutions, and intelligence cooperation — to dismantle these networks. The era of strategic ambiguity must end.

Fifth – How Is Pakistan Cracking Down on Terror Financing via Hawala Networks?

Pakistan’s jihadi infrastructure is sustained by informal financial systems, particularly hawala networks. These unregulated channels allow billions to flow to militant groups, bypassing formal banking oversight.

A May 2025 investigation revealed a “complex web” of financial flows sustaining terrorism. Even Pakistan’s own National Counter Terrorism Authority (NACTA) admits the scale of the problem.

The U.S. must insist on enhanced financial intelligence capabilities, international cooperation, and stricter enforcement of anti-money laundering laws. Executive Order 13224 must be more than a symbolic gesture.

Sixth – Will Pakistan Reform Its Blasphemy Laws to Protect Free Speech and Minorities?

Pakistan’s blasphemy laws, hardened under General Zia-ul-Haq, are routinely weaponized against minorities, journalists, and dissenters. These laws have led to mob violence, extrajudicial killings, and widespread fear.

Human Rights Watch’s June 2025 report highlights their use in land grabs and personal vendettas. A July 2025 UN statement condemned the “widespread impunity” surrounding these laws.

With Pakistan ranking 125th globally in press freedom, Trump must push for legal reforms that protect speech and prevent religious vigilantism. Free expression is not a Western luxury — it is a universal right.

Seventh – Why Is Dr. Shakil Afridi Still in Solitary Confinement?

Dr. Shakil Afridi, the physician who helped the CIA locate Osama bin Laden, has spent nearly 14 years in solitary confinement. His continued detention is a betrayal of a man who risked everything to assist the United States.

A March 2025 State Department report and his son’s public plea underscore the urgency of his release.

Trump must make Afridi’s freedom a condition of continued engagement. Loyalty must be rewarded — not punished.

A Moment of Reckoning

Pakistan’s leadership has long relied on strategic deflection to maintain its position on the global stage. But the world has changed. With economic collapse looming, military overreach growing, and regional tensions escalating, Islamabad must choose: reform or isolation.

President Trump has a unique opportunity to demand clarity, accountability, and action. These questions are not diplomatic formalities — they are leverage points for a Pakistan that aligns with U.S. interests or risks marginalization.

India, too, must remain vigilant. The convergence of Pakistani and Bangladeshi leadership under the shadow of American strategic interests signals a new phase in regional politics. For New Delhi, this is a moment to assert its own narrative and defend its sovereignty with clarity and conviction.

The time for soft engagement is over. The time for hard questions is now — and they’re being asked as we speak.

Disclaimer: Views expressed by writers in this section are their own and do not reflect Milli Chronicle’s point-of-view.

By invoking Arab Spring rhetoric and courting Pakistani connections, Wangchuk inadvertently echoes a playbook that has devastated entire regions.

Sonam Wangchuk, the Ladakhi educationist and activist once celebrated as the inspiration behind Bollywood’s “3 Idiots,” has lately transformed from a reformist voice into a figure of controversy. Known for founding the Himalayan Institute of Alternatives, Ladakh (HIAL), he became the face of local agitation for statehood and constitutional protections under the Sixth Schedule.

His hunger strike earlier this year won him significant attention but also drew criticism for what the government described as “provocative” remarks.

When addressing young Ladakhis, Wangchuk invoked the imagery of Gen-Z protests and explicitly compared them with the Arab Spring uprisings. The consequences were immediate: four people died and over 80 were injured in violent clashes, exposing how quickly peaceful calls can spiral when rhetoric crosses a line.

For a man under investigation by India’s Central Bureau of Investigation (CBI) for alleged violations of India’s Foreign Contribution (Regulation) Act (FCRA) and questionable foreign links—including a controversial trip to Pakistan on February 6 this year—the comparison to the Arab Spring raises troubling questions.

Why Invoke the Arab Spring?

The Arab Spring has become a cautionary tale. Initially romanticized as a youth-driven democratic wave, it was later revealed to have been supported—if not orchestrated—by a complex network of foreign funding, non-governmental organizations, and the American Deep State. What began in Tunisia spread like wildfire across Egypt, Libya, Syria, and Yemen, toppling regimes but leaving behind smoldering wreckage.

The Middle East paid the heaviest price: once-stable nations descended into civil war, terrorism flourished, and millions were displaced. A decade later, Libya remains fragmented, Syria devastated, Yemen on the brink of collapse, and Egypt still grappling with the aftermath of political upheaval.

For Arab societies, the term “Arab Spring” is no longer synonymous with reform—it is shorthand for chaos, foreign meddling, and broken states.

It is against this backdrop that Wangchuk’s casual invocation of the Arab Spring appears not just reckless but deeply revealing. Why would an Indian activist, championing local grievances, align his rhetoric with one of the most foreign-manipulated regime change projects in modern history?

The Pakistan Connection and Exploitation of Influencers

Equally significant is the timing of Wangchuk’s visit to Pakistan on February 6, 2025. Islamabad has long used the cover of cultural exchange, intellectual dialogue, and activism to infiltrate Indian discourse.

Pakistan’s intelligence playbook thrives on cultivating influencers—artists, reformists, journalists, and social media personalities—who can shape narratives at home and abroad.

The method is subtle but consistent: present Pakistan as a victim of geopolitics, project grievances against India, and amplify dissenting voices within Indian society. From Bollywood exchanges in earlier decades to digital influencers today, Pakistan has perfected the art of weaponizing “soft” platforms for hard outcomes.

Take, for instance, Indian influencer Jyoti Malhotra, who has come under scrutiny for her connections with Pakistan-linked forums. Malhotra’s participation in dialogues hosted by organizations with shadowy funding raised eyebrows in New Delhi, reinforcing how cross-border platforms can be misused to normalize Pakistani positions.

Wangchuk’s visit, therefore, cannot be seen in isolation—it fits a troubling pattern of Indian intellectuals being courted, celebrated, and occasionally manipulated across the border.

Honey Traps, Cultural Fronts, and the Old Game of Taqiyyah

Pakistan’s tactics are not confined to polite cultural dialogues. Honey trapping—luring targets into compromising situations—has been a frequent tool of its intelligence services, ensnaring not only soldiers but also politicians and journalists. The aim is simple: extract information, secure leverage, and influence narratives.

Beyond espionage, Pakistan routinely uses the language of arts, reforms, activism, and cultural exchange as a facade. NGOs, student forums, and peace-building seminars are often the velvet glove over the iron fist of propaganda. By elevating select Indian voices who echo their lines, Pakistani handlers create echo chambers that undermine India from within.

This duplicity is best understood through the Shiite concept of Taqiyyah—a doctrine allowing concealment of true intent under threat. While theologically nuanced, Pakistan’s statecraft has weaponized it in the crudest form: presenting a peaceful, reformist face abroad while quietly sponsoring militancy, terrorism, and subversion at home.

For decades, Islamabad has perfected this Janus-faced approach—smiling in dialogue while plotting in deception. Wangchuk’s entanglement, whether naïve or deliberate, risks making him another pawn in this strategy.

Lessons from the Region: A Warning to India and the World

The Wangchuk episode must not be viewed in isolation but against the broader regional backdrop. South Asia has already witnessed a series of regime-change operations influenced by external forces.

In Bangladesh, foreign-backed campaigns have repeatedly destabilized governments, while in Nepal, Gen-Z protests often reflected wider geopolitical contestations.

Sri Lanka’s economic collapse triggered protests that bore unmistakable signs of external manipulation, and in Pakistan, the cycle of elite capture and engineered street movements has become a recurring pattern.

Now, whispers of a similar attempt in India cannot be dismissed lightly. By invoking Arab Spring rhetoric and courting Pakistani connections, Wangchuk inadvertently echoes a playbook that has devastated entire regions.

For Generation Z and Millennials in India, the message must be clear: protest is a democratic right, but it must be indigenous, accountable, and free from foreign agendas. Imported slogans, borrowed narratives, and externally funded movements rarely serve the people—they serve the puppeteers.

For the international community, particularly in the West, it is time to acknowledge the scars of the Arab Spring and resist the temptation of engineering similar experiments elsewhere. Stability, not chaos, should be the benchmark of global engagement.

Sonam Wangchuk’s journey from an educational reformer to a controversial agitator illustrates the thin line between activism and manipulation. By evoking the Arab Spring, traveling to Pakistan, and operating under the shadow of foreign funding, he has raised questions that go far beyond Ladakh’s statehood.

Disclaimer: Views expressed by writers in this section are their own and do not reflect Milli Chronicle’s point-of-view.