If anything, the present nexus between the military establishment and the toothless civilian leadership has shown that it is difficult to have a fair space for criticism and dissent in Pakistan.

In yet another flummoxing display, Pakistan has charged the opposition leader in the National Assembly with treason. Mehmood Khan Achakzai, Chairman of the Pashtunkhwa Milli Awami Party (PkMAP), has been booked and charged with treason for his remarks at a public meeting in Balochistan. Achakzai is the president of Tehreek Tahaffuz Ayeen-i-Pakistan (TTAP), a multi-party opposition alliance formed to protect the Constitution of Pakistan, which, according to the opposition, is under attack from the military establishment, with the support of the government.

Although a long practice in the country, using the draconian law to silence critics of the military establishment/government has picked up in recent years. One reason for that is the nature of the present ruling administration.

It is interesting to see that the scope of these laws has expanded; now the political opponents of the existing “hybrid model” of government in Pakistan, as Defence Minister Khawaja Asif calls it, have borne the brunt of the sedition laws for their criticism of the government, or the hybrid regime, to put it in its truest description. The civilian leadership is forced to mitigate the adverse effects of the model simply because it cannot be in government or run functions if it were to break ties with the military establishment. That being the case, the civilian part of the model is subservient to the military establishment. How can that be called even a “hybrid model”?   

The civilian leaders act as intermediaries, while the military establishment pulls the strings on every decision. No wonder that in the last couple of years, Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif, Defence Minister Khawaja Asif, and others have been currying favour with the country’s security forces, even on the economy. Prime Minister Sharif, known for his unhinged use of praise to extract favours from powerful personnel, went beyond even his own previous injudicious acts and said on an occasion recently that “History will always remember the wise and courageous leadership of the field marshal (Asim Munir) in golden words.”

Such flattering words from the Prime Minister tell a lot about the nature of the current model of governance in Pakistan: the civilian leaders will act on behalf of or for the military generals, and critics will bear the brunt.   

Achakzai’s case is not the only one. On a similar pattern, in yet another high-profile case, former Prime Minister Imran Khan was charged with treason for a rather bizarre accusation. Several activists and political opponents have been sent to jail after being charged with the draconian law.

All these cases are nothing but a mockery of such a serious penal law. While Imran Khan was accused of wrongfully dissolving parliament in 2022, Achakzai’s case is more interesting: he is charged with treason because he questioned the law and order situation in Balochistan and said that the government had failed to provide security to the people. There is no shortage of reports, even statements from the military establishment and the government on the situation in Balochistan that would mean the same, but it coming from the opposition leader is chargeable with the harshest possible penal code in the country, underscoring the strict policy of the current administration towards its opponents.   

More importantly, the case against the Opposition Leader in the National Assembly exposes the nature of politics in Pakistan. Essentially, the crux of the issue is that the military establishment is domineering in the present ruling political system, and any criticism of an issue points towards the failures of the military establishment. And given the stakes of Field Marshal Asim Munir in the system, the Army is unlikely to tolerate that. Therefore, conformity is sought in every case, at every possible cost.

It also shows that Pakistan’s perennial political crisis has taken a life of its own. There is no sign of it getting resolved. The Pakistani State has taken a clarion call: everyone must conform to the current administration, i.e., the military establishment, the deep state and its coterie in the civilian power circles.    

Historically, the military has dominated the country’s politics. Its domestic and foreign policies have been shaped by the generals. Even domestically, it is well documented that the military has “groomed” and “appointed” leaders in the country.

In politics, it is said that nation and state function as synonyms; in Pakistan, the military establishment and the state function as synonyms. So, any criticism against the military means the state is criticised. Such criticism therefore begets a strong punitive and legal response, including the charges of sedition. 

The story does not end here. Given that the military establishment is deeply involved in the government, any criticism, therefore, against the government is interpreted as a criticism against the military, and thus against the state. And there is a long list of such cases in Pakistan. Some of these include the cases of Baloch and Pashtun activists. In such cases, the people who have questioned the government policies towards Balochistan and Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa (KP) have been accused of treason and put behind bars.  

Almost the entire leadership of Baloch Yekjehti Committee (BYC), a non-violent Baloch organisation mainly comprised of the Baloch whose relatives have been victims of enforced disappearances, is in jail. So is the former member of the National Assembly and Pashtun activist, Ali Wazir. Wazir has been behind bars for a long time on treason charges for questioning the policy of the military operations and their impact on the common Pashtun in KP. Ali Wazir has spent a good share of his life in jail. He was arrested a few hours after he was released on bail on 26 March. The cases against Wazir are various sedition cases.  

Likewise, Mahrang Baloch, a Baloch and doctor by profession, along with others, is facing multiple cases of sedition. Even if she gets some relief or bail in one case, other cases are invoked to keep her behind bars. The same method is used against the people who support or defend activists in the courts of the country. Imaan Mazari and Hadi Chattha, advocates who are fighting cases of several victims of state violence, have been booked, charged and sentenced to 17 years of imprisonment for social media posts that were critical of the country’s security institutions.  

If anything, the present nexus between the military establishment and the toothless civilian leadership has shown that it is difficult to have a fair space for criticism and dissent in Pakistan. Now, since the military establishment has increasingly taken control of the country into its hands, any civilian leadership or government is symbolic. Naturally, any criticism directed at the government will be seen as criticism of the military establishment. Therefore, in all likelihood, draconian laws like treason and others will be employed more to frighten and curb dissenting voices in Pakistan. 

The latest incident occurred on 27 September in the Dasht Konchati area of Kech, where Pakistani forces reportedly carried out a late-night raid. Two men — Altaf, son of Habtain, and Gulab, son of Ayub Baloch — were seized from the area. According to family members, no information has been provided by authorities about their location or condition.

Two days earlier, on 25 September, Saud, son of Haji Rahim, was taken from his home in Hairabad. His relatives remain unaware of his fate, heightening concerns he too has been forcibly disappeared.

Human rights activist Noora Marri, commenting on the pattern of detentions, said the situation has become unbearable for families across the province.

“Every week brings new names of disappeared Baloch men. Their families are left to suffer in silence while the state refuses to acknowledge their arrests,” she wrote in The Baloch Circle. “This cycle of fear must end.”

While several individuals remain missing, there have been a few recent releases. Sheeraz, son of Ghulam Qadir, from Barkhan, who was detained on 20 September, returned home a week later.

In Turbat, Siraj, son of Sanjar, was freed on 27 September after being detained the day before. Meanwhile, Asghar Karmdani has also been reunited with his family after spending three months in custody.

Security operations continue across the wider region. In Buleda, forces stormed homes in the Gardank area on Saturday, with local witnesses reporting gunfire in residential neighbourhoods — though no casualties have been confirmed. In Panjgur district, raids were conducted in Haji Isa Bazaar, Haji Hakeem Bazaar and Kadaan, where houses were searched and the surroundings photographed and filmed. No arrests or injuries have been reported in these operations.

For many in Balochistan, such raids — often followed by disappearances — have become a grim routine, reinforcing long-held fears of unchecked security powers and a lack of accountability.

By adopting Chinese technology, Pakistan has effectively imported the architecture of one-party authoritarianism and repurposed it for its own military-led state.

In today’s interconnected world, surveillance has become the defining tool of authoritarian power. For decades, whispers of phone tapping, hidden cameras, and intercepted letters formed part of the political folklore in Pakistan. Opposition leaders complained about bugged hotel rooms, journalists spoke of mysteriously leaked recordings, and ordinary citizens lived with the suspicion that their conversations were never entirely private.

But what was once fragmented and clumsy has now been consolidated into a sophisticated and institutionalized state machinery of repression. Today, Pakistan’s rulers command a surveillance and censorship apparatus capable of monitoring millions at home. And at the heart of this system lies a troubling partnership with China, the global architect of digital authoritarianism, which has become Pakistan’s model and its main supplier.

Beijing’s Digital Spy Trade in Asia

The Pakistan-China collaboration on domestic espionage aligns with the broader framework of the Digital Silk Road, Beijing’s effort to export its technological dominance alongside its governing philosophy. As China extends its influence through infrastructure projects and military ties, it also exports the invisible infrastructure of repression.

Chinese firewalls, intercept systems, and biometric databases become complementary products. Pakistan, indebted to Chinese investment and strategically reliant on Beijing’s support, has proven to be one of the most eager markets. China is not merely exporting a surveillance technology, but an ideology of the state’s overarching control over society.

The cornerstone of this collaboration is the Web Monitoring System 2.0 (WMS 2.0), introduced in 2023. According to a recent Amnesty International report, the system is fueled by Chinese company Geedge Networks and hardware from the state-owned China Electronics Corporation. It functions like a smaller version of Beijing’s own Great Firewall, capable of deep-packet inspection, VPN detection, website blocking, and real-time throttling of online traffic.

This is not mere censorship; it is preventive digital warfare, designed to identify dissent before it can mobilize. By adopting Chinese technology, Pakistan has effectively imported the architecture of one-party authoritarianism and repurposed it for its own military-led state.

Alongside WMS, Pakistan has also integrated sophisticated European-based technology to conduct mass surveillance of personal communication devices. Pakistan’s armed forces and its notorious spy agency, the Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI), use the Lawful Intercept Management System (LIMS) to track the population’s digital activities through Pakistani telecommunications providers.

In practice, European states have legal and technical safeguards that prevent law enforcement agencies from exploiting this technology. The absence of such safeguards in Pakistan, however, empowers the government to spy on more than 4 million people at any given time. Instead of utilizing LIMS for targeted monitoring of terrorist groups within Pakistan, the state conducts indiscriminate and illegal surveillance of Pakistani citizens to suppress dissent and free speech.

Indiscriminate Surveillance over Targeted Monitoring

Pakistan’s government insists such powers are needed for national security, but the pattern of use tells a different story. The true targets are not terrorists or foreign spies; they are Pakistanis who dare to dissent. Journalists in Pakistan describe how private WhatsApp calls mysteriously leak, or how investigative reports are quietly spiked because editors fear their communications are being monitored.

Human rights defenders, particularly those campaigning against enforced disappearances, speak of constant digital harassment. Activists in Balochistan and among the Pashtun community in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa find their social media posts flagged, their movements tracked, and in some cases, their family members kidnapped by intelligence agencies.

Even judges have accused the ISI of using secret surveillance to interfere in judicial proceedings.

In each instance, surveillance serves less to protect citizens than to protect the military from accountability.

Nowhere are the costs more visible than in Balochistan, Pakistan’s most resource-rich but also the most impoverished province. Pakistan’s state breakdown on civil rights activists and the military oppression of Balochis have left the region marginalized for decades. For years, large districts of Baluchistan have been cut off from the internet entirely. These blackouts are not temporary inconveniences; they stretch on for months, even years, leaving entire communities digitally silenced.

As human rights watchdogs have documented, the blackouts often coincide with military operations, enforced disappearances, and crackdowns on protests. Families searching for missing relatives are unable to mobilize, activists cannot get their message out, and international attention is blunted by the lack of communication. In this context, WMS 2.0’s ability to block VPNs and throttle platforms is not a neutral tool but an active weapon of repression.

The Digital Silk Road Meets Rawalpindi

The Chinese role in Pakistan’s state surveillance is not merely a trade of technology, but a political partnership.

Beijing gains a strategic partner whose governance increasingly resembles its own, while Pakistan gains tools of repression that strengthen military control in areas like Balochistan and KPK, where anti-Pakistan sentiments remain strong. Pakistan’s strategic reliance on China now extends beyond roads and ports into the intimate sphere of its citizens’ communications. This alignment is ideological as it normalizes the view that dissent is treason and citizens exist to be managed, not represented.

This is why Pakistan’s surveillance state matters beyond its borders. When a fragile democracy like Pakistan adopts the Chinese model, it sends a message to other countries that repression can be imported, and authoritarian technology can be globalized. The spread of systems like WMS 2.0 is not just a Pakistani issue; it is a challenge to the very idea of digital freedom worldwide. What is tested in Balochistan today may be exported to Central Asia or other parts of the world tomorrow.

Takeaway

The track record of Pakistan’s current civil-military regime paints a bleak picture of the country’s future. It can continue down the Chinese path, perfecting the machinery of digital authoritarianism while hollowing out its democratic promises. Or it can confront the reality that surveillance without oversight is not security but tyranny.

That would mean empowering courts to enforce warrant requirements, demanding transparency from telecom companies, and refusing to import technologies designed to silence. Yet Pakistan is far from this path, given its recent trajectory on political representation and its crackdown on former Prime Minister Imran Khan.

For now, the temptation for authoritarian rule in Islamabad and Rawalpindi appears irresistible. Surveillance is cheap when subsidized by Beijing and comes in handy when backed by military power. Moreover, it is politically convenient to silence opposing voices en masse. But in choosing this path, Pakistan risks not only violating the rights of its citizens but eroding the very legitimacy it seeks to protect.

The firewall may shield those in power from criticism today, but it will also trap them in a model of governance that cannot tolerate transparency, accountability, or debate. The verdict is clear that Pakistan’s surveillance state is not merely domestic. It is the Great Firewall of China with Pakistani characteristics, assembled in Islamabad, and tested in Balochistan.