The Legacy of a Geopolitical Experiment
In the late 1970s, Pakistan found itself at the center of global power dynamics. As America’s frontline ally against the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan, the country became an unexpected hub for a geopolitical experiment that would have lasting consequences. What began as a strategic move to counter a rival soon transformed into one of the most disastrous social experiments of modern times—manufacturing religious extremism as a tool of war.
When Soviet forces entered Afghanistan in 1979, Washington saw an opportunity to weaken its adversary without direct confrontation. Through Pakistan’s military, the CIA funneled billions of dollars to Afghan resistance fighters, known as the Mujahideen, under the banner of jihad. Between 1979 and 1989, the U.S. spent an estimated USD 3-4 billion through Operation Cyclone, one of its longest and costliest covert wars.
Pakistan played a crucial role in this operation. Its tribal belt became a vast training ground where tens of thousands were indoctrinated, armed, and dispatched to fight. The Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI) oversaw more than a hundred camps, while Saudi Arabia matched U.S. funding dollar-for-dollar, exporting its own brand of Wahhabi ideology. The goal was clear: drive out the Soviets, regardless of the social cost.
The U.S. achieved its objective. The Soviets withdrew in 1989, and the USSR collapsed two years later. However, the weapons and ideology remained, and the war never truly ended. The fighters who had once been allies became warlords, insurgents, and eventually the Taliban. What had been Washington’s proxy army turned into Islamabad’s burden.
The Rise of the Taliban
The Taliban, formed in 1994 by religious students, mostly trained in Pakistani madrassas, promised order through Islamic law. By 1996, they controlled most of Afghanistan and offered sanctuary to Osama bin Laden and Al-Qaeda. Seeking “strategic depth,” Pakistan was one of only three countries to recognize the Taliban regime. Yet, the ideology it once nurtured for regional leverage soon consumed it.
By 2007, the Tehrik-e-Taliban Pakistan (TTP) emerged, uniting militant factions to wage war on the Pakistani state itself. Declaring the army “apostate,” it unleashed bombings, assassinations, and the 2014 Peshawar Army Public School massacre that killed 149 people, including 132 children. Operations Zarb-e-Azb (2014) and Radd-ul-Fasaad (2017) dismantled much of its network, but the ideology cultivated for others had already seeped deep into Pakistan’s social and political fabric.
The Emergence of the TLP
That same current later birthed another force: the Tehreek-e-Labbaik Pakistan (TLP). Founded in 2015 by cleric Khadim Hussain Rizvi, from the Barelvi school of Sunni Islam, the group rose after the execution of Mumtaz Qadri, the police guard who murdered Punjab Governor Salman Taseer in 2011. Qadri’s hanging in 2016 turned him into a martyr for many, and TLP channeled that rage into political mobilization. Their anger was never about religion, it was about power, control, and influence.
Unlike the TTP’s militancy, TLP wields street power. From the 2017 Faizabad sit-in to violent protests in 2021 and 2024, it has repeatedly paralyzed cities and forced governments into submission. Under Saad Hussain Rizvi, Khadim’s son, TLP secured 2.2 million votes in 2018 and became Pakistan’s fourth-largest party by vote share in 2024, despite winning few seats. Its real power lies not in Parliament, but in its ability to weaponize faith to move crowds.
A New Era of Resolve
When the U.S. withdrew from Afghanistan in 2021, the cycle came full circle. Again, the superpower left and another generation was abandoned. Once again, Pakistan was left with the consequences: TTP’s insurgency in the northwest and TLP’s populist siege in the heartlands.
For years, the Pakistani state wavered, sometimes negotiating, sometimes appeasing, occasionally even using such groups for political leverage. But that ambiguity is ending. The country’s current security leadership, particularly the Armed Forces, now seems to have accepted a hard truth: there are no “good” or “bad” extremists, only those who weaken the state.
There is a new sense of resolve within the institution, an understanding that peace cannot be built on the tolerance of violence and that Pakistan will no longer coexist with forces that threaten its unity or its people. Any political party, religious faction, or organization that raises arms against the state or spreads chaos must be dealt with alike. No exceptions, no negotiations, no selective justice. Whether cloaked in religion, populism, or politics, an enemy of the state remains an enemy of Pakistan.
It has taken forty years, thousands of lives, and a generation raised in fear for this realization to take root. But it finally has. The Pakistani state and its Armed Forces, at the forefront, now recognize that they cannot feed the fire and expect it to warm them without burning their own house down.
The Road Ahead
The road ahead is long, and extremism runs deep. Yet, for the first time in decades, Pakistan’s institutions appear aligned in purpose. This is no longer America’s war, nor Afghanistan’s. It is Pakistan’s war, a fight for the country’s survival, its stability, and its soul.
