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mariacallous · 9 months ago

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MIRAN SHAH, Pakistan—Mohsin Dawar’s campaign for re-election to Pakistan’s parliament was almost cut short before it began in early January when his convoy was ambushed in a village just a few minutes’ drive from his home in Miran Shah in Pakistan’s North Waziristan district, near the lawless borderlands with Afghanistan. As his car came under attack from militants armed with automatic weapons, sniper rifles, and rocket-propelled grenades, he and his team were lured into a compound by residents who promised them safety.

It was a trap. Once the gates closed behind Dawar, the attack intensified. For almost an hour, he said, they were pinned down. Police and Pakistan Army backup finally arrived but not before two of Dawar’s team had been shot and injured. The vehicle took more than 80 bullets, and the windows show just how accurate the attackers’ aim was: Either one of the shots to the windshield or passenger window would have struck and likely killed him if he hadn’t been protected by bulletproof glass.

The Jan. 3 attack on a popular, outspoken, liberal leader in one of the most vulnerable regions of a country fighting a growing insurgency by extremist militants hardly registered in Pakistan, where most believe the military attempted—and failed—to manipulate the Feb. 8 election in an effort to install Nawaz Sharif as prime minister for a fourth time and where media operate under tight government control.

The election wasn’t quite the foregone conclusion that had been expected, with candidates aligned with the jailed cricket star-turned-populist leader Imran Khan winning more votes than each of the major parties—the Pakistan Muslim League-Nawaz (PML-N) and the Pakistan Peoples Party—forcing them into a coalition to get the majority needed to form a government. PML-N leader Nawaz Sharif nominated his brother, Shehbaz Sharif, to become prime minister and his daughter Maryam Nawaz as chief minister of Punjab province, ensuring the dynastic line continues.

Candidates across the country, not only those loyal to Khan, alleged that the results had been rigged against them and in favor of military-backed candidates. Two days after the election, with his seat still undeclared amid growing concerns nationwide about vote rigging, Dawar and about a dozen of his supporters were injured when security forces opened fire on them as they gathered outside the official counting room.

At least three people died of their injuries; What Dawar had believed was an unassailable lead, according to polling by his secular National Democratic Movement party, had disappeared. In the count that was listed as final by Pakistan’s Election Commission, the seat went to Misbah Uddin of the Taliban-aligned Jamiat Ulama-e-Islam-Fazl party. Dawar is still recovering from a serious leg wound.

Dawar’s hometown is, once again, the battleground of what he calls “Project Taliban”—a war against the Pakistani state.

The Taliban’s transnational ambitions are threatening security beyond the borders of Afghanistan, and nowhere is this more evident than in Pakistan’s northwest, where the militant presence has been growing since the terrorist-led group came back to power in August 2021. Attacks on civilians, soldiers, and police have soared. The region bristles with checkpoints and hilltop outposts and is heavily patrolled on the ground and in the air by the Pakistan Army and armed border police. That’s during daylight hours, Dawar told Foreign Policy. Once night falls, it’s a different story.

“The Army checkposts you will only see during the daytime. Before sunset, they go to their barracks, and the people of Waziristan are at the disposal of the militants. Everyone has to secure himself or herself for their own protection,” he said. “It is militarized, and I believe it is a continuation of a proxy war that was started long ago. ‘Project Taliban’ is still continuing.”

The roots of militancy and terrorism in Waziristan go back to colonial times, when the mostly Pashtun people here were characterized as fearless fighters and pressed into service for the British. The stereotype stuck; the region became a center of recruitment and training for young men to fight the Soviets after Moscow’s 1979 invasion of Afghanistan.

After the United States led an invasion of Afghanistan in 2001 in retaliation for the 9/11 attacks, leaders of the Taliban and al Qaeda moved over the border and for the following 20 years enjoyed the protection of the Pakistani military’s intelligence wing, the Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI) agency.

The ISI wanted a tame Taliban-led Afghanistan to thwart the ambitions of archrival India to become the dominant regional power. The Taliban had different ideas. The group’s return to power has inspired affiliated and like-minded groups worldwide, as the extremist regime provides safe haven for dozens of militant groups, according to the U.N. Security Council. They now openly use Afghanistan as a base to train fighters seeking to overthrow governments from China and Tajikistan to Iran and Israel. Among them is Tehrik-i-Taliban Pakistan (TTP), which, Afrasiab Khattak, a former Pakistani lawmaker and now a political analyst, said, is “just Taliban, there is no difference.”

Earlier this month, the Taliban reiterated the group’s stance on the international border between Afghanistan and Pakistan when the acting foreign minister, Sher Mohammad Abbas Stanikzai, said the government doesn’t recognize the Durand Line that has delineated the two countries since 1893. The line runs through the tribal regions, dividing ethnic Pashtun and Baloch tribespeople. Recent bilateral tensions have often focused on the border, with tit-for-tat closures impacting cross-border trade.

In comments that Pakistan’s foreign ministry later called “fanciful” and “self-serving”—and which underlined the simmering hostility between Pakistan and the Taliban it helped put in power—Stanikzai said: “We have never recognized Durand and will never recognize it; today half of Afghanistan is separated and is on the other side of the Durand Line. Durand is the line which was drawn by the English on the heart of Afghans.”

The Security Council said in 2022 that the TTP had up to 5,500 fighters in Afghanistan. That number has likely risen, Dawar said, as neither country, mired in economic mismanagement and crisis, can offer its youthful population an alternative livelihood. Victory brought strength, Dawar said, and the Taliban “can attract the youth because money and power is what attracts youth the most.”

The simmering conflict threatens to return Pakistan’s northwest to the wasteland of less than decade ago, when the TTP controlled the region: Dissenters were routinely killed. Terrorists turned the Federally Administered Tribal Areas (FATA), now part of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa province after an administrative merger in 2018, into a death zone. Millions of people were displaced as those who could leave fled to peace and safety.

Those who stayed lived in fear and poverty until the Army finally took action in 2016 and ended the TTP’s 10-year reign by simply killing them, often in attacks that also killed civilians, or pushing them over the porous border into Afghanistan, where they joined Taliban forces fighting the U.S.-supported republic until it collapsed in 2021.

The TTP wants an independent state in these border regions. It broke a cease-fire with the government in November 2022 and has demanded that the merger of the FATA with Khyber Pakhtunkhwa be reversed. Attacks on the military and police have escalated alarmingly, presenting what a senior government official, who spoke anonymously, called “not only an existential threat to the state but also to the common man”—a recognition that what Dawar calls “Project Taliban” not only threatens to engulf the northwest but, if not contained, poses a potential threat to a fragile and barely stable state.

Caretaker Prime Minister Anwaar-ul-Haq Kakar disagreed, telling reporters before the Feb. 8 vote that the military had the upper hand in the region, by virtue of numbers alone. “I don’t see that they pose an existential threat to the state of Pakistan,” he said, while nevertheless conceding it was a “big challenge” that could take years to dislodge.

He could be right. After the failure of peace talks, ironically brokered by the Taliban’s acting interior minister, U.N.-listed terrorist Sirajuddin Haqqani, Pakistan stepped up pressure on the TTP. Asfandyar Mir, an expert on South Asian political and security issues, said this appeared to have made a “marginal” difference.

“For instance, we haven’t seen a complex or suicide bombing attack by the TTP or one of its fronts for a couple of months now,” he said. “In that sense, it appears the Taliban is sensitive to pressure,” though “smaller-scale attacks and the erosion of Pakistani state authority in parts of the northwest continue.” Things could change, he said, once a new government is installed and, perhaps, brings some stability to the political landscape.

For the people of Waziristan, struggling to survive unemployment, a lack of development, and government neglect of basic services such as roads, electricity, clean water, and education—coupled with a downturn in vital cross-border trade with Afghanistan—priorities have again switched to peace. “The local people have learned through their own bitter experience of devastating war” what a Taliban resurgence means, said Khattak, the political analyst. The security establishment is playing a dangerous game, indulging the TTP so that “local people become so desperate they want the military to come in and help them,” he said.

Hundreds of thousands of people have marched through the streets and bazaars of North and South Waziristan over the past year, demanding action against terrorism and an end to state violence. Yet it continues. “No one is safe. Everyone is a target,” said a man in his 30s as he rolled off a list of potential victims: politicians, business people, teachers, doctors, journalists, civic activists, women’s rights advocates, anyone deemed “un-Islamic.” Even barbers are not immune from extremists who ban men from shaving: The day before the Jan. 3 attack on Dawar’s convoy, the bodies of six young hairdressers were found in the nearby town of Mir Ali.

Another local resident pointed to a “Taliban checkpoint” on the road between Miran Shah and the bustling town of Bannu. The long-haired, kohl-eyed, gun-toting youths in sequined caps stand outside their roadside hut in the shadow of an Army post on the hill above. Around the clock, the resident said, they randomly stop vehicles to shake down the drivers. “It’s just for money,” he said. “Money and power.”

But it’s killing, too, “on a daily basis,” said a government worker who left Miran Shah with his family at the height of the TTP terror and visited in early February from Peshawar so he and his wife could vote for Dawar. The aim, he said, is “to create an atmosphere of fear so that people leave and what is here is theirs.”

Dawar said the turning of the Taliban tables on Pakistan “was predictable.” The Taliban “are now a threat to Central Asia. They are now a threat to Iran, to Pakistan, and to even China. All of them thought we will control the Taliban after the takeover. The problem is it didn’t happen,” he said.

In 2011, then-U.S. Secretary of State Hillary Clinton warned Pakistan’s leaders that they couldn’t keep “snakes,” as she called the Taliban, in their own backyard and “expect them only to bite your neighbors.”

“There used to be a time when people were sent from here to Afghanistan. Now they are coming around, they are biting,” Dawar said.

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