Soldier with machine gun with national flag of Pakistan
The resumption of Operation Sarbakaf in Bajaur’s Lowi Mamund tehsil reflects a familiar paradox in counterinsurgency operations: the tension between the state’s imperative to neutralise militant threats and the equally binding obligation to safeguard civilian welfare. Launched with the stated aim of eliminating entrenched militant hideouts, the operation underscores Pakistan’s ongoing struggle to stabilise its border districts. Yet, as the events of recent days reveal, security gains risk being offset by the social and humanitarian costs borne by the very populations the state seeks to protect.
The operation—first initiated on July 29 and paused after peace talks—was reignited following the collapse of negotiations for the relocation of militants to Afghanistan. This breakdown is itself telling: it illustrates the limited shelf-life of dialogue when militant actors retain coercive capacity and when trust between the state and insurgents is absent. Once talks failed, military logic prevailed, and the offensive resumed with artillery barrages and helicopter gunship strikes. While no casualties were reported on the first day, the use of heavy firepower in populated tehsils inevitably raises concerns over displacement, disruption, and collateral impact.
The three-month curfew imposed in over two dozen villages, alongside a 12-hour lockdown on key roads, has had sweeping consequences. Trade hubs fell silent, major roads shut down, and daily life ground to a halt. While the district administration frames these measures as essential for “public safety” during the targeted operation, their sudden imposition—announced via a 2am social media post—has drawn criticism from community leaders, most prominently the Bajaur Amn Jirga’s Sahibzada Haroon Rashid. His objection was not to the operation’s goal, but to the manner in which it was carried out: the absence of consultation, and the lack of advance arrangements for displaced families, betray a persistent governance gap.
The humanitarian dimension is stark. Since Saturday, more than 2,000 families—300 on Monday alone—have fled their homes, some taking shelter in facilities set up by NGOs like the Siraj Uddin Khan Foundation, others relying on relatives. The administration’s plan to house displaced families in 449 public schools (309 boys’ and 140 girls’ institutions, plus 113 private schools) is pragmatic, yet reactive. Displacement is not a side effect to be managed post-facto; it is an entirely predictable outcome of large-scale security operations, requiring pre-emptive logistical and welfare planning.
This pattern is not unique to Bajaur. Pakistan’s counter-militancy campaigns, from Swat to North Waziristan, have often involved mass displacement, sometimes numbering in the hundreds of thousands. While many such operations have succeeded in dismantling militant infrastructure, they have also produced lingering grievances among affected populations. The challenge lies in ensuring that the short-term disruption inflicted by security imperatives does not alienate communities to the point of undermining long-term stability.
Moreover, the optics of governance matter. When curfews and restrictions are rolled out without local consultation, and when displaced families face uncertainty about food, shelter, and livelihoods, the narrative of the state as a protector weakens. This is particularly damaging in regions like Bajaur, where militant groups have historically exploited anti-state sentiment to entrench themselves. Winning “hearts and minds” is not a sentimental ideal—it is a strategic necessity in counterinsurgency doctrine.
In this context, the Bajaur Amn Jirga’s grievances should not be dismissed as political posturing. They point to a deeper structural problem: the lack of an integrated civil-military coordination framework that aligns security actions with humanitarian and political engagement. The security forces may degrade militant capacity through Operation Sarbakaf, but if governance structures fail to meet displaced citizens’ basic needs, the resulting vacuum could be exploited by the very actors the operation seeks to eliminate.
The administration’s use of schools as temporary shelters is a stopgap, but it comes with trade-offs, such as disruptions to education in already underserved areas. Prolonged displacement could exacerbate socio-economic vulnerabilities, further straining the district’s limited infrastructure. To mitigate this, authorities must establish clear timelines for rehabilitation, provide stipends or in-kind support to displaced families, and ensure that civilian needs are addressed in tandem with security objectives.
Ultimately, the success of Operation Sarbakaf cannot be measured solely by the number of hideouts destroyed or militants killed. It must also be judged by whether the operation leaves Bajaur’s civilian population more secure, more trusting of state institutions, and less susceptible to militant influence. The state’s challenge in Bajaur is not just to win the battle against militants—it is to win the peace that follows. Doing so will require that the security narrative be matched with a humanitarian one, and that operations like Sarbakaf are embedded in a broader strategy of political reconciliation, local empowerment, and sustained socio-economic investment. Only then can the paradox between security imperatives and civilian protection be resolved in favour of lasting stability.
0 Comments
LEAVE A COMMENT
Your email address will not be published