(This is the first post in a series on Pakistan’s struggle against militancy)
Almost a decade in, the rebellion by the Pakistani Taliban against Islamabad shows no signs of flagging. Tough, savvy, and agile, the insurgents have expanded their campaign from the isolated northwestern tribal regions all the way to urban centers in the south such as the port city of Karachi. Their declared agenda has grown with each success: they first demanded acceptance of their control over large swathes of the tribal areas; they then denied the authority of Islamabad across Pakistan altogether; today, influenced by Al Qaeda’s rhetoric, they boast of sending fighters to wars in Arab lands and attacking the United States.
We need not accept all their grandiose declarations at face value. When it comes to global terrorism, in particular, there is a chasm between their rhetoric and their capacity. The only terrorist plot on American soil they can claim is of the failed Times Square Bomber in 2010. The evidence of Taliban involvement in Middle Eastern battlefields is ambiguous at best. And their operations are constrained by an overall pool of fighters that is small: estimates vary because data is hard to collect and the definition of an active fighter is murky but at any given time there may only be between ten and twenty thousand rebel fighters.
But the insurgents have substantially expanded their campaign within Pakistan itself. They have strategic clarity where Islamabad does not and their aspirations have been whetted by the confusion of the state. In recent years the rebels have complemented their fight against Pakistani armed forces in the tribal areas with a systematic campaign of terrorism in towns and cities across the country. To this end the insurgents have leveraged and expanded a vast ‘infrastructure of extremism’, which originates in decades of state sponsorship of non-state militant groups.* The network includes combat trainers, militant recruiters, funders, suicide jacket makers, indoctrinators and foot soldiers who have access to training camps, safe houses, telephone getaway exchanges, madrassahs (some, not all) and highly sophisticated media communications facilities across the length and breadth of Pakistan. The insurgents are not cave dwellers: they are adept organization builders who have institutionalized the production of terrorism as one weapon in their broader war against the state.
It is easy to get ensnared in the web of this sprawling infrastructure. This past November, I interviewed a former senior Pakistani police officer who has investigated terrorism cases for over twenty years. He told me about a 16 year old caught with two hundred and fifty kilograms of explosives in a failed assassination attempt on former Pakistani President General Pervez Musharraf. When he asked the boy why he became a suicide bomber, the boy replied: “Maybe all of you are right when you say ‘madrassah students hate us’ but we are your kids. Our maulvi told us that killing Musharraf would send us to heaven but no one told us any differently.” Some would-be-bombers (and their families) are true believers; some are coerced; some are brainwashed; some are mentally ill; some are paid off; some are poor, some are middle class; some see no place in society for themselves and find they can play a role as a martyr. There is no one defined, predictable route to militancy but the insurgents have shown flexibility in sucking potential recruits in.
The insurgent advance has been aided by the significant disparity between their capabilities and experiences relative to the civilian security forces. Insurgents are battle tested and have far more advanced weaponry than the demoralized policemen who, at the frontlines of the urban war, have effectively become cannon fodder in any confrontation. The rebels also tend to be much better paid. The owner of a security services company in Lahore that provides armed guards, many of whom are former police officers, told me his information suggests that the rank and file Taliban fighter gets paid at least twice the monthly salary of a low-grade police officer. The late Hakimullah Mehsud, who sat at the top of the rebel chain of command before being dispatched by a U.S. drone strike, owned a luxurious eight room compound in the tribal area of North Waziristan where his family resided and which was valued by one estimate at one hundred and twenty thousand dollars, a significant sum in Pakistan.
It is unsurprising, then, that state control in Pakistan’s cities is eroding. A series of recent jailbreak videos released by the insurgency’s propaganda arm show armed assaults on outgunned, overwhelmed prison authorities in cities such as Dera Ismail Khan in Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa province. The rebels have eviscerated many governance structures at the local level through assassinating government officials, local power brokers, and civil society activists; manipulated election outcomes by selectively targeting political parties; leveraged alliances and partnerships with an assortment of non-state groups outside the tribal areas, whether on the basis of shared ideology or short-term expediency or both; and participated in a vast range of criminal enterprises that have filled their coffers with proceeds from drug trafficking, kidnapping, bank heists, and racketeering.
The degree of insurgent infiltration varies by city. An editor at one of the country’s largest dailies told me that of the one hundred and seventy eight local union councils (the administrative unit of local governance) in Karachi, perhaps in as many as sixty or seventy the police could not enter because of de facto control by non-state actors, of whom the Taliban form a rapidly growing constituency. History and geography matter here: where the state is weaker, opportunities for insurgents are greater.Local mafias, drug lords and crime bosses, often allied with local political parties, inhibited the state’s writ in Karachi long before the Taliban showed up. The situation in Karachi is not therefore analogous to, say, the city of Lahore in the province of Punjab, where the provincial government has a tighter grip, due in part to greater investments in civilian law enforcement and service delivery. Nevertheless, Karachi is the country’s largest city and its financial hub, and its ongoing subversion provides a template for the escalation of urban war elsewhere.
The insurgency’s ability to overthrow the state faces some basic barriers. Pakistan is a big country of more than one hundred and eighty million people and outright insurgent control outside the border areas, which have a unique history of semi-autonomy, is still limited. The Pakistani state can claim the seventh largest army in the world which has in recent years launched a series of offensives that have wrested back some territory in the northwest. And the Taliban model has limited ideological appeal —most of all where citizens have actually experienced rebel rule.
Nor is the Pakistani Taliban a monolithic movement. It is best understood as a loosely organized coalition of like-minded factions alternately cooperating and competing for recruits, funds, and credibility. Groups sometimes pay allegiance to high ranking rebel commanders and sometimes declare independence; they are often engaged in fierce turf battles with each other. Individual gangs may have strong leaders but these do not necessarily exercise day-to-day operational control. These entities are decentralized networks rather than rigid top-down structures: after terrorist attacks individual factions often do not claim immediate responsibility because they have to ask around to make sure who carried out the operation. Limits on the insurgency’s capacity for coordination and divisions among its factions can create an opening for effective state action.
But even if the full on ‘failed state’ scenario seems implausible at this time, the fact is that the rebels do not have to overthrow the state to win. They are attenuating the relevance of an already-weak state and they are aggravating divisive trends in Pakistani society. The country has sustained enormous damage already: Over the last decade, tens of thousands have died at the hands of insurgents; millions have been displaced due to clashes between insurgents and government forces; the country’s Ministry of Finance estimates direct and indirect economic costs upwards of sixty five billion dollars since 2001 as a result of conflict; even foreign cricket teams don’t tour the country anymore.
Equally important, the insurgency’s successes have had a wider demonstration effect. Many militant groups in Pakistan that are not in revolt against the state have their own private, sectarian agendas. In a general atmosphere where it is perceived that violence can be committed with impunity, the operations of these organizations have expanded. As a result the country is turning into a theme park of religious and political violence. Pakistan may not be a failed state but it is certainly a fracturing society, the fissures beginning to widen between Deobandi and Barelvi, Sunni and Shia, an indication of the general tendency towards polarization.
If these trends are not arrested in the coming years a new social and political order may emerge. The Pakistani state will still exist and it will still be the single strongest player across the country’s territory, but its monopoly over force will gradually be reduced to scattered cantons. Divided sectarian communities will live under multiple, conflicting sovereignties that alternate between the state, insurgents, and criminals, the balance between them constantly renegotiated, region by region, through a combination of guerilla war, urban battle, targeted assassinations, backdoor political deals, and protection payoffs that purchase the peace, if only for a time.
*‘infrastructure of extremism’: This was the characterization used in the report by the Abbottabad Commission (leaked by Al Jazeera) which was constituted by Islamabad to inquire into the circumstances leading to Bin Laden’s assassination by American special forces.
To prevail against an insurrection, a state must fight on many fronts. It must construct a comprehensive military and political strategy, strengthen its institutional capacity to fight an internal war, and mobilize public support for a protracted struggle. Above all, an insurgency is a contest between the state and its challengers over legitimacy and credibility. In this clash of narratives, the state must persuade the population that its actions are those of a representative, duly constituted government attempting to restore its control even as the rebels repudiate the fundamental legitimacy of the state.
So far in Pakistan the militant groups are winning the war of narrative. As I wrote last time, the Pakistani Taliban is by no means a monolith but its different factions do come together around a clear strategic story. Insurgent propaganda states that the rebellion’s goal is to replace an illegitimate, un-Islamic government subservient to Washington with an Islamic state. Their war is defensive—for Islam and against America. The state, on the other hand, speaks in contradictory voices. Some say that the state must fight until the rebels lay down their arms, forswear the use of violence, and respect the rule of law, while others insist on immediate, unconditional negotiations. The truth is that ending the turmoil within Pakistan requires some adroit combination of fighting and talking—but only if they are aspects of an integrated strategy that has as its aim the restoration of state control and that realistically accounts for the ambitions of the rebels, which are revolutionary, and which they have pursued from the mountains in the tribal areas to major urban centers across the heartland.
Yet advocates of negotiation —including leading politicians, retired generals, and influential pundits—blame the state and its alliance with Washington rather than the militants for fomenting the violence. As a result it is widely believed in Pakistan that the war against militancy has been foisted on the country by the United States; that insurgent violence is merely retaliation for Pakistani military aggression and American drone strikes in the tribal areas; and that conflict will cease when these operations end. The result is that formula recited by many: ‘This is not our war.’ This dominant narrative has had a negative effect on the legitimacy of the state in the eyes of the public, created demoralization in the country’s army and police forces, and emboldened the insurgents.
There are many reasons why this narrative has taken hold. The decades-long support by the country’s security establishment of non-state radical groups has created an ideological atmosphere which is generally indulgent of militancy. Then, the military and political leadership generally avoid stating the facts about the origins and evolution of the insurgency in their country—it is easier to deflect blame to outside forces, especially when there is genuine confusion about how to put the genie back in the bottle. Also, the public is war-weary, does not trust its leaders and simply wants the conflict to come to an end. The political opposition in successive regimes have whipped up and exploited this anti-war sentiment to undercut the political standing of the government in power. And not least, the presence of Western military forces in Afghanistan, the discovery of American spy networks in Pakistan, and the flying of fleets of U.S. drones over the tribal areas have all distracted attention from the internal threat, in part by making it easy for anti-American elements to disseminate conspiracy theories and orchestrate outrage against the United States as the source of ongoing subversion.
While the debate within Pakistan has been stuck, the state has nevertheless been compelled to take some action as the costs inflicted by the insurgents have escalated. Since 2009, a series of military operations in northwestern Pakistan have resulted in the regaining of some territories formerly under insurgent control. Thousands of soldiers have died and thousands more have been maimed. In addition, there have been other vital measures such as investments in reconstruction, rehabilitation, and deradicalization programs in districts like Swat and Malakand. These efforts are flawed—military operations have generally emphasized killing militants at the expense of holding territory and rebuilding governance, and have contributed to the displacement of five million people since 2004—but they signal a real shift in which the army is gradually refocusing to contend with the internal threat.
The current democratically elected government, ushered into office last June, is also making moves in the right direction. Last November in Islamabad a senior counterterrorism advisor to the Pakistani government described to me a series of new steps being phased in to thwart militancy: the passage of new laws to strengthen law enforcement capacity; the development of a national counterterrorism strategy centered in the Ministry of the Interior and buttressed by province-specific elements; a new urban counterterrorism plan focusing on securing the cities and then progressively expanding outwards in wider rings; and a more coordinated strategy to counter militancy in the northwest designed to exploit militant divisions.
It remains to be seen how much of this agenda will be translated into reality over the current government’s tenure. One of the reasons for the state’s halting, stumbling movement on counterterrorism is the same that bedevils its other policies: a chronically weak system of governance that lacks the institutional capacity to design and implement programs and that is thoroughly compromised by politicized appointments. The fate of the National Counterterrorism Authority, created during the previous government to formulate and execute a national counterterrorism strategy, is typical. The founding head of the organization told me in Lahore that the institution had become ‘toothless’, yet another ‘holding pen for patronage-based posting’, which had had more than five heads in just over two years. Without institution-building, a reactive, firefighting approach will remain the default counterterrorism mode.
If the political will to counter the insurgency is weak, institution-building initiatives will remain stillborn. If it is believed that there is no real war to be fought, then there will be little sustained support for the large investments in infrastructure, training, and coordination capabilities necessary to contend with the Taliban. And if the state does not decisively establish the legitimacy of its position vis-à-vis the insurgents, then generals and soldiers, politicians and bureaucrats, will remain ambivalent at best about the years of drawn-out struggle ahead.
In recent years there has been growing recognition of the importance of changing the narrative about the war. In particular, the army’s operations have catalyzed an attempt by its top brass to change public perceptions and counter insurgent propaganda. For example, in a speech at 2013’s Day of Martyrs memorial, General Kayani, at the time the chief of army staff, spoke of the necessity for war against a ‘small faction’ with a ‘distorted ideology’ that is an ‘enemy of the state’ and was violating its constitution.* This is a frame that may mobilize deeper support for the war if it is systematically disseminated. So far, however, there is no evidence that evoking the constitution, the democratically elected government, or the rule of law has changed hearts and minds.
Last November, when a U.S. drone strike killed Hakimullah Mehsud, the then-leader of the Pakistani Taliban, the head of one of the main Islamist parties stated that Mehsud was a ‘martyr’ and implied that the Pakistani soldiers fighting the Taliban were not. The Pakistani army’s public relations arm condemned these views, demanded an apology, and declared that ‘all of us are very clear on what the state of Pakistan is and who its enemies are.’** While this unprecedented back-and-forth was welcomed by many in the country who saw it as a sign of a sundering of the ‘mullah-military’ nexus, its real significance lies in showing enormous Islamist confidence. And the Islamists are far from the only ones capitalizing on Pakistani disenchantment: Imran Khan, a leading opposition politician, launched a protest against the Mehsud drone strike, bringing out thousands of supporters and shutting down NATO supply routes.
Many in Pakistan have expressed the hope to me that as the U.S. withdrawal from Afghanistan accelerates and the drone war in the tribal areas slows down, the country will begin to see the extent of the internal threat clearly. Perhaps. Undoubtedly the American footprint in South Asia has deeply distorted the public debate about militancy, and it may become harder for the insurgents and their political allies to distract Pakistani attention from their agenda through anti-Americanism. But Western disengagement will not eliminate the deep seated dysfunction that has led to the current crisis. There is no magic bullet here: Once a state relinquishes portions of its sovereignty to non-state actors and legitimizes their operations to the broader public over several decades, it cannot just flip the switch back. It will be a long time before Pakistan’s political and military structures unambiguously align themselves against domestic challengers – given the sheer scale of the problem, that day may never come. In the mean time, the most likely short to medium-term scenario is a continuation of the current firefighting policy—a path of muddling along that will produce neither victory nor defeat but a brittle, blood-sodden stalemate.
Ahmed Humayun is a Fellow at the Institute for Social Policy and Understanding in Washington, D.C
– See more at: http://www.3quarksdaily.com/3quarksdaily/2014/01/pakistans-war-part-ii.html#more