Pakistan is not collapsing by accident. It is being managed into controlled instability.

The Hunting Ground: Inside Pakistan’s Controlled Instability

Two and a half years ago, I described Africa’s elite hunting reserves in a piece titled “Shikargah — The Hunting Ground.” Africa was used as a metaphor—but Pakistan fits the model far more precisely.

Africa is a vast and fertile continent, rich in wildlife and home to countless species of animals and birds. From across the world, elite hunters—aristocrats, wealthy individuals, and thrill-seekers—travel there for sport hunting. Local communities manage these reserves, but real authority lies elsewhere. To facilitate the hunt, specialized companies operate across the continent, managing everything from permits and guided expeditions to the shipment of trophies back to the hunters’ home countries.

Although the reserves are maintained by local populations, key decision-makers—managers and supervisors—are often Europeans. Hunting grounds are periodically closed to allow breeding and regeneration. New animals are introduced from forests to maintain quality, ensuring that the prey remains agile, alert, and challenging—able to retreat, counterattack, and survive just enough to keep the “sport” alive.

Geographically, Pakistan is boxed in—fences to the east and west, mountains to the north, and the sea to the south. It is as if the world itself has placed us inside a cage. Diplomatically isolated, economically dependent, and strategically indispensable, Pakistan is never sovereign in practice. Every neighbor is exhausted by us, yet our ruling class refuses self-correction. Instead, the nation is fed recycled slogans of victimhood, conspiracy, and moral superiority.

This was not an intelligence failure. It was a failure of accountability.

Operation Zarb-e-Azb (2014) under COAS General Raheel Sharif dismantled militant infrastructure in North Waziristan. Operation Radd-ul-Fasaad (2017) under General Qamar Javed Bajwa expanded counterterrorism operations nationwide. Both were declared successes. Neither was institutionally concluded.

From 2001 to 2023, through Zarb-e-Azb and Radd-ul-Fasaad, nearly 83,000 Pakistanis—soldiers and civilians—were killed. Entire regions were flattened. Millions were displaced. The economic loss exceeded $150 billion. Yet no national accountability followed. No white papers. No parliamentary audits. No policy post-mortems. Because in Pakistan, policies are not national—they are personal.

Under General Bajwa, one strategic narrative prevailed. When priorities shifted, so did “truth.” The state quietly initiated talks with the Tehreek-e-Taliban Pakistan (TTP), facilitated by the Afghan Taliban after their takeover of Kabul in August 2021. During Imran Khan’s final months, the public was suddenly told that nearly 20,000 Pakistani Taliban fighters, now labelled “misguided Pakistanis,” were present in Afghanistan and should be brought back and resettled because they were “our people.”

This was never debated nationally. It was marketed emotionally.

Before consequences could surface, the government fell.

After Imran Khan’s removal in April 2022, two in-camera parliamentary briefings were held in June and October 2022. Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf, the largest party with 155 National Assembly seats, was excluded. Meanwhile, Maulana Fazlur Rehman, holding zero seats, was invited as a “stakeholder.” Army Chief General Bajwa and ISI leadership briefed select lawmakers. Decisions were taken behind closed doors. The public was informed later—through silence.

The border fence—constructed not with cement but with the bodies of soldiers, sealed not with water but with blood—was effectively neutralized in several sectors. Security checkpoints were reduced. Routes were reopened. Ceasefire violations surged.

The state panicked and tacitly accepted a ceasefire announced by the TTP. During this pause, the group reorganized its command, restored cross-border mobility between Afghanistan and Pakistan, and expanded recruitment. When the COAS changed, the ceasefire was withdrawn—but the damage was already done. By November 2022, the TTP formally ended the ceasefire.

By 2023–2024, attacks on security forces increased by over 65 percent.

The hunting ground was prepared again. And like any managed reserve, once the prey recovers, the hunt resumes.

No civilian government owned the policy. No military leadership defended it publicly. No institution accepted responsibility. Instead, blame dissolved into silence—until the next operation, the next funeral, the next reset.

Pakistan does not fail because of terrorism. It reproduces terrorism through strategic confusion, moral cowardice, and elite consensus without public consent. We sacrifice lives not to resolve conflict, but to delay responsibility. Each operation resets the clock. Each martyr buys temporary silence. Each tragedy is monetized politically.

We never ask the most dangerous question:

Who decided this—and why?

Conflict is never resolved—only paused. Militants retreat, regroup, and return. The state bleeds, rebuilds, and repeats. International partners apply pressure, release funds, and issue statements. Domestic elites survive untouched.

Had Pakistan conducted a serious accountability review after even one disaster—1971, Kargil, APS, or Zarb-e-Azb—this cycle might have broken.

But accountability threatens power. And power in Pakistan does not answer questions. It manufactures narratives.

This is not incompetence.

It is design.

A closed system.

Controlled instability.

Periodic bloodletting.

Foreign interest.

Local management.

No ownership.

No consequences.

Pakistan is not failing repeatedly.

Pakistan is being managed.

And like every hunting ground in history, it will remain open— until nothing is left to hunt.

And the hunt will continue.

According to Pakistan’s Ministry of Finance, the country has suffered economic losses exceeding USD 150 billion since 2001 due to terrorism and counterterrorism operations.