By Ghulam Haider Shaikh
The federal government’s decision to allocate bulletproof vehicles from Khyber Pakhtunkhwa to Balochistan may appear to be a simple administrative step, but it carries deeper symbolic and strategic significance. In a country where internal security dynamics vary sharply from one province to another, such a move reflects an evolving recognition of where the state’s vulnerabilities truly lie, and where its support is most urgently needed.
Balochistan, for decades, has been the epicenter of both separatist unrest and external interference. Its vast, underdeveloped landscape and porous borders make it uniquely exposed to security threats ranging from terrorism to organized crime. The transfer of bulletproof vehicles, previously used in counterterrorism operations in KP, therefore underscores the shifting focus of national security planning. It acknowledges that as insurgency patterns change, so too must the state’s defense priorities.
However, this move is more than a logistical adjustment; it is a tacit recognition of how deeply the province’s grievances and vulnerabilities have been ignored. For years, Balochistan has stood on the margins of national attention, rich in resources, yet poor in protection. Its highways have witnessed repeated ambushes on security convoys, its cities have suffered deadly bombings, and its people have lived under the shadow of both militants and heavy-handed responses. In such an environment, even the symbolism of transferring armored vehicles carries weight: it signals that the state may finally be acknowledging that Balochistan’s security cannot remain an afterthought.
Yet equipment alone cannot secure peace. True stability demands a parallel investment in trust, one built through inclusive governance, economic opportunity, and an end to the cycle of alienation. Bulletproof glass can protect officials from bullets, but not from resentment; armored cars can shield bodies, but not broken promises. The transfer of these vehicles will only be meaningful if it marks the beginning of a broader, sustained effort to make Balochistan feel like part of the federation rather than a frontier to be managed.
Yet, this development should not be seen merely through the prism of logistics. The people of Balochistan have long complained of being neglected by Islamabad, of seeing federal attention only when the province is in crisis. If these security reinforcements are to be meaningful, they must form part of a broader framework that combines law enforcement with governance, dialogue, and development. Security measures, while necessary, cannot substitute for trust.
At the same time, it is important that such redistribution of resources does not weaken KP’s own security apparatus. The province, though quieter in recent months, remains vulnerable to cross-border militancy and sleeper cells that continue to test the resolve of local law enforcement. Effective coordination between the provincial and federal governments will be essential to ensure that one region’s gain does not become another’s gap.
In the end, this decision offers a valuable opportunity for the federation to demonstrate balance and foresight. Protecting Balochistan is not just about shielding officials and convoys; it is about reaffirming the province’s place within the national fold, as a region that deserves investment, safety, and dignity equal to any other. True security, after all, is not armored in steel, but in trust and inclusion.
A Question of Respect
Chief Minister Sohail Afridi’s reported refusal to meet participants of the National Workshop Balochistan has drawn understandable criticism. Such workshops are not routine bureaucratic gatherings; they serve as platforms for dialogue between policymakers and representatives of a province long struggling with issues of neglect, mistrust, and marginalization. Refusing to engage with delegates, particularly those representing Balochistan, sends an unfortunate message of indifference at a time when inclusivity is most needed.
The National Workshop, by design, aims to bridge gaps between the federation and its provinces, helping decision-makers understand the ground realities of regions often overshadowed in national debate. In Balochistan’s case, these realities are stark: underdevelopment, security challenges, and a persistent sense of political alienation. A meeting with the Chief Minister could have symbolized a new chapter in federal–provincial cooperation, reinforcing the notion that every part of Pakistan matters equally.
Leadership is tested not in grand declarations but in moments of engagement. Dialogue, even if uncomfortable, is the cornerstone of democratic governance. When elected officials avoid interaction with representatives of a neglected region, it deepens the perception that Balochistan remains an afterthought in the country’s political imagination.
Mr. Afridi’s decision may have been influenced by scheduling or security considerations, but the optics matter. In an era when Pakistan desperately needs unity and mutual understanding, even small gestures of inclusion can carry immense symbolic value. A simple conversation might have done more for national cohesion than a dozen official statements.
The Chief Minister still has an opportunity to repair the impression by extending an invitation for dialogue. Silence, however, will only reinforce the distance that Balochistan has long felt — and continues to endure.
Leave a Reply