Coin Press - Pakistan’s Taliban dilemma


Pakistan’s Taliban dilemma




Pakistan can strike deep inside Afghanistan. Whether it can turn that advantage into lasting security is a different question. Months of fighting have exposed the collapse of its relationship with the Afghan Taliban, but the evidence available in mid-October does not establish that the government in Kabul is approaching its end. A prolonged confrontation remains a more convincing prospect than an imminent change of regime.

The latest exchanges underline how little the underlying dispute has shifted. On 12 October, Pakistani Foreign Minister Ishaq Dar again demanded action against militants operating from Afghan territory. Taliban spokesman Zabihullah Mujahid rejected Pakistan’s accusations and argued that Islamabad was substituting blame for negotiations. A week earlier, Afghan Foreign Minister Amir Khan Muttaqi had told talks in Moscow that the differences could be addressed through diplomacy, while defending Afghanistan’s right to respond to attacks. Neither position amounts to an agreed mechanism for preventing the next confrontation.

The human cost is already substantial. Pakistani airstrikes in Helmand and Kunar reported on 1 October killed at least ten civilians and injured nine, according to Afghan officials and the United Nations. Most of those killed were children. Pakistan said it had struck militant facilities and killed 22 fighters; that claim was not independently verified. These competing accounts are a reminder that official battlefield figures require caution, particularly when civilian deaths become part of the struggle over legitimacy.

The confrontation became markedly more dangerous in February, when Pakistani attacks reached Kabul and Kandahar and Defence Minister Khawaja Asif described relations as an open war. Subsequent exchanges, including Afghan drone attacks and further Pakistani airstrikes, widened the conflict beyond isolated frontier incidents. Temporary pauses have interrupted the violence without resolving its cause. The central disagreement remains whether Kabul will dismantle the networks that Pakistan says sustain attacks on its territory.

Those networks cannot be understood by treating every group called Taliban as one organisation. The Afghan Taliban govern Afghanistan. Tehrik-e-Taliban Pakistan, usually known as the TTP, is a separate movement fighting the Pakistani state. Its relationship with Afghanistan’s rulers rests on ideological affinities, personal connections and cooperation during earlier wars. Pakistan’s demand is therefore politically more difficult than a request to arrest an unrelated criminal organisation. It asks Kabul to act against militants linked to parts of its own movement’s history.

For Pakistan, this represents the failure of a long-standing strategic assumption. Its support for the Afghan Taliban was expected to produce a friendly government and greater influence in Kabul. Instead, the Taliban’s return to power in 2021 was followed by a resurgence of the TTP. Past sponsorship has not delivered dependable control. An Afghan movement that benefited from Pakistani sanctuary now governs a country whose sovereignty it invokes against Pakistani pressure.

Military superiority gives Islamabad considerable destructive power, but no automatic route to a political settlement. Pakistan possesses a modern combat air fleet and substantially larger conventional forces. The Taliban have no comparable fighter capability. That disparity makes bases, equipment and fixed infrastructure vulnerable to attack. It says much less about whether scattered militant networks can be dismantled, whether local commanders will obey an agreement or whether cross-border violence will resume after aircraft return to base.

A campaign intended to weaken the Taliban could also strengthen their political position in particular circumstances. Foreign attacks allow the leadership to present resistance as a defence of Afghanistan, an argument that can reach beyond committed supporters. Civilian casualties may deepen hostility towards Pakistan and make concessions harder to justify internally. This is a strategic risk, not evidence that every Afghan supports the Taliban or that the movement benefits from every escalation.

Kabul nevertheless has vulnerabilities. Unrest in Badakhshan and Herat during 2026 has exposed friction between central authority, local communities and armed opponents. Disputes over mining revenues and the treatment of local leaders show how economic grievances can become security problems. Yet these episodes have remained localised. Armed opposition groups have not demonstrated the capacity for a sustained nationwide challenge, while Islamic State Khorasan remains a threat without becoming a credible replacement government.

The distinction matters when assessing predictions of collapse. A government’s inability to protect its airspace does not establish that it is losing control of its administration or armed forces. A more persuasive warning would be a combination of sustained territorial losses, major defections, disruption of revenue collection and a breakdown in command. Those are the developments that would turn military pressure into an existential crisis. Individual strikes and unverified claims of enemy losses cannot substitute for that assessment.

Pakistan faces constraints of its own. On 11 October, the federal authorities imposed emergency rule in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa and suspended the provincial government led by Imran Khan’s party, citing worsening militancy. The party rejected that justification and described the move as political. Detentions followed. Whatever the competing explanations, the episode demonstrates that insecurity along the Afghan frontier is entangled with a bitter domestic contest over authority. Air operations across the border cannot resolve that contest or replace effective policing and administration at home.

Economic pressure carries similarly uncertain returns. Border restrictions disrupt commercial activity, while the forced return of large numbers of Afghans places additional demands on communities already struggling to provide work and basic services. Such measures can increase the costs of confrontation for Kabul. They can also damage the livelihoods and local cooperation on which durable border security depends. Pressure on a population and pressure on the decisions of its rulers are not interchangeable.

The most plausible route out of repeated escalation remains a security arrangement that both sides can test in practice. That would require specific commitments on militant activity, a functioning channel for investigating incidents and a way to distinguish an unauthorised attack from a deliberate breach by the other government. Earlier mediation by Qatar, Türkiye and Saudi Arabia shows that diplomatic channels exist. Their value will depend on whether they can produce enforceable steps rather than another short pause.

A settlement would still leave difficult questions about the TTP, Afghan sovereignty and the disputed frontier. Nor would diplomatic engagement excuse the Taliban’s restrictions on women and girls or its repression of dissent. Security negotiations address an immediate danger; they do not confer approval on the government involved. Keeping those questions distinct is necessary if civilian protection is to remain an objective rather than a bargaining instrument.

Pakistan’s war has revealed the limits of its former influence in Kabul. It has also exposed the Taliban’s inability to shield Afghanistan from a stronger neighbour. Neither finding establishes that the movement is about to lose power. For now, the more defensible assessment is that both governments possess ways to hurt the other and lack a reliable means of securing the concessions they want. The danger is an enduring conflict in which political control survives while civilian security steadily deteriorates.



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Long live Ukraine - Хай живе Україна - Да здравствует Украина

Es lebe die Ukraine - Да здравствует Украина - Long live Ukraine - Хай живе Україна - Nech žije Ukrajina - Länge leve Ukraina - תחי אוקראינה - Lang leve Oekraïne - Да живее Украйна - Elagu Ukraina - Kauan eläköön Ukraina - Vive l'Ukraine - Ζήτω η Ουκρανία - 乌克兰万岁 - Viva Ucrania - Ať žije Ukrajina - Çok yaşa Ukrayna - Viva a Ucrânia - Trăiască Ucraina - ウクライナ万歳 - Tegyvuoja Ukraina - Lai dzīvo Ukraina - Viva l'Ucraina - Hidup Ukraina - تحيا أوكرانيا - Vivat Ucraina - ขอให้ยูเครนจงเจริญ - Ucraina muôn năm - ژوندی دی وی اوکراین - Yashasin Ukraina - Озак яшә Украина - Živjela Ukrajina - 우크라이나 만세 - Mabuhay ang Ukraine - Lenge leve Ukraina - Nyob ntev Ukraine - Да живее Украина - გაუმარჯოს უკრაინას - Hidup Ukraine - Vivu Ukrainio - Længe leve Ukraine - Živjela Ukrajina - Жыве Украіна - Yaşasın Ukrayna - Lengi lifi Úkraína - Lank lewe die Oekraïne

Stargate project, Trump and the AI war...

In a dramatic return to the global political stage, former President Donald J. Trump, as the current 47th President of the United States of America, has unveiled his latest initiative, the so-called ‘Stargate Project,’ in a bid to cement the United States’ dominance in artificial intelligence and outpace China’s meteoric rise in the field. The newly announced programme, cloaked in patriotic rhetoric and ambitious targets, is already stirring intense debate over the future of technological competition between the world’s two largest economies.According to preliminary statements from Trump’s team, the Stargate Project will consolidate the efforts of leading American tech conglomerates, defence contractors, and research universities under a centralised framework. The former president, who has long championed American exceptionalism, claims this approach will provide the United States with a decisive advantage, enabling rapid breakthroughs in cutting-edge AI applications ranging from military strategy to commercial innovation.“America must remain the global leader in technology—no ifs, no buts,” Trump declared at a recent press conference. “China has been trying to surpass us in AI, but with this new project, we will make sure the future remains ours.”Details regarding funding and governance remain scarce, but early indications suggest the initiative will rely heavily on public-private partnerships, tax incentives for research and development, and collaboration with high-profile venture capital firms. Skeptics, however, warn that the endeavour could fan the flames of an increasingly militarised AI race, raising ethical concerns about surveillance, automation of warfare, and data privacy. Critics also question whether the initiative can deliver on its lofty promises, especially in the face of existing economic and geopolitical pressures.Yet for its supporters, the Stargate Project serves as a rallying cry for renewed American leadership and an antidote to worries over China’s technological ascendancy. Proponents argue that accelerating AI research is paramount if the United States wishes to preserve not just military supremacy, but also the economic and cultural influence that has typified its global role for decades.Whether this bold project will succeed—or if it will devolve into a symbolic gesture—remains to be seen. What is certain, however, is that the Stargate Project has already reignited debate about how best to safeguard America’s strategic future and maintain the balance of power in the fast-evolving arena of artificial intelligence.

Ukraine sends ground robots

Ukraine is putting ground robots to work on a scale that is beginning to change how its army supplies positions, evacuates casualties and conducts some of its most dangerous combat missions. The significance lies in the gradual transfer of battlefield exposure from people to machines. For a force under sustained pressure to preserve experienced soldiers, that change could matter well beyond the individual missions captured on video.The expansion is measurable. By early September 2026, Ukraine’s DELTA battlefield management system had recorded approximately 112,000 logistics and evacuation missions by ground robotic systems since the start of the year. The monthly total rose from 7,511 in January to 25,143 in August, an increase of roughly 3.3 times. These figures describe missions, not the number of robots deployed, and they should not be read as a tally of successful attacks or lives saved. They nevertheless show how far the technology has moved into routine military activity.Supply work explains much of its value. Ammunition, food and water still have to reach troops in positions exposed to surveillance and attack. Wounded soldiers still have to be brought out. A remotely operated vehicle can undertake part of that movement while its operator remains elsewhere. The load may be ordinary; the route is what makes the task dangerous. Repeated across many positions, reducing the number of journeys made by people can alter the daily burden on an infantry force.The strongest case for a robot is often the journey it allows a soldier to avoid. That changes the economics of military equipment. The purchase price matters, but so do the consequences of losing it. A destroyed machine consumes production capacity and money. A lost soldier also removes training, experience and relationships that cannot be replaced on a factory schedule. This is why an apparently modest cargo platform can have greater practical importance than a more spectacular experimental weapon.Combat applications are developing alongside that logistical role. Ukraine’s Third Army Corps includes NC13, a unit specialising in ground robotic operations. In September, corps commander Andrii Biletskyi described an ambition to replace around a third of the corps’ frontline personnel with robots by the end of the year. That remains an objective for a particular formation, rather than a demonstrated reduction across the Ukrainian army. It signals how seriously some commanders now regard the technology.There is a longer history behind the sudden attention. In December 2024, the Khartiia Brigade used a coordinated force of aerial drones and ground robots in an assault near Hlyboke in the Kharkiv region. More than 50 unmanned systems took part. The operation demonstrated that different remotely operated platforms could be combined for surveillance, fire support and attack. It also exposed the limits: ground conditions disabled some machines, and soldiers were still needed to secure and hold the territory afterwards.Those distinctions remain essential. An unmanned vehicle has no crew aboard; that does not make it an autonomous decision-maker. Remote operation, assistance with navigation and independent target selection are different capabilities. Much of the operational change visible in Ukraine concerns the first of these. Human operators, commanders and technicians remain central to making the equipment useful. Describing every remotely controlled vehicle as an artificial intelligence weapon obscures both its present strengths and its weaknesses.The physical environment imposes constraints that software cannot simply remove. A ground vehicle must negotiate soil, vegetation, rubble and obstacles that an aircraft may pass over. Its camera sees from a low position. Communications can be intermittent, and movement through complex terrain requires information that may be incomplete or already outdated. Research on small military robot teams has long identified the combination of restricted visibility, difficult navigation and unreliable communication as a central challenge. Ukraine is testing those problems under combat conditions.Scaling the fleet therefore requires a larger support system. More vehicles mean more operators to train, more repairs, more replacement components and a greater need to coordinate machines with the soldiers around them. The useful measure is how many tasks can be completed reliably over time. A large delivery of equipment can look impressive while leaving unanswered questions about serviceability, workload and availability after repeated deployments.Nor does removing a crew eliminate risk. Operators still work within a military system exposed to attack, and a machine that fails during an evacuation may leave a casualty in danger. Remote control changes where human vulnerability sits. It does not make the mission consequence-free. Reliability is particularly important when the payload is a wounded person rather than ammunition, and success in one role cannot automatically establish suitability for another.The likely effect on the fighting is therefore uneven. Robotic systems can ease dangerous supply tasks and support selected assaults while remaining poorly suited to others. Their value depends on the terrain, the communications environment and the organisation using them. A successful demonstration offers evidence of a capability; repeated use establishes whether a formation can depend on it.Ukraine’s developing robot force is best understood through that practical test. Can it keep a position supplied with fewer exposed soldiers? Can it bring someone back who would otherwise remain stranded? Can it reduce the personnel required for a dangerous task without creating a greater burden elsewhere? The answers will determine how much battlefield activity can move to machines. For the soldiers still holding the line, those gains are substantial enough without the promise of a war fought without people.