• Pakistan Army’s Operation Bunyān al-Marsūs neutralized 26 enemy targets across borders, signaling a zero-tolerance strategy.
• DG ISPR General Ahmed Sharif revealed the Army’s dual fight—against terrorism on the ground and disinformation online.
• Balochistan’s development, including Turbat’s transformation into an educational hub, showcases Pakistan’s soft power in counterinsurgency.
• Pakistan confronts enforced disappearance allegations head-on, reaffirming commitment to justice and transparency within the military framework.

For Pakistan’s Armed Forces, the life of one Pakistani is more precious to us than thousands of Afghans. That is the duty of the Pakistan Armed Forces—to protect the lives and dignity of our people. And we have demonstrated this not just in words but in actions—time and again.We know exactly who we are dealing with. It’s not the Afghan people. It is Indian money, Indian support, and Indian grand strategy that is behind certain Afghan elements.

This isn’t nationalist fervor—it is doctrine, it is sacred. It is the thread that binds uniform to purpose, sacrifice to sovereignty.

“Protecting the lives and property of Pakistani citizens is our top priority and sacred duty,” said Lieutenant General Ahmed Sharif, Director General of Inter-Services Public Relations (ISPR), in a rare and soul-baring interview. “It is a trust that has been given to us. We will do whatever needs to be done.”

And they have. On May 10, under the banner of Operation Bunyān al-Marsūs, Pakistan’s military moved with cold precision. Twenty-six targets—across the Line of Control, along the working boundary, and even beyond the international border—were neutralized. Not as warning shots, but as a declaration of zero tolerance.
They went in. They eliminated threats—openly, unapologetically.

It wasn’t just about revenge; it was about restoring moral order in a region where proxy wars have long blurred the lines between enemy and civilian, insurgent and informer. At the heart of the operation was a grim resolve: to avenge the blood of fallen sons like Major Moez Abbas and Lance Naik Jibranullah, who were martyred fighting Indian-sponsored terrorists in Balochistan.

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Their deaths weren’t just tragic losses—they were the sobering punctuation in a long sentence of sacrifice written in the blood of Pakistan’s soldiers. Their names now live alongside hundreds of others who died defending towns with names few outsiders can pronounce: Mastung, Spinwam, Bara, Dera Bugti. Places where militants melt into the terrain, and where soldiers walk into ambushes, knowing it might be their last march.

“We are in a war,” General Ahmed said. “But not just a war of guns. It is a war of narratives, a war against ideology, a war against enemies wearing the faces of friends.”

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Nowhere is this truer than in Balochistan, where Pakistan’s military fights not just armed separatists, but also digital phantoms—thousands of fake accounts spreading anti-state propaganda, bankrolled by Indian agencies, run from European safe havens. “They live in a delusional world,” said the General. “They spread lies—lies that Balochistan is against Pakistan. It’s fiction sold by enemies. The people of Balochistan are with Pakistan. Balochistan is the crown of our nation.”

Yet the adversary persists—not in bold confrontations, but in cowardly attacks on civilians. Militants drag passengers off buses, execute teachers in front of their students, plant IEDs outside schools and clinics. Their target, General Ahmed said, is not the military—it’s progress itself. “They attack everything essential to Balochistan’s development: mining, education, IT, agriculture.”

But the ground truth resists their fiction. In cities like Turbat, where years ago there were only dusty roads and despair, today stand universities and digital hubs. “Turbat has more universities and colleges than Sheikhupura in Punjab,” Ahmed said, with quiet pride.

The Army’s footprint in this battle goes beyond combat. It is polio drops administered in the dirt by soldiers. It is irrigation canals cleaned by brigadiers and privates alike. “I myself have been a part of a drive cleaning canals,” General Ahmed recalled. “Our men assist the polio drive. This is not just counter-terrorism—it is nation-building.”

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Still, the ghosts of war linger—particularly in the form of the missing.
For years, international organizations and hostile media have weaponized the issue of enforced disappearances to malign Pakistan. Gen. Ahmed did not deflect. “Yes, there is a missing persons issue. But is it unique to Pakistan? No. It exists in India. It exists in the UK. It exists in the USA.”

The difference, he said, is that Pakistan has a Commission of Inquiry on Enforced Disappearances, led by a Supreme Court-level judge, tasked with investigating every case. “No one has the right to abduct or detain someone illegally,” he said bluntly. “Not even the FC. Not the intelligence agencies. If someone has done so—they must face justice.”

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In his voice, there was neither fear nor defensiveness—just an understanding of the cost of integrity.
Beyond Balochistan, the battlefield sprawls across the tribal belt of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, where militants seep across porous borders, emboldened by sanctuary on Afghan soil. There, too, the war continues—fought with gunfire and restraint in equal measure.

For Pakistan’s generals, diplomacy with Kabul is both a necessity and a burden. “We speak to the Afghan interim government at multiple levels,” General Ahmed explained. “We tell them, respectfully: Do not support these terrorists. They have hideouts and bases. Act against them.”
But if diplomacy fails, the gloves come off.

“When it comes to defending our country and our citizens,” he said, “we will not hesitate.”
That resolve has already taken tangible form. The TTP—the Tehrik-e-Taliban Pakistan—has found itself hunted on both sides of the Durand Line. Precision strikes, intelligence-based raids, and kinetic operations have become weekly occurrences. Pakistan does not advertise every success, but it rarely leaves a provocation unanswered.

In this posture—neither passive nor reckless—Pakistan’s military has reshaped its doctrine. From reactive defense to strategic offense, the shift is as philosophical as it is tactical. Gone are the days of waiting for militants to act first.

And what stands out in all this—beneath the rhetoric and official statements—is a deep, personal faith. “The life of a single Pakistani,” General Ahmed said again, “is more valuable to us than thousands of Afghans or Indians. That is not just policy—it is sacred.”

This isn’t just nationalism—it is grief, turned into resolve. It is the echo of a bugle at a soldier’s funeral. It is a mother’s tears drying on a medal case. It is the reason why young officers continue to volunteer for postings in Balochistan, Swat, Wana. Why they write farewell letters before boarding helicopters to Orakzai. Why they walk ahead of their men, into minefields.

This war has not ended. It will not end soon. But in Pakistan, the message is clear:
Not a single Pakistani should live in fear.
Not a single enemy should rest easy.
And if that means marching into the mouth of hell, then for the Pakistan Army—it is just another sacred day on duty.