Pakistan today stands at a dangerous crossroads. Its economy is in free fall. Political institutions are crumbling. The public’s trust in the military—the most powerful organ of the state—has severely eroded. Amid this storm of crises, there appears to be a dangerous recalibration of strategy brewing within the country’s establishment: the consideration of a limited, short-duration war with India as a means to distract, unify, and reset.
Though it sounds absurd on the surface, history suggests that when internal disarray deepens beyond repair, regimes—especially military-dominated ones—have often looked outward to engineer national purpose. In Pakistan’s case, the strategic calculus may go beyond mere diversion. A limited confrontation with India could be seen as a multi-dimensional tool to temporarily resolve, postpone, or at least mask, its rapidly multiplying domestic problems.
The events following May 9, 2023, when Pakistan witnessed open civilian defiance against the military establishment, marked a turning point. Never before had the Army faced such direct challenge from within its own borders. The protests shattered the myth of absolute control and exposed cracks within the military-political architecture that had long dominated Pakistan's governance. With major political parties in disarray, the judiciary split, and the democratic process on life support, the Army’s legitimacy as the core stabilizing force has taken a visible hit.
Add to this the economic crisis—record inflation, plummeting foreign exchange reserves, IMF conditionalities, an energy crisis, a broken tax system, and rising poverty—and the picture becomes clearer. A collapsing economy makes governance even more untenable. The state struggles to function, and the masses grow restive.Under such pressure, a brief war may seem like a perverse opportunity. It could provide an immediate basis to invoke national emergency, suspend civil liberties, delay elections, censor dissent, and silence the media—all in the name of “national interest.” It would allow the Army to retake the centerstage, framing itself not as a domestic oppressor but as a patriotic shield against a hostile neighbor.
The potential benefits, as viewed through this dangerous prism, are layered. A war could consolidate political control under military-backed caretakers, marginalize political opposition by branding them as security liabilities, and stifle growing public discontent. It would allow the military to recover its damaged image by rebranding itself as the savior of sovereignty, thus realigning the public psyche away from internal grievances. There are also perceived economic motivations. War creates a context for emergency financial controls and allows temporary deferral of debt obligations. It also opens the possibility of urgent economic assistance from traditional allies like China, Saudi Arabia, and Turkey. Historically, Pakistan has often emerged from conflicts with international aid packages intended to "preserve regional stability." Even if the damage is severe, the short-term gains in terms of political breathing space and external support may be deemed acceptable—if not attractive—to an establishment in survival mode.
Perhaps most crucially, a limited war offers the potential to reignite the Kashmir narrative. Pakistan’s long-standing claim over Kashmir has lost global momentum, especially after India’s abrogation of Article 370 in 2019. Diplomatic fatigue, changing global priorities, and the sheer pace of India’s internal integration of Jammu and Kashmir have sidelined Islamabad’s narrative. A conflict—especially one linked to Kashmir—could draw international attention, reopen the diplomatic conversation, and portray Pakistan as a stakeholder rather than a spoiler. It is in this context that the recent Pahalgam massacre takes on sinister overtones. The deliberate targeting of civilians in a region central to Kashmir’s tourism revival may not be a random act of terror. There is growing suspicion that it may have been deliberately timed and designed to provoke a reaction from India—to escalate tensions and provide a casus belli for managed conflict. In short, it could be an attempt to manufacture justification.
The calculation, however, may be deeply flawed. India’s security doctrine post-Uri and Balakot is no longer based on restraint. The concept of “surgical” and “proportionate” response is deeply embedded in its military planning now, with growing public and political support for strong retaliation. Pakistan may believe that nuclear deterrence and global diplomacy will prevent full-scale escalation, but it underestimates the risk appetite of a changed India and the unpredictability of kinetic engagements. A limited war may start by design—but it rarely ends that way. Beyond the strategic miscalculation lies the moral and political bankruptcy of such thinking. War cannot fix economic collapse. It cannot resurrect failed institutions. It cannot feed hungry citizens or restore public trust. At best, it offers a dangerous pause. At worst, it invites catastrophic escalation, especially in a nuclearized region where one misfire or misjudgment could spark irreversible consequences.
More importantly, such a move betrays the very people of Pakistan. Rather than investing in structural reform, institutional accountability, and long-term socio-economic planning, the state appears to be toying with a high-risk, short-term gamble that could devastate millions. The real enemy of Pakistan is not across the eastern border. It is within—corruption, impunity, strategic delusion, and an establishment that refuses to evolve. No war, however surgical or limited, can serve as a substitute for nation-building.
In this light, the Pahalgam massacre may not just be a tragedy. It might also be a signal. A signal that the old playbook is being re-opened. A desperate establishment may well be preparing for a familiar script: provoke, escalate, blame, and rally. But the world has changed, and so has the region.War, in the current context, is not a solution—it is a gamble. And Pakistan, as history proves, can ill afford to lose again.