When horror struck on December 16, 2014, at the Army Public School in Peshawar, the nation stood numbed by the sheer cruelty of that attack. The massacre of schoolchildren forced a reckoning within Pakistan, compelling the state to re-evaluate its internal security posture and formulate a resolute response. Out of the smoldering grief emerged the National Action Plan, a twenty-point roadmap intended to uproot terrorism and reweave the fabric of a fractured nation. It was a solemn promise to the martyrs of Peshawar: that their sacrifice would not be forgotten in vain. However, as with many ambitious undertakings in Pakistan’s history, the tale of NAP is as much about triumph as it is about the weight of unfulfilled potential.
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To understand the necessity of such a policy, one must revisit the security landscape preceding its inception. Pakistan, at that time, was reeling from unrelenting waves of terrorism. Tehreek-e-Taliban Pakistan (TTP), Lashkar-e-Jhangvi, and other splinter groups operated with brazen impunity, striking religious minorities, law enforcement agencies, and places of worship. The tribal belt, particularly North Waziristan, had morphed into a stronghold for militants. Hate speech flourished, madrasas remained unregulated, and terror financing networks operated freely through informal channels. It was not merely a law-and-order breakdown; it was the unravelling of state authority in key regions.
Against this backdrop, NAP was more than just a document, it was a declaration of national resolve. With its twenty points spanning military action, legal reforms, madrasa regulation, countering extremist narratives, and blocking terror financing, the plan sought to attack militancy from multiple fronts. And, in its initial phase, there was tangible progress.
To begin with, Pakistan witnessed a remarkable reduction in terrorist incidents. Operations like Zarb-e-Azb and later Radd-ul-Fasaad targeted militant sanctuaries in North Waziristan and urban centres across the country. Intelligence-based operations became more frequent and precise, reflecting better coordination among agencies. The statistical drop in terrorism-related fatalities, from over 4,500 in 2013 to fewer than 600 by 2020, speaks volumes. Military success, coupled with legislative action, gave the impression that Pakistan had finally seized the upper hand.
In addition, NAP bolstered the operational capabilities of law enforcement. The Counter Terrorism Departments (CTDs) in various provinces evolved into proactive institutions, particularly in Punjab where they thwarted numerous planned attacks. Cooperation between intelligence agencies, provincial police, and paramilitary units improved, leading to the dismantling of several sleeper cells. While law enforcement in Pakistan had long been reactive and politicized, the urgency instilled by NAP created space for professional reform and targeted operations.
Moreover, one of the often-overlooked victories of the plan was the effort to curb terror financing. The seizure of thousands of suspicious bank accounts and the crackdown on hawala networks reflected growing financial vigilance. These actions were instrumental in removing Pakistan from the Financial Action Task Force’s (FATF) grey list. With TFIUs (Terrorist Financing Investigation Units) embedded within key federal and provincial agencies, the state finally began to plug the economic arteries feeding militancy.
Yet, where progress was made, obstacles also emerged. Although madrasas were mapped and several were brought under scrutiny, the deeper reforms remained half-hearted. The creation of a madrasa regulatory authority was a promising start, but resistance from religious factions and a lack of sustained political will blunted its impact. While over 30,000 seminaries were reportedly registered, curriculum reform was neither universal nor durable. Extremist ideology, therefore, found ways to persist, through pulpit, publication, and increasingly, social media.
Furthermore, while the rhetoric of countering hate speech intensified, implementation remained sporadic. Legal amendments criminalizing hate speech were introduced, but enforcement varied across regions. Sectarian preachers and banned outfits frequently rebranded under new names, continuing their activities with little deterrence. In many instances, political expediency or lack of consensus between provincial and federal governments hindered a consistent crackdown. As a result, the ideological battle against extremism lagged behind the military one.
On the rehabilitation front, initiatives like the Sabaoon Centre in Swat showed commendable foresight. By focusing on deradicalizing child recruits of militant groups, the programme offered a rare blend of psychological counselling, vocational training, and reintegration support. More than 2,500 youths were reportedly rehabilitated—a modest number, yet symbolically powerful. However, such centres remained limited in number and scope. Pakistan lacked a coherent nationwide strategy for rehabilitation, with NGOs and local authorities often working in silos. Broader de-radicalization, particularly in urban areas, never received the sustained attention it required.
Adding to this is the enduring challenge of Pakistan’s criminal justice system. Without substantial reform in prosecution processes, many arrested militants either secured bail or faced delayed trials, eroding public trust in legal institutions. Military courts, introduced as a stopgap measure, expedited some high-profile convictions, but they also raised concerns regarding transparency and due process. The transition from militarized justice to institutional legal reform, an essential pillar for lasting peace, remained elusive.
Importantly, Pakistan’s internal political instability also cast a long shadow over NAP’s implementation. Frequent government changes, civil-military tensions, and regional political divergences disrupted continuity. A policy like NAP, which requires sustained focus, inter-agency cooperation, and long-term vision, inevitably suffers when national discourse is consumed by political survival and power tussles. Bureaucratic lethargy and institutional turf wars further complicated implementation, reducing some NAP points to mere rhetorical checkboxes.
Moreover, external factors played their role. The porous Afghanistan-Pakistan border continued to allow militant movement, despite fencing efforts. The Taliban’s resurgence in Afghanistan posed fresh risks, as Pakistan witnessed a resurgence in TTP-led violence post-2021. While NAP did attempt to address cross-border militancy through regional cooperation, the shifting geopolitical climate often undercut these efforts.
Nevertheless, one cannot overlook the public awakening that NAP helped cultivate. For the first time in decades, the state openly acknowledged that extremism was not an external conspiracy alone, but a homegrown menace. This recognition, albeit delayed, reframed the national debate. Civil society, academia, and the media began to engage with questions of radicalization, identity, and social cohesion. The contours of Pakistan’s security narrative, once narrowly focused on India or foreign plots, gradually widened to include sectarianism, hate speech, and ideological intolerance.
Yet, as with many policies in Pakistan’s history, the momentum has waned. Some of NAP’s early gains have begun to erode. Terror incidents, though fewer than before, are re-emerging in Balochistan and Khyber Pakhtunkhwa. Sectarian organizations continue to find breathing space. The disbanding of military courts without a robust civilian alternative leaves gaps in the justice chain. In the absence of political will and institutional coordination, the achievements of the last decade risk being undermined.
Going forward, what Pakistan needs is not a fresh plan but a renewed commitment to the existing one. The twenty points of NAP are neither outdated nor unachievable, they merely require honest implementation. The state must prioritize inter-agency cooperation, depoliticize internal security, and invest in long-term deradicalization programmes. Simultaneously, the education system must be overhauled to foster critical thinking, civic engagement, and pluralism. Extremism, after all, is not defeated on the battlefield alone, it must be countered in the classroom, on the pulpit, and within the collective conscience.
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Moreover, civil liberties and national security need not be adversaries. Transparency, judicial oversight, and adherence to due process must underpin all counterterrorism efforts. Pakistan cannot afford to return to an era where citizens feel targeted or marginalized under the guise of national interest. Inclusivity and human rights must remain central pillars of internal security if trust in the state is to be restored.
The National Action Plan was born out of national tragedy, but it carried the promise of rebirth. Its successes should be acknowledged, but not romanticized. Its failures must be studied, but not ignored. Pakistan, still navigating the choppy waters of extremism and political volatility, must revisit NAP not as a box-ticking exercise, but as a living commitment to the ideals of peace, pluralism, and rule of law. Only through sustained resolve, honest introspection, and institutional reform can Pakistan honour the memory of those it lost, and truly ensure that the shadows of terror never again darken its future.
