THE recent suppression of the ultra-radical Tehreek-i-Labbaik Pakistan (TLP) by state institutions has raised a series of intriguing questions. What compelled the state to act so decisively against a group once seen as its ideological ally? Does this signify a genuine transformation in the state’s approach towards all shades of extremism, or is it merely a tactical response to an immediate challenge and an isolated episode rather than an ideological shift?
Despite the intensity of the state’s current posture, there is little room for optimism about a deeper change of heart within the power institutions. Such a transformation requires not only political will but also credible and appealing alternatives, both ideological and structural. Unfortunately, neither the intelligentsia nor broader society has as yet cultivated a coherent alternative narrative capable of inspiring the state or filling the ideological vacuum left by the retreat of extremism.
Pakistan still lacks a viable model of moderate Islam, whether leaning towards secular modernity or grounded in indigenous reformist thought, that could simultaneously assure national cohesion and align with the interests of the ruling elites. Historically, the state has sought cohesion through religio-national narratives rather than constitutional consensus. The notion of constitutional cohesion, one rooted in equitable resource distribution, sociopolitical empowerment, and the recognition of ethnic, linguistic and cultural pluralism, has never found favour with the country’s power structures.
What, then, is the alternative? The state institutions may attempt to take direct control of the processes of narrative formation, a domain it had long outsourced to the religious clergy. But if it seeks to reclaim that space, critical questions arise: how capable is the state of managing such an ideational project, which is far removed from bureaucratic routine? And what would that new narrative look like?
The deeper challenge lies in confronting ideological legacies.
One possible answer lies in the emerging contours of Pakistan’s official discourse. The new outlook may appear more overtly anti-Indian, seeking a sharper detachment from what is described as ‘Hindu South Asia’. In this process, religion may continue to serve as a legitimising framework, not as a theocratic aspiration but as a cultural and ideological boundary marker. Many observers have interpreted the army chief’s speeches since late last year in this light: a renewed emphasis on the two-nation theory as the moral and historical foundation of Pakistan’s being.
If the state now decides to assume full control of the narrative-building enterprise, the resulting discourse is likely to be more anti-India, yet less religious. Such a shift could reframe Pakistan’s identity and image in a way that appears more rational, pragmatic, and compatible with the evolving global and regional order. It could also enable the state to pursue its strategic and political objectives across South and Central Asia with reduced religious zeal, and potentially pave the way for a gradual de-religionisation of its relations with Afghanistan, Iran and the Arab world.
However, the question remains: even amid these discussions of a new narrative, do state institutions have the will to completely abandon their former allies — the vast religious networks whose political and economic influence has grown exponentially over the decades? Pakistan is home to more than 248 religiously inspired parties and over 40,000 seminaries, whose graduates are steadily encroaching on the public and private education sectors, social services and even the lower tiers of the state bureaucracy.
While the religious parties themselves may continue to survive, institutions such as the Council of Islamic Ideology, which has long operated under state patronage, will still require human resources capable of aligning wholeheartedly with the emerging state discourse. Yet such alignment is far from guaranteed.
The deeper challenge lies not merely in managing religious groups but in confronting the ideological legacies they have embedded within society. The narratives nurtured by extremist and sectarian forces have seeped deeply into the public consciousness, shaping popular attitudes, influencing politics and permeating bureaucratic thinking. This entrenchment was inadvertently acknowledged by former interior minister Rana Sanaullah, who remarked that while no one disagreed with the TLP’s viewpoint or narrative, the state acted against it only because of its violent methods.
Many within the political and bureaucratic elite still share this sentiment. They argue that there has been no real change of heart within the state, suggesting that the TLP issue should not be mistaken for a broader strategic shift. Their reasoning is pragmatic: the group’s increasing aggressiveness had begun to undermine policing, particularly in Punjab, where some semi-literate lawyers and local activists associated with the TLP were exerting pressure on police to act against minority religious communities. Moreover, the group’s conduct was tarnishing Pakistan’s international image at a time when the state was eager to project moderation and stability.
The state’s current strategy appears focused on defusing the TLP’s street power through asset freezes, demoralising its cadres, isolating it from the wider Barelvi community, and fostering internal divisions within it. This may yield temporary calm, but whether it signals a durable policy shift or another episode of tactical containment remains to be seen.
This represents a departure from the strategy the state once employed to curb the influence of sectarian and extremist organisations such as Sipah-i-Sahaba and several Shia militant groups. Previously, the method was sequential: ban the organisation, keep it under engagement, and gradually weaken it from within. Through a mix of legal, administrative, and coercive tools, the state managed to contain the toxicity of sectarian narratives. Yet this process spanned nearly two decades and came at a considerable political and social cost.
Having learned from that protracted experience, the state appears to have opted for a different course in the TLP’s case — a swift, decisive approach designed to neutralise the group’s street power and organisational momentum before it becomes entrenched.
At least on the surface, this approach seems likely to yield short-term gains. The TLP’s structures have been disrupted, its activities curtailed, and its influence checked. Yet the sentiments the group cultivated are emotional, religiously chaÂrÂged and rooted in perceptions of moral ownership over national identity, and are unlikely to vanish. They may re-emerge in another, perhaps even more volatile, form, or be appropriated by new religious actors seeking to fill the ideological void.
The writer is a security analyst.
Published in Dawn, October 26th, 2025
