Irfan Khan
Khyber Pakhtunkhwa is once again confronting a serious question of security, governance and state authority, particularly in Bannu and Lakki Marwat, where an ongoing protest by members of the Police Peace Committee has pushed an already fragile law-and-order situation into a new phase. What began as a movement presented in the name of peace and security has now become a much larger debate about the authority of the provincial government, the role of the police, the functioning of the administration and the limits of informal power structures operating within the state’s territory.
The situation has become sufficiently serious that the Khyber Pakhtunkhwa police have approached the Home and Tribal Affairs Department for the deployment of nine platoons of the Federal Constabulary to protect vital installations in Bannu and Lakki Marwat. According to the reported request, five platoons are intended for Bannu and four for Lakki Marwat. In Bannu, the proposed deployment includes security for the district jail, judicial complex, deputy commissioner’s office, the Peshawar High Court’s Bannu Bench and a grid station, while in Lakki Marwat FC personnel have been sought for the district jail, judicial complex and district administration.
The request for additional security is not occurring in isolation. Police officials have cited threats to government officers, obstruction of official movement, road blockades, aerial firing, the withdrawal of police personnel from sensitive installations and the possibility of renewed agitation as reasons for seeking immediate intervention. A separate request from the Bannu district police had reportedly sought an even larger deployment of FC personnel, reflecting the extent to which the local security and administrative machinery has come under pressure.
But the deployment of additional security personnel raises a question that goes far beyond the immediate security arrangements: can nine FC platoons really resolve the crisis, or are they simply being asked to compensate for a deeper failure of governance and institutional authority?
There is no question that citizens have the right to protest. People in Bannu and Lakki Marwat have lived for years with insecurity, terrorism, economic hardship and a sense that the state has not always been able to provide the level of protection they deserve. A movement demanding peace and security cannot simply be dismissed because its demands are uncomfortable for the government. Peaceful protest is a legitimate democratic right, and grievances must be heard.
The difficulty begins when protest starts interfering with the rights of other citizens and the functioning of the state. Recent reports say members of the Police Peace Committee abandoned duties in Bannu, traffic management was disrupted, banks were forced to close and government offices were threatened with closure. The committee has also been linked to road blockades and demands connected to the alleged disappearance of one of its members from Peshawar. The committee’s own representatives have maintained that its purpose is to promote peace and that its protests are directed against what they consider actions threatening that objective.
That distinction is important. A group can have legitimate grievances and still use methods that create unacceptable disruption. The existence of a genuine grievance does not automatically make every method of protest legitimate. If roads are blocked, government officers are prevented from moving, public institutions are forced to close or citizens are threatened, the state has a responsibility to respond.
The most important question, therefore, is not simply what the protesters are doing. It is what they are demanding and why the provincial government has apparently struggled to provide a clear political and administrative response.
If the demands are genuine, the government should sit with the protesters. The chief secretary, inspector general of police, relevant ministers and district administration have institutional responsibilities that cannot be handed over to security forces. There should be a clear mechanism through which grievances are presented, examined and resolved wherever possible. If certain demands cannot legally or administratively be accepted, the government should explain why. Silence only allows suspicion and competing narratives to grow.
This is where the real weakness of the current situation becomes visible. When a protest becomes strong enough to affect police deployment, traffic, government offices and judicial movement, the provincial government must demonstrate that it remains firmly in control of the administrative system. If the police are unable to maintain normal duties because a section of their own personnel is protesting, the problem is no longer merely a street protest. It becomes an institutional crisis.
The recent transfer of 57 low-ranking police personnel adds another important dimension. According to reports, nine personnel from Bannu were among those transferred, and police sources said those nine were associated with the Police Peace Committee. The transfers came amid protests over the relocation of police officials, while the committee called on affected personnel to report to police lines and boycott duties.
This development deserves careful attention because police institutions cannot function without a clear chain of command. A police officer may have personal views, political opinions or grievances, but once an official decision is made by the competent authority, the institutional system depends upon compliance with lawful orders. If police personnel collectively refuse to perform their duties in response to administrative transfers, the government must address the underlying grievance while also protecting the principle of command and discipline.
Otherwise, the state risks creating a dangerous precedent in which institutional decisions can be challenged through collective pressure rather than through established administrative and legal channels.
There is also a broader question about the origin and evolution of these peace committees. The information presented in the discussion raises allegations that influential officials may have supported or facilitated such structures. Claims have been made about the involvement of senior bureaucratic and police figures, including officials of Grade 21, Grade 20 and Grade 19. These are extremely serious allegations and should not be treated as established facts without independent investigation, documentary evidence and due process. But precisely because the allegations are so serious, they deserve scrutiny rather than silence.
If senior officials have supported an informal group operating outside the normal administrative chain of command, the public deserves to know why. Was the committee created to assist the state in maintaining peace? Was it an informal community initiative? Did it have official authorization? Who provided it with resources or protection? And at what point, if any, did it begin to acquire powers beyond what the law permits?
These questions become even more sensitive when allegations concerning non-custom-paid vehicles are brought into the discussion. The information provided alleges that such vehicles were coming from Balochistan and being moved through routes toward the Malakand division, with claims that officials at checkpoints were aware of or benefited from the movement. The account further alleges that when some vehicles were initially intercepted, pressure increased and a committee structure subsequently emerged in which individuals connected with checkpoints were allegedly promised financial shares.
Specific amounts have been mentioned in these allegations, including claims of Rs50,000 at one checkpoint and Rs30,000 at another. These figures and the entire account require independent verification. They should not be presented as proven facts without evidence. But if such a system were ever established through investigation, it would represent something far more dangerous than ordinary corruption because it would mean that the very checkpoints established to enforce the law had allegedly become part of an illicit economic network.
A checkpoint exists to stop illegal movement, not facilitate it. The moment law-enforcement personnel become financially dependent upon the illegal activity they are supposed to prevent, the state’s security architecture begins to collapse from within.
This is also where the question of parallel authority becomes unavoidable. If a group operating under the banner of peace begins claiming the right to carry weapons, move around without proper identification, avoid questioning and determine where government officials can or cannot operate, then the matter is no longer simply about protest. It becomes a question of whether an informal organization is attempting to exercise powers that belong to the state.
No democratic society can sustain two competing systems of authority. There cannot be one law for ordinary citizens and another for an organized group with political, social or security influence. The police cannot be expected to maintain order if another group believes it can independently decide who may be questioned, who may carry weapons or which government orders should be followed.
The danger becomes particularly acute in a region already exposed to terrorism. In Bannu and Lakki Marwat, distinguishing between peaceful civilians, police personnel, criminal elements and militant actors is already a serious security challenge. If armed individuals are moving around in plain clothes, there is no obvious way for an ordinary citizen—or even a security official at a distance to know who they represent.
That ambiguity can be exploited.
The state therefore has to establish a clear legal framework for any community-based security initiative. Cooperation between communities and law enforcement can be valuable, particularly in areas where local knowledge is essential. But such cooperation must operate under the command and supervision of legitimate institutions. A community group cannot gradually transform itself into an armed structure that operates outside government control.
This is why the deployment of the nine FC platoons is significant, but it should not be misunderstood as the final answer. The FC can protect sensitive buildings. It can help secure courts, jails, administrative offices and other installations. It can give local police the space to focus on broader security duties. But it cannot resolve political disputes, investigate allegations of corruption or rebuild institutional trust.
The FC can protect a government office, but it cannot make the government effective.
It can help reopen a road, but it cannot determine whether the grievance behind the roadblock is legitimate.
It can prevent an immediate security incident, but it cannot repair a broken chain of command.
Those are the responsibilities of civilian government.
The provincial leadership must therefore decide whether it wants to treat this crisis as a temporary law-and-order problem or confront the deeper institutional questions it has exposed. If the government believes the committee’s demands are legitimate, it should negotiate. If it believes particular demands are unlawful, it should explain its position and enforce the law. If officials are accused of facilitating illegal activities, the allegations should be investigated. If protesters have been subjected to unlawful treatment, that should also be investigated.
The state cannot demand respect for its authority while refusing to examine its own conduct.
At the same time, protesters cannot demand respect for their grievances while claiming powers that belong to the state.
Both principles have to coexist.
The situation also cannot be separated from the broader security environment between Pakistan and Afghanistan. Khyber Pakhtunkhwa remains directly affected by developments across the western border, particularly concerns regarding the Tehrik-e-Taliban Pakistan and the continued debate over whether Afghan territory is being used by groups hostile to Pakistan.
There have been different reports about the Afghan Taliban’s approach toward TTP elements. Some accounts suggest that Afghan authorities have taken measures against militants or moved them away from sensitive areas. Others argue that such measures are limited and do not amount to a genuine strategic decision to dismantle TTP networks.
One reason for this uncertainty is that the Afghan Taliban themselves face security risks. A serious confrontation with TTP elements could provoke retaliation, including attacks against Taliban officials and leaders. The Afghan authorities therefore have their own internal calculations to make.
There is also the ideological and historical relationship between the two movements. The TTP and Afghan Taliban are distinct organizations, but their ideological similarities and historical connections make the relationship considerably more complicated than a simple government-versus-terrorist equation.
The information provided also refers to reports and videos concerning TTP-associated individuals allegedly appearing in Paghman on August 15, 2024, moving around in vehicles and expressing support for the Taliban regime. Because such claims are serious, they should be independently verified before being treated as conclusive evidence of official protection. Nevertheless, the broader question remains important: if individuals associated with a militant organization can openly operate in areas close to Kabul, what does that say about the ability or willingness of the authorities to restrict them?
Pakistan’s position is ultimately based on a straightforward security demand: Afghan territory should not be used to facilitate attacks against Pakistan. The discussion further raises the demand that TTP leadership should be handed over to Pakistan for trial and that Afghanistan should cease any form of support or protection for the organization.
Whether Kabul will accept such demands is uncertain. But this is precisely why negotiations remain important. Pakistan and Afghanistan cannot indefinitely manage their relationship through mutual accusations. Any future dialogue must establish measurable commitments, verification mechanisms and consequences for non-compliance.
The same principle should apply inside Khyber Pakhtunkhwa.
The government cannot solve Bannu and Lakki Marwat’s problems simply by adding more personnel. Nor can it solve them through silence. It has to restore confidence in the institutions that already exist.
The people of these districts deserve a police force that follows a clear chain of command, an administration that can operate without intimidation, courts that can function without disruption and a government that is visibly present when a crisis emerges.
They also deserve protection from terrorism and from any other form of coercion.
If the Police Peace Committee has legitimate concerns, those concerns should be addressed through dialogue. If members are protesting against transfers or alleged mistreatment of colleagues, the government should investigate the complaints. If someone has allegedly disappeared, the matter should be investigated through the proper legal process. If an FIR is demanded over a specific incident, the evidence should determine the course of action.
But no grievance, however genuine, should become a justification for creating a parallel system of authority.
The state must also be careful not to make the opposite mistake of treating every member of a peace committee as an enemy. The people of Bannu and Lakki Marwat have suffered enough from insecurity. The objective should not be confrontation for its own sake. The objective should be to restore normal life while ensuring that no individual or group is placed above the law.
That is why the present crisis requires something stronger than force alone. It requires political leadership.
The nine FC platoons may provide an immediate security shield around sensitive installations. They may allow courts, administrative offices and other government institutions to continue functioning. They may reduce the pressure on local police personnel. But they cannot answer the fundamental question at the heart of this crisis.
Who really controls Bannu and Lakki Marwat when a group operating in the name of peace can disrupt policing, block roads, challenge administrative decisions and bring government institutions under pressure?
That is the question the provincial government must answer.
A state does not demonstrate strength simply by deploying more security personnel. A strong state is one in which the law applies equally to everyone, where legitimate grievances are heard, where illegal demands are rejected, where officials are accountable and where no informal group can assume powers that belong to constitutional institutions.
Khyber Pakhtunkhwa does not need a permanent contest between the police, peace committees, administration and security forces. It needs clarity.
The government must define the limits of every institution and every community initiative. It must investigate credible allegations without political considerations. It must protect peaceful protesters while preventing coercion. It must ensure that police personnel remain subject to a lawful chain of command. It must protect government buildings without allowing the deployment of additional forces to become a substitute for civilian governance.
The ultimate test, therefore, is not whether nine FC platoons can bring temporary calm to Bannu and Lakki Marwat. The real test is whether the provincial government can restore the authority of the institutions that are supposed to maintain peace in the first place.
Because the deepest threat to the writ of the state does not always come from an armed enemy standing outside the system. Sometimes, it begins when the boundaries between protest, influence, policing, criminal interests and political power become so blurred that nobody can clearly answer one simple question:
