by Muhammad Mohsin Iqbal

When Pakistan, alongside several Islamic nations, affixed its signature to the agreement at Davos to join the Peace Board for the reconstruction of Gaza, in the presence of the President of the United States, a wave of criticism arose from various quarters. Some questioned the necessity of such a forum, arguing that the United Nations already exists for purposes of peacekeeping and reconstruction. Others suspected hidden motives or feared diplomatic entanglements. Yet those who study history with sobriety rather than sentiment understood that participation in such a platform is neither naïve compliance nor symbolic alignment; it is a calculated engagement shaped by memory, experience, and vigilance.

Pakistan, in particular, does not approach international commitments with historical amnesia. Its leadership—civil and military alike—remains acutely conscious of past tragedies in which lofty assurances of international protection dissolved into silence at the decisive hour. The present global attention upon Pakistan, and upon the leadership of its armed forces is not without reason. Pakistan has long contributed to United Nations peacekeeping missions across continents. It knows both the nobility of peacekeeping and the perils of misplaced reliance. This balanced awareness shapes its current stance; engaging without being misled, working together while staying alert.

The memory of Bosnia stands as a solemn testament to why caution must accompany every promise of protection. In July 1995, in the town of Srebrenica—declared a “safe area” by the United Nations—the world witnessed one of the darkest chapters of post–Second World War Europe. The enclave had been placed under the protection of Dutch peacekeepers, operating as part of the United Nations Protection Force (UNPROFOR). This Force, was established in 1992 to ensure peace and security during the Yugoslav Wars, particularly in Bosnia and Croatia. Its responsibilities included monitoring zones of separation and weapons control points, as well as overseeing weapons exclusion zones. The mandate was clear in language, yet ambiguous in execution. The Dutch battalion was tasked with safeguarding tens of thousands of Bosnian Muslim civilians who had sought refuge from advancing Serb forces.

On the evening before the catastrophe, a photograph was taken that would later become emblematic of tragic irony; the Dutch UN commander, Lieutenant Colonel Thom Karremans, raising a glass in conversation with General Ratko Mladić, the Serb military commander. Diplomacy, in that fleeting moment, seemed to prevail over hostility. Assurances were exchanged. Confidence was projected. Yet beneath the veneer of negotiation lay a calculated design.

Earlier, Bosnian Muslim defenders within Srebrenica had managed, despite limited resources, to resist repeated assaults. But under international pressure and in deference to the promise of UN protection, they were urged to surrender their weapons. Commander Karremans assured them that the United Nations would ensure their safety. Trusting in the credibility of the international community, many complied. Arms were laid down. Defensive positions were relinquished. The population believed that the blue helmets symbolized an inviolable shield.

At dawn, the illusion shattered. Serb forces entered Srebrenica with methodical precision. Appeals for NATO air support were delayed and diluted. Limited airstrikes, when finally authorized, proved insufficient and were soon halted under threat to UN personnel. At the moment, the Dutch peacekeepers chose not to resist with force. Instead, they supervised the separation of men and boys from women and children under the guise of “screening.” In heartbreaking scenes, families were split apart right before the eyes of those meant to protect them.

Over the next four days, more than eight thousand Bosnian Muslim men and boys were systematically executed. Mass graves were filled in secrecy and later exhumed in sorrow. The massacre of Srebrenica was not a sudden frenzy but a calculated campaign of extermination carried out in the presence of an international force that neither intervened decisively nor prevented the unfolding atrocity. Subsequent investigations and judicial proceedings would recognize it as genocide. Years later, Dutch courts acknowledged partial responsibility of the Netherlands for failing to protect certain victims who had sought refuge within the UN compound.

The tragedy wasn’t just about the attackers’ brutality; it was also the devastating failure of a system that had promised to protect their lives but ultimately didn’t. The disarming of a vulnerable population under assurances of protection remains one of the most haunting lessons of that episode.

 It echoes the Qur’anic warning: “The disbelievers wish that you would neglect your arms and your baggage so they could descend upon you in one attack” (Surah An-Nisa 4:102). The verse is not an incitement to aggression; it is a call to vigilance. It counsels preparedness even in moments that appear secure.

To recall Srebrenica is not to imprison ourselves in grievance, but to remain awake. Real protection resides not in signatures alone, nor in ceremonial gatherings, but in preparedness, unity, and unshaken trust in Allah. International cooperation has its place; diplomacy is indispensable; reconstruction efforts must proceed. Yet no nation, particularly one conscious of the vulnerabilities of the Muslim world, can afford complacency.

Pakistan’s engagement with the Peace Board for Gaza must therefore be understood through this prism. It seeks a seat at the table where decisions are shaped, not as a passive recipient of outcomes but as an active guardian of its principles. Islamic countries, having witnessed how the language of peace was once manipulated while a massacre unfolded, cannot allow the market of bloodshed to be reheated under the banner of humanitarian concern.

History does not demand perpetual suspicion, but it does command informed vigilance. The lesson of Bosnia is neither isolation nor surrender; it is balanced strength. A nation that remembers Srebrenica signs agreements with open eyes, keeps its defences intact, and places its ultimate reliance not on fragile guarantees, but on preparedness guided by faith.

Qamar Bashir

When the latest waves of documents connected to the Jeffrey Epstein investigation began surfacing, most of the names that appeared followed a familiar and uncomfortable pattern. The references revolved around social proximity, elite networks, reputational damage, and questions of judgment. Against that backdrop, one name stood apart — not because of scandal, but because of how it was framed.

Imran Khan’s reported mention was different. According to summaries that emerged from the broader document releases, he was not linked to misconduct or impropriety. Instead, he was described in private correspondence as “really bad news” and a “greater threat.” The tone was political rather than personal, strategic rather than social. In a collection of files that cast shadows over many reputations, his distinction appeared to lie in geopolitical discomfort rather than scandal.

That difference matters because it shifts the conversation from morality to strategy. A leader described as a threat is not being accused of vice but of independence. The question then becomes: dangerous to whom, and for what reason? To understand why that framing resonates so strongly in Pakistan, one must revisit a moment that altered the country’s political trajectory. That moment arrived in early March 2022.

On August 9, 2023, The Intercept published a classified Pakistani diplomatic cable documenting a March 7, 2022 meeting between Pakistan’s ambassador to Washington and U.S. Assistant Secretary of State Donald Lu. The document, labeled “Secret,” recorded Washington’s displeasure with Khan’s visit to Moscow on February 24, 2022 — the very day Russia invaded Ukraine. According to the cable, Lu stated that if a no-confidence vote against Prime Minister Khan succeeded, “all will be forgiven in Washington.” Otherwise, he warned, it would be “tough going ahead,” and the prime minister could face “isolation” from Europe and the United States.

The language recorded in the cable is unmistakably conditional, tying bilateral warmth to a specific political outcome. Forgiveness if he is removed; difficulty if he remains.

The sequence that followed intensified scrutiny. The meeting took place on March 7, procedural steps toward a no-confidence vote began on March 8, and by April 10, Khan had been removed from office. Correlation does not prove orchestration, and political transitions are rarely explained by a single document. Nevertheless, the cable demonstrates that diplomatic pressure was applied at a sensitive moment. It also reveals that Washington viewed Khan’s neutrality on Ukraine as a personal policy choice rather than institutional consensus.

Khan’s foreign policy posture had consistently emphasized strategic independence. He refused to grant U.S. military basing rights after America’s withdrawal from Afghanistan, publicly declaring “Absolutely not” when asked about hosting foreign forces. He defended Pakistan’s abstention at the United Nations on Ukraine and rejected public pressure from European diplomats, asking pointedly at a rally whether Pakistan was expected to behave as a subordinate state. He argued that engagement with Russia was necessary to secure affordable energy and food for Pakistan’s struggling population.

Beyond Ukraine, Khan elevated the issue of Islamophobia on the global stage, pressing the United Nations to recognize anti-Muslim discrimination and urging respect for religious dignity. He framed Pakistan as a country that would engage with all powers without entering rigid alliances. Supporters viewed this as sovereignty in action, while critics considered it diplomatic miscalculation. What cannot be denied is that his posture disrupted established expectations about alignment in a polarized global environment.

Following his removal, Pakistan’s external positioning shifted noticeably. Military-to-military engagement with the United States regained momentum, and reports surfaced of Pakistani-manufactured ammunition appearing in Ukraine. Diplomatic warmth between Islamabad and Western capitals returned, and new defense cooperation frameworks were discussed. These developments do not conclusively prove that pressure determined political outcomes, but they align with the cable’s suggestion that a change in leadership would ease tensions and remove the “dent” in relations.

It is within this broader context that the contrast with the Epstein-related references acquires symbolic weight. Many powerful men whose names appeared in those documents faced reputational questions because of association with a disgraced financier. Imran Khan’s distinction, by contrast, was reportedly rooted in strategic apprehension rather than personal scandal. He was not depicted as compromised; he was characterized as disruptive.

The cable published by The Intercept reinforces that interpretation. Its “assessment” section records the Pakistani ambassador’s view that Lu could not have delivered such a strong message without approval from higher authorities. Whether or not that assessment was accurate, it underscores how the exchange was perceived inside Pakistan’s diplomatic apparatus. The document captures a moment when international expectations and domestic politics collided.

Since Khan’s removal, Pakistan has experienced deep polarization, economic strain, and intensified debate over the balance of civilian and military authority. His critics argue that his governance record warranted parliamentary removal and that institutional checks functioned as designed. His supporters argue that his defiance of geopolitical alignment invited external pressure that altered the course of domestic politics. The truth may reside in the interplay of both internal and external forces.

What the documentary record shows is not a signed directive of regime change, but evidence of diplomatic leverage. In international politics, leverage often operates through incentives and signals rather than commands. The phrase “all will be forgiven” is not an order; it is a conditional promise. Such language does not prove conspiracy, but it does demonstrate expectation.

That is why the distinction matters. The Epstein files, as publicly discussed, did not place Imran Khan among scandal-tainted elites. Instead, they appear to reflect concern about his independent trajectory. The March 7 cable then provides context for why that concern may have existed, showing that his policies generated friction at the highest levels of diplomacy. In a world structured around predictable alignments, independence can be unsettling.

Imran Khan’s story, therefore, is not merely about allegations or denial. It is about how sovereignty interacts with global power. He was not framed in those documents as morally compromised; he was framed as politically inconvenient. Whether that inconvenience contributed to his removal remains debated, but the documentary evidence confirms that it was noticed.

In the end, what set him apart was not scandal but stance. In a system accustomed to compliance, saying no can carry consequences. The documents do not resolve the debate over his ouster, but they illuminate the pressures surrounding it. And in doing so, they explain why, among many powerful names, one stood apart.

Qamar Bashir

Press Secretary to the President (Rtd)

Former Press Minister, Embassy of Pakistan to France

Former Press Attaché to Malaysia

Former MD, SRBC | Macomb, Michigan