December 21, 2025
DAWN
IT was troubling to witness India and Pakistan descend into a futile blame game after the tragic Bondi Beach incident in Sydney, with both sides obsessively speculating over the nationality of those involved. This is precisely what religiously motivated terrorists want. When states and societies become entangled in such narratives, they inadvertently provide space for extremist propaganda to spread, amplify its impact, and divide people into opposing camps. These dynamics often provoke harsh state responses, which in turn validate extremist worldviews and escalate tensions within and between societies.
For several days, public opinion in both India and Pakistan remained hostage to this obsession, labelling the perpetrators as belonging to one nation or the other, without recognising a fundamental reality: for religiously motivated terrorists, the nationality and boundaries of the nation-state are irrelevant. They operate with an entirely different worldview, one that rejects not only international borders but even the judgements and doctrines of their own ideological or religious authorities when those contradict their violent practices.
This pattern is clearly visible in Afghanistan today. More than 1,000 Afghan ulema have issued a fatwa declaring the use of Afghan soil for terrorist attacks impermissible. Yet such voices have failed to resonate with terrorist groups. The same disregard was shown towards the numerous fatwas issued by Pakistani ulema against terrorism over the past two and a half decades.
In principle, the Afghan ulema’s fatwa is a welcome and positive development. However, the critical question remains: how can such pronouncements meaningfully curb cross-border terrorism when terrorists have repeatedly demonstrated their indifference to religious, moral, and scholarly authority?
History suggests that moral declarations, however well-intentioned, rarely translate into effective security outcomes unless backed by the political will and coercive capacity of those tasked with enforcing them. Fatwas, resolutions, and statements primarily articulate moral positions. Their transformation into implementable policy depends on calculations of power, politics, strategy, and tactics. The terrorist groups are acutely aware of this gap between moral authority and enforcement, and they have repeatedly adjusted their strategies to exploit it.
Pakistan’s own experience offers a useful parallel. Over the years, several Pakistani clerics issued fatwas against terrorism. Early efforts, including those from Lahore-based Darul Uloom Jamia Naimia and Jamia Ashrafia, representing the Barelvi and Deobandi schools respectively, were framed with significant caveats. Although Jamia Naeemia’s principal, Maulana Sarfraz Naeemi, was later assassinated in a terrorist attack, these initial fatwas themselves were riddled with many ‘ifs and buts’ that limited their impact.
It was only in January 2018, when the state convened leading religious scholars in Islamabad to endorse Paigham-i-Pakistan, that a semblance of consensus emerged. Even then, the process was not organic, but state-driven. Prior to this, many religious parties continued issuing conditional fatwas that outlawed violence within Pakistan while leaving ample space for justifying violence elsewhere, often against vaguely defined ‘oppressors’. Although Paigham-i-Pakistan sought to close these loopholes, clerics continued to apply contextual exceptions, particularly in relation to jihad beyond Pakistan’s borders.
It remains unclear whether the Afghan ulema’s fatwa represents an Afghan equivalent of Paigham-i-Pakistan. If Pakistan’s experience is any guide, exemptions and selective interpretations are likely to persist. In Pakistan’s case, terrorist groups that had earlier endorsed the consensus fatwa remained allegedly embedded in the state’s proxy networks. When these groups were later incorporated into counter-extremism initiatives, the consequences were twofold: first, militant leaderships lost credibility among their own cadres, and the state’s commitment to dismantling religious militancy came under question.
The state’s will is essential to eliminating ambiguities surrounding terrorist narratives.
Predictably, groups such as the TTP and Jamaatul Ahrar responded by rejecting the fatwa outright, arguing that many of the same clerics had previously legitimised violence, both sectarian and political, through dozens of fatwas. This inconsistency allowed terrorists to challenge the religious legitimacy of the entire exercise.
There is little reason to assume that the Afghan ulema’s fatwa will yield different results unless it is accompanied by decisive action from the Taliban regime. Terrorist violence is unlikely to subside merely through religious censure unless the infrastructure sustaining groups such as the TTP and Al Qaeda is systematically dismantled.
The oft-repeated claim that the Taliban lacks full control over these groups increasingly sounds less like an explanation and more like an excuse. At some point, the cost-benefit calculus must shift. Maintaining ties with transnational terrorist networks carries a far higher price tag than managing difficult relations with neighbouring states.
Pakistan’s own trajectory is instructive. The long-term costs of proxy warfare, economic decline, social fragmentation, political instability, and international isolation continue to haunt the country. For a Taliban-ruled Afghanistan, burdened with a weak economy, limited public legitimacy, geographic isolation, and minimal global support, the margin for strategic error is even thinner. Sustaining relationships with terrorist groups under these conditions is not merely risky; it is potentially ruinous.
The will of the state is essential to eliminating ambiguities surrounding the objectives and narratives of terrorist groups. When the state appears reluctant, or when the phenomenon of terrorism is allowed to persist over a prolonged period in a country or region, it continues to inspire individuals or small groups elsewhere in the world who share the same ideological worldview. States often take missteps, which terrorist networks are quick to exploit. When public opinion becomes hostage to narrow or sensationalist narratives, it further fuels reaction and polarisation.
The attackers at Bondi Beach in Australia may have been influenced by developments in the Middle East, particularly the Israel-Hamas conflict. However, it is terrorist networks that exploit such situations, interpreting them through rigid ideological frameworks and attempting to cultivate susceptible minds, either by establishing direct links or by encouraging individuals to self-radicalised and engage in acts of violence.
In moments of crisis, states rightly turn to religious authorities to de-legitimise terrorists and undermine their claims to moral or religious justification. Yet, states often struggle to consistently cultivate, and project positive narratives centred on peace, coexistence, love, and harmony. Despite repeated efforts, these narratives have failed to secure meaningful space in public opinion and the social media ecosystem, where polarising and emotive content continues to dominate.
IT was troubling to witness India and Pakistan descend into a futile blame game after the tragic Bondi Beach incident in Sydney, with both sides obsessively speculating over the nationality of those involved. This is precisely what religiously motivated terrorists want. When states and societies become entangled in such narratives, they inadvertently provide space for extremist propaganda to spread, amplify its impact, and divide people into opposing camps. These dynamics often provoke harsh state responses, which in turn validate extremist worldviews and escalate tensions within and between societies.
For several days, public opinion in both India and Pakistan remained hostage to this obsession, labelling the perpetrators as belonging to one nation or the other, without recognising a fundamental reality: for religiously motivated terrorists, the nationality and boundaries of the nation-state are irrelevant. They operate with an entirely different worldview, one that rejects not only international borders but even the judgements and doctrines of their own ideological or religious authorities when those contradict their violent practices.
This pattern is clearly visible in Afghanistan today. More than 1,000 Afghan ulema have issued a fatwa declaring the use of Afghan soil for terrorist attacks impermissible. Yet such voices have failed to resonate with terrorist groups. The same disregard was shown towards the numerous fatwas issued by Pakistani ulema against terrorism over the past two and a half decades.
In principle, the Afghan ulema’s fatwa is a welcome and positive development. However, the critical question remains: how can such pronouncements meaningfully curb cross-border terrorism when terrorists have repeatedly demonstrated their indifference to religious, moral, and scholarly authority?
History suggests that moral declarations, however well-intentioned, rarely translate into effective security outcomes unless backed by the political will and coercive capacity of those tasked with enforcing them. Fatwas, resolutions, and statements primarily articulate moral positions. Their transformation into implementable policy depends on calculations of power, politics, strategy, and tactics. The terrorist groups are acutely aware of this gap between moral authority and enforcement, and they have repeatedly adjusted their strategies to exploit it.
Pakistan’s own experience offers a useful parallel. Over the years, several Pakistani clerics issued fatwas against terrorism. Early efforts, including those from Lahore-based Darul Uloom Jamia Naimia and Jamia Ashrafia, representing the Barelvi and Deobandi schools respectively, were framed with significant caveats. Although Jamia Naeemia’s principal, Maulana Sarfraz Naeemi, was later assassinated in a terrorist attack, these initial fatwas themselves were riddled with many ‘ifs and buts’ that limited their impact.
It was only in January 2018, when the state convened leading religious scholars in Islamabad to endorse Paigham-i-Pakistan, that a semblance of consensus emerged. Even then, the process was not organic, but state-driven. Prior to this, many religious parties continued issuing conditional fatwas that outlawed violence within Pakistan while leaving ample space for justifying violence elsewhere, often against vaguely defined ‘oppressors’. Although Paigham-i-Pakistan sought to close these loopholes, clerics continued to apply contextual exceptions, particularly in relation to jihad beyond Pakistan’s borders.
It remains unclear whether the Afghan ulema’s fatwa represents an Afghan equivalent of Paigham-i-Pakistan. If Pakistan’s experience is any guide, exemptions and selective interpretations are likely to persist. In Pakistan’s case, terrorist groups that had earlier endorsed the consensus fatwa remained allegedly embedded in the state’s proxy networks. When these groups were later incorporated into counter-extremism initiatives, the consequences were twofold: first, militant leaderships lost credibility among their own cadres, and the state’s commitment to dismantling religious militancy came under question.
The state’s will is essential to eliminating ambiguities surrounding terrorist narratives.
Predictably, groups such as the TTP and Jamaatul Ahrar responded by rejecting the fatwa outright, arguing that many of the same clerics had previously legitimised violence, both sectarian and political, through dozens of fatwas. This inconsistency allowed terrorists to challenge the religious legitimacy of the entire exercise.
There is little reason to assume that the Afghan ulema’s fatwa will yield different results unless it is accompanied by decisive action from the Taliban regime. Terrorist violence is unlikely to subside merely through religious censure unless the infrastructure sustaining groups such as the TTP and Al Qaeda is systematically dismantled.
The oft-repeated claim that the Taliban lacks full control over these groups increasingly sounds less like an explanation and more like an excuse. At some point, the cost-benefit calculus must shift. Maintaining ties with transnational terrorist networks carries a far higher price tag than managing difficult relations with neighbouring states.
Pakistan’s own trajectory is instructive. The long-term costs of proxy warfare, economic decline, social fragmentation, political instability, and international isolation continue to haunt the country. For a Taliban-ruled Afghanistan, burdened with a weak economy, limited public legitimacy, geographic isolation, and minimal global support, the margin for strategic error is even thinner. Sustaining relationships with terrorist groups under these conditions is not merely risky; it is potentially ruinous.
The will of the state is essential to eliminating ambiguities surrounding the objectives and narratives of terrorist groups. When the state appears reluctant, or when the phenomenon of terrorism is allowed to persist over a prolonged period in a country or region, it continues to inspire individuals or small groups elsewhere in the world who share the same ideological worldview. States often take missteps, which terrorist networks are quick to exploit. When public opinion becomes hostage to narrow or sensationalist narratives, it further fuels reaction and polarisation.
The attackers at Bondi Beach in Australia may have been influenced by developments in the Middle East, particularly the Israel-Hamas conflict. However, it is terrorist networks that exploit such situations, interpreting them through rigid ideological frameworks and attempting to cultivate susceptible minds, either by establishing direct links or by encouraging individuals to self-radicalised and engage in acts of violence.
In moments of crisis, states rightly turn to religious authorities to de-legitimise terrorists and undermine their claims to moral or religious justification. Yet, states often struggle to consistently cultivate, and project positive narratives centred on peace, coexistence, love, and harmony. Despite repeated efforts, these narratives have failed to secure meaningful space in public opinion and the social media ecosystem, where polarising and emotive content continues to dominate.
Published in Dawn, December 21nd, 2025
Muhammad Amir Rana is a security analyst. He is the Director of Pak Institute for Peace Studies (PIPS), Islamabad, Pakistan.
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