As Pakistan and Afghanistan return to border violence, the Peshawar peace jirga stands out for one reason: it sought to restore politics to a relationship now governed by force.
That makes it more than a routine peace appeal. It was, in effect, track-two diplomacy. Political, social, and community actors sought space for de-escalation when formal channels were weak, sporadic, or overshadowed by the security state. In the present climate, that is no small thing.
Pakistan-Afghanistan ties are now dictated less by diplomacy and more by recurring border crises. Typically, a border incident triggers an accusation, which then prompts retaliation. Retaliation is justified as a necessary deterrence. This is followed by a brief pause, but each cycle only deepens mutual distrust. This recurring sequence may appear to be policy, but it actually exposes persistent political failure.
The immediate causes of tension are well known: Pakistan’s concerns over TTP sanctuaries; Afghan denials of its soil being used against a neighbour; cross-border shelling and airstrikes; fragile ceasefires; refugee pressures; and deepening mistrust between the security establishments. None of this can be resolved by rhetoric. Nor can it be managed indefinitely by force. A border governed by retaliation cannot produce stability—it only postpones the next confrontation.
This is where the Peshawar jirga matters. It challenged the idea that the frontier can only be managed through military logic. Its call for ceasefire, dialogue, and mutual commitments was more than moral language. It reminded us that the present approach is exhausting itself. Neither Pakistan nor Afghanistan can secure itself through a constantly inflamed border.
The jirga’s significance lies in its form. In the Pashtun belt, a jirga is not just a meeting, but a mechanism for consultation and mediation. Its authority is not formal, but it carries moral and communal weight. Where official statements are seen as strategic messaging, such legitimacy matters. It brings a different vocabulary: restraint over reprisal, consultation over coercion, settlement over spectacle.
This should not be romanticised. Jirgas are not effective simply because they are traditional. Nor can they replace the state. The Peshawar gathering could neither enforce a ceasefire nor monitor violations nor compel security changes. Its power lies in persuasion, not implementation. That is both its value and limitation.
Still, dismissing such an initiative as merely symbolic misses the point. Symbolism matters in conflicts driven by fear and mistrust. More importantly, the jirga did what official diplomacy rarely does: it gave political expression to those who bear the highest costs of Pakistan-Afghanistan tensions. For border communities, this is not an abstract dispute over sovereignty or counterterrorism. It is a condition of fear, displacement, disrupted trade, and constant uncertainty. Any serious peace effort must start by recognising that reality.
The jirga’s main contribution is to clarify that peace is a public need, rather than an elite concession. It argues that de-escalation is a necessity dictated by geography, society, and the persistent failure of coercive methods, not merely a favour from one side to another. This position is significant in an environment where security institutions tend to dominate the definition of both the problem and the response.
Yet the jirga also shows the limits of informal diplomacy. Good intentions do not solve structural disputes. Shared religion, culture, and history offer a language for peace, but not the solutions. How do we address militant sanctuaries? How do we manage border incidents? How do we reduce escalation and ensure credible communication before crises spiral out of control? Without mechanisms, goodwill remains vulnerable to the next exchange of fire.
That is why the most important part of the jirga’s message may be its call for ongoing contact through a common platform. Pakistan and Afghanistan do not just need another ceasefire; they need steadier communication. Now, serious contact often comes only after a crisis. By then, positions are set, and public rhetoric leaves little room for compromise. A standing contact mechanism, formal or informal, would not resolve the larger conflict, but it could keep incidents from becoming bigger ruptures.
For such an initiative to last, it must broaden its base. Peace cannot remain the language of notables alone. Residents of affected districts, traders, displaced families, youth, and women should not be excluded from a process that claims to represent stability. For the jirga to stay relevant, it must become a more representative civic platform, not just a one-off event.
The larger lesson is simple: Pakistan and Afghanistan do not only face a border issue, but also a continual weakening of political engagement in its management. Reliance on security measures has become the default, while diplomacy is now merely reactive. This approach is unsustainable and unstrategic, as it guarantees each crisis leads directly to another.
Track-two diplomacy cannot replace statecraft. But where formal diplomacy is thin, mistrusted, or sporadic, it can keep channels open, press for restraint, and remind both states that force is not a policy.
The Peshawar jirga will mean little if it remains a one-day headline. Community leaders should ensure it leads to ongoing contact, broader participation, and renewed efforts to move from retaliation to politics—only then will it prove more consequential than it seemed.
The Pakistan-Afghanistan border does not just need calm after each crisis. It needs clearly defined political structures that can prevent recurring crises, not just temporary relief.
