
A border drawn in 1893 by British colonial authority cuts through the rugged, heartlands of South Asia, defining modern politics, redefining national security and crushing human life. The Durand Line, which consists of 2640 kilometers of contested territory, and slices through the Pashtun people’s historical lands, is one of the Global South’s longest scars. The boundary which, until now, was imposed as an empire’s demarcation now serves as a geological fault line in all its brute force: forced deportations, retaliatory airstrikes, economic blockades, and the weaponization of human movement.
In 2024, the Durand Line has become no more than just a disputed border, rather it is a reflection of disability legacies, post 9/11 securitization, and manageable diplomacy. The return of the Taliban, the rise of the Pakistani Taliban (TTP) and Pakistan’s huge deportation of Afghan refugees reveal a cruel continuum: refugees are fodder in bargaining chips, humanitarian concerns are sacrificed for security stories, and postcolonial states keep their colonial grammar of control.
The Durand Line was never merely a line on a map. That was a kind of colonial imposition done deliberately, which severed tribes, family and communities. On the Pakistani side, provinces like Khyber Pakhtunkhwa and Balochistan share this volatile boundary, while on the Afghan side, provinces such as Nangarhar, Khost, Paktika, and Kandahar lie adjacent. No Afghan government, from monarchy to republic to the Islamic Emirate, has ever formally recognized it. For the Pashtuns on both sides, it remains an alien boundary drawn by others. Pakistan, however, inheriting British strategic anxieties, regards what happened ‘as settled fact.’ Since 2001, and even more so since 2021, Pakistan has accelerated the fencing of the Durand Line, militarizing what was once a fluid cultural zone. The physical entrenchment contradicts the social and ethnic continuity that knows no borders. The result? A permanent tension between nation-state sovereignty and indigenous spatial belonging.
This contradiction exploded in 2024 when the Pakistani state began a sweeping deportation campaign targeting Afghan refugees. Under the guise of “zero tolerance” for undocumented migrants, over 800,000 Afghans, many of whom were born and raised in Pakistan were forced to cross a border that had already exiled their ancestors, leaving behind the only home they had known in Pakistan.
This was not merely a policy decision. It was a statement: the postcolonial state will police what the colonizer created. The logic of exclusion: who belongs, and who does not, is still determined not by justice but according to an inherited violence of colonial demarcation.
The deportations that began in late 2023 after just an announcement in 2023 were very swift and brutal. The Authorities granted families only a very limited time interval to leave their homes. Police raided Afghan neighborhoods, taking their property and destroying their shelters, even going so far as to detain people who had proper documents. Chaman and Torkham border towns were in chaos, with thousands of people lining up with little more besides bare possessions and no future.
Most of those deported were second- or third-generation refugees. Their only home was Pakistan. But now, under Islamabad’s sudden order to remove all undocumented foreigners, they were forced to return to Afghanistan. In Afghanistan, they encountered not only a new landscape but also a way of politics they were not familiar with and did not choose. The Taliban’s rule meant cultural alienation as well as existential threat for women, children and ethnic minorities.
The United Nations High Commission for Refugees UNHCR along with Amnesty International warned about the possible infringement of human rights. The Pakistani government responded by announcing short extensions for Proof of Registration (PoR) cardholders. But the environment remained intensely fearful. Police misconduct including unlawful detention without reason along with demands for extortion money were reported throughout Pakistani cities. The colonial-era Durand Line, once a fading border, had become a painful symbol again; dividing families, dreams, and decades of shared history.
This crisis exposes more than a refugee issue. Instead, it exposes a darker rot of how states in the Global South tend to reconstitute colonial reproductions of forced movement, documentation regimes, and security first governance that were used to oppress them. The “undocumented” Afghan is not a criminal but a victim of wars, borders, and bureaucracies they never authored.
The Taliban regime in Kabul received the deportees with a mix of opportunism and anxiety. On one hand, celebrating the return of Afghans was a patriotic homecoming, an indication that Afghanistan is finally sovereign, no longer dependent on Western asylum. On the other, they were clearly unprepared for the economic and the social implications.
Several temporary refugee camps developed in the areas around Spin Boldak, Torkham and Khost. Taliban officials showed themselves in public to distribute blankets and read verses from the Quran as part of their reassurance campaign. Khalil ur- Rahaman Haqqani, who was Minister of Refugees then, also visited the camps and praised them but his promises contradicted with the harsh reality of a country under sanctions and lack of basic needs. Beyond superficial displays the state lacked meaningful assistance to the people. With no international recognition, heavy sanctions, and minimal infrastructure, Afghanistan simply could not absorb this scale of return.
A lot of returnees were so skeptical and so terrified. Some had fled Taliban persecution. Some had never experienced living under Taliban rule. And now they were trapped between the ideology of nationalism and humanitarian neglect. But international NGOs tried to fill that gap, only to be prevented by restrictions, mistrust and, in many cases, lacking funds. So for the returnees most of them women and children, homecoming was a trip into dread and an unknown.
This is not just Kabul’s failure. It is a global failure. Afghanistan has largely been abandoned by the international community, distracted by Ukraine, Gaza and Sudan. Pakistan’s deportations are not isolated actions; they occur in a vacuum where Afghan suffering has ceased to generate outrage. Refugee rights, once a rallying cry, are now subject to geopolitical fatigue.
But what makes this crisis more volatile is the way in which it is caught up in regional security issues. Since then, Pakistan has accused Kabul of supporting the Pakistani Taliban Tehrik e Taliban Pakistan (TTP), which has been responsible for a wave of attacks. In 2023 alone, terrorism-related deaths in Pakistan surged, especially in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa and Balochistan with the TTP responsible for most of the bloodshed. Islamabad believed that the TTP was being sheltered across the border with the Taliban’s silent approval.
Pakistan issued sharp warnings to the Taliban leadership: choose between friendship with Pakistan or support for the TTP. These weren’t empty threats. As 2024 progressed, Pakistan tightened pressure on the Taliban in multiple ways. The refugee crackdown was one strategy, viewed as a message to Kabul. Border crossings were frequently shut down without notice, disrupting trade and daily movement. Afghan goods were held up at checkpoints or Karachi’s port, sometimes for days. These blockades and delays signalled Pakistan’s dissatisfaction and tried to force the Taliban to act.
The Taliban deny giving direct support but take no clear action against them. They called these moves “collective punishment” and demanded respect. But Islamabad, frustrated by years of unfulfilled promises, pushed harder. Pakistan’s response? Deportations, economic blockades, and military posturing. The refugee crisis was both its punishment, and an act of warnings. Afghan traders, ordinary refugees, and returning families became pawns in this growing standoff. It was a message to Kabul: act against the TTP or face the consequences.
The whole cynical process of using the threat of trade and migration as a weaponization of these politics shows a dangerous logic: a diplomacy of force, and a very vulnerable population paying the price. It is also indicative of a far larger trend of the Global South: border as leverage, rather than as protection, and human beings as diplomatic tools.
New heights reached in tensions by the end of the first quarter of 2024. In March, Pakistani jets bombed targets in Afghanistan’s Khost and Paktika provinces, claiming to hit TTP hideouts. Despite the attack, the Taliban downplayed it, but the incursion marked a major escalation: The first known airstrike since the Taliban returned to power.
Then came the September standoff. On the Afghanistan side, Taliban forces began building a new outpost near the Khost-Kurram border. Pakistani soldiers confronted them. Gunfire erupted. Eight Taliban fighters were killed including two commanders. Pakistan suffered casualties too. Both sides rushed reinforcements. For days, the Durand Line became a war zone.
This was no longer a diplomatic disagreement. It was a militarized confrontation between two governments that do not trust each other and lack any meaningful mediation mechanism. What is even more alarming is that these clashes are becoming more and more confrontational without global attention or intervention. Western powers have disengaged. Yet, there are regional powers like China and Iran who remain cautious. The people caught in between the two countries like the refugees, traders, as well as the border villagers remain voiceless.
The crisis along the Durand Line is not just about Afghanistan and Pakistan. It is a microcosm of how the Global South continues to endure from and recreate the colonial border making, securitised governance and refugees exclusion. Now that Pakistan has started the same process of deportations again in 2025. There is an urgency to find a solution. To solve these issues, the policies have to move away from the reactive measures and embrace structural change. This can be done in several ways:
The crisis of 2024 along the Durand Line is a warning and an opportunity. It is a warning about what occurs when post colonial states forget their own histories and practice the exclusions of the empire. For it reveals the human costs of securitized policy in the name of sovereignty. And it likewise shows that in the Global South, refugees remain the most expendable casualties of geopolitics. It is also a moment to dream of something better. A future without borders that divide; refugees are not liabilities but agents of renewal; where states reclaim their autonomy not by excluding the most vulnerable, but by standing with them. Until then, the Durand Line will remain more than a border. It will remain a wound.
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