Last week, Islamabad was once again turned into a fortress. Long walls of shipping containers and trailers, meant to carry trade goods to and from Pakistan’s ports, blocked the main highways from Punjab and Khyber Pakhtunkhwa that lead to the capital.
The entry and exit points of Islamabad were sealed off as well. Instead of facilitating commerce, containers were repurposed to contain protests by a religio-political party, ostensibly organised in solidarity with the people of Gaza and in opposition to the peace deal brokered by the US.
The government suspended mobile signals and internet connectivity in several areas, further isolating cities and disrupting business operations, digital payments, online deliveries, ride-hailing services and communication networks.
The sight of containers that should have been part of Pakistan’s trade infrastructure being used as barricades was bad enough. But deliberately silencing data channels that should have powered the country’s digital economy is a powerful metaphor for how internal challenges continue to hinder the country’s economic and social future.
The unrest coincided with the visit of a high-level Saudi investment delegation led by a member of the royal family. The Saudi Business Council delegation was in Pakistan to explore opportunities in the energy, mining and infrastructure sectors. For Islamabad, the visit was intended to signal Riyadh’s confidence in Pakistan’s economic reforms and its willingness to expand investment beyond deposits and deferred oil payments. The discussions reportedly involved major projects under review by the Public Investment Fund, including the purchase of stakes in K-Electric.
The chief minister of Punjab received the delegation even as many roads in Lahore and highways across Punjab were sealed off. Later, the delegation travelled to Karachi to discuss long-term partnerships. Against this backdrop, the federal capital’s paralysis did little to strengthen investor confidence.
What an ironic situation: while the people of Gaza have cautiously welcomed a ceasefire offering fragile peace after months of destruction, parts of Pakistan have managed to descend into unrest in Gaza’s name. This has once again revealed how easily global political or religious events spill over into Pakistan’s domestic sphere. The truth is that groups claiming to represent faith use such occasions to demonstrate their influence and visibility.
In the past, the state’s response to this has oscillated between barricades, internet shutdowns and hurried compromises. There was a time when protesters were paid per diem to disperse after the blockade failed to work. On another occasion, demonstrators torched vehicles on the motorway and took precious lives, only to return home celebrating what they considered a victory, when the state hastily compromised with them.
Such mixed and short-term responses may restore order temporarily, but they erode investor and public confidence alike. When politics yields to street power, the price is paid in economic paralysis and reputational damage, while pressure groups emerge emboldened.
For businesses and diplomats, the image of a capital sealed off by containers and disconnected from data networks becomes a warning sign. No investor commits long-term capital to a country where uncertainty reigns and governance appear reactive. Pakistan’s export-to-GDP ratio remains among the lowest in South Asia, and each spell of logistical or digital disruption only deepens the malaise. Every day that transport arteries or mobile data networks are blocked costs the economy millions in lost trade, delayed shipments and idle labour hours. The shutdowns also hit Pakistan’s freelancers, who earn precious foreign exchange through digital platforms and are among the most visible faces of the country’s emerging tech sector.
These interruptions undermine Pakistan’s ambition to position itself as a hub for regional connectivity, an idea central to its economic diplomacy. The containers clogging the Grand Trunk Road should have been at Karachi or Gwadar ports carrying freight, while the country’s digital infrastructure should have been powering transactions and communication. Both stand still when populism overwhelms policy.
Reliance on barricades to preserve order is no substitute for governance. It secures the power centres for a few days but leaves the underlying problem untouched: the steady rise of religious populism in a country where economic hardship and weak civic education create fertile ground for radicalisation. As long as young men find that mobilising in the name of religion brings visibility, influence or income, extremism will remain as much an economic issue as an ideological one.
Comparable developing countries have faced similar tests, with varying outcomes. Indonesia was once torn by sectarian conflict; over two decades, it managed to channel religious mobilisation into democratic and institutional politics. Rather than treating every protest as an existential crisis, successive Indonesian governments built predictable frameworks for engagement. They enforced red lines against violence, while encouraging mainstream clerical networks such as Nahdlatul Ulama and Muhammadiyah to anchor discourse in moderation.
When the Jakarta protests of 2016–17 over blasphemy allegations threatened to spiral out of control, Indonesia combined firm law enforcement with dialogue through established institutions. That blend of consistency and predictability gradually made street confrontation a less rewarding political strategy.
Sri Lanka, Bangladesh and Nepal, by contrast, provide a cautionary tale. Their inability to address popular grievances through credible institutions allowed discontent to fester until the mass protests toppled the respective governments. The absence of institutional dialogue and early accountability turned frustration into fury. Similarly, Egypt’s post-2013 experience shows the limits of excessive coercion. The state restored surface stability, but at the cost of profound alienation, weakened social trust and an exodus of capital. These cases demonstrate that neither brute force nor appeasement works.
Sustainable containment of populism depends on a consistent and predictable rule-based engagement within clear red lines coupled with firm enforcement and social reinvestment.
Pakistan has yet to evolve such a framework. Our response remains episodic, alternating between overreaction and accommodation. Peaceful protest is a democratic right, but deliberate disruption of national life cannot be treated as legitimate expression. The state must make it legally and economically costly to paralyse public order, without abandoning the space for dissent. Predictable enforcement of laws, judicial accountability for damages and a cross-party consensus on non-negotiable red lines are essential. Alongside these measures, social reinvestment in education, jobs and civic participation is equally critical to reduce the appeal of street radicalism.
In recent months, Pakistan has achieved notable diplomatic openings – from carefully balancing relations between Washington and Beijing to renewed interest from Gulf investors and cautious optimism among multilateral partners. Yet these gains will remain fragile if governance continues to depend on roadblocks and ad-hoc crisis management. The country has two clear choices: reassure potential investors about the safety and stability of their capital or continue tolerating pressure groups that undermine both.
The Gaza ceasefire may have brought momentary relief to a war-torn region. Pakistan, too, needs its own peace – between populism and reason, between belief and statecraft. Only then will those containers return to their rightful place at the port, carrying commerce rather than symbolising chaos.
The writer heads SDPI, chairs the board of the National Disaster Risk Management Fund, and serves on the ADBI’s Advisory Board. He posts on LinkedIn Abidsuleri