By Sardar Khan Niazi

The attack on an imambargah in Islamabad is not merely another act of terrorism; it is a direct challenge to the writ of the state and the idea of Pakistan as a plural, constitutional republic. That it occurred in the federal capital — a city designed to project order and authority — makes the failure impossible to dismiss. Imambargahs have long been targets of sectarian violence in Pakistan. Such attacks are never random. They are intended to inflame communal tensions, provoke fear within a specific religious community, and demonstrate the continued presence of extremist networks that the state claims to have dismantled. When this violence reaches Islamabad, it signals not just a security lapse, but also a deeper malaise. For years, the state has insisted that sectarian militancy has been contained. Yet attacks on places of worship — mosques, churches, temples, and imambargahs — tell a different story. Extremist ideologies have not been defeated; they have been allowed to survive in fragments, resurfacing when political attention drifts and enforcement weakens. Banned groups may disappear from official lists, but their narratives remain disturbingly accessible. The choice of an imambargah is particularly telling. Sectarian terrorism seeks to fracture society along identity lines, turning citizens against one another while diverting attention from governance failures. It thrives in environments where hate speech is tolerated, where perpetrators of past violence evade justice, and where ideological clarity is sacrificed for political convenience. Islamabad’s status should have ensured the highest level of protection for vulnerable religious sites. That an attack could take place despite intelligence networks, surveillance systems, and security protocols raises uncomfortable questions. Were warnings ignored? Were resources misallocated? Alternatively, has complacency once again crept into a system that reacts after tragedy rather than preventing it? Public responses tend to follow a predictable cycle: condemnation, promises of action, and then silence. Victims are mourned, but accountability is deferred. Investigations rarely result in convictions, reinforcing a dangerous message — that sectarian violence can be committed with relative impunity. This failure of follow-through is as damaging as the attack itself. More troubling is the selective way extremism is confronted. The state’s rejection of terrorism often comes with qualifiers, distinctions, and strategic silences. Yet violence justified in the name of religion, regardless of the target, cannot be compartmentalized. When extremist rhetoric is tolerated in one context, it eventually manifests as violence in another. Protecting imambargahs — and all places of worship — requires more than temporary security deployments. It demands a comprehensive approach: consistent enforcement of laws against hate speech, dismantling of sectarian networks without exception, reform of policing and prosecution, and a clear, unified political stance against all forms of religious militancy. At its core, this is about citizenship. When members of any religious community feel unsafe while practicing their faith — particularly in the capital — the promise of equal protection under the law stands compromised. Terrorism succeeds not only by killing, but also by instilling the belief that the state cannot or will not protect everyone equally. Islamabad was meant to symbolize national unity and constitutional order. An attack on an imambargah within its bounds undermines both. Whether this incident becomes another forgotten tragedy or a catalyst for genuine reform will depend on what the state does after the cameras leave and the outrage subsides. Condemnation is essential. Justice, consistency, and moral clarity are indispensable. Without them, sectarian violence will remain a recurring nightmare — and the capital will remain vulnerable, not despite its power, but because of the contradictions, it represents.