Borders are more than lines on a map. They are conversations in stone and wire, in the daily exchanges between soldiers and villagers, in the trucks that wait for hours at checkpoints, and in the quiet, steady work of people who accept discomfort so others can sleep in peace. For Pakistan, those conversations happen across mountains, deserts and valleys — along the Durand Line with Afghanistan, at the tense Line of Control with India, and across high, empty stretches on other frontiers. Securing those borders is not a single act. It’s a lifetime of small, exacting choices.
The shape of the problem
Start with geography: the Pakistan-Afghanistan frontier, the Durand Line, snakes through roughly 2,600 kilometres of terrain — everything from high, rocky passes to thin valleys where a single mule track is the only route. That geography creates opportunity and hardship in equal measure. People who live on both sides often share ties of family and trade; that’s what makes the line porous. It also makes policing it difficult. For decades, militants and smugglers took advantage of those same ties and those same trails. Today, the state faces the twin tasks of protecting citizens and managing communities whose lives straddle the border.
From open trails to fences — a slow, costly change
In recent years Pakistan has moved from a largely informal border model to a far more physical one. Fencing, observation posts, gates and formal crossing points have been built or upgraded, especially where infiltration and smuggling were frequent. Driving posts in to erect wire and posts in high snow or thin air is difficult; trucks can’t always reach the places that need work. That means soldiers and engineers literally carry poles by hand and spend nights pegging fence lines while the weather tests them. The result is visible: many previously exposed stretches are now monitored and harder to cross undetected, which has reduced the most casual forms of infiltration and smuggling.
A practical example: the Torkham crossing — one of the busiest trade arteries between Pakistan and Afghanistan — has been repeatedly in the headlines. Clashes there over construction of border outposts and the drawing of lines have at times shut the gate, halting trade and stranding thousands of trucks. These closures are a blunt reminder that physical measures on the ground often become political flashpoints. In March 2025, Torkham was closed for nearly a month after clashes, and its reopening was widely reported as a relief for commerce on both sides.
People first — the human bones of security
A fence does not keep a country safe by itself. It is the people who watch it, repair it, and decide when to open it. Local paramilitary units — Frontier Corps, levies, and tribal scouts — are central to this work. These forces recruit from the region; they speak the local dialects, know which trails are normal, and notice when something is not. That local knowledge is a multiplier: one scout can sometimes spot what a dozen remote sensors might miss.
Soldiers assigned to border posts are not dramatic heroes in uniforms featured on billboards. They are often young, tired, and pragmatic. They walk ridgelines at dawn, check coordinates on hand-drawn maps, and then help a villager clear a washout after a storm. Those small acts — offering medical help, towing a broken tractor, opening a lane for emergency travel — create trust. And that trust is priceless when intelligence matters. (A well-placed tip from a local farmer can sometimes avert a full-scale operation.)
Technology — an honest helper, not a silver bullet
Technology has changed the toolbox. Drones, infrared cameras, sensors and integrated surveillance help shrink the blind spots. They give commanders a picture of movement over a wide area without risking men on treacherous slopes. Yet technology is an assistant, not a replacement: batteries die, sensors give false positives, and weather can cloud a drone’s lens. The most effective deployments combine sensors with local human networks and rapid-response teams on the ground. Recent reporting shows that both state forces and militant groups have experimented with drones — turning them into a contested technology on the frontier.
When things go wrong: operations and the cost of security
Securing borders sometimes requires operations that are both precise and unforgiving. Pakistan’s counter-militant campaigns in recent years — notably Operation Zarb-e-Azb and later Operation Radd-ul-Fasaad — were aimed at dismantling militant sanctuaries, including those close to the Afghan frontier. These campaigns did not occur in a vacuum: they pushed militants from urban to rural backwaters and forced a long, expensive process of clearing, holding, and building. Clearing operations save lives in the long run, but they also bring short-term displacement and disruption that must be managed carefully.
The human cost can be brutal. Patrols ambushed at dawn, roadside bombs in narrow passes, and sudden exchanges along forward posts have all taken lives. Each name on a casualty list represents anxious families and communities that must reorganize. Reporting across the last few years has documented such tragic incidents — reminders that border security is a living, dangerous task, not a project with a tidy end date.
Diplomacy — the border isn’t just military business
No army can secure a border entirely by force. Diplomacy is essential. Pakistan’s engagement with Afghanistan over fencing, outposts and cross-border movement has been fraught and intermittent. Sometimes agreements are made; sometimes they break down. When clashes shut a crossing like Torkham, it isn’t only trade that suffers — children miss school, markets shutter, and hospitals find supply lines stretched. That is why political dialogue, humanitarian sensitivity, and back-channel communications are as important as patrol schedules.
Looking forward: what works, and what still needs work
There are obvious gains. Fencing and surveillance have made simple infiltration harder. Local recruits and scouts have improved situational awareness. Intelligence-led operations have degraded militant capacity in many areas. But challenges remain: harsh terrain, the cost of maintaining long perimeter infrastructure, and the politics of movement in tribal areas.
Sustainable success will depend on three linked things:
- investing in community relationships so locals have reasons to share information and to tolerate checkpoints;
- continuing to integrate technology wisely (so it supports human decision-making rather than replacing it); and
- maintaining diplomatic channels that reduce the risk of flare-ups at key crossings.
A few quiet truths
When the news is quiet, borders are quiet. That is their success. The vanishing of headlines is not the absence of work; it is the presence of sustained, everyday diligence. The soldier who shifts his kit to repair a fence in the rain, the scout who recognizes an unfamiliar footprint, the logistics team that keeps supplies moving through closed passes — these are the people who keep the peace so that others can go about life.
Security in practice is a mosaic of small actions. A single patrol, a functioning sensor, a friendly exchange with a villager — these fragments glue together into something larger: a country that can breathe a little easier day by day.
Final Thoughts
Every country owes quiet debts to the people who guard its edges. In Pakistan’s case, that debt is immense. The men and women of the Pakistan Army who serve on the borders live far from comfort, often in places where the air is thin, the nights stretch endlessly, and the line between safety and danger is only a few metres wide. They don’t seek attention or praise; they simply do the job that must be done so the rest of us can move through our days without fear.
Their discipline has turned some of the harshest terrain on earth into a working shield. From the snowy passes of Chitral to the sand-blown ridges of Balochistan, they build, patrol, and protect — not for glory but out of a sense of duty that runs deeper than orders. Every stretch of wire, every outpost, every weary march adds another layer of security to a nation that relies on their steadiness more than it sometimes realizes.
To speak honestly, the Pakistan Army’s border work is both strength and symbol. It reminds us that security is not a single act of power; it’s a thousand acts of endurance, made quietly by people whose names we may never hear. Their service stands as proof that the safety of a country is written daily, not in speeches, but in the patience, courage, and integrity of those who keep watch when no one is looking.
Pakistan Zindabad, Pak Army Paindabad.