Pakistan is not merely a troubled democracy with an overbearing army. It is, in effect, a militarised state whose institutions, economy and national identity are shaped by permanent confrontation.

Nowhere is this more dangerous than in its posture towards its neighbours, particularly India, but the implications extend far beyond South Asia. For Europe, which continues to grant Pakistan privileged trade access under the EU’s GSP+ scheme, the question is no longer academic: should a state so deeply wedded to militarism, coercion and proxy warfare continue to be rewarded?

At the core of Pakistan’s strategic culture lies the dominance of its armed forces. Since 1947, the military has defined the nation’s priorities, intervening directly through coups or indirectly through pliant civilian governments. Defence spending remains sacrosanct even as the economy falters, public services collapse and social cohesion frays. The army’s self-assigned role as guardian of the state has evolved into something more pernicious: the driver of a perpetual security crisis that justifies its own supremacy.

This militarisation is not defensive. Pakistan’s force posture, training doctrine and procurement priorities are explicitly geared towards confrontation with India. The obsession with “strategic parity” has produced an aggressive military mindset, one that views escalation as a tool rather than a risk. Forward-deployed troops along the Line of Control, frequent ceasefire violations, and the rapid mobilisation of armoured and missile forces are not aberrations; they are features of a doctrine designed to keep the region permanently on edge.

Most alarming is Pakistan’s approach to nuclear weapons. Islamabad has developed one of the world’s fastest-growing nuclear arsenals, including short-range tactical nuclear weapons explicitly intended for battlefield use. This lowers the nuclear threshold and introduces an extraordinary level of instability into any potential conflict. While Western analysts once hoped Pakistan’s nuclear deterrent would encourage restraint, the opposite has occurred: the shield of nuclear escalation has emboldened conventional aggression and proxy warfare under the assumption that adversaries will hesitate to respond forcefully.

This calculation has driven Pakistan’s long-standing reliance on non-state armed groups as instruments of policy. Militants are not a fringe phenomenon but an integrated component of Pakistan’s security architecture. Groups targeting Indian-administered Kashmir, Afghan forces, or sectarian minorities have operated for decades with varying degrees of official tolerance. Training camps may be rebranded, leaders placed under nominal house arrest, but the infrastructure endures.

The consequences have been devastating. India has borne the brunt, facing repeated terrorist attacks linked to Pakistan-based organisations. Each crisis risks spiralling into interstate conflict, as seen in the Balakot airstrikes and subsequent aerial engagements. That such confrontations have so far been contained owes more to luck than design. A misjudged strike, an uncontrolled militant attack, or a false assumption about the other side’s red lines could trigger a catastrophic escalation between two nuclear-armed states.

Pakistan’s militarisation also destabilises Afghanistan. For years, Taliban leaders were trained, sheltered and indoctrinated within Pakistan’s borders, often in madrassa networks aligned with hardline Islamist ideology. These institutions functioned not only as religious schools but as strategic assets, producing fighters and commanders who would shape the Taliban’s insurgency. When Western forces withdrew, it was Pakistan’s long-nurtured proxies who stepped into power.

This strategy has rebounded internally. Radicalisation, once viewed as a tool to be exported, has metastasised within Pakistan itself. Armed Islamist groups increasingly challenge the state, attacking military installations and security personnel. The line between “useful” militants and enemies of the state has blurred, exposing the inherent flaw in Pakistan’s approach: militarised extremism cannot be controlled indefinitely.

Human rights abuses are inseparable from this security model. A state organised around military dominance inevitably suppresses dissent. Pakistan’s record is grim: enforced disappearances in Balochistan, mass arrests of political opponents, military trials of civilians, and systematic intimidation of journalists. Entire regions are treated as security zones rather than communities of citizens. Minority groups are routinely scapegoated as internal threats, reinforcing a siege mentality that justifies further repression.

Europe’s continued engagement with Pakistan through GSP+ must be viewed through this lens. The scheme is intended to incentivise adherence to international norms, including human rights and good governance. Yet Pakistan’s security-driven governance model directly contradicts these principles. The military’s economic footprint – from construction to agribusiness – means that preferential trade often benefits the very institutions responsible for repression and regional instability.

Supporters of maintaining GSP+ status argue that economic pressure would be counterproductive, pushing Pakistan further into isolation. This argument ignores the reality that Pakistan has already chosen its path. Despite years of engagement, conditional aid and diplomatic indulgence, its military doctrine remains unchanged. Strategic hostility towards neighbours, reliance on proxies, and suppression of internal opposition continue unabated.

From a European security perspective, this matters. Pakistan is not a distant problem. Its instability fuels migration pressures, transnational radical networks and global terrorism. Its nuclear posture presents a proliferation risk in a volatile region. Its example – that militarisation and coercion can coexist with preferential access to Western markets – undermines Europe’s credibility as a security actor committed to rules and restraint.

India, meanwhile, has been forced to adapt its own defence posture in response. Increased military spending, doctrinal shifts towards rapid retaliation, and closer alignment with Western partners are direct consequences of Pakistan’s behaviour. Europe may wish to remain neutral in South Asia’s rivalries, but neutrality does not require blindness. One side has repeatedly used force and proxies as policy tools; the other has largely responded defensively.

The question for Brussels is no longer whether Pakistan meets the technical criteria for GSP+, but whether Europe is prepared to acknowledge the strategic reality. A heavily militarised state, wedded to confrontation and ideological radicalisation, poses risks that extend well beyond trade balances. Conditioning market access on genuine demilitarisation, transparency and the dismantling of militant networks would not be punitive; it would be prudent.

Pakistan often insists that it is misunderstood, that its security posture is a response to external threats. Yet decades of policy have shown that militarisation has not delivered stability, prosperity or safety – only perpetual crisis. Europe cannot fix Pakistan’s internal contradictions, but it can stop subsidising them.

For a continent that speaks increasingly of strategic autonomy and defence credibility, continuing to reward one of Asia’s most destabilising military actors is a contradiction too far. Security policy is not only about tanks and treaties; it is about incentives. And for too long, Pakistan’s generals have been given every incentive to carry on exactly as they are.

If Europe is serious about security, it must start acting like it.

Main Image: By SyedNaqvi90 at English Wikipedia, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=32511123

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