Pakistan is having difficulty making peace with its Islamist radicals, but is determined not to repeat the mistakes of last year's "war on extremism", writes Graham Usher in Peshawar Pakistan's new policy of negotiating -- rather than fighting -- with its Islamist opponents is coming under strain. On 28 June a military operation was launched against sundry Islamist militia who had overrun Khyber, one of seven tribal agencies that on Pakistan's North West border with Afghanistan. On 6 July, the anniversary of the bloody siege of Islamabad's Red Mosque, a suicide bomber again struck in the capital, killing 19, most of them policemen. It's not clear if there was any link between the operation and the attack, nor what the government's response will be. But most Pakistanis hope it will persevere with peace, precisely because of the Red Mosque. The bombing came at the end of a rally in which thousands had amassed outside the "shrine" to pay homage to those who had died there. Last July, President Pervez Musharraf had ordered commandos to wrest back control of a mosque that had fallen to alliance of pro-Taliban clerics, radicalised seminary students and armed militants inspired by Al-Qaeda. At least 103 were killed in the raid, mostly students. Not surprisingly the loudest cry at the rally was for vengeance. And one man took it as his vocation. As the other protesters dispersed, he ran into a throng of police officers and detonated. Aside from the dead, 40 were injured, many grievously. No outfit has claimed responsibility. But police suspect the bomber may have been a seminary student at the Red Mosque. Musharraf had moved against the complex after it had become a direct and armed challenge to the state. From within its strawberry coloured walls "moral vice squads" were dispatched to raid brothels, trash DVD stores and "punish" any behaviour deemed un-Islamic. A similar "Talibanisation" had taken root in Khyber. Different militia had overthrown the state authorities there and established their own fiefdom. Within the agency this meant trucks and other commerce were held for "taxes" on the main road between Pakistan and Kabul: a worrying toll for Washington and other Western capitals since the Khyber Pass freights 80 per cent of all NATO supplies in Afghanistan. Beyond it, longhaired, armed vigilantes motored into Peshawar, a mere 10 kilometres from Khyber: "Islamic" courts were held, barbers were warned not to shave beards and the rich were extorted for ransom, usually by abductions. On 21 June, 16 Pakistani Christians were kidnapped, allegedly for "immoral behaviour" (they were attending a wedding). This happened in the heart of Peshawar's plushest district, a stone's throw from its 60,000 strong garrison. Like last year, the government came under enormous local and international pressure to act. And, like last year, it acted. But that is where the resemblance ends. In 2007 Musharraf went in with all guns blazing. This not only guaranteed that the innocent were slain along with the guilty. It unleashed a wave of retaliation that, by the end of the year, had claimed 1,000 lives, including Benazir Bhutto, a former prime minister. By contrast the Khyber operation was a measured show of strength. Five thousand paramilitaries were mobilised, together with tanks and helicopters, but with enough forewarning that the militants could flee to the Afghan border. The result was that the army retook Khyber with barely a shot being fired. In a weeklong operation only nine people were killed, including eight from a self-inflicted explosion. By 5 July, the militia commanders sued for peace and negotiations begun. The basic trade is that an amnesty will be granted if the militiamen recognise the authority of the state, not only in Peshawar but also in Khyber. There was also a difference in the way the two operations were received. Virtually overnight the dead at the Red Mosque became "martyrs", not only in Pakistan but throughout the Muslim world. Osama bin Laden claimed them as his "warriors" (an appropriation that may or may not have been accurate), and urged Muslims everywhere to exact their revenge. No one is likely to claim the Khyber warlords, not even bin Laden. No sooner had the Red Mosque blast happened than they were at pains to dissociate themselves from it. Even Pakistan Taliban leader Baitullah Mehsud, the man Musharraf says killed Bhutto, is deemed an unlikely suspect. His initial reaction to Khyber operation was to suspend negotiations with the government, fearing it was a rehearsal for an attack on his own tribal redoubt in South Waziristan. Negotiations have since resumed. Few analysts think he would jeopardise them with a high- profile attack like the Red Mosque bombing. Most think the killers are one or other of Pakistan's sectarian outfits. These are the most aligned with Al-Qaeda and most likely to act on bin Laden's directives. Their unusually visible presence at the rally adds grist to this theory. Many Pakistanis viewed the Khyber operation with ambivalence. Some welcomed it as a belated assertion of governmental authority. A minority condemned it, saying the Islamists were "good men" acting against "murderers and blackmailers". But most shrugged their shoulders. "It's a show put on for the Americans," said one man in Peshawar. So was the assault on the Red Mosque last year. The difference is that the Khyber show has so far been performed with some effect and without a bloodbath. In Pakistan's tenacious, complex struggle with Islamic militancy that is no small feat.
