© IE Online Media Services Pvt Ltd
Tags:
Journalism of Courage
In the summer of 1999, India and Pakistan fought a short but intense war in the Kargil mountains. The conflict broke out just a few months after both sides had agreed to resume peace talks after signing the Lahore Declaration. Pakistan’s infiltration across the LoC was bold, secretive, and ultimately disastrous. The operation was spearheaded by units from Pakistan’s Northern Light Infantry, who crossed into Indian territory during winter and occupied strategic heights that were usually left unmanned during the harsh cold months.
The intrusion was kept secret from the world, and even from many within Pakistan. It was passed off as an act by Kashmiri militants, though it was a military operation planned and executed by the Pakistan Army. When the snow melted and the Indian army discovered the intrusion, a two-month-long military operation ensued to repel the infiltrators. The world watched with bated breath, aware that both countries had tested nuclear weapons the year before.
But a basic question has remained unanswered: Why did Pakistan embark on such a reckless gamble? The answer lies not just in what happened in the mountains, but in the larger political and military thinking in Pakistan at the time. When viewed through the lens of realism, this thinking becomes more comprehensible.
One of the main ideas used to explain war is realism, which views international politics as a game of power among self-interested states. In this worldview, survival comes first, and power is the means to secure it. States must rely on themselves. When one state becomes stronger, others feel threatened and seek ways to protect themselves.
This logic has shaped how Pakistan’s military sees its security. The 1971 war, which split the country and led to the loss of East Pakistan, left a lasting impact. Since then, Pakistan has watched India expand its conventional strength. The gap widened after India opened its economy in the 1990s.
The 1998 nuclear tests changed the equation. With both sides now armed, Pakistan assumed nuclear deterrence would prevent full-scale war, allowing for small-scale military action without provoking a major retaliation. This thinking follows what scholars call the “stability-instability paradox” – the idea that nuclear balance at the top makes lower-level conflict seem more manageable.
Kargil was shaped by this logic. In early 1999, when Indian troops left some high-altitude posts due to the harsh weather, Pakistan saw this as an opportunity. Its army quietly moved in, hoping to create military and diplomatic pressure, push India to negotiate, and draw international attention to Kashmir. The belief was that the conflict would remain localised and not escalate.
It was a risky attempt to change the status quo on the ground. But it rested on a miscalculation. Pakistan assumed India would avoid escalation, fearing that pushing too far might trigger a nuclear response. That turned out to be wrong. India responded forcefully. Most countries backed India, including the United States, which was already wary of Pakistan’s ties to armed groups. What Pakistan thought was a bold strategy ended up as a major diplomatic disaster.
To understand why Pakistan undertook such a risky operation, it is necessary to examine the dynamics within Pakistan. While realism explains the external logic, the deeper reasons lie in Pakistan’s internal power structure. The military, not elected leaders, controls national security decisions. General Pervez Musharraf, then army chief, planned and carried out the Kargil operation without involving the civilian government. Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif was reportedly unaware of the full plan until it was already in motion.
This reflects a long-standing pattern. The military has long considered itself the guardian of national ideology. Its institutional culture is steeped in the belief that it alone can safeguard Pakistan’s interests, especially against India. Over time, this self-image has fostered a command system that acts independently, often at odds with the country’s elected leadership.
A successful military operation in Kargil could have achieved multiple objectives for the army. It could have derailed peace talks, weakened civilian authority, and reinforced the military’s control over foreign policy. This also aligns with the idea of a diversionary war, where external conflict is used to distract from internal instability or consolidate power. Whether Kargil was intended as such is debatable, but the outcome certainly shifted the domestic balance in favour of the military. Within months, Musharraf ousted Nawaz Sharif in a coup and took control.
Power balances and military planning explain much of Pakistan’s actions, but they don’t tell the full story. Kargil was not just a tactical operation. It was also shaped by how Pakistan sees itself, how it views India, and how it interprets its own history. In international politics, constructivist thinkers argue that ideas and identity shape state behaviour, sometimes more than calculations of power.
In Pakistan’s case, this is clear. Its military has long viewed India as a permanent threat and Kashmir as a mission left unfinished since Partition. This belief runs deep. For many in the military, Kargil was part of a larger struggle that includes the wars of 1947, 1965, and 1971. The idea that Kashmir is Pakistan’s “jugular vein” has been repeated across generations, from Zulfikar Ali Bhutto to General Asim Munir. It is a belief woven into textbooks, media narratives and political rhetoric.
For Pakistan’s political elite, especially the military establishment, Kashmir is not just a territory. It is a symbol of Pakistan’s ideological foundation as a homeland for the Muslims of the subcontinent. The Kargil operation was framed as a “freedom struggle” led by Kashmiri mujahideen – an effort to shape an international narrative using the language of resistance and self-determination and justify its actions.
However, this narrative collapsed under scrutiny. Satellite images, captured prisoners, and mounting casualties revealed that the intruders were not local militants but regular soldiers. The global community was not deceived. Instead of garnering sympathy, Pakistan faced sharp criticism even from its friends and allies.
In the end, the Kargil operation failed on all fronts. It did not bring India to the negotiating table. Pakistan’s claim that it was a freedom struggle found few takers. Most countries saw it for what it was – an act of aggression. Even close allies like China and Saudi Arabia did not support the move. The biggest setback came from the United States. In July, Nawaz Sharif met President Bill Clinton in Washington, who made it clear that Pakistan had to withdraw unconditionally from Kargil. Soon after, Pakistani forces began to pull back. By the end of July, the conflict was over.
From a realist perspective, the operation made little strategic sense. The costs were high. Pakistan didn’t just lose soldiers and equipment. It also faced diplomatic isolation and severe reputational damage. India reclaimed most of the lost territory. Politically, Pakistan was left vulnerable. At home, the civilian leadership lost control, and the military’s credibility suffered a significant blow when details of the operation became public.
The bigger failure was in planning. Tactical advances on the ground were not backed by a long-term political strategy. There was no clear idea of what to do after occupying the heights. This exposed serious flaws in Pakistan’s strategic thinking.
The central miscalculation was nuclear deterrence. Pakistan assumed that its nuclear weapons would prevent India from responding forcefully. That belief was tested and proved wrong. India pushed back without crossing the nuclear threshold. Kargil ultimately demonstrated that even between nuclear powers, limited wars are possible when one side misreads the risks.
Kargil remains a sharp reminder of what can go wrong when military ambition, weak civilian oversight, and national identity mix without restraint. For Pakistan, it exposed the dangers of planning a war in secret, without broader political or institutional checks. It showed that short-term gains on the battlefield can lead to long-term setbacks. It also proved that having nuclear weapons does not give a free hand to take reckless action. What initially appeared to be a bold move ultimately ended in failure and isolation.
For India, the conflict revealed serious gaps in intelligence and early warning systems. But it also showed India’s ability to respond quickly, with both force and diplomacy, once the crisis began.
Twenty-six years later, the scars of Kargil have not faded. Not just in the bunkers and memorials, but in the questions that were never fully answered. Questions about who decides when to go to war, how countries read power, and why they sometimes walk into traps of their own making.
How does the idea of realism, which views international politics as a game of power among self-interested states, explain Pakistan’s Kargil operation?
How does Pakistan’s internal power structure explain the decision to carry out the Kargil operation?
In international politics, constructivist thinkers argue that ideas and identity shape state behaviour, sometimes more than calculations of power. Evaluate Pakistan’s Kargil operation through the constructivist lens.
Pakistan assumed that its nuclear weapons would prevent India from responding forcefully. But how did India’s response challenge the assumptions about the nuclear threshold?
Kargil remains a sharp reminder of what can go wrong when military ambition, weak civilian oversight, and national identity mix without restraint. Comment.
(The author is a Professor at MMAJ Academy of International Studies, Jamia Millia Islamia, New Delhi.)
Share your thoughts and ideas on UPSC Special articles with ashiya.parveen@indianexpress.com.
Subscribe to our UPSC newsletter and stay updated with the news cues from the past week.
Stay updated with the latest UPSC articles by joining our Telegram channel – IndianExpress UPSC Hub, and follow us on Instagram and X.
