Pakistan Is a Terror State—End the Illusion of Diplomacy

It was supposed to be a peaceful day in Pahalgam. A group of families had just finished their evening tea, kids were laughing in the backseat of shared taxis, couples were admiring the pine trees and the quiet hum of the Lidder river. And then—it was all gone. Just like that. Screams replaced laughter. Smoke replaced sunlight. And 26 Indians lay dead on a road that now carried more blood than rainwater.

The silence that followed wasn’t peace. It was the kind that wraps itself around grief. The kind that only the families of those victims understand—the silence of a ringing phone that never gets answered again. The silence of parents waiting for a child who won’t come home.

What do you say to a mother who sent her son on vacation and received a coffin in return?

What do you tell a child who now associates mountain views with gunfire?

Let’s stop pretending we’re dealing with humans on the other side. Let’s stop pretending that diplomacy can bandage this kind of loss. This isn’t politics. This is pain. And it's time we stop masking our wounds with politeness.
Every time India bleeds, we know who’s behind it. And yet, we hesitate. We soften our language. We dilute the truth. We call them “non-state actors.” We say “cross-border elements.” We issue formal statements and go back to business as usual.

But behind every bullet fired in Uri, every bomb planted in Mumbai, every ambush in Pulwama, is the same hand. The same network. The same agenda. And that hand belongs to Pakistan.

These aren’t just rogue terror groups. They are well-oiled machines, trained by the ISI, armed by Pakistan’s military, and cheered by its politicians. They don’t just cross borders—they carry state approval like a badge of honor.

We’ve always known this. The world knows it too. But we’re the only ones pretending it’s not a state-sponsored killing spree.

And in our attempt to stay diplomatic, we’ve become complicit in our own destruction.
Let’s call out the hypocrisy for what it is.

If 26 white tourists were gunned down in the French Alps, the entire world would’ve come to a halt. Newsrooms would’ve gone into overdrive. Countries would’ve declared national mourning. Flags at the UN would fly half-mast.

But when Indians die—especially in Kashmir—the world offers us press releases and pity. Nothing more.

How long are we going to accept this? How many more bodies need to fall before Indian pain is considered global pain? Before brown blood matters?

They tell us to stay calm, act mature, show restraint. But tell me—what part of maturity involves watching your citizens be butchered while you continue to talk peace?
When you think of Kashmir, you should think of the brave soldiers who patrol in snow that could freeze your soul. You should think of families who refuse to leave despite years of bloodshed. You should think of children who know the sound of gunfire better than lullabies.

But Pakistan doesn’t see that. For them, Kashmir is a tool. A project. A pawn.

They don’t want Kashmir for its land—they want it to bleed so their own people forget their hunger. So their crumbling economy gets a scapegoat. So their politicians can scream "India" every time someone in Karachi asks, “Where’s our future?”

Pakistan doesn’t want peace in Kashmir. Peace would kill their narrative. Peace would demand accountability. And so, every time we try to heal, they inject more poison.

Pahalgam wasn’t an exception. It was a continuation.
India struck back. Precision airstrikes. Militant camps reduced to ash. But what next?

Will it stop them from sending more? Will it stop them from smiling during our funerals?

The answer is no. Because we’re still playing by rules they don’t respect.

A nation that finances terror doesn’t flinch at a warning. It laughs at one. What we need isn’t a reaction. We need a red line—a line that says, the next drop of Indian blood will cost you more than you can pay.

And this time, we need to mean it.
Why are we still giving them visas? Why do we still shake their hands on international stages? Why are we playing cricket with a country that sends bullets instead of bowlers?

This isn’t strategy. This is surrender with a silk ribbon on top.

It’s time to rip that ribbon apart. Name them. Shame them. Cut them off.

Declare them a terrorist state. Urge every ally we’ve stood by—be it France, Israel, Japan, or the US—to stand by us now. Push for sanctions. End trade. Dismantle any illusion of normalcy.

Because there is nothing normal about watching your people die and still calling the killers “neighbors.”
India’s public has changed. We’re no longer content with candlelight vigils. We want fire. We want a country that defends us with every ounce of its strength, not just with words on a podium.

When we scroll through Instagram and see the faces of the victims from Pahalgam, we don’t want hashtags. We want consequences.

We want to see the people who trained those terrorists live in fear of what we’ll do next. We want to stop playing the victim. We want justice that burns.

And if our government won’t deliver it, trust me—we’ll ask louder next time. Because we’re not numb anymore. We’re awake.
There’s no grey area here.

Pakistan has made hate its national identity. Their schoolbooks preach it. Their news channels celebrate it. Their politicians thrive on it. Every time a bomb goes off in India, someone in Pakistan raises a toast.

And we sit at tables with them? We trade sweet smiles and business proposals while they bury IEDs under our roads?

Enough.

We don’t owe them peace talks. We owe our dead peace of mind.

And that peace won’t come from compromise. It’ll come from clarity. From the courage to say: you are not a friend, not a neighbor, not even an adversary. You are the enemy. And we will treat you like one.
This article isn’t just rage. It’s a promise. That every soul lost in Pahalgam, in Pulwama, in Pathankot—will be remembered not with silence, but with strength.

That every mother who cried will one day know her country avenged her child.
That every soldier who fell will know that the flag he died for still stands tall—not bowed, not broken, but burning with purpose.
We don’t want more eulogies. We want to make sure we never have to write another one again.
This Time, We Say It Out Loud
This time, let the world hear it without filters, without diplomacy, without delay.

Pakistan is a terror state.
They don’t deserve a seat at the table.
They deserve to be isolated, exposed, and held accountable.

We’re done being the grieving, polite nation.

We are 1.4 billion voices. And when we roar, the world must listen.

Because we are not the victims anymore.

We are the verdict.

Jai Hind. And never again.

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