By Muhammad Mohsin Iqbal
When Pakistan, alongside several Islamic nations, affixed its signature to the agreement at Davos to join the Peace Board for the reconstruction of Gaza, in the presence of the President of the United States, a wave of criticism arose from various quarters. Some questioned the necessity of such a forum, arguing that the United Nations already exists for purposes of peacekeeping and reconstruction. Others suspected hidden motives or feared diplomatic entanglements. Yet those who study history with sobriety rather than sentiment understand that participation in such a platform is neither naïve compliance nor symbolic alignment; it is a calculated engagement shaped by memory, experience, and vigilance.
Pakistan, in particular, does not approach international commitments with historical amnesia. Its leadership—civil and military alike—remains acutely conscious of past tragedies in which lofty assurances of international protection dissolved into silence at the decisive hour. The present global attention upon Pakistan, and upon the leadership of its armed forces, is not without reason. Pakistan has long contributed to United Nations peacekeeping missions across continents. It knows both the nobility of peacekeeping and the perils of misplaced reliance. This balanced awareness shapes its current stance: engaging without being misled, working together while staying alert. The memory of Bosnia stands as a solemn testament to why caution must accompany every promise of protection.
In July 1995, in the town of Srebrenica—declared a “safe area” by the United Nations—the world witnessed one of the darkest chapters of post–Second World War Europe. The enclave had been placed under the protection of Dutch peacekeepers, operating as part of the United Nations Protection Force (UNPROFOR). This force, established in 1992, was tasked with ensuring peace and security during the Yugoslav Wars, particularly in Bosnia and Croatia. Its responsibilities included monitoring zones of separation and weapons control points, as well as overseeing weapons exclusion zones. The mandate was clear in language, yet ambiguous in execution.
The Dutch battalion was tasked with safeguarding tens of thousands of Bosnian Muslim civilians who had sought refuge from advancing Serb forces. On the evening before the catastrophe, a photograph was taken that would later become emblematic of tragic irony: the Dutch UN commander, Lieutenant Colonel Thom Karremans, raising a glass in conversation with General Ratko Mladić, the Serb military commander. Diplomacy, in that fleeting moment, seemed to prevail over hostility. Assurances were exchanged. Confidence was projected. Yet beneath the veneer of negotiation lay a calculated design. Earlier, Bosnian Muslim defenders within Srebrenica had managed, despite limited resources, to resist repeated assaults.
However, under international pressure and in deference to the promise of UN protection, they were urged to surrender their weapons. Commander Karremans assured them that the United Nations would ensure their safety. Trusting in the credibility of the international community, many complied. Arms were laid down. Defensive positions were relinquished. The population believed that the blue helmets symbolized an inviolable shield. At dawn, the illusion shattered. Serb forces entered Srebrenica with methodical precision. Appeals for NATO air support were delayed and diluted. Limited airstrikes, when finally authorised, proved insufficient and were soon halted under threat to UN personnel. At that moment, the Dutch peacekeepers chose not to resist with force.
Instead, they supervised the separation of men and boys from women and children under the guise of “screening.” In heartbreaking scenes, families were split apart right before the eyes of those meant to protect them. Over the next four days, more than eight thousand Bosnian Muslim men and boys were systematically executed. Mass graves were filled in secrecy and later exhumed in sorrow. The massacre of Srebrenica was not a sudden frenzy but a calculated campaign of extermination carried out in the presence of an international force that neither intervened decisively nor prevented the unfolding atrocity. Subsequent investigations and judicial proceedings would recognise it as genocide.
(The writer is a seasoned parliamentary expert with over two decades of experience in legislative research and media affairs, leading policy support initiatives for lawmakers on complex national and international issues, and can be reached at editorial@metro-Morning.com)
