Curbing extremism has proved to be Pakistan’s biggest nightmare. After nudged from its slumber by attack on the Army Public School, Peshawar, the state has finally pledged to take on the issue head on, as is reflective from the Operation Zarb-e-Azb which has been quite successful so far. But the nagging question is whether the state has been paying sufficient attention to rooting out the scourge of extremism. It is worth mentioning here that extremism is the degeneration of minds to an extreme pole because of a plethora of factors, which include poverty, lack of justice, narrow interpretation of religion, lack of political representation, violence etc. It implies that there are various triggers invoking extremism, therefore, it should be understood by those who want to cure it that its scope is wide. Moreover, there is a need to understand that extremism is the disease of minds, the solution of which lies not merely in having an eye on all those triggers that cause it. Though a host of measures have been highlighted in the National Action Plan (NAP) to curb extremism, which are quite worth following — like the reforms in FATA, the 12th point of the plan, and registration of madrassas — but a brief overview of the NAP suggests that the government has hardly been able to come to terms with extremism. And that it has been trying to cure the disease of minds — extremism — solely through the barrel of gun instead of going for holistic measures like education for all, reforms in FATA, and registration of madrassas. For lack of full attention to root out extremism, there are still breeding grounds in every nook and corner of the country. People of FATA, after the rendering of their sacrifices, face government’s negligence towards their political, social, and economic needs, and last but not the least, their administrative concerns with respect to the Frontier Crimes Regulation Act (FCR), which is a colonial construct and a parochial law regulating FATA, depriving the region of its fundamental rights. Government needs to implement all the measures that it had pledged in the NAP, especially its commitment in respect to reforms in FATA. It is pertinent to mention here that according to the Articles One and Two of the Constitution of 1973, FATA is a part of Pakistan. However, according to the Articles 51, 59 and 247, FATA comes under the direct executive of the president, which has robbed people of FATA from having any say in mainstream politics. Articles 8-28 of the 1973 Constitution of Pakistan deal with the fundamental rights of Pakistani citizens. If these rights are violated, the judiciary takes action, but in the case of FATA, nobody can claim these fundamental rights, as the courts have no jurisdiction in FATA. This major issue needs to be sorted out through the abolition of the FCR. Whereas the state has been scrambling from pillar to post to beat extremism and has been currently basking in its euphoria of winning the war militarily, government needs to go for soul-searching when there are teenagers like Barkatullah from FATA, whose story reminds us to what extent the government has succeeded in its fight against extremism. Barkatullah is a 15-year-old madrassa student who hails from the North Waziristan. He is a resident of Spalga, which is at the distance of 15 kilometres from Meeran Shah. His father is a car dealer, and he has three sisters and five brothers. I met him at the Bannu camp for the internally displaced people from North Waziristan after the Pakistan army launched the Operation Zarb-e-Azab against the Taliban in the area; as a result, a great number of people were displaced. Barkatullah had a very innocent face. I asked him in Urdu what his name was, but I thought that he might not understand because whomever I had talked to, nobody could understand, let alone speak, Urdu, but to my utter surprise, he replied, “My name is Barkatullah.” This made me quite happy as I now had someone whom I could interview. As I started a conversation with Barkatullah, I came to know that he was, presently, a student at a religious seminary being run by Hakimullah at Qundaroo in Mohmand Agency, and had been studying there for the last few years. At the time of our meeting, his seminary was closed because of holidays. He told me that while he was on his way back home, he was informed that all the people of his area had moved because of the army operation, and therefore, he had come to the camp to locate his family members. Barkatullah’s story intrigued me, and made me a bit worried whether he would be able to locate his family members; if he did not, what would his future be — whether he would become a capable citizen of society, and whether the state would own him like a family member and cater to his fundamental rights. I asked him what he was being taught in the seminary. His immediate response: “Training.” His reply caught me by surprise, rendering me at a loss of words as to how to proceed with my questions, but then I asked him what he was being trained in. He instantaneously replied in such a manner as if he had guessed my curiosity for asking that question. He said that they were being taught how to fire machine guns. My curiosity made me ask him the next question: “Who trains you? He abruptly replied that they were being trained by the Taliban. He told me that they, in total, were 600 students in the seminary, and that they were being trained not in the seminary but somewhere else where guns were in abundance. Barkatullah also talked to me about their daily schedule. According to him, in the seminary they slept after offering isha prayer and woke up for fajr prayer early in the morning. This was followed by one hour of studying and one hour of training. The same schedule was followed in the evening. Deeply concerned about his age, which, to me, was the age when he should be studying, I could not help asking Barkatullah why he decided to take the dangerous training when he should have been in a regular school studying and playing. He retorted with a sense of justification that America was their biggest enemy and they were being trained to defeat America. This is what he was being taught by those who indoctrinated and trained him. Receiving such a response from an innocent, naive youth shattered me. I tried to convey to him that even if someone was our enemy, we had our soldiers to protect us even at the cost of their lives. At last, I tried to persuade him in a transactional way that if he were to be admitted in school and be provided with accommodation and healthy food, would he stop being a part of the training? He answer was emphatic: “Yes.” The story of Barkatullah is not a single case in point. There are many Barkatullahs who have been forced to take the line of the Taliban and other militants because of government’s negligence. According to the Article 25 of the 1973 Constitution of Pakistan, the state is obliged to provide primary education to every child; in the case of Barkatullah the state has failed to fulfill its responsibility. It is the responsibility of the state, civil society and society at large to give a great deal of thought to the issue that has been highlighted in the story of Barkatullah. Collectively, it needs to be figured out why a teenager like Barkatullah thinks the way he does. Had he been given education, he might have been leading a different life with a different mindset, focused on being a positive member of society instead of taking up ‘jihad’ against his perceived enemy. Barkatullah’s story also propels us to retrospect about the gun culture that the state nurtured during General Zia-ul-Haq’s era in an attempt to oust the Soviets from Afghanistan through a war sponsored by the United States. By objectively observing the case story of Barkatullah, I sometimes shudder at the prospect of unmentionable consequences for the coming generation if the state leaves the issue in limbo. The writer is an anchorperson at Business Plus