Gwadar’s Silent Runway: The Unfulfilled Promise of Pakistan’s Newest Airport

By IndraStra Global News Team

Cover Image Attribute: Tarmac parking of New Gwadar International Airport

In the coastal city of Gwadar, nestled along the Arabian Sea in Pakistan’s restive southwestern province of Balochistan, a gleaming new symbol of ambition stands starkly quiet. The New Gwadar International Airport, completed in October 2024 at a cost of $240 million—entirely financed by China—remains a mystery. With no passengers, no planes, and an uncertain future, it’s anyone’s guess when this state-of-the-art facility will hum with the activity it was designed for. For now, it sits as a monument to grand plans and simmering discontent, a stark contrast to the impoverished landscape that surrounds it.
The airport is a flagship project of the China-Pakistan Economic Corridor (CPEC), a multibillion-dollar initiative linking China’s western Xinjiang province to Gwadar’s deepwater port. Over the past decade, China has poured investment into Balochistan, envisioning Gwadar as a bustling trade hub that could rival global maritime giants. Pakistani authorities have hailed the airport, with its 400,000-passenger annual capacity, as a transformational leap toward economic prosperity. Yet, for Gwadar’s 90,000 residents, evidence of that transformation remains elusive. The city lacks basic infrastructure—electricity is sourced from neighboring Iran or solar panels rather than Pakistan’s national grid, and clean water is a scarce commodity. For a population grappling with such fundamentals, an international airport feels like a distant priority.
“This airport is not for Pakistan or Gwadar,” asserts Azeem Khalid, an international relations expert specializing in Pakistan-China ties. “It is for China, so they can have secure access for their citizens to Gwadar and Balochistan.” Khalid’s critique reflects a sentiment shared by many locals: that CPEC’s benefits are skewed toward foreign interests rather than the people of Gwadar. The project’s promise of modernization has instead brought heightened security, economic exclusion, and a resurgence of long-standing grievances.

A Region Caught in Conflict

Balochistan, rich in resources and strategically positioned, has been a hotspot of insurgency for over five decades. The CPEC’s ambitious footprint—spanning highways, ports, and now an international airport—has catalyzed a decades-long struggle by separatist groups seeking independence from what they describe as an exploitative Pakistani state. The Baloch Liberation Army (BLA) and other militant factions have targeted both Pakistani forces and Chinese workers, viewing foreign investment as an extension of their marginalization. The Pakistani government denies allegations of systemic discrimination against the ethnic Baloch minority, who claim they are denied opportunities afforded to other parts of the country.
To safeguard China’s investments, Pakistan has transformed Gwadar into a fortress. Checkpoints, barbed wire, and heavily armed troops dominate the cityscape. Roads close unpredictably, often several days a week, to ensure the safe passage of Chinese personnel and Pakistani officials. Intelligence officers shadow journalists, and even the local fish market—a cultural heartbeat of Gwadar—is deemed too sensitive for coverage. For residents like Khuda Bakhsh Hashim, a 76-year-old native, this militarization has stripped away the freedoms of a simpler past. “Nobody used to ask where we are going, what we are doing, and what is your name,” Hashim recalls wistfully. “We used to enjoy all-night picnics in the mountains or rural areas. Now we are asked to prove our identity.”
Hashim’s nostalgia harks back to a time when Gwadar, once part of Oman, was a vibrant stopover for ships bound for Mumbai. Jobs were plentiful, and hunger was rare. Today, drought and overexploitation have dried up water reserves, and work has vanished for many. The government touts CPEC as a job creator, claiming it has generated 2,000 local positions. But ambiguity surrounds the term “local”—are these jobs for Baloch residents or workers from elsewhere in Pakistan? Authorities have offered no clarification, leaving skepticism to fester.

A City on Edge

Gwadar retains a humble charm—its food is renowned, its people warm and talkative, and its beaches draw crowds during holidays. Yet it struggles to shake a reputation as dangerous or inaccessible. The city’s existing domestic airport offers just one commercial route—three weekly flights to Karachi, hundreds of miles away—while connections to Balochistan’s capital, Quetta, or the national capital, Islamabad, remain absent. A scenic coastal highway, though picturesque, lacks basic amenities, further isolating the region.
The Baloch insurgency has left deep scars. Since its eruption five decades ago, thousands have disappeared, often suspected of ties to armed groups, according to locals and activists who allege forced abductions and torture—charges the government refutes. The unease is palpable. Hashim, like many, wants CPEC to deliver jobs and hope, particularly for Gwadar’s youth. “When someone has something to eat, then why would he choose to go on the wrong path?” he asks. “It is not a good thing to upset people.” Yet the violence persists. After a lull in the late 2010s, attacks surged following the Pakistani Taliban’s ceasefire collapse in 2022, emboldening groups like the BLA.

An Inauguration in Limbo

Security fears have cast a long shadow over the New Gwadar International Airport’s launch. Its proximity to mountainous terrain—ideal for militant ambushes—prompted multiple delays. Instead of a grand public opening, Pakistani Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif and Chinese Premier Li Qiang opted for a virtual ceremony in October 2024. The inaugural flight, a symbolic gesture, was closed to media and onlookers, underscoring the climate of caution.
Local leaders like Abdul Ghafoor Hoth, district president of the Balochistan Awami Party, decry the lack of inclusion. “Not a single resident of Gwadar was hired to work at the airport, not even as a watchman,” Hoth says. “Forget the other jobs—how many Baloch people are at this port that was built for CPEC?” His frustration echoes a broader critique: without local labor or services, CPEC’s economic benefits bypass the very community it claims to uplift. In December, Hoth led 47 days of protests over Gwadar’s dire living conditions, securing promises of better electricity and water access. Two months later, those pledges remain unfulfilled.

A Divisive Legacy

For China, the airport represents a strategic foothold—a secure gateway to Balochistan’s resources and the Arabian Sea. For Pakistan’s government, it’s a symbol of progress and international partnership. But for Gwadar’s residents, it’s a reminder of exclusion and unkept promises. Azeem Khalid warns that the heavy-handed security apparatus accompanying Chinese investment has deepened mistrust. “The Pakistani government is not willing to give anything to the Baloch people, and the Baloch are not willing to take anything from the government,” he says.
As the New Gwadar International Airport stands idle, its runways silent, it encapsulates the paradox of CPEC: a vision of connectivity and growth mired in conflict and alienation. For now, Gwadar waits—caught between the aspirations of distant capitals and the realities of a restless province, where the promise of prosperity remains just out of reach.

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