For decades, U.S. policy toward Pakistan has swung between strategic partnership and suspicion. In the early 2000s, Islamabad was a key ally in the so-called War on Terror, receiving billions in military and development aid. By the 2010s, relations soured as Washington accused Pakistan of sheltering militant networks while simultaneously depending on its supply routes into Afghanistan. With the U.S. withdrawal from Kabul in 2021, Pakistan’s value as a frontline state seemed diminished. Yet in 2025, a new phase of U.S. engagement with Pakistan has begun—one driven not by counterterrorism but by minerals. Balochistan, Pakistan’s largest but most restive province, lies at the center of this shift. Beneath its deserts and mountains lie vast deposits of copper, gold, lithium and rare earth elements—resources that have become vital in the global race for electric vehicles, semiconductors and advanced defense technologies. Reko Diq, one of the world’s largest untapped copper-gold reserves, has emerged as the jewel in this contest. The site is controlled by Canadian mining giant Barrick Gold, but Washington is moving quickly to integrate U.S. companies and financing into the project. The Asian Development Bank has pledged more than $400 million to support Reko Diq, while the International Finance Corporation is preparing another major injection of funds. Trump’s return to the political stage has accelerated this turn. His administration has signaled a resource-driven partnership with Pakistan, openly linking security cooperation with access to minerals. The designation of the Baloch Liberation Army as a terrorist organisation has provided Islamabad with cover to intensify repression in Balochistan, while simultaneously making the environment safer for foreign investors. Pakistan’s army chief has reportedly offered mining concessions to U.S. firms, including lithium and rare earth elements, in exchange for political support and investment. Secretary of State Marco Rubio recently underscored U.S. interest in “critical minerals cooperation” with Pakistan, specifically highlighting Reko Diq. For Washington, this shift is also about China. Beijing has invested heavily in Balochistan through the China-Pakistan Economic Corridor, securing port access at Gwadar and controlling mines such as Duddar. U.S. policymakers view Pakistan’s mineral wealth as a way to counter Chinese dominance of global supply chains. By anchoring American firms in Reko Diq and beyond, Washington hopes to weaken China’s grip on rare earth markets. But for the Baloch, both powers appear as colonisers. Pakistan enforces military rule, disappears dissenting voices and clears land for projects. China extracts resources under CPEC while tightening its security footprint. Now the U.S. arrives with promises of investment that for local communities mean further dispossession. The recent arrests of Baloch leaders such as Dr Mahrang Baloch and Bebow Baloch, alongside violent crackdowns on protests in Islamabad, reveal the cost of this alignment: human rights are sacrificed to secure resources. The mineral scramble is not happening in a vacuum. It has the potential to reshape regional geopolitics in several directions. First, Pakistan could attempt to balance U.S. and China by offering concessions to both, turning Balochistan into a zone of dual colonisation. This risks intensifying militarisation, with Islamabad deploying even harsher repression in the province to guarantee “stability” for foreign investors. Second, Washington’s embrace of Islamabad on mineral grounds may complicate India–U.S. ties. New Delhi has long opposed U.S. indulgence of Pakistan’s military establishment. If Washington deepens its partnership with Islamabad over rare earths, it could trigger friction in the Quad, where India is already wary of becoming a junior partner to American strategy. At the same time, India has its own ambitions: New Delhi is actively seeking to secure rare earth supplies for its expanding technology and defense industries. If Pakistan and the U.S. move closer on mineral cooperation, India may respond by strengthening its ties with Baloch diaspora networks, quietly supporting narratives that highlight human rights abuses in Balochistan as a counterweight. Third, China will not retreat easily. Beijing views Gwadar as central to its Belt and Road Initiative, and its access to Balochistan’s mines as part of long-term resource security. If U.S. companies are embedded in Reko Diq while Chinese firms maintain their CPEC foothold, Balochistan could become a flashpoint in a broader U.S.–China proxy rivalry. Finally, the Baloch themselves are the ones left voiceless in these great-power calculations. Their land is auctioned in Washington, Beijing and Islamabad without consent. Their protests are silenced with batons and prisons. Their leaders are tortured and their women dragged through the streets of the capital. As global powers carve out concessions, the Baloch struggle for sovereignty becomes more urgent—and more difficult. The shifting U.S. policy toward Pakistan reveals how resource politics now overrides older frameworks of counterterrorism or aid. Minerals, not militancy, are driving Washington back into Islamabad’s embrace. But this embrace comes at a cost. For the Baloch, it deepens occupation and repression. For India, it raises questions about Washington’s credibility as a strategic partner. For China, it signals an emerging front in the resource war. Balochistan is thus not just a province under siege. It is becoming the crucible where the next phase of South Asia’s geopolitics will be forged—on the backs of a people still fighting for justice, dignity and the right to their own land.