Women Fighters And The New Face Of The Baloch Insurgency

The Balochistan Liberation Army (BLA) launched what analysts describe as its most expansive operation in decades on January 30, with its fighters attacking military and government installations at nearly 48 locations across 14 cities, including the provincial capital, Quetta. For almost a week, the Pakistan Army struggled to regain control, even as it declared its “clearance operations” had concluded on February 5, while local media reports stated that BLA fighters continued to maintain control over several arterial roads.

While the scale and intensity of the attack red-faced Pakistan’s intelligence and security grid, the most consequential shift was not tactical but social, with women visible on the front lines, carrying rifles, addressing cameras and, in several cases, conducting suicide attacks. Their presence signals a transformation of the Baloch insurgency from a predominantly male guerrilla movement into a broader societal revolt.

The BLA has identified three of the four suicide attackers as women. They include 24-year-old Asifa Mengal, who struck the Counter Terrorism Department (which functions as ISI’s field offices) headquarters in Noshki; 21-year-old Hawa Baloch alias Dorshum, who targeted security forces in Gwadar; and 60-year-old Hatam Naz Sumalani alias Gul Bibi. In video footage released by the group’s media wing, Hakkal, Ghazi Dur Jan Baloch, described as a commando of its Fateh Squad, is shown speaking calmly from a battlefield before being extracted after three days of fighting on the frontline. In another widely circulating video clip, 29-year-old Yasma Baloch alias Zarina is seen sitting beside her husband, a combatant in Pasni, shortly before both were killed, as per another media release by the group.

Peace Event in Peshawar Overshadowed by Enforced Disappearances, Raising Human Rights Concerns in Pakistan

A gathering aimed at promoting dialogue and peace in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa ended in controversy this month after two student activists attending the event went missing, fueling renewed criticism of Pakistan’s handling of political dissent and human rights.

On November 12, 2025, a “peace jirga” brought together tribal elders, clerics, civil society figures, and students in Peshawar to discuss rising security concerns amid tensions along the Afghan border. According to eyewitness accounts, Khubaib Wazir and Adnan Wazir, both members of the Waziristan Students’ Society, left the event but never returned to their hostel. Local reports indicate the two were intercepted by men in plain clothes believed to be linked to state security forces and have not been seen since. Neither their families nor authorities have provided any official information on their whereabouts.

Pattern of Enforced Disappearances Raises Alarm

Human rights organisations have long documented enforced disappearances in Pakistan — a practice in which individuals are taken into custody without legal process or acknowledgment by state agencies. Families of missing persons and rights groups argue that this tactic is used not only against armed militants but increasingly against activists, students, and critics of military and security policies.

Official data from Pakistan’s Commission of Inquiry on Enforced Disappearances shows more than 10,000 cases recorded between 2011 and 2025, including thousands in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa and Balochistan. Independent estimates suggest that hundreds more cases go unreported due to fear or lack of legal recourse. Activists and civil society organisations note that enforced disappearances have been especially prevalent in regions with long‑standing tensions, where security operations and counter‑insurgency measures historically intersect with political grievances and ethnic identity struggles.

Broader Protests and Civil Society Action

Recent months have also seen a surge in activism around the issue, particularly in Balochistan, where campaigns against enforced disappearances have been organised to highlight the plight of missing persons. Civil society groups have documented cases involving both men and women, calling for accountability and transparency from state institutions. Protests have included efforts to spotlight the disappearance of entire families and symbolic actions to challenge state indifference. In some instances, demonstrations have even impacted major transportation routes. Local communities in Balochistan blocked portions of the China‑Pakistan Economic Corridor (CPEC) to protest the rise in disappearances, underscoring the depth of frustration over unresolved cases and the lack of official responses.

Pushback and Rights Advocacy

Human rights organisations both inside and outside Pakistan have repeatedly called for an end to enforced disappearances and for meaningful investigations into reported cases. Critics argue that conflating peaceful activism with security threats undermines civil liberties and fuels mistrust between communities and the state. Rights advocates say that families of missing persons are often left in limbo, forced to navigate lengthy legal processes while facing silence from authorities and little recourse through the courts. They call for stronger institutional safeguards, accountability for security personnel, and legal reforms to prevent future abuses.

State Position and Public Debate

Pakistani officials have generally maintained that security operations are necessary for maintaining order amid complex regional conflicts, but they deny systemic abuses. Government representatives often assert that any cases of disappearance are matters of national security and subject to legal review. However, persistent reports from rights groups and families suggest a gap between official rhetoric and public experience. The incident involving the two student activists has reinvigorated debate about the limits of civic engagement in Pakistan. Critics of enforced disappearances argue that silencing dissent through abductions not only violates fundamental rights but also stifles legitimate dialogue on peace and accountability — ironically targeting those who seek those very outcomes.

Debate Intensifies Over Resource Control in Balochistan: Historical Grievances and Modern Controversy

A growing debate over Balochistan’s natural resource wealth and its role in Pakistan’s national economy has attracted renewed attention from analysts and commentators, with critics arguing that the province’s rich mineral reserves and strategic location have long been exploited to the detriment of its people.

In a recent opinion piece by a regional security commentator, questions were raised about how resource‑rich areas like Reko Diq — famed for its vast copper and gold deposits — became contested ground in both historical and contemporary contexts. The argument holds that longstanding grievances over control of these resources stem from colonial‑era legacies and have continued to influence internal politics and centre‑periphery relations in Pakistan.

Reko Diq: Symbol of Economic Opportunity and Contention

Reko Diq, in southwestern Balochistan, has been at the centre of investment ambitions for years due to its significant copper and gold potential. Its development has involved both domestic stakeholders and international mining interests. Critics argue that decisions over mining rights, revenue sharing, and local participation have often left Baloch communities feeling marginalised — fuelling perceptions that resource wealth benefits outsiders more than local populations.

The debate taps into wider historical grievances: critics contend that Balochistan’s incorporation into Pakistan in 1947 and subsequent administrative decisions have not fully respected the aspirations of its indigenous communities. They assert that political and military dominance by central authorities has shaped how economic opportunities are structured — often without adequate consent, representation or direct benefit to local populations.

Analysts point out that the province’s wealth of minerals, including copper, gold, natural gas, and other strategic resources, has made it both an asset and a flashpoint in relations with Islamabad. While government officials describe mining development as key to national economic growth and job creation, local activists and commentators argue that profiting from these assets should be more equitable and include stronger guarantees for local rights and environmental protections.

Historical Narratives and Contemporary Politics

The opinion commentary also revisited broader historical narratives, suggesting that geopolitical manoeuvres and internal security priorities have shaped national policy toward the region. Some critics argue that long‑standing insurgencies and security crackdowns in Balochistan have further complicated efforts to build trust and inclusive governance.

Observers stress that debates about Reko Diq and Balochistan are indicative of deeper challenges in Pakistan’s internal cohesion. The province’s strategic location — bordered by Iran and Afghanistan, with a coastline on the Arabian Sea — gives it both geopolitical importance and heightened strategic sensitivity. Meanwhile, tensions persist between local demands for resource control and the federal government’s vision of integrating the region into larger economic corridors and national development plans.

Voices for Inclusive Growth and Reconciliation

Political commentators note that many voices in Balochistan are calling for greater local involvement in decision‑making, transparent revenue‑sharing mechanisms, and stronger legal protections for community rights. Supporters of reform argue that sustainable development can only succeed if it builds trust, ensures fair economic returns for local residents, and addresses historical grievances that have fueled periodic unrest.

Government representatives, for their part, often highlight development initiatives and infrastructure investments aimed at boosting economic growth and connectivity in the province. They contend that broader economic inclusion and job creation will help reduce instability and support long‑term prosperity.

Wider Implications for National Unity

The ongoing discussion over Balochistan’s resources underscores the complexity of balancing regional autonomy, equitable economic policy, and national unity in a diverse federation. As debates continue, analysts say the challenge for policymakers will be to craft solutions that respect provincial aspirations while contributing to overall stability and development — a task that will require political will, economic foresight, and inclusive governance.

OPINION: Reko Diq and the New Imperial Loot of Balochistan

-Arun Anand

On December 10, the U.S. Chargé d’Affaires in Islamabad, Natalie Baker, announced that the U.S. Exim Bank had approved a package of $1.25 billion in financing to support mining operations at Reko Diq, one of the world’s richest untapped copper and gold deposits. On the surface, Washington framed the decision as a step toward securing global supply chains for critical minerals.

Islamabad portrayed it as a sign of renewed confidence in Pakistan’s investment climate. But for Balochistan, Pakistan’s largest province by land but its poorest by every measure, the announcement landed like yet another reminder that its natural wealth is a prize others are free to carve up.

This Exim Bank financing flows directly after two MoUs were signed on September 8, 2025, between Pakistan and the United States for “critical minerals cooperation.” The military dominated Shehbaz Sharif government heralded the agreements as a milestone. But in Balochistan, they are yet another chapter in an old story: the extraction of Balochistan’s resources by outside powers, facilitated by a central government that treats the province not as a partner but as a colony.

For decades, Pakistan has perfected a model of imperial governance in Balochistan, which combines military control, political manipulation, and economic dispossession. What is new today is not the extraction but the identity of the extractors. The United States now joins China, whose multibillion-dollar projects under the China-Pakistan Economic Corridor (CPEC) have already given Beijing expansive access to Balochistan’s ports, highways, and mineral deposits.

Pakistan’s rulers have turned Balochistan into a marketplace where global powers shop for resources while the people who live above those riches remain among the most deprived in South Asia.

Balochistan’s modern history is inseparable from the manner in which it entered Pakistan. After the forced accession of 1948, the province was governed with suspicion and repression. Islamabad treated Baloch aspirations for autonomy as rebellion, not politics. The result is a province where the most powerful institution is not the provincial assembly but the Quetta cantonment, whose writ supersedes that of any civilian office.

Even today, Balochistan’s political leadership is crafted in military corridors of Rawalpindi and the condonement at Quetta. The current chief minister, Sarfaraz Bugti, is widely viewed as a product of the military establishment, who is another local administrator empowered to manage dissent rather than address the province’s material deprivation. The result is a governance system more interested in securing resource corridors than building schools, hospitals, or representative institutions.

Under this militarized order, resource extraction has been carefully organized to ensure that wealth flows outward to Pakistan’s dominant province, Punjab, and to foreign partners courted by the military-led state. Balochistan’s natural gas from Sui fueled Pakistan’s industrial growth for decades, yet most Baloch households cook on firewood.

Today, its copper and gold fields promise to enrich foreign corporations and deliver revenue to Islamabad, while the communities living in the shadow of these mines remain jobless, landless, and under surveillance.

Even menial jobs at major projects like security guards, cleaners, construction labor, are routinely filled by workers imported from Punjab. The message is unmistakable that the state does not merely extract from Balochistan, it excludes Baloch people from even the crumbs of that extraction.

The rush by both China and the U.S. for access to Balochistan’s minerals reflects how Pakistan’s ruling elite has repositioned the province within global competition. Beijing’s footprint was first to expand, anchored by the Gwadar port and a series of infrastructure and mining agreements.

CPEC promised development but delivered a model where Chinese companies received generous concessions, security cordons were erected to protect foreign workers, and local fishing communities were pushed to the margins.

Now, Washington enters the scene, not as a counterweight to China’s influence but as another partner in Pakistan’s long tradition of opaque, extractive deals. It reflects a bipartisan plunder with Pakistan inviting multiple patrons to mine a region whose own residents are denied the most basic political and economic rights.

The most striking thing about Balochistan is how starkly its material reality contradicts its mineral wealth. Despite being mineral rich in every aspect, the province ranks at the bottom of every development index in Pakistan. For instance, the poverty appears near-universal with 71 percent of the provincial population living in multidimensional poverty. It is nearly double the national average of 38 percent and in districts like Awaran, Kharan, and Panjgur, even exceeds 80 percent.

Likewise, education is in an equally dire state. Literacy hovers around 40–44 percent, the lowest in the country, with female literacy dropping below 25 percent in many rural districts. More than 60 percent of Balochistan’s children are out of school. These are not statistics of a neglected province; they are the metrics of deliberate underdevelopment.

The story is same across healthcare with the province recording the highest maternal mortality ratio of 785 deaths per 100,000 live births. It is abysmal compared to the national average of 186.

Nevertheless, the new U.S. financing for Reko Diq along with the other critical mineral MoU is significant not because it marks a shift in Washington’s policy but because it reveals a continuity in Pakistan’s own governing logic of treating Balochistan as a frontier to exploit.

The province is secured by force, governed through proxies, and opened to whichever foreign power is willing to invest billions with no questions asked about political rights or local consent.

Even when the government speaks of “benefit-sharing,” it does not specify it that the benefit is for Punjabis and Punjabi military and political elite that dominates the levers of power in Pakistan. As such, it is not partnership but a plunder with legal paperwork.

The tragedy is not just that Balochistan’s resources are being plundered. It is that this plunder is now bipartisan, endorsed by Islamabad, welcomed by Washington and Beijing, and justified in the name of development that never arrives.

For the people of Balochistan, the empire has simply added new partners. The loot continues. The province remains impoverished. And the world’s most powerful countries now share in the spoils of a land whose own residents have yet to taste the prosperity lying beneath their feet.

Balochistan’s struggle is human rights crisis that demands world’s attention

Balochistan’s struggle is not a fringe conflict, it is a human rights crisis that demands attention. The forced labour, the disappearances, the land seizures — these are crimes against people who have asked for nothing more than control over their own lives and resources. Several analysts reckon that the Pakistani military and government must be held accountable for what they have done to Balochistan.

For decades, the Baloch have been told to be patient, to wait for development, to trust the State. But patience cannot grow where injustice is the only harvest. In 2025, Balochistan stands as a stark reminder of how power, when unchecked, becomes predation. The world must choose to listen — not to the Generals and politicians who speak of unity, but to the mothers, workers, and students who speak of freedom. Balochistan is not asking for privilege; it is demanding humanity, the experts highlight.

The land where mountains meet the sea deserves more than military parades and hollow promises. It deserves justice. It deserves freedom from forced labour, from land theft, from the iron hand of an army that claims to protect but only oppresses. The story of Balochistan in 2025 is the story of resilience against tyranny — people standing tall even as the State tries to break their back. One day, perhaps, Balochistan will no longer be the land where “anything is possible” for its oppressors. It will instead be the land where freedom, dignity, and justice are finally possible for its people.

Pakistan has done all kinds of oppression in Balochistan. They seize land of the people and drive people to forced labour. What began decades ago as marginalisation has transformed into a full-scale assault on the dignity and autonomy of an entire people. In 2025, the scars of Balochistan’s exploitation are deeper than ever. Behind the curtain of national security and development, the Pakistan military has entrenched its power through fear, coercion, and the systematic dismantling of Baloch society.

Across the rugged mountains and deserts of Balochistan, the story is tragically familiar. Villages emptied overnight under the shadow of military convoys. Families forced to abandon ancestral lands that generations had cultivated. Men rounded up and compelled to work without pay on projects linked to army infrastructure, roads, and bases. Women left behind, watching their homes turned into outposts and checkpoints. This is not just occupation by force of arms — it is occupation of life itself. The people of Balochistan have lived for decades under what can only be described as a slow, grinding war against their existence.

The Pakistan military, in the name of counter-insurgency and “maintaining order,” has created an environment where dissent is crushed, where journalists disappear, and where the silence of the mountains is broken only by the sounds of helicopters and gunfire. In 2025, reports from the ground reveal that entire communities in districts such as Kech, Panjgur, and Khuzdar have been subjected to forced relocations. Farmlands are fenced off, seized under the pretext of security zones, and then repurposed for military or government use. The same land that fed generations is now out of reach for those who tilled it.

The forced labour system imposed by the Pakistan military in various parts of Balochistan is a form of modern slavery dressed up in patriotic rhetoric. Local men are ordered to construct roads, carry supplies, and dig trenches for military bases. They are not paid fairly — often not paid at all — and refusal brings punishment. In areas around Gwadar, for instance, fishermen have been pushed into menial labour for military and Chinese-backed projects after being barred from their own fishing zones. Their boats are seized, their movement restricted, their livelihoods destroyed. The military calls it “development”; the Baloch call it survival under chains.

The year 2025 has seen an escalation in such practices, partly driven by the military’s increasing economic control in the province. Balochistan is rich in resources — natural gas, coal, copper, gold, and deep-sea ports — yet it remains the poorest region in Pakistan. The army’s corporate arms and allied companies have carved out concessions over mines, land, and infrastructure projects, while the indigenous people see none of the benefits. Billions flow through Balochistan, but barely a drop reaches its people.

The irony is bitter: a province that fuels Pakistan’s industries is itself left in darkness, with children walking miles for water and schools without roofs. The Pakistani government, complicit and silent, plays its part in the oppression by dressing exploitation as progress. Every promise of “integration” and “development” becomes another mechanism of control. Laws meant to regulate the province are wielded as weapons to confiscate land. Anti-terror legislation is used not to combat extremism but to silence activists, students, and intellectuals who dare to speak of freedom.

The state media paints them as traitors, the military brands them as insurgents, and their voices vanish into the black hole of enforced disappearance. Forced disappearances remain the most chilling signature of Pakistan’s rule over Balochistan. Thousands of Baloch men and boys have vanished over the years — abducted from their homes, workplaces, or checkpoints. Their families search endlessly, their photos held up at protests that the state calls “unpatriotic.” In 2025, the number of missing continues to rise despite repeated pleas for justice. Mothers march under the scorching sun carrying portraits of sons who may never return.

This culture of disappearance has become an instrument of terror — one that ensures silence, compliance, and despair. The pattern is unmistakable. The Pakistan military does not just dominate Balochistan; it extracts from it. Every mine, every port, every so-called “development” zone is secured through coercion and maintained by intimidation. People are forced to work for the very institutions that occupy their lands. The military’s projects in Gwadar, Lasbela, and Turbat rely heavily on local labour — but this labour is neither voluntary nor fairly compensated.

In many cases, families report being threatened with detention or the loss of their homes if they refuse to work. This is forced labour institutionalized under the banner of nationalism. In rural areas, especially around Khuzdar and Awaran, soldiers have been accused of forcing locals to assist in building camps and transport logistics during operations. Villages are cut off, communication networks jammed, and movement restricted. People live under constant surveillance and fear. It is the kind of oppression that erodes the human spirit — slow, methodical, and devastating.

Balochistan’s tragedy is compounded by the deliberate destruction of its culture and identity. The Pakistan state has systematically tried to erase the Baloch language and heritage from education and administration. Local teachers who insist on teaching Balochi or Brahui face harassment or dismissal. Textbooks portray Baloch resistance as rebellion, never as struggle for justice. Universities are watched; student leaders are monitored, some abducted, some found dead in remote valleys.

In 2025, student movements across Quetta and Turbat have been met with raids, arrests, and curfews. The youth who demand books instead of bullets are treated as enemies of the state. Yet, despite this suffocating repression, the Baloch spirit endures. Across the province, people continue to resist — sometimes through protests, sometimes through art, sometimes simply by refusing to be silent. Women have become the conscience of this struggle. Mothers of the disappeared march from Quetta to Karachi, holding pictures of their sons and chanting for justice.

The Pakistan government and military present Balochistan as an ungrateful province — one that must be pacified and tamed. But it is not ingratitude; it is the cry of a people who refuse to be stripped of their dignity. The Baloch do not reject progress; they reject progress built on their suffering. They do not reject Pakistan out of hatred; they reject oppression out of love for their land.

What the Pakistani State refuses to understand is that peace cannot be imposed at gunpoint, and loyalty cannot be extracted through labour camps and disappearances. The forced labour and land seizures of 2025 are not isolated incidents. They are part of a long continuum of state policy — one that began with the annexation of Balochistan in 1948 and has evolved into a military-driven colonial project. The faces change, the slogans change, but the machinery of control remains the same. Every new government promises reform; every general promises peace. Yet the boots remain on the ground, the land remains occupied, and the people remain chained. It is time for the world to look beyond Islamabad’s rhetoric.

–IANS

Pakistan trembles before the courage of Baloch women activists

– By Arun Anand

Across the rugged mountains of Balochistan, a quiet revolution has taken shape — not through the barrel of a gun, but through the voices of women who refuse to be silenced. For decades, the Pakistani state has sought to crush the Baloch struggle for rights, identity, and dignity through brute force, censorship, and fear. Yet, amidst the silence imposed by the establishment, Baloch women have risen as the conscience of their people, demanding answers about the disappeared, the tortured, and the dead. Their courage has unsettled Pakistan’s power structure more deeply than any insurgency ever could.

And so, the state has turned its full machinery against them — branding them as traitors, blacklisting them, and attempting to erase them from the nation’s conscience. Pakistan’s fear of Baloch women activists is not born out of security concerns, as its propaganda machinery would have the world believe. It stems from a far more fragile truth: the fear of moral defeat. The establishment that has long ruled through the manipulation of narratives — portraying itself as a victim of terrorism and an upholder of law — cannot bear the voices that strip away this façade. Women like Dr. Sahiba Baloch, Dr. Shalini Baloch, and Samine Deen Baloch have become living examples of the state’s hypocrisy. Their activism exposes what Islamabad has spent decades denying — that the real terror in Balochistan does not come from the mountains but from the cantonments, checkpoints, and intelligence safe houses where young men vanish without a trace.

These women have turned grief into resistance. They march with photographs of missing fathers, brothers, and sons — faces faded by time but made immortal by memory. Their placards demand not privilege but the most basic human right: to know where their loved ones are. For a state built on denial, this demand is dangerous. The Pakistani establishment thrives on invisibility — the invisibility of its crimes, of its political prisoners, of its secret wars. When Baloch women pierce that invisibility, they threaten the very foundation of control that the military has built over Balochistan. The government can bomb villages, censor media, and flood social platforms with propaganda, but it cannot suppress the raw moral clarity of a mother’s cry for her missing child. To silence them, Pakistan’s establishment resorts to the language it knows best — intimidation, smear campaigns, and the weaponization of counterterrorism laws. The inclusion of prominent Baloch women on so-called “watchlists” or “anti-terror registries” is not an act of national security; it is an act of fear. When unarmed women holding peaceful demonstrations are accused of terrorism, it reveals who truly feels threatened. The state that claims to protect its citizens is terrified of citizens who speak the truth. The irony is tragic and telling — that in a country overrun by extremist groups, the military sees danger not in those who kill in the name of ideology, but in those who demand justice in the name of humanity.

The United Nations has expressed alarm over this systematic targeting of Baloch women human-rights defenders. Yet Pakistan continues its repression with impunity, shielded by the same institutions that it manipulates domestically — a judiciary that cowers before the establishment and a media landscape sterilized by fear. The disappearance of Baloch men is not a hidden secret anymore; it is an open wound. Thousands have been abducted by shadowy agencies, tortured in secret cells, and often found dumped in deserts and riverbeds. But when women take to the streets to seek accountability, they too are branded as enemies of the state. The military, unable to confront their truth, paints them as foreign agents, Western puppets, or anti-national propagandists — a tired script repeated whenever Pakistan’s moral bankruptcy is exposed. Behind this fear lies an even deeper insecurity within Pakistan’s power structure. The state was built on a fragile foundation of identity — an identity forged not through inclusion but through suppression. It cannot tolerate voices that challenge its narrative of unity, especially from those it considers peripheral and expendable. Baloch women embody a defiance that is both political and symbolic. They refuse to be confined to the role the state assigns to women — passive, silent, obedient. Their activism is not only a challenge to the military’s control but also a challenge to the patriarchal order that underpins it. When a Baloch woman speaks, she defies both the gun and the gendered silence imposed upon her.

The Pakistan Army, bloated with privilege and arrogance, cannot comprehend this form of power. It is accustomed to silencing dissent with force, not reason. Its generals are comfortable dealing with insurgents, for insurgency justifies military budgets, operations, and the mythology of national security. But women armed only with truth unsettle them in ways bullets never could. They strip away the illusions of heroism and expose the moral rot of a state that kidnaps its own citizens and calls it patriotism. The establishment’s fear of Baloch women is, therefore, the fear of losing control over the narrative — the fear that the world might finally see Pakistan not as a victim of terrorism, but as a perpetrator of systemic violence against its own people. What makes this fear even more profound is the growing international attention to the plight of Baloch activists. For years, Pakistan managed to bury these stories under the rubble of geopolitics — using its strategic importance to silence criticism. But in recent times, the testimonies of Baloch women have begun to pierce through that global indifference. Their statements before human-rights organizations and media outlets have become the cracks through which truth leaks out. Each speech, each vigil, each name they utter chips away at the edifice of impunity the establishment has built. This is why the state is desperate to label them as extremists — because it cannot bear the possibility of being judged by the world through the lens of those it has long oppressed. The persecution of women like Dr. Sahiba Baloch, Dr. Shalini Baloch, and Samine Deen Baloch is part of a broader pattern of state paranoia. These are educated women, professionals, and humanitarians — the very citizens a functioning democracy would celebrate. Yet Pakistan treats them as enemies, because in their words lies the most dangerous weapon of all: legitimacy.

The military’s war in Balochistan depends on dehumanizing the Baloch people. It thrives on portraying them as separatists, terrorists, and outlaws. When articulate, courageous women dismantle that narrative, they expose the establishment’s crimes to both domestic and international scrutiny. This is not just about silencing individuals; it is about suppressing a truth that threatens to delegitimize the entire security state. In a sense, Pakistan’s fear of Baloch women activists is the fear of its own reflection. It is a state that cannot look into the mirror of its history without seeing blood on its hands — from Dhaka to Quetta, from Sindh to the tribal belt.

Every disappeared person, every silenced journalist, every censored voice tells a story of a nation at war with its own people. The Baloch women’s movement forces Pakistan to confront that reality, and that is what terrifies it most. The establishment would rather be feared than exposed, because exposure demands accountability — something the generals have never known. But despite the repression, the movement endures. Baloch women continue to march, to document, to speak. They carry the memory of the disappeared like sacred relics, turning mourning into resistance. Each time the state targets them, it confirms their truth. Each blacklist, each abduction, each threat only amplifies their message: that no amount of violence can erase the demand for justice.

Pakistan’s fear, then, is not of women — it is of the truth they carry. It is the fear that one day the world will listen and see beyond the propaganda, beyond the manufactured narratives of security and nationalism. It is the fear of a reckoning long overdue. The establishment may control the guns, the media, and the courts, but it cannot command the conscience of a people awakening to their own oppression. Baloch women have made sure of that. Their courage has already broken the silence. And for Pakistan’s military establishment — built on secrecy, lies, and fear — that is the beginning of its greatest defeat.

Legalizing Repression: How Balochistan’s Anti-Terror Law Risks Fuelling the Fire

The Balochistan province of Pakistan represents a long-standing festering wound- one that the state, instead of healing, is bent on continually aggravating. The largest, resource-abundant, yet poorest province of the country, Balochistan has been reeling in the crossfire of a chronic armed insurgency and a disproportionate state response, in addition to systemic political and economic marginalization. Even as Pakistan was recently engaged in military confrontations with India- the most severe since the Kargil conflict of 1999, the Baloch insurgents kept intensifying their operations. Now, in the name of more effective counter-terrorism, the government has passed another legislation that threatens to worsen the situation by legitimizing state excesses in the province.

Amid vehement opposition by legal experts, human rights groups, and civil society, the Balochistan Assembly passed the Counter-terrorism (Balochistan Amendment) Act 2025 on June 4. The legislation, which makes new inclusions into the 1997 Anti-terrorism Act, authorizes armed forces, civil armed forces, and intelligence agencies to preventively detain a person for up to three months without any charges or trial. Eliminating judicial oversight, joint investigation teams can now issue detention orders, seize property or other possessions, and conduct ideological or psychological profiling of the detainees, all on their own accord. The Act has been put in place for 6 years, after which it can be extended for a period of 2 years if the provincial government thus notifies.

Collective suppression under the garb of combating insurgency and terrorism is far from new in Balochistan. Particularly since the mid-2000s, the Pakistani state has notoriously enacted a ‘kill and dump’ policy and forged an atmosphere where the threat as well as execution of enforced disappearances, custodial torture and killings, fake encounters, and arbitrary detention is part of daily life. This month itself, Pakistan based human rights organisation, the Baloch Yakjehti Committee (BYC), in its bi-annual human rights report, revealed that 752 people were forcibly disappeared from January to June 2025, out of which 181 were later released and 25 died in custody. The report also registered 117 extrajudicial killings in the same period, with most of the victims reportedly being students and young political activists.

Even when the Act was a proposed bill in the provincial assembly, human rights groups, including Amnesty International and the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan (HRCP), had staunchly opposed its passage over concerns that it would legalize state instrumentalization of enforced disappearances and arbitrary detention. After it was adopted, the HRCP condemned the “sweeping powers of preventive detention” outlined by the Act, which undermine civilian law enforcement domain by involving military personnel in the oversight boards, and contravene the country’s constitutional obligations under Article 10 (legal safeguards for those arrested or detained) as well as its commitments under the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights. The BYC, too, released a strongly-worded statement, decrying the Act’s “grave violation of fundamental rights, including personal liberty, due process, and protection from arbitrary detention.”

Meanwhile, Pakistani government is projecting the Act as a decisive framework against terrorist forces and something that will help end the issue of missing persons. Balochistan Chief Minister Sarfaraz Bugti described it as a milestone which, according to him, will counter the “organised conspiracy” and “false allegations against state institutions” regarding enforced disappearances. Bugti also claimed that the insurgency in the province is a “foreign intelligence agency driven war” against Pakistan, a narrative that has been parroted for a long time by the Pakistani establishment. This absolute denial and deflection by the authorities point to their utter unwillingness to acknowledge, address, and resolve the plight of the Baloch people, further alienating them and fueling the militancy.

The Baloch people are already subjected to an extremely stifled environment, wherein demands of accountability from the state are constantly misconstrued as separatism, justifying excessive crackdown and harassment. The BYC-led peaceful Baloch civil resistance movement, which has emerged as a resilient force in the past couple of years, has had to face constant vilification, disruptions, harassment, and violent crackdown by the state, with its leaders, including Mahrang Baloch, incarcerated. Rather than taking advantage of a peaceful civilian platform that works towards state accountability and political reconciliation within the federal framework, the heavy-handed response of the Pakistani state creates conditions where peaceful political activism loses relevance and the people, particularly the youth, increasingly view armed insurgency as the only alternative.

Within the context of an ever-ascending insurgency, progressively alienated people, rising attacks on CPEC workers and projects as well as Punjabi migrants, the newly passed amendment act will certainly estrange the Baloch people further. The ensuing state excesses, which will now take on a robe of legal legitimacy, will exacerbate the security crisis in the province. At a point when the Pakistani state must proactively prioritize meaningful political engagement with Baloch grievances, demonstrate accountability and willingness towards politico-economic inclusion and justice for Balochistan, it is almost a suicide run to introduce a blatantly exploitative and tyrannical legislation. By legalizing repression in a province which already represents an existential landmine, Pakistan has truly set in motion its own unravelling.

Balochistan’s Bloodletting Exposes a Failing State

In Balochistan, Pakistan’s largest yet most marginalized province, a grim pattern has become all too familiar wherein buses are stopped, passengers segregated, and innocent civilians. The victims are often chosen based on ethnicity or government association before being executed in cold blood. On July 10, 2025, nine such passengers were killed by suspected Baloch insurgents in the Zhob and Loralai districts of Balochistan. It was initially claimed by Baloch Liberation Front (BLF), one of the oldest insurgent groups in Balochistan. It may be noted that several Baloch separatist outfits have escalated their insurgent campaign against the Pakistani state in recent years.

This attack is just one in a series of chilling episodes that have rocked the country’s fragile internal security landscape. It is merely three months from the hijacking of the Jaffar Express train by Baloch insurgents, which was seen as a blow to the military-led security establishment. It not only as an operational embarrassment for the Pakistani military but also as a stark reminder the state is not in control, at least not here. Because, here the Baloch insurgents struck not just at state infrastructure, but also at the very mythology of control cultivated by Pakistan’s powerful military over decades, signally Pakistan slipping back into a state of internal chaos.

These incidents point to an uncomfortable truth that the security in Pakistan is unravelling with the country’s periphery, particularly Balochistan, bearing its brunt.

According to a July 12 report by the Pakistan Institute for Conflict and Security Studies (PICSS), between July 4 and 10 alone, there were at least 27 instances of insurgent or militant violence, which led to 24 fatalities and more than three dozen injuries. It further highlighted that although the violence was widespread across the country, a disproportionately high number of violent incidents took place in Balochistan and Khyber Pakhtunkhwa (KPK), two areas that have long been neglected by the federal government and have endured Pakistan’s militarized governance for decades.

These two provinces have emerged as significant security challenges for the military establishment. Take the case of Balochistan. This resource-rich but with historical experience of continued political disenfranchisement has been simmering with resentment for decades. That resentment, once localized and fragmented, has in recent years transformed into a more coordinated and high-profile insurgency. Armed Baloch groups led by Baloch Liberation Army (BLA) have increasingly targeted not just state security installations and personnel and civilians presumed to be working for the state (collaborators)but also Chinese nationals working on infrastructure projects.

For much of its post-colonial existence, Pakistan has treated Balochistan with a mixture of indifference and coercion. Although the province constitutes nearly 44% of the country’s landmass and holds vast reserves of natural gas, coal, and minerals, it remains the least developed and most underrepresented region in national politics.

Protest in Balochistan as people demand justice amid rising terror

This neglect is not accidental but a structural. It is rooted in how Islamabad’s successive military dominated governments have viewed Balochistan through a narrow security lens. Instead of investing on integrating the local population into national political or economic frameworks, this militarized governance structure has a history of building garrisons and intelligence networks to rule the province with an Iron fist. As such, social sectors like education remain abysmal and infrastructure underdeveloped with scare avenues of employment for the locals. Such an approach has result in a deepening alienation, especially among the Baloch youth, many of whom now see insurgency not as extremism but as resistance. For many of them, the Pakistani state behaves in an imperialistic manner, interested in extracting provincial resources, while silencing local dissent.

While Balochistan remains the epicentre of anti-state violence, Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, especially its tribal hinterland, continues to be affected by heightened Islamist militancy. The reconstitution of Tehrik-i-Taliban Pakistan (TTP) and the regrouping of splinter jihadist factions have brought fresh violence to the region, including blowback militancy from groups once patronised by the military establishment. For instance, on June 28, at least 13 Pakistan army soldiers killed and a dozen others injured in a car bombing attack by TTP in North Waziristan district. While Islamabad has attempted to engage Pakistan Taliban, in what many described as mainstreaming process, it has failed to reign in the group which has upped its ante.

Pakistan’s worsening internal security is rooted in a doctrinal failure of Pakistan’s most powerful institution: the military. For decades, the Pakistan Army has acted as the ultimate arbiter of national stability. It has been the kingmaker in Islamabad, directed foreign policy, and controlled internal security operations.

But its strategic approach has often leaned heavily on tactical repression and short-term deals with militant proxies, many of whom have eventually turned rogue. Rather than pursuing an inclusive governance regime in the peripheries, the military often resorts to “shock and awe” operations, arbitrary detentions, and enforced disappearances, a feature of its (mis)conduct in Balochistan. This may have bought the military some time through temporary lulls in violence, it really has not shifted the root causes of unrest, which are political disenfranchisement, ethnic exclusion, and socioeconomic neglect.

Moreover, the Army has gotten dirtier with time and politics, and in so doing has reduced its legitimacy at least in part. Its role in propping up so-called hybrid regimes in Islamabad is one example. It is no longer seen as an independent force for good; it is considered a player on the bad side.

It is not merely a security failure that Pakistan is suffering today, rather it is a breakdown of the very social contract, if at all there existed one for the peripheries. When sections of the population feel excluded from political processes, denied economic opportunity, and in fact singled out by the very state that should protect them, insurgency begins to seem not merely possible, but inevitable.

Pakistani rulers would do better for the country by acknowledging what is happening across Balochistan and KPK cannot be vanquished through military operations. Nor can it be whitewashed by official narratives of “external sabotage” or “foreign conspiracies,” something that has become a too convenient tool lately to place all blame neighbouring countries. This unrest goes deeper and is symptomatic of a systemic failure to create an inclusive, equitable, and truly federal state.

Unfolding circumstances demand that Pakistan’s military-dominated establishment and political elite, introspect on the policy approach towards these provinces. Their persistence to govern by coercion while neglecting regional empowerment will only push the crisis deeper. If one may argue, the semblance of control is fast disappearing, and the fires of dissent will stoke ever higher.

Pakistan stands at a crossroads. The surge in violence, especially in historically restive provinces like Balochistan and KPK, is symptomatic of a far deeper institutional rot. It is alarming that the very regions of the state that the current regime is attempting to quell are slipping further into chaos, not by virtue of a lack of power or firepower, but rather the absence of any serious political vision.

Pakistani rulers would do better by grasping the fact that real security cannot be built over “fear, exclusion, or propaganda”. They cannot speak of security unless it is grounded in justice, fairness, representation, and dignity of all citizens, irrespective of ethnicity, language, religion or region. Unless and until those holding power in Islamabad and Rawalpindi understand this, the question will not be how Pakistan restores security, but whether it can prevent the complete unravelling of its internal cohesion.

Balochistan Under Siege: Decades of Occupation and Resistance

Balochistan, the largest and most resource-abundant province of Pakistan, continues to face persistent unrest—an occupied territory enduring a systematic campaign of military dominance, economic exploitation, and cultural suppression. Since its forcible annexation by Pakistan in March 1948, Balochistan has experienced repeated uprisings, each met with severe state-led repression. Despite enduring decades of marginalisation, the Baloch people’s call for self-determination remains undiminished. The origins of this enduring conflict lie in the coerced incorporation of the Baloch princely state of Kalat into Pakistan. On 15 August 1947, Kalat proclaimed its independence, and its elected parliament subsequently voted against joining Pakistan. Nevertheless, under military duress, the Khan of Kalat was compelled to sign an instrument of accession in March 1948. This act, widely viewed as illegitimate, sparked the first of five major Baloch rebellions—occurring in 1948, 1958, 1962, 1973, and the most protracted uprising, which began in 2004 and persists to this day.

Balochistan constitutes 44% of Pakistan’s total land area, yet it remains the most underdeveloped region in the country. Although the province accounts for 36% of Pakistan’s natural gas production, a mere 10% of its residents have access to piped gas. Sui, where natural gas was first discovered in 1952, ironically still lacks basic amenities such as electricity and clean drinking water. According to the Pakistan Economic Survey 2024–25, Balochistan’s literacy rate is a mere 42.01%, markedly lower than Punjab’s 66.25%. Despite its wealth in minerals, fossil fuels, and a strategically vital coastline, its inhabitants remain among the most impoverished in the nation. These disparities are not coincidental—they are structurally imposed. The China-Pakistan Economic Corridor (CPEC), a $62 billion infrastructure initiative, has exacerbated the economic subjugation of Balochistan. Gwadar Port, the flagship project of CPEC, has effectively become a Chinese-dominated zone from which the indigenous Baloch have been displaced. Traditional fishing communities have been denied access to ancestral coastal areas, while development zones enclosed by fencing, constant paramilitary presence, and checkpoints have proliferated—vastly outnumbering educational and healthcare facilities. Rather than fostering development, Gwadar has transformed into a heavily securitised zone.

Although Pakistan presents CPEC as a transformative initiative, it has instead become a focal point of resistance. Widespread protests erupted in 2024 and continued into early 2025, driven by grievances related to displacement, joblessness, and denial of fundamental rights. The state’s response was marked by repression. In July 2024, peaceful protestors in Gwadar were subjected to violence and arbitrary detention, while internet services were suspended. Human Rights Watch and Amnesty International denounced the use of excessive force and unlawful detentions. The situation further deteriorated in 2024–2025 with a sharp rise in enforced disappearances. Pakistan’s own Commission of Inquiry on Enforced Disappearances (COIED) has acknowledged that more than 10,000 individuals have disappeared since 2011—2,752 of whom are from Balochistan. Amnesty International’s January 2024 report documented an additional 379 cases in that year alone. Abductions carried out by intelligence agencies and paramilitary forces have become a systematic means of stifling dissent.

One of the most harrowing incidents occurred in July 2024, when Hayat Sabzal Baloch was abducted in Turbat; his mutilated body was discovered in February 2025, discarded without dignity. In January 2025, a 15-year-old student, Anas Ahmed, was forcibly disappeared in Karachi. These instances reflect a broader systemic pattern in which the state metes out collective punishment by targeting children, youth, and activists. The abductions of Baloch women have also escalated. On 27 May 2025, 24-year-old Mahjabeen Baloch was taken from Quetta Civil Hospital by plainclothes security personnel. Her only offence was the organisation of peaceful student demonstrations. She now joins a growing list of women subjected to enforced disappearance—signalling a disturbing evolution in Pakistan’s counterinsurgency tactics.

Protests have persisted despite widespread repression. In March 2025, nationwide demonstrations erupted following a BLA-orchestrated hijacking of the Jaffar Express in the Bolan Pass, resulting in 64 fatalities, including 18 soldiers and 33 militants. In response, Pakistani forces launched “Operation Green Bolan.” Although the state proclaimed success, numerous civilians were either killed or forcibly disappeared. The victims’ families organised sit-ins in Quetta, demanding the return of their missing relatives. Their peaceful appeals were met with rubber bullets and mass detentions. Central to this nonviolent resistance is Mahrang Baloch, a young physician and human rights advocate. As the founder of the Baloch Yakjehti Committee (BYC), she has emerged as the voice of thousands of families of the disappeared. In March 2025, she was arrested and imprisoned in Hudda Jail—the same prison where her father was once held before his disappearance. Despite being denied a fair trial or presentation of evidence; she continues to draw international attention. TIME magazine named her among its TIME100 Next list in 2025. PEN Norway, UN Working Groups, and Malala Yousafzai have all called for her release. Her words, “To demand justice is not terrorism,” have become a defining slogan.

Nevertheless, the state continues to criminalise dissent. Peaceful demonstrators are branded as terrorists; journalists reporting on enforced disappearances face harassment; and human rights advocates are accused of advancing foreign agendas. Pakistan’s official discourse dismisses all Baloch grievances as “Indian-backed separatism,” overlooking decades of systemic violence and legitimate political aspirations. Violence in the region is not solely perpetuated by the state—militancy has also escalated. In August 2024, the Baloch Liberation Army’s Operation Herof resulted in the deaths of 14 security personnel and over 60 civilians in a coordinated assault. In November 2024, a suicide bombing at Quetta Railway Station killed 32 people. The BLA claimed responsibility, citing the attack as retaliation for state atrocities. These recurring cycles of violence and reprisal have increasingly radicalised the socio-political environment, severely narrowing the space for peaceful resolution.

Compounding the anguish, prominent figures such as national racer Tariq Baloch were assassinated in May 2025. Activists have described it as a “kill-and-dump” operation—where individuals are executed by state agents and their bodies discarded to serve as a deterrent. Domestic media frequently fall silent under state pressure, while international journalists are denied access. This sustained information blackout has rendered Balochistan one of the most poorly reported conflict zones globally. Cultural repression further deepens this siege. The Balochi language is scarcely taught in schools, while textbooks systematically omit Baloch history and identity. Cultural figures such as Professor Saba Dashtiyari, a staunch advocate for linguistic and cultural rights, have been assassinated. Today, artists and poets continue their work either in exile or in secrecy, preserving the spirit of resistance through music, literature, and oral storytelling.

Balochistan’s demographic landscape is also being intentionally reshaped. A process of settler colonialism is underway, with non-Baloch communities incentivised to settle in strategic districts. Electoral boundaries are manipulated to dilute indigenous political influence, resulting in further marginalisation and disenfranchisement. Nevertheless, the Baloch people persist in their resistance. From guerrilla fighters in the rugged mountains to student demonstrators in urban centres, and activists within the diaspora in Europe and North America, the will to defy remains resolute. Each martyr’s funeral becomes a site of protest. Every name of the disappeared is transformed into a slogan. Each expression of resistance—be it a poem, mural, or sit-in—resonates across generations with undiminished force.

Pakistan’s GDP increased by 2.5% in 2024 and is forecasted to grow by 2.6% in 2025, according to the Ministry of Finance. Yet this economic growth has failed to benefit Balochistan in any meaningful way. While Pakistan’s per capita income stands at $1,824, Balochistan’s figure remains significantly lower, with widespread unemployment and malnutrition. In the 2023–24 provincial budget, Rs 750 billion was allocated, yet sectors such as health, education, and infrastructure remain severely neglected. Funds earmarked for “security” rarely reach the public. The global community remains largely indifferent. No United Nations fact-finding mission has ever visited Balochistan. Western nations, including the United States and China, continue to prioritise strategic relations with Pakistan over addressing human rights concerns. Although international organisations publish reports, diplomatic pressure remains negligible. The conflict receives scant media coverage, surfacing only when violence reaches major cities.

Balochistan is not merely a tale of insurgency—it is the narrative of a nation resisting erasure. A people denied the right to live with dignity continue to choose defiance. The state may resort to killing, abduction, and censorship—but it cannot extinguish the resolve of a people who steadfastly remember their history, uphold their identity, and dream of freedom. The assault on Balochistan transcends military action—it is an existential struggle. Yet in the face of oppression, a young woman imprisoned, a mother clutching a photograph of her missing son, and a protestor inscribing slogans on a wall all convey a unified message: We exist. We resist. And we shall not be silenced.

The New Face of Baloch Resistance: Operational Sophistication and Strategic Messaging of the Balochistan Liberation Army

Over recent years, Pakistan has experienced numerous overlapping and escalating crises, beginning with the regime change in Afghanistan. In August 2021, Pakistan’s hybrid regime initially welcomed the developments that led to the rise of its longstanding ally—the Taliban. However, the situation rapidly deteriorated. The Taliban’s shift in allegiance inflicted not only a geopolitical setback but also spurred a surge in insurgent activity within Pakistan. Beyond the purported Taliban backing of militant organisations—particularly the Tehreek-e-Taliban Pakistan or TTP (a claim the Taliban refutes)—there are various other factors contributing to the groups’ structural and operational transformations. The Baloch Liberation Army (BLA), regarded as the most formidable and ambitious insurgent faction in Pakistan alongside the TTP, clearly exhibits signs of tactical and ideological evolution, necessitating that the Pakistani state recognise these changes in order to formulate appropriate countermeasures.

The Baloch Liberation Army (BLA) emerged during the late 1990s and early 2000s as an armed resistance against what the Baloch population perceives as systemic marginalisation and exploitation by the Pakistani state. Balochistan—the largest yet poorest province in the country—possesses significant reserves of natural resources, including coal, natural gas, gold, and copper. The demand for provincial autonomy has persisted for decades, further intensified by the prevalent belief that the region was historically incorporated into Pakistan through coercive means.

The BLA initially emerged with aims centred on greater provincial authority over governance and resource management, but it soon evolved into a movement advocating full independence. Originally led by tribal figures such as Balach Marri during its early phase, the organisation has since experienced a leadership transition, now predominantly composed of educated middle-class individuals, including women. Notable figures include Aslam Baloch—linked to the suicide attack targeting Chinese engineers in Dalbandin—along with Bashir Zaib Baloch, Hammal Rehan, Rehman Gul Baloch, among others.

This leadership has overseen a significant transformation in the BLA’s tactical approaches and strategic orientation. Once primarily associated with hit-and-run attacks in mountainous regions—typically targeting gas pipelines, mobile towers, railway lines, and similar infrastructure—the group has shifted towards more coordinated and advanced urban guerrilla assaults against state security personnel. A notable recent example occurred on 11 March, when BLA militants hijacked the Quetta-Peshawar Jaffar Express, demanding the release of Baloch political prisoners and victims of enforced disappearances. In retaliation, the Pakistani military undertook a rescue mission lasting over 24 hours, underscoring the BLA’s capacity to engage in prolonged confrontations with state forces. Furthermore, the escalation of suicide attacks—especially since the reactivation of the Majeed Brigade (the BLA’s suicide unit) in 2018—has added a new layer of lethality and strategic depth to its operations. These attacks have also included female combatants such as Shari Baloch, who killed three Chinese lecturers at the Confucius Institute at Karachi University in 2022. Such incidents, along with assaults on Chinese personnel and projects as well as Punjabi migrant workers, serve as deliberate strategic messaging by the BLA. They underscore the group’s territorial claims and its willingness to indiscriminately target civilians it perceives as symbols of colonial domination and state-led exploitation.

The notable expansion in the BLA’s numerical strength, operational reach, and strategic standing must be understood within a broader, multi-faceted context. Crucially, recognising the debilitating effects of factionalism, several Baloch insurgent groups opted to unite in 2018 under the collective banner of the Baloch Raji Aajoi Sangar (BRAS). This alliance even announced the formation of a joint military command—the Baloch National Army—tasked with implementing a coordinated strategy across the province. Additionally, similar to the TTP, the BLA has significantly profited from the sophisticated weaponry abandoned by US forces following their withdrawal from Afghanistan. Following the March train hijacking, Pakistani authorities disclosed the serial numbers of three American rifles used by the attackers, which were originally supplied to Afghan troops during the conflict. Furthermore, the Taliban’s return to power has created new sanctuaries for Baloch militants to regroup within Afghanistan, in addition to those already existing in Iran’s Sistan-Baluchistan province.

Beyond the aforementioned developments, the BLA has adapted to contemporary dynamics by enhancing its propaganda capabilities through strategic use of social media. Its evolution from rural hit-and-run tactics to an urban guerrilla force engaged in narrative construction is also a response to exclusionary urban development, significant rural-to-urban migration, and increasing internet accessibility. A further aspect of this rhetorical strategy was evident following the deadly terror attack in Pahalgam, India. In a statement issued on 11 May, the BLA claimed responsibility for executing 71 coordinated attacks across 51 locations in the province as part of preparations for Operation Herof 2.0, shedding light on the group’s broader strategic calculus. The BLA appealed to India and other international actors to recognise and support it as a legitimate, indigenous national liberation movement, drawing parallels with the Bangladeshi independence struggle from Pakistan. Through this, the BLA sought to assert its position as a relevant actor in South Asian geopolitics, aiming to weaken what it describes as “the terrorist state” of Pakistan.

Nevertheless, above all other factors, the primary driver behind the BLA’s expanding capabilities is the sustained repression of the Baloch population by the Pakistani state. Decades of harsh policies characterised by systemic marginalisation and collective punishment have so profoundly alienated the Baloch people that, in the absence of viable alternatives, even those opposed to violent methods often find themselves sympathetic to the BLA. It has been reiterated to the point of becoming axiomatic in political science that political challenges cannot be resolved solely through military means. The longstanding political grievances of the Baloch population have consistently been dismissed, silenced, and met with severe, indiscriminate force by the state. Unless Pakistan initiates a process grounded in accountability and sensitivity, and begins to provide the Baloch with genuine political representation and rights, the region will remain ensnared in an unending cycle of violence and repression.

Pakistan’s Baloch Conundrum and its Impact on Foreign Policy

In today’s interconnected world, where the internet is vital for communication, commerce, and education, a government-imposed digital blackout represents more than a policy—it conveys a powerful message. This message continues to resonate in its third year within one of the central districts of Pakistan’s Balochistan province. Panjgur, renowned for its date palm cultivation and situated between Quetta, the provincial capital, and the strategic port city of Gwadar, has remained digitally incapacitated for several years. On 26 May, Pakistan’s Ministry of Interior prolonged the internet suspension in the area for a further six months, citing the “prevailing law and order situation” as justification.

This decision might appear to be a localized matter of governance or security. However, it symbolises a far more profound dysfunction within the Pakistani state and is closely tied to the government’s militarised policy towards Balochistan. More significantly, this neo-imperialist and securitised strategy, which has kept Balochistan in turmoil and unresolved for decades, carries serious consequences not only for Pakistan’s internal cohesion but also for its foreign policy and its persistently strained relations within the region, particularly with India.

The Baloch insurgency is not a recent phenomenon. Since Pakistan’s formation in 1947, the Baloch have launched multiple uprisings in response to what they perceive as systemic political marginalisation, economic deprivation, and cultural suppression by the Pakistani state. The fifth and ongoing phase of this armed resistance, which commenced in the early 2000s, has demonstrated notable resilience, with groups such as the Balochistan Liberation Army (BLA) posing an escalating challenge to the state. As The Economist notes, the distinct feature of this current insurgency lies in its broader support base, extending beyond a few feudal elites to include an increasingly mobilised Baloch middle class. What started as a regional demand for autonomy has, under the weight of state repression, evolved into increasingly vocal calls for full independence from Pakistan.

Rather than pursuing genuine dialogue or instituting reforms, the Pakistani state has consistently resorted to militarised governance in the region, characterised by grave human rights violations, including thousands of enforced disappearances, extrajudicial executions, sexual violence against Baloch women, and widespread information blackouts. The internet suspension in Panjgur—along with similar disruptions in districts such as Kech and Gwadar, notably during the Baloch Yakjehti Committee-led protests of February–March 2025—is not merely a case of administrative excess. It forms part of a broader strategic approach that views Balochistan not as an equal federating unit, but as a rebellious frontier to be subdued for its resources. This perception is further entrenched by the military’s manipulation of local politics, whereby it installs loyalists into provincial governance structures, sidelining indigenous political actors deemed unreliable.

But what does this mean for Pakistan’s foreign policy?

At its foundation, foreign policy represents an extension of a state’s internal stability and should ideally embody political maturity. In Pakistan’s case, the persistent Baloch insurgency acts as both a distraction and a strategic liability. It consumes financial and military resources that might otherwise be allocated to constructive diplomatic engagement or economic development. More pointedly, the situation in Balochistan significantly affects Pakistan’s regional dynamics. For example, having consistently failed to address the underlying Baloch grievances, the Pakistani establishment frequently resorts to deflecting criticism of its shortcomings by accusing India of covertly supporting Baloch insurgent groups.

Although there is little publicly available evidence to substantiate Pakistan’s claims of Indian involvement in Balochistan, the reality is that the protracted conflict has become not only a critical weakness and challenge within its domestic security architecture but also a growing diplomatic liability. As human rights discourse increasingly influences multilateral institutions and resonates among Western allies, the Pakistani Army’s ongoing military repression is likely to attract heightened international condemnation.

Furthermore, ongoing state repression and the resulting militancy hinder prospects for regional cooperation. The China-Pakistan Economic Corridor (CPEC), heralded as the flagship project of China’s Belt and Road Initiative (BRI) and a cornerstone of Pakistan’s economic diplomacy, has its most extensive infrastructural presence in Balochistan. Although Islamabad promotes CPEC as transformative—promising advancements in roads, energy, and infrastructure—these promises have yet to materialise meaningfully on the ground, even after a decade. Many Baloch nationalists view the project as a neo-colonial venture that marginalises local communities while enriching external stakeholders. Measures such as internet shutdowns, arbitrary arrests, and militarised checkpoints in Gwadar and surrounding areas have only deepened these concerns. Despite China’s growing alarm over Balochistan’s deteriorating security—underscored by multiple attacks on Chinese personnel and assets last year—Pakistan’s response remains firmly rooted in a security-focused paradigm.

This brings the focus back to Panjgur. In a region where students, the business community, and other segments of society are deprived of access to the digital realm, the state is effectively severing the area from the modern world. This digital disconnection does not restore stability; rather, it is intended to conceal the abuses committed by the Pakistan Army and to silence the grievances of the Baloch people. The Pakistani establishment fails to recognise that, over time, such measures generate greater alienation, radicalisation, and instability.

Accordingly, Islamabad must recognise that Balochistan represents not merely a security challenge but a failure of governance. While internet restrictions may temporarily quell dissent, they will not resolve the insurgency and instead deepen feelings of alienation among the Baloch population. As long as Panjgur and vast areas of Balochistan remain isolated—both literally and metaphorically—Pakistan’s pursuit of internal stability and regional peace, particularly with India, will remain unattainable. A state that cannot deliver justice and connectivity to its own citizens lacks the credibility to demand justice or trust from its neighbours or the wider international community.

The route to peace in Pakistan does not lie solely through Islamabad and Rawalpindi; instead, it winds through Panjgur and traverses Balochistan.

Voices from the Vanished: The Fight for Justice in Balochistan  

In the shadowed corridors of the Pakistani state, where power is wielded not by the parliament but by barracks and clandestine agencies, the soul of Balochistan bleeds. The month of January 2025 alone saw 107 enforced disappearances across the province, according to a chilling report by Paank, the human rights wing of the Baloch National Movement. These are not just numbers—they are human lives swallowed by a brutal machine that operates beyond accountability, with the military establishment acting as judge, jury, and often, executioner. Dr. Abdul Malik Baloch, President of the National Party and former Chief Minister of Balochistan, has emerged as one of the few political voices courageous enough to confront the state’s ongoing repression. In a recent public address, he condemned the federal government and military’s intrusion into Balochistan’s affairs—especially through the controversial Mines and Minerals Act, which he decried as a constitutional betrayal.

Resource Colonialism in a Federal Guise

The plunder of Balochistan’s natural wealth—Saindak, Reko Diq, Gwadar—is conducted not with development in mind, but domination. The people of Balochistan are treated not as stakeholders, but as subjects of a 21st-century colonial project. Contracts with companies like Pakistan Petroleum Limited and Saindak Metals are renewed without the consultation of legitimate public representatives, further entrenching the military’s grip over the region’s resources. John Locke, the Enlightenment philosopher who laid the foundation for liberal constitutionalism, argued that a government loses legitimacy the moment it no longer operates with the consent of the governed. The Pakistani state’s actions in Balochistan represent a grotesque inversion of this principle. Where the social contract demands mutual obligation, the state offers extraction and suppression. In Locke’s words, such a regime ceases to be civil and becomes a “state of war.”

Disappearances: The Anatomy of a State Crime

The figures from the Paank report are harrowing: enforced disappearances have become the norm rather than the exception. These are not rogue acts but systematic state policy—an organized terror campaign carried out by military and intelligence agencies to quash dissent and eradicate political opposition. The mutilated bodies of Muhammad Ismail (20) and Muhammad Abbas (17), found after being abducted from their Kalat home, represent the fate of thousands. Their youth, their innocence, their right to live—all discarded in the name of national security. Hekmatullah Baloch, another victim, was shot during a peaceful protest and succumbed to his injuries in a Karachi hospital. His crime? Demanding accountability. Michel Foucault, in his seminal work Discipline and Punish, observed that modern states have replaced the public spectacle of punishment with hidden forms of control—surveillance, incarceration, and disappearance. Pakistan, in Balochistan, has regressed to a grotesque hybrid, mixing the medieval cruelty of mutilation with the modern state’s bureaucratic efficiency. The Fourth Schedule and Maintenance of Public Order (3MPO) are not laws—they are instruments of tyranny.

The Illusion of Democracy and the Reality of Martial Law

While Islamabad claims to be a constitutional democracy, Balochistan is ruled like an occupied territory. Dr. Abdul Malik denounced the frequent use of colonial-era laws to detain political activists, many of them women. He rightly equated this crackdown to civil martial law—a regime where uniforms dictate politics and silence becomes the only guarantee of safety. The philosopher Hannah Arendt warned that the collapse of the line between the legal and the illegal is the precursor to totalitarianism. In Balochistan, this line has not only been blurred; it has been erased. The people no longer know when they cross a boundary, because the boundary moves with the will of the soldier. This system does not merely suppress dissent—it criminalizes existence itself. Border trade, once a lifeline for over three million people, has been strangled by new regulations and taxes. What remains is not law and order but extortion by officials, where survival is a privilege granted to the obedient and denied to the defiant.

The Politics of Extraction and Exclusion

The resource curse is not a theory in Balochistan—it is lived reality. The province is rich in gas, gold, copper, and port infrastructure, yet its people suffer from abject poverty, rampant illiteracy, and systemic unemployment. This paradox is no accident; it is by design. Antonio Gramsci’s idea of passive revolution is illuminating here. Gramsci noted how dominant classes use state apparatuses to integrate resistance into the system without altering its exploitative foundations. In Balochistan, token development projects and cosmetic representation serve as cover for a deeper colonization. What the state offers is not empowerment but pacification. Even the façade of electoral politics is undermined. Dr. Malik lamented that extensions to mineral contracts were being signed without legitimate public oversight, deepening the alienation of the Baloch people. This political exclusion is a deliberate strategy to delegitimize regional autonomy and enforce submission to centralized authority.

Dispossession Disguised as Security

The Talaar check post, which Dr. Malik demanded be dismantled, is not merely a security installation—it is a symbol of domination. It represents the architecture of occupation: a structure that surveils, intimidates, and fragments the community it purports to protect. Similar outposts dot the Baloch landscape like scars, each a reminder that the state sees its own citizens as insurgents in need of subjugation. Frantz Fanon, in The Wretched of the Earth, described colonial regimes that deploy violence not just to suppress rebellion but to imprint inferiority onto the colonized psyche. The Pakistan Army’s presence in Balochistan functions the same way. It tells the Baloch they do not own their land, their bodies, or their future.

Dr. Malik’s demands are not radical—they are constitutional. He asks for the release of political workers, simplification of trade rules, and the withdrawal of draconian laws. Yet in the eyes of the establishment, such calls are tantamount to sedition. This reaction reveals the state’s true nature: one that cannot accommodate dissent because its foundations are built on domination, not dialogue. It views Baloch identity not as a part of the national mosaic, but as a threat to its imposed uniformity. The German philosopher Jürgen Habermas emphasized the importance of “communicative rationality”—the idea that democratic societies should resolve conflicts through open, inclusive dialogue. The Pakistani state, instead, speaks in the language of bullets, barbed wire, and black sites. It confuses coercion with cohesion and believes silence equals stability.

A Dark Mirror for the World

The world must not avert its eyes. What is happening in Balochistan is not an internal affair—it is a human rights catastrophe that demands international scrutiny. The United Nations, the European Union, and rights organizations must pressure Pakistan to end its military campaign of terror. Balochistan is the mirror in which we see the true face of the Pakistani establishment: brutal, extractive, and unapologetically authoritarian. Until the military returns to the barracks, until the disappeared are returned to their families, and until the people of Balochistan control their own destiny, there will be no peace. To paraphrase the philosopher Rousseau: A people once forced to be silent will eventually speak with fire. Balochistan is the mirror in which we see the true face of the Pakistani establishment: brutal, extractive, and unapologetically authoritarian. Until the military returns to the barracks, until the disappeared are returned to their families, and until the people of Balochistan control their own destiny, there will be no peace. Pakistan has, willy-nilly, disappeared the people of Balochistan—fathers, mothers, brothers, daughters—without remorse or accountability. This machinery of oppression has shattered countless lives and torn apart the social fabric of a proud and historic people. The silence of the disappeared echoes louder than any protest; it reverberates through every Baloch household and haunts every mother who waits at her doorstep. These disappearances, and the suffering they bring, are not merely crimes—they are the slow incineration of hope. If this trajectory of state violence and contempt continues, it will not just destabilize Balochistan but engulf any prospect of peace. A state that thrives on the pain of its peripheries cannot claim unity; it can only demand obedience, and such obedience always comes at the cost of human dignity. It is no longer a question of politics—it is a question of survival. And the world must choose: to remain complicit in silence or to stand with a people struggling to be seen, to be heard, and above all—to be free.

Repression as Governance: Pakistan’s Violent Grip Over Balochistan

When Pakistan experienced the hijacking of the Jaffar Express by Baloch insurgents last month, it triggered a renewed wave of public concern regarding the likely methods of state retaliation. These fears were neither new nor unjustified; instead, they were firmly grounded in decades of securitised repression in the region, where the Pakistani state has historically operated as a regime of punitive authoritarianism, characterised by systemic violence, extrajudicial reprisals, and the delegitimisation of ethno-nationalist opposition.

What proved particularly troubling, however, was the state’s broadening punitive reach beyond alleged insurgent actors, extending into civil society and non-combatant political opposition. The arrest of Dr. Mahrang Baloch, along with several members of the Baloch Yakjehti Committee (BYC), marked a decisive shift towards the criminalisation of rights advocacy and calls for institutional accountability. These actions have refocused attention on the ongoing decline of human rights protections in Balochistan, highlighting the persistent impunity with which the Pakistan Army operates, subjecting the region’s marginalised communities to systemic dispossession and militarised governance.

In the aftermath of the Jaffar Express incident, which highlighted a significant intelligence failure within the Pakistan Army-led security apparatus, the state, adhering to its entrenched model of militarised governance in Balochistan, launched a series of ostensibly “counter-insurgency operations” across the province. In keeping with its historical approach to coercive statecraft, these operations were accompanied by widespread reports of staged “encounters,” a term now widely understood as a euphemism for extrajudicial executions, during which dozens of Baloch men were summarily killed.

The region has long been a site of thousands of cases of enforced disappearances, where Baloch men have been abducted by security forces, many of whom have either been extrajudicially executed or remain missing to this day. For example, the Voice for Missing Baloch Persons (VMBP) has documented over 7,000 cases of enforced disappearances in the province since 2004. Even reports from the Pakistani government, such as the Commission of Inquiry on Enforced Disappearances (COIED), have recorded over 2,700 such cases in the region. Pakistani forces have been accused of executing many of these individuals, with the recovery of mutilated bodies across the province being a recurring phenomenon. For instance, local news reports indicate that between April 5th and 6th alone—within a span of just 48 hours—twelve bodies of recently disappeared Baloch individuals were recovered from various areas of the province, including Barkhan, Khuzdar, Mashkay, and Buleda. These findings have been unequivocally condemned as extrajudicial killings, further solidifying long-standing allegations about the secretive and violent methods employed by Pakistan’s security establishment in its control of Balochistan.

Alongside these lethal operations, the state intensified its crackdown on civil society actors, particularly human rights organisations, which it has controversially sought to equate with insurgent networks. This strategic obfuscation and conflation serve a dual purpose: they delegitimise grassroots human rights efforts while simultaneously justifying state-sanctioned violence as a necessary counter-insurgency measure to the wider Pakistani public, especially in other provinces. Organisations such as the Baloch Yakjehti Committee (BYC), led by Dr. Mahrang Baloch, have consistently challenged the state’s fabricated narratives, exposed the performative nature of alleged “encounters,” and highlighted the ongoing continuity of repression that has characterised Pakistan’s approach to the region for decades. It is within this broader context of securitised silencing and pervasive violence that the recent arrests of rights defenders must be critically understood—not as isolated instances of executive overreach, but as integral components of a deeply entrenched regime of disciplinary statecraft aimed at eradicating dissent and reinforcing an exclusionary national identity.

It is important to note that Dr. Mahrang Baloch was arrested by the Pakistani state on March 22 while she was leading a peaceful sit-in protest against the extrajudicial killing of three Baloch men by state police forces the day before. The alleged crime of these three young men was their mere participation in anti-government protests condemning the unlawful detention of several Baloch Yakjehti Committee (BYC) members, including prominent activists Bebarg Zehri and Saeeda Baloch, who had been arrested by Pakistani forces on March 20 and March 21, respectively.

Nonetheless, the broader implications of these punitive actions seem to be not only significant but also structurally unsettling. They expose the Pakistani state’s entrenched tendency to use coercive violence as part of its colonial approach to Balochistan, where any demands for justice and democratic participation are not simply suppressed but actively framed as existential threats to state sovereignty. This is accomplished by labelling political dissent as “sedition” and systematically eroding any counter-narrative that challenges the state’s militarised orthodoxy.

Consequently, the current situation in Balochistan can no longer be simplified as a case of developmental neglect or peripheral instability. It must instead be understood as a manifestation of a deliberate and ongoing dismantling of civic space, the judicial denial of ethnic rights, and the institutionalisation of structural violence under the ideological guise of counterterrorism. What is unfolding in Balochistan seems to be a clear example of necropolitical governance, where the very existence of Baloch bodies—whether mobilised, defiant, or passively situated—becomes a source of intense anxiety for the state and, consequently, a target for its systemic violence.

Thus, these actions represent a deliberate attempt to delegitimise, criminalise, and ultimately eliminate dissenting discourse, particularly those expressions that challenge the entrenched impunity of military operations or call for the institutionalisation of structural accountability within the federal framework. By employing such repressive measures, the Pakistani state appears determined to systematically close off what remains of civil and political space that could otherwise enable critique, deliberation, or resistance to its militarised governance in Balochistan.

This strategic repression goes beyond mere authoritarian excess; it embodies a malicious form of statecraft aimed at provoking the radicalisation of the last remaining peaceful political dissent, thereby making armed insurgency the only viable form of opposition. This trajectory is neither incidental nor accidental but is instead intentionally cultivated to squeeze non-violent political channels, thereby creating a self-fulfilling narrative of insurgency that could serve to legitimise the state’s repressive apparatus.

In effect, this strategy is perceived as a means to absolve the state from the need to justify its actions within constitutional or democratic frameworks, if such frameworks exist at all, thereby enabling the entrenchment of its colonial control over Balochistan through the normalisation of extreme violence. As repression in Balochistan becomes increasingly institutionalised, the international community must recognise the epistemic violence being carried out under the guise of state security and advocate for accountability within the country, including an immediate halt to this unchecked violence.

Is the Pakistan Army crumbling?

The Pakistan Army, once a formidable force that determined the nation’s destiny with authority, is now deteriorating under the burden of corruption, incompetence, and internal conflict. General Asim Munir, who currently leads the institution, has steered it towards a state of disgrace, turning what was once Pakistan’s most powerful entity into a divided, despised, and faltering power structure. The divisions are deepening, the foundations are weakening, and Munir’s leadership appears to be on the brink of collapse.

In an unprecedented display of defiance, junior officers have turned against their own commander, presenting a letter that reads more like an ultimatum than a request. Colonels, majors, captains, and soldiers have come together in their outrage, demanding that Munir resign immediately or face repercussions that could destabilize the military. Their language is harsh and resolute. “This is your 1971, General,” the letter states, referencing the humiliating defeat that led to the creation of Bangladesh. The officers accuse Munir of tarnishing the army’s legacy, using its power against the very citizens it was meant to protect, and employing the military as a blunt tool to suppress political adversaries and undermine democracy.

What was once the ultimate arbiter of Pakistan’s future has now become an institution mired in disgrace. Munir has transformed GHQ into a personal fiefdom, where military power is used not against external threats but against journalists, students, activists, and political opponents. The ousting of Imran Khan and the blatant manipulation of the February 8, 2024, elections have only reinforced what the world had already anticipated: the Pakistan Army is no longer a defender of national security; it has become an instrument of repression, a junta posing as a military, and a remnant of dictatorship desperately clinging to power.

Public anger has reached a critical level. The military, once held in high esteem, is now the subject of overt resistance. Soldiers, once respected, are now pelted with stones by children in the streets. Military convoys, once feared, are now greeted with mockery and abuse. Munir’s leadership has tarnished the army’s credibility, transforming it from the nation’s protector into its most reviled oppressor. The bitterness is profound, and the resentment simmers like an unhealed wound.

As the country descends further into economic turmoil, Munir and his generals continue to prosper. The army’s unchecked dominance over business empires, land acquisitions, and financial institutions has enabled them to accumulate vast wealth while the average Pakistani faces starvation. Palatial homes rise behind fortified barriers while entire families beg for food on the streets. The letter from the rebellious officers is filled with disdain, accusing Munir of being little more than a petty tyrant who has extended his tenure to 2027 not out of obligation but driven by insatiable greed. “The economy is a decaying corpse, and yet you parade in GHQ like a pathetic dictator while we starve,” the letter asserts. The anger now extends beyond the streets—it is rising within the ranks, signaling the onset of a revolt unlike anything the military has ever experienced.

Munir’s failures extend beyond politics and economics. His incompetence has rendered the army ineffective on the battlefield, where insurgents now openly mock its weakness. The hijacking of the Jaffar Express by the Balochistan Liberation Army (BLA) was a moment of profound humiliation—a flagrant demonstration of how Pakistan’s adversaries no longer fear its military. Armed militants took control of an entire train, held hostages, and departed unscathed. The army’s response? Empty rhetoric and futile threats. The officers’ letter is laden with disdain: “The BLA’s taunts resonate more strongly than your hollow ISPR press releases, and the soldiers who once stood tall now hang their heads in shame.”

This is not merely a crisis of leadership; it is a moment of existential reckoning. The officers who have spoken out are not issuing idle threats—they are signaling the presence of a force ready to act. Should Munir refuse to resign, the army itself may soon turn against him. A coup from within is no longer an unimaginable scenario. The chain of command is weakening, discipline is deteriorating, and the storm is on the horizon. Whispers are circulating in the barracks, unrest is brewing among the ranks, and a spirit of defiance is spreading among those who once unquestioningly obeyed orders.

Pakistan stands on the brink of turmoil. The army’s long-unquestioned dominance, once tolerated by the populace, is now encountering resistance from within its own ranks. Munir’s grip on power is loosening, his credibility is in ruins, and his prospects are grim. Will he heed the warnings and step down, or will his obstinate arrogance drag both the army and Pakistan into a profound internal crisis?

The world is closely watching. Both Pakistan’s allies and adversaries are observing the gradual disintegration of a military once regarded as untouchable. The United States, China, and Saudi Arabia—countries that once viewed Pakistan’s army as a vital stabilizing force—are now cautious of its instability. A divided and rebellious military spells disaster for the region, where existing instability has already provided fertile ground for extremism and disorder. Should the army persist along its current trajectory, Pakistan risks becoming a failed state, a theater for proxy wars, and a nation devoid of sovereignty, its future shaped by foreign powers.

One fact is undeniable: the era of the Pakistan Army’s unquestioned dominance is coming to an end. The wave of rebellion is growing, and Munir’s name is destined to be recorded not in triumph, but among Pakistan’s greatest failures. The only path forward for Pakistan is to restore power to its rightful source—the people. For far too long, the army has usurped the nation’s future, subverting democracy and ruling through force and intimidation. The time has come to break this military stranglehold. Pakistan must rise, reclaim its sovereignty, and bring an end to the army’s tyranny once and for all.

How Weak the Mighty State: Mahrang Baloch’s Arrest Exposes the Cowardice of the Pakistani State

Dr. Mahrang Baloch, the charismatic and fearless leader of the peaceful Baloch civil resistance, has been detained by Pakistani authorities alongside 16 other activists for protesting against the ongoing enforced disappearances in the province. As a key organiser of the Baloch Yakjehti Committee, an organisation that has played a significant role in galvanising grassroots mobilisations demanding state accountability, Baloch faces charges including directing terrorist activities, sedition, and rioting. Despite triggering widespread domestic and international condemnation, the Pakistani authorities remain largely unperturbed in their authoritarian suppression of peaceful Baloch demonstrations. In light of the recent escalation in insurgent attacks within the province, the latest wave of arrests and violent repression of protests can be seen as a deliberate attempt to divert attention from the state’s own failures and shortcomings.

Although the Pakistani state has escalated its efforts to silence Baloch this time, she has been under scrutiny for some time. A surgeon by profession, she has played a pivotal role in fostering the peaceful Baloch movement within a highly perilous environment. At just 32 years old, she has witnessed firsthand the severe abuses that the Pakistani state inflicts upon the Baloch people. In 2009, at the age of 16, her father, Abdul Ghaffar Lango, a labourer and political activist with the Balochistan National Party (BNP), was forcibly disappeared. Two years later, his mutilated body was discovered, showing signs of torture and gunshot wounds. In 2017, Baloch’s brother was also forcibly disappeared. Although he was released three months later following Baloch’s vocal opposition to the authorities, her anger and activism endured, and she has since become the voice of many others who continue to suffer similar fates.

Mahrang Baloch gained widespread recognition during the Baloch Yakjehti Committee’s (BYC) ‘March against Baloch Genocide’ from Turbat to Quetta (the provincial capital) and ultimately to Islamabad, held between December 2023 and January 2024. The catalyst for this long march was the November 2023 killing of 24-year-old tailor Balach Mola Baksh by the Counter Terrorism Department, which falsely characterised the incident as an encounter. His family, claiming he was in state custody at the time of his death, protested at Fida Ahmed Chowk in Turbat with his body for a week, but their efforts yielded no results.

The BYC had originally emerged from the Bramsh Yakjehti Committee, formed in solidarity with and to seek justice for Bramsh, the 4-year-old daughter of Malik Naz, who was allegedly killed by state-backed death squads in May 2020. In response to the ongoing state abuses, including enforced disappearances, fabricated encounters, extrajudicial killings, and torture, the leadership of the Bramsh Yakjehti Committee chose to broaden its scope to address the broader plight of the Baloch people, renaming the organisation as the Baloch Yakjehti Committee. The movement is spearheaded by the mothers, sisters, daughters, and half-widows of those who have fallen victim to these brutal state actions, without any accountability. The BYC has since organised a number of significant demonstrations, mobilising people on an unprecedented scale in the history of the province, including the ‘Baloch Raaji Muchi’ in Gwadar in July 2024 and the ‘Baloch Genocide Remembrance Day’ in Dalbandin in January 2025.

In response to the rise of peaceful civil resistance by the Baloch people, the Pakistani establishment, rather than addressing the long-standing grievances of the populace, has resorted to its usual tactics of obstructing, discrediting, and silencing the movement. The protests have continued despite state-enforced internet and network blackouts, arbitrary detentions, the use of water cannons, tear gas, and even live ammunition. Additionally, the state has launched an extensive disinformation campaign against the movement. The mainstream media, traditionally aligned with state narratives, has been complicit in linking the activists to insurgents, alleging that they are supported or manipulated by foreign entities. Dr Mahrang Baloch herself has been targeted by malicious digital propaganda, with false claims that her father and brother were associated with insurgents. Furthermore, an image of her with a Norwegian journalist who interviewed her was circulated, suggesting foreign involvement in the movement. A fabricated audio recording was also spread, falsely claiming that Baloch was attempting to secure foreign funds for the Gwadar protest. A recurring element of the disinformation campaign involves misrepresenting the missing persons, whom the movement advocates for, as separatist militants. In one instance, a photograph of Baloch at a protest was altered to distort an image of a missing person on a poster behind her, replacing the image of Rafique Oman with that of Rafiq Bizenjo, a suicide bomber allegedly claimed by the Balochistan Liberation Army (BLA).

The province of Balochistan has endured immense deprivation and suffering due to the ongoing conflict between the Pakistani state and the long-standing armed insurgency. In addition to the systemic discrimination and exploitation imposed by the federal government, the Baloch people have faced relentless human rights violations by the state under the guise of counter-insurgency measures. The recent train hijacking and Noshki attack on security personnel by the Balochistan Liberation Army (BLA) highlight the complete failure of Pakistan’s policies to address the insurgency and safeguard the Baloch population. Rather than confronting the fundamental issues surrounding its approach, the establishment has reverted to its familiar and convenient tactic of suppressing peaceful dissent to avoid addressing difficult questions.

Dr Mahrang Baloch is currently being held in Quetta District Jail without any legal proceedings, denied access to her lawyer and family. Her cousin, Asma Baloch, has reported that the authorities are even preventing her family from delivering food and other necessary items to her. International human rights organisations, including Amnesty International and Front Line Defenders, have raised concerns about this situation and called for her immediate release. It is evident that the state’s attempt to silence a prominent figure of the peaceful Baloch resistance has backfired, drawing greater attention to the plight of the Baloch people. It is crucial that the establishment reassesses its approach and puts an end to the egregious practices that have fuelled the insurgency and caused immense suffering to the Baloch population.