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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.
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.
Pakistan’s National Security Strategy Is Broken. Reform Must Begin at Home
In 2021, the Pakistani government introduced its inaugural National Security Policy, asserting that “the safety, security, dignity, and prosperity of citizens in all their manifestations will remain the ultimate purpose of Pakistan’s national security (p. 6).” To many, this appeared to mark a shift—at least rhetorically—towards a more citizen-focused and comprehensive understanding of security, moving away from the historically military-centric framework. Yet, four years on, such declarations appear increasingly unfulfilled.
From Balochistan to Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, Pakistan remains challenged by escalating internal insurgencies. The Baloch nationalist movement, in particular, has withstood decades of state repression and, in recent years, has expanded both in territorial scope and tactical capability. Concurrently, Pakistan’s regional stance—especially its policy alignment with the Afghan Taliban and its enduring engagement with extremist proxies—has resulted in diplomatic isolation and increased domestic exposure to militant reprisals.
If Pakistan aspires to become a secure state, it must first confront a difficult truth: national security cannot be sustained on the basis of repression, strategic ambiguity, and denial. Instead, it must be re-envisioned to include justice, political reconciliation, and an honest reckoning with historical missteps. This transformation must commence with Balochistan.
For decades, the Pakistani state has approached Baloch nationalism not as a legitimate political grievance requiring resolution, but as a security challenge to be forcefully suppressed. This approach has involved enforced disappearances, extrajudicial killings, and aggressive military interventions. Consequently, a profound sense of alienation has taken root among Baloch communities, many of whom, having suffered state violence, now view the state more as a colonising force than a protective authority. It is therefore unsurprising that leading non-violent advocates for justice in the province, such as Mahrang Baloch, have personally experienced repression, with numerous family members subjected to enforced disappearances or extrajudicial killings.
Despite ongoing state abuses, the insurgency has persisted—and indeed, it has adapted. Organisations such as the Baloch Liberation Army (BLA) have extended their activities beyond traditional rural strongholds, increasingly targeting economic infrastructure and security personnel across the province, and occasionally in major urban centres such as Karachi. In recent years, Baloch insurgents have repeatedly attacked Pakistani military facilities and China-backed development projects, resulting in the deaths of several Chinese nationals. This trajectory does not reflect a weakening movement; rather, it underscores the failure of the Pakistani state’s militarised strategy.
The government continues to portray the insurgency as externally orchestrated, particularly by India. This narrative serves to conveniently sidestep the deeper, legitimate grievances of Baloch citizens, including political exclusion, resource extraction without local benefit, and a lack of essential public services. Notably, Balochistan—despite its substantial mineral wealth—remains among the most impoverished and underdeveloped regions in the country. It is this stark disjunction between the state’s strategic priorities and the lived experiences of its people that lies at the core of Pakistan’s faltering national security framework.
Pakistan’s prevailing security architecture has been predominantly shaped and directed by the military establishment. Its conventional orientation has remained India-centric, interpreting national security primarily through the limited perspective of perceived external threats. This strategic outlook has fostered three deeply detrimental tendencies within the country’s policymaking.
Firstly, it has resulted in the systematic securitisation of internal dissent. Movements advocating for ethnic rights, such as the Pashtun Tahafuz Movement, calls for democratic reform, and even critical journalism are frequently perceived as threats to “national unity.” The state’s response has often been coercive, ranging from censorship to outright violence—as recently witnessed during the Baloch Yakjehti Committee’s protest march against extrajudicial killings and ongoing state-enforced disappearances in Balochistan. This approach has only exacerbated public distrust and further eroded the cohesion of the social fabric.
Secondly, it has normalised the deployment of non-state actors as tools of regional influence. From Kashmir to Afghanistan, Pakistan has supported extremist groups that serve its strategic objectives. While this proxy strategy may have yielded short-term gains, it has come at a significant cost, as several of these groups have turned against the state itself—most notably the Tehrik-i-Taliban Pakistan (TTP), which has resurged in strength in recent years.
Thirdly, this strategy has contributed to Pakistan’s diplomatic isolation. Its ongoing support for, or at least tolerance of, the Afghan Taliban has estranged key allies, including the United States and the wider international community. Repeated statements by US officials accusing Pakistan of exploiting its partnership with Washington for counterterrorism purposes while simultaneously shielding such groups underscore this duplicity. Moreover, Pakistan’s failure to present a coherent counter-extremism policy has rendered it an unreliable actor in global counterterrorism initiatives. Arguably, Pakistan’s national security doctrine has, paradoxically, undermined its own security.
For Pakistan to break free from this cyclical pattern, it requires more than a mere superficial adjustment to its national security policy. A profound transformation is necessary, starting with a shift in focus from safeguarding the interests of the military establishment to prioritising the welfare of its citizens.
This entails prioritising political dialogue over military repression in Balochistan and other turbulent regions. Additionally, it must recognise that dissent is not an act of treason, that ethnic grievances do not constitute national threats, and that lasting peace is achieved through negotiation, not eradication.
This also requires rejecting the militarised approach in favour of empowering civilian institutions to lead on internal security. The intelligence and military apparatus must not serve as both judge and executioner in matters of internal dissent. Pakistan’s democracy, despite its fragility, cannot thrive under the strain of a constant state of emergency and dominant military control.
Moreover, it is crucial to abandon the “good Taliban, bad Taliban” policy, which has always been driven more by strategic considerations than by moral principles. The Taliban’s resurgence in Afghanistan represents a model that Pakistan should avoid, as it has strengthened jihadist networks across the region. Pakistan must end its strategic ambivalence and decisively distance itself from all extremist groups. No state can achieve stability while harbouring forces fundamentally opposed to the very concept of the modern nation-state. Pakistan has options, but lacks the political will.
The path to reform will be challenging. It will necessitate the military’s relinquishment of some control over internal policy decisions, as well as political leaders demonstrating the courage to confront uncomfortable truths. Additionally, it will require society as a whole to call for a new definition of security—one that is not merely the absence of conflict, but the presence of justice, opportunity, and dignity. For Pakistan, the stakes are immense. The choice is no longer between change and continuity, but between transformation and ongoing disintegration.
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.
On 18 April 2025, a 47-year-old car workshop owner was brutally killed with sticks and bricks as a mob of hundreds stormed his place of worship, while numerous others had to be rescued by police in the city of Karachi, Pakistan. This horrific incident, which should provoke national outrage and deep sorrow, failed to elicit a strong response from civil society or a decisive intervention from the state. The reason lies in the fact that both the victim and the worship site belonged to the Ahmadi Muslim minority— a community that routinely faces violent persecution, systemic political and bureaucratic discrimination, and institutionalised oppression within Pakistan.
Each year, reports by governmental bodies, international human rights organisations, and community advocates document the persistent assaults on Ahmadi Muslims in Pakistan by Islamist factions or radicalised mobs, with no meaningful intervention by the state. In some instances, the state appears overtly complicit in such actions—for example, in March of this year, a 120-year-old Ahmadi place of worship was demolished by police following pressure and complaints from Islamist groups claiming the structure resembled a mosque. To offer a glimpse into the societal persecution faced by this community: Ahmadi Muslim graves are frequently defiled and vandalised, while individuals endure constant harassment, targeted assassinations, mob violence, unofficial commercial boycotts, employment discrimination, and abuse on digital platforms. This is compounded by the alarming frequency of blasphemy accusations levelled against Ahmadi Muslims, for reasons such as possessing the Quran, inscribing Prophet Muhammad’s name on a wedding invitation, or engaging in prayer using language or gestures considered distinctly Islamic.
While opposition to the Ahmadiyya community has existed since its inception in the late 19th century by Mirza Ghulam Ahmad of Qadian in Punjab, the most critical blow to Ahmadi Muslims in Pakistan was delivered through the 1974 constitutional amendment, which officially declared them non-Muslims. Despite sharing the majority of beliefs and practices with mainstream Muslims, Ahmadis diverge in their recognition of Mirza Ahmad as the Mahdi or Messiah, a belief that conflicts with the Islamic doctrine of Khatam-e-Nubuwwat (the finality of Prophet Muhammad). Subsequently, in 1984, General Zia-ul-Haq issued an ordinance prohibiting Ahmadi Muslims from performing Islamic rites or displaying religious symbols associated with Islam, such as erecting domes or minarets on their places of worship. In 1985, he also introduced segregated voter lists based on religious identity, effectively requiring Ahmadi Muslims to renounce their beliefs in order to vote. This marked the onset of a formalised system of legal disenfranchisement and persecution, which continues today. Although the practice of separate electoral rolls was ended in 2002, Ahmadi Muslims were excluded from this reform. The requirement to repudiate their faith has since permeated various aspects of governance, barring them from essential state services such as obtaining a passport. Notably, in October 2022, Punjab’s provincial government mandated the inclusion of a declaration affirming the finality of Prophet Muhammad within the marriage registration form.
The emergence of the far-right Tehreek-e-Labbaik Pakistan (TLP), the group whose supporters were involved in the recent attack and killing of an Ahmadi Muslim man in Karachi, has significantly deepened the climate of fear and marginalisation experienced by the community.
The TLP rose to national attention in 2017 when it staged a three-week blockade of a major highway in Islamabad to protest a minor amendment to the electoral oath, which the group perceived as a dilution of the state’s stance against Ahmadi Muslims. The government ultimately conceded to their demand by reinstating the original wording, resulting in the resignation of Law Minister Zahid Hamid. Such is the influence of far-right sentiment that, in 2018, the Imran Khan-led PTI government succumbed to pressure from extremist groups and requested that Princeton professor Atif Mian resign from his role as Economic Adviser solely on account of his Ahmadi Muslim identity.
While the systemic exclusion of Ahmadi Muslims in Pakistan was initiated and continues to be upheld by the state, the deep-seated societal animosity it has fostered has now grown beyond the state’s control. Decades of intentional state policy targeting the community for political gain have inflicted lasting damage on the nation, fostering a society deeply afflicted by radicalism, self-destructive impulses, and toxic intolerance. According to data compiled by the Ahmadiyya community, at least 264 Ahmadi Muslims were killed in targeted attacks, mob violence, and bombings between 1984 and 2018. It is important to note that even Pakistan’s first and only Nobel Laureate, Abdus Salam, was not spared from the effects of this pervasive hostility—his gravestone was defaced to erase the word ‘Muslim’ due to his Ahmadi Muslim identity.
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.