There is not a single issue in the country that so outspokenly reveals one’s political stripes as the plight of Balochistan. This truth was brutally etched this past Wednesday night, when tides of peaceful protesters, travelling from Turbat to Islamabad, were denied entry at the capital’s gates. Weeks before, the Long March had stirred waves of empathy. Thousands of women, men, children, activists, and everyday citizens snaked through Balochistan, then through the Seraiki, Pakhtun, and Punjabi heartlands. Led by young women, this caravan was the most resonant expression of democratic ideals and a possible, voluntary federation Pakistan hadn’t witnessed in years. And then, they reached Islamabad’s threshold. The demands resonated with their simplicity ending enforced disappearances; the encounter killing that sparked the protest in Turbat, and accountability for those complicit. Petitions whispered, but their echoes could topple mountains Why is voicing such pleas so taboo? Why, particularly, for youth of the province to articulate what most Pakistanis already whisper that some functionaries operate with impunity? Their language was not seditious; it was a desperate cry to be heard.
It’s telling that while the march traversed the country, mainstream parties were busy courting Balochistan’s electable; Sarfraz Bugti, the caretaker interior minister who promptly joined the PPP after resigning upon the February 8th election announcement. Even the caretaker Prime Minister hails from Balochistan. His urgent notice after the crackdown, along with the Islamabad High Court’s intervention after a petition on behalf of the detained, begs a crucial question: why are subjected to repeated brutality, followed by tokenistic action only after salt stings their gaping wounds? Indeed, the scenes outside Islamabad this week make it harder to convince skeptics that a democratic federation with genuine citizenship for ethnic nations like the remains a possibility. The actions and attitudes of those in power can only be described as old-fashioned colonial statecraft. These marchers merely sought entry to the capital, a platform to speak their truth. Their words weren’t incendiary; they were a plea for recognition. Given history’s cruel precedent, their expectations weren’t lofty. Yet, these young women and mothers who walked to the symbol of this federation, asking only to protest peacefully, were met with batons, water cannons, and police vans. Mainstream Pakistan has experienced some of these tactics in recent months, particularly those loyal to the imprisoned former PM. Many now taste the bitter fruit of state brutality and ask why they face such treatment.
The solidarities forged along the Long March’s path shouldn’t be forgotten amidst the cacophony of Islamabad’s denial. The establishment won’t be held accountable by cozying up to bourgeois politicians. The only hope lies in the unity of progressives and the ordinary citizens who stood against disappearances and encounter killings to believe that, perhaps, just perhaps, this path can still lead to a just and democratic future. The truth is; they now experience what many Baloch people and their allies have endured for far too long. Recognizing this is the first step towards a deeper democratic struggle, where the most oppressed voices take center stage.
Ballad or epic story isn’t just about Balochistan; it’s about reclaiming the soul of a nation fractured by injustice. It’s about the courage of young women leading the charge, the unwavering solidarity of diverse communities, and the yearning for a future where all voices are heard, respected, and protected. The Balochistan question in not a political swamp; it’s a human cry for equality, echoing from a land bordered by mountains and broken by unhealed wounds. It’s time we listened, truly listened, and built a Pakistan where everyone can walk freely, speak openly, and find justice even on the coldest, darkest nights.