Amidst this agonizing spectacle, a fresh report by the Commission of Inquiry on Enforced Disappearances shatters the state’s fragile facade of innocence. In this document, commissioned by the Supreme Court, the Commission delivers a damning indictment. A mere seven percent of its production orders, demanding the presentation of individuals suspected to be in state custody has ever been met. This chilling statistic speaks volumes, confirming the worst fears of countless families – their loved ones are not lost, they are held captive within the labyrinthine web of state power. Last week, the cry for justice reverberated once more from the halls of the Islamabad High Court. A Justice, his voice heavy with conscience, reminded the slumbering leviathan of the state that the right to liberty is not a privilege to be dispensed, but a birthright of every Pakistani citizen. He dared to articulate the unspoken hope gnawing at the hearts of millions – that someday, those who orchestrate these disappearances will answer for their transgressions.
In the intervening time, in the windswept expanse of Balochistan, where the spotlight of scrutiny seems to have cast even deeper shadows, reports of fresh disappearances surface like wounds, raw and festering. Yet, in the heart of Islamabad, the Baloch Yakjehti Committee, led by the indomitable Mahrang Baloch, remains steadfast. Camped outside the National Press Club, their presence a poignant testament to unwavering resolve, they continue to knock on the state’s door, hoping for a sliver of recognition, a whisper of welcome. But the welcome they have received thus far has been a grim symphony of disdain. From the barbed hostility of the Islamabad police to the prime minister’s callous accusations of “duplicity,” the state has chosen to exacerbate the wound rather than offer balm. The latest insult, hurled by the Balochistan caretaker information minister, who in a fit of preposterous cynicism, accused the grieving families of using their anguish as a passport to foreign shores, beggars belief.
One cannot help but wonder in a world increasingly sensitive to the cries of the marginalized, in an era where historical injustices are finally being brought to light, what perverse calculation drives the state towards such brazen self-harm? Has it forgotten the global backlash against the silencing of dissent, the mounting outcry against the subjugation of historically disadvantaged groups? The country, already teetering on the precipice, feels the tremors of internal strife. Security crumbles, the political landscape remains a minefield, and the economy gasps for air. Amidst this maelstrom, can the state afford to alienate yet another segment of its own people?
Those entrusted with the reins of this nation must understand that their mandate is not to fan the flames of discontent but to douse them. In a country drowning in problems, every act of defiance, every unheeded cry for justice, acts as another nail in the coffin of collective progress. The time for gas lighting is over. The time for reconciliation, for accountability, for the recognition of basic human rights is now. This is not merely a plea for the families of the disappeared; it is a desperate call for sanity, for the very future of Pakistan.
The National Press Club in Islamabad stands as a microcosm of Pakistan’s fracturing reality. Two camps, each a microcosm of the larger Baloch struggle, face off daily, their narratives tangled in grief, defiance, and accusations. On one side, the Balochistan Shuhada Forum (BSF) rallies under Nawabzada Jamal Raisani, a former caretaker minister bearing the scars of a father lost to terrorism. On the other, the Baloch Yakjehti Committee (BYC), led by the indomitable Dr. Mahrang Baloch, demands answers for her loved ones vanished into the state’s opaque labyrinth. Their struggle resonates beyond the confines of the NPC, echoing across the windswept expanse of Balochistan, a land scarred by disappearances, violence, and simmering discontent. In this maelstrom, the missing persons issue stands as a gaping wound, festering with unanswered questions and the gnawing suspicion of state complicity.
The statistics speak volumes. A mere seven percent of production orders issued by the Commission of Inquiry on Enforced Disappearances have been met, confirming the families’ chilling fear: their loved ones are not lost, they are held captive within the state’s shadow. This defiance in the face of scrutiny, this callous disregard for human rights, begs the question: in a world increasingly sensitive to the cries of the marginalized, what perverse calculation drives the state towards such self-harm? Mr. Raisani’s pleas for recognition of terrorism victims and accountability for perpetrators ring hollow when juxtaposed with his veiled accusations against the BYC. The specter of Indian meddling further muddies the waters, blurring the lines between legitimate dissent and state-sanctioned demonization. Yet, Dr. Mahrang Baloch’s voice cuts through the noise, echoing with a clarity that cannot be ignored. Her camp, growing despite harsh weather and alleged pressure from law enforcement, embodies the unwavering resolve of those seeking truth and justice.
Their demands are simple: information, transparency, accountability. They do not condone violence; they stand by their condemnations of the BLA. But they refuse to be silenced, to be labeled “fraudulent” and “anti-state” for demanding the basic human right to know the fate of their loved ones. The BSF camp’s reference to BNA commanders’ confessions of Indian funding adds another layer of complexity, leaving us wondering – in this war of narratives, who benefits from obfuscation, from pointing fingers while the real culprits remain in the shadows? Dr. Mahrang’s call for a nationwide strike for transparency is a desperate cry for action. Pakistan, already teetering on the brink of internal strife, cannot afford to ignore the simmering discontent in Balochistan. The time for gaslighting is over. The time for reconciliation, for opening the doors of justice with a resounding clang of genuine remorse, is now.
This is not just a call for the families of the disappeared; it is a desperate plea for sanity, for the very future of Pakistan. Let the ghosts of the disappeared find solace, not in empty pronouncements, but in the embrace of a nation that finally chooses healing over denial, unity over division, and a future where no Pakistani ever has to ask, “Where is my beloved?” This is not just a matter of statistics, nor a mere political tussle. It is a human tragedy playing out on a national stage, demanding not just solutions, but introspection. Pakistan must acknowledge the pain it has inflicted, confront the ghosts of its past, and build a future where every citizen, regardless of ethnicity or affiliation, can feel the embrace of a just and inclusive nation.
This is the only path to peace, the only path to progress. This is the only path to ensuring that the question, “Where is my beloved?” is never uttered again, not in the hushed tones of mourning families, nor in the defiant cries of protesters at the National Press Club. Let the doors of justice swing open, not with a reluctant creak, but with a resounding clang of hope, of a new dawn for Pakistan.
****