Pak’s unrest stems from internal oppression
FOR decades, Pakistan's ruling class has blamed foreign conspiracies for the country's turmoil, conveniently ignoring the fractures within.
But the truth is, you cannot silence a storm by shutting your windows. The unrest in Balochistan, the resentment in Sindh, and the frustration in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa are not the result of external forces alone; they are the inevitable consequences of a state that has refused to listen, choosing coercion over conversation.
The ghosts of our past haunt us still. Mir Ahmad Yar Khan, the last Khan of Kalat, signed the accession under duress, and his people were left without a voice.
Nawab Akbar Bugti's assassination did not quell resistance — it turned him into a martyr. Babu Nowroz, who died on a hunger strike in protest; Sardar Ataullah Mengal and GM Syed, once symbols of hope, later labelled as "traitors"; Hyder Bux Jatoi and Rasool Bux Palijo, who dedicated their lives to Sindh's rights but were sidelined — their stories are not mere footnotes.
These are chapters in a long history of broken promises and betrayed alliances. Even those who sought peaceful means to bring about change — Khan Abdul Ghaffar Khan, the 'Frontier Gandhi', and his son Abdul Wali Khan — were met with state brutality rather than dialogue. Taj Muhammad Langah's calls for Siraiki identity and Nawabzada Nasrullah Khan's demands for fairness were reduced to mere whispers drowned out by louder accusations of treachery.
When allies are treated as adversaries and legitimate grievances are met with bullets, resentment does not disappear — it deepens.
The rise of the Balochistan Liberation Army (BLA), the flames of unrest in the three provinces and the growing anger in south Punjab and the former tribal areas — these are not isolated incidents of 'terrorism'. They are the bitter fruit of policies that have long prioritised suppression over justice.
Pakistan remains a country of two realities: in one, the elite of Lahore and Islamabad thrive, enjoying the spoils of development; in the other, Balochistan's minerals are extracted, Sindh's waters are diverted and Khyber Pakhtunkhwa's valleys are exploited, while their people are left in poverty.
A rent-seeking economy serves the powerful, while the marginalised are told to tighten their belts. But hunger has no patience for empty slogans.
The obsession with kinetic solutions — military operations instead of dialogue, bullets instead of ballots — has only added fuel to the fire.
When Bugti was buried after a military operation, when Mengal was thrown into jail and when GM Syed was confined to his hometown, what was expected? That people would remain silent? That they would thank the state for their oppression? A dog kicked too many times will eventually bite back. A people pushed to the brink will rise.
This is not a simplistic battle between good and evil. It is a question of fairness. Pakistan was envisioned by Quaid-e-Azam Muhammad Ali Jinnah as a federation, not a fiefdom.
Yet, power remains concentrated in the hands of Punjab's elite, while smaller provinces are forced to beg for their rightful share.
A house built on exploitation cannot stand forever. The coerced accession of Kalat, the assassination of Bugti and the marginalisation of the Red Shirts — these are not relics of the past. They are open wounds that continue to fester.
The way forward is clear, but it requires courage. We must start listening instead of lecturing. The state must honour its social contract: give provinces their fair share of resources, respect their cultural identities and replace suspicion with solidarity.
The BLA's guns will fall silent only when the state extends an open hand instead of a clenched fist. As the saying goes, "A wound ignored festers; a wound healed becomes a scar of resilience."
Pakistan's survival depends not on forced uniformity but on unity in diversity.
Let Lahore's prosperity be shared with Sindh and Balochistan. Let the institutions responsible for national security protect citizens instead of punishing them.
Until then, the fire will continue to rage — and no amount of flag-waving will hide the smoke. The choice before us is clear: evolve or unravel.
Munim Ali Khan, a mechanical engineer, explores the polymathic nature of humans, philosophy, politics and economics.
Courtesy: The Friday Times
