Author: Sara Baloch
If someone asks me what’s the hardest emotion that a human can ever feel, I would reply it’s to be hopeful amidst hopelessness. More painful than pain, grief, sorrow, regret, even more painful than losing a beloved by the hands of death. This uncertain feeling of being unsure whether to continue with hope or accept the unwanted hopelessness would be called the most agonizing emotion if ever the emotions of humans were measured. Well expressed by Sajid Hussain, “The dead don’t haunt me as much as the missing do.” Death means the end of hope that the soul is no more among us, but enforced disappearance carries the uncertain hopelessness that our dear soul and beloved is suffering somewhere in dark torture cells.
I would never experience the amount of pain that this emotion hopelessness carries until I met with the families of the enforcedly disappeared. These brave families are suffering with the most painful feeling and still standing strong like mountains. Maybe, they learned to stand firm by the mountains of the land where they belong; otherwise, how can a mother relieve people with hope and a smile on her face, whose only reason for living, her son, has been in dark torture cells for years?
Balochistan is full of heart-wrenching stories, but the stories of the families of enforcedly disappeared persons represent the agony and brutalities the Baloch have been facing for decades. Stories of sisters protesting for their younger brother who had previously suffered with the broken hope after waiting for years and receiving the mutilated body of their elder brother. Stories of children from Sistan to a country where they got jailed just for asking about the whereabouts of their father. Stories of a mother whose old age is fading away, her memory afraid of losing the last reminiscence of her son who was picked right in front of her eyes. Stories of a brother leaving his education for the sake of responsibilities that his elder missing brother was carrying. Stories of a father who regrets educating his son because he thinks that the awareness his son had due to education is the reason to make him worthy of enforced disappearance.
Balochistan, the land of missing, the land of unheard stories, which most of us don’t want to listen to, that it may not awaken our slept consciousness.
Can someone be selfless to the limit that knowingly they may be killed or tortured but still continue to protest with raising slogans for their nation? Yes, replied Zakir’s mother, Lumma RajBibi. “If today after 15 years Zakir would be released he will still stand for his people.” With a smile on her face, she added, “Maybe I would not be able to see my son Zakir ever, but I will still continue to protest till I am alive because when I depart this world, someone will show my pictures to Zakir Jaan and say, ‘See Zakir, your mother fought for you until her last breath.'”
A 16,000-long march is not only a common strike or rally of a few people. It’s hope, the hope of thousands of families out there in Balochistan who have never been able to know that their simple act of courage by being involved in the march can awaken an entire nation. Families without the concern of their home only came to the capital of the state with the words that we don’t want any development or jobs, we only want our guiltless beloveds back.
“He is my parents’ youngest child. We cared about his each and every single thing. I still do remember he has a mole on his left hand’s finger. Sometimes, I feel as if he is no more but at the next moment my mother’s hope makes him alive for me,” said Nadia with teary eyes. In 2016, Nadia Baloch’s brother Gulam Fareed was abducted and released after three years of trauma. In March 2022, another of Nadia’s brothers, Shah Fahad, was whisked away from his home and is still missing for whom Nadia came a great distance—from Kharan to Islamabad.
“Who among your family members is enforcedly disappeared?” asked an old mother to me, and I replied, “With the fact no one but actually everyone. Each one of the enforcedly disappeared Baloch is a part of my family.” With this reply, the mother of missing Bashir hugged me warmly. Showing me Bashir’s picture and repeatedly saying, “See how handsome my son is, just look at him.” From Islamabad, the march ended on the 24th of January, and on the 5th of February, Bashir’s mother received the corpse of her son by the state with the false allegations of encounter. Bashir’s mother must have seen her dead son and still would be saying, “Look how handsome my son is.”
“Childhood is measured out by sounds and smells and sights, before the dark hour of reason grows,” John Betjeman. This quote would not be applicable for the children of Balochistan because here the children grow under the shelter of protesting camps with responsibilities bigger than their age. Ayesha, Hawa, Mujeeb, Sharul, Surat, Nasreeullah, and all those little children fading ages of childhood through protests may not learn lessons from school but have learned the lesson of life for an oppressed.
“We are going to end our protest and tomorrow we are going back to Balochistan,” announced Dr. Mahrang to the families of the enforcedly disappeared. Everyone having thousands of questions and still believing that whatever decision has been taken is in their support. The temperature is 6°C. Families are sitting around the fire of burning woods. Last night in the camp where all shared thousands of memories. Ayesha, the eldest daughter of missing Aleel Ahmed, confused with many thoughts and still finding a final solution to end all her unanswered questions. Innocently finishing gaps between us, she came near to me and asked, “Will tomorrow my father and all other enforcedly disappeared persons get released and then we will leave for Balochistan?” The pain that this question carried was unanswerable. This mere question, which I could answer with a simple “No,” made me lost for words. The silence between me and Ayesha bared the chaos of an entire universe. This moment brought up the sin of hopelessness into me.
The day arrived for departure. Everyone looking at the hanged photos being removed. Seema standing in a corner thoroughly looking at Shabir’s photo and uttered, “I promised myself not to cry this time because I knew the day we came here that the state will not provide us with justice, but today when I saw the photos being removed from the camp, which were fixed by these mothers with hope, I could not stop my tears. For the people, it may be just a mere picture, but for me, it is my entire world.”
Everyone shedding tears and finding arms for relief, but there in the center of the camp, a mother sat and smiled. “Tears are for dead ones, I will leave this land with a smile because I know my son will return. Don’t cry that these people must think that they have succeeded in weakening us. They could never harm our hope. I am leaving with hope; I will not pour my tears on this land.”
The March was successful in breaking the shackles of fear and hopelessness, which the State had built with its policies of terror and inhumane atrocities. The old mothers and young Sharul have become the hope of the nation. And now we, as a nation, bear the responsibility to carry on the mission BYC started. Because, facing a multi-layered and slow genocide, our only hope to survive is to confront the tyranny of the State with collective resistance.
Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of The Balochistan Post or any of its editors.