By: Shubeen Baloch
20 March 2025 – Quetta, Balochistan
In the holy month of Ramadan — a time of worship, fasting, and mercy — a group of Baloch people gathered peacefully on Saryab Road, in front of Balochistan University in Quetta, following a call by the Baloch Yakjehti Committee (BYC). Their voices echoed in unison, chanting: “Bebarg Zehri ko bazyab karo, bazyab karo” — “Release Bebarg Zehri.”
While many were at home preparing for Iftari, the Baloch were on the streets, sitting on the hard pavement, demanding the return of their loved ones.
Bebarg Baloch, a disabled rights activist and central committee member of BYC, had lost his ability to walk in 2010 after an attack by state security forces during a cultural event. On the early morning of March 20, around 5:30 AM, he was abducted along with his brother, Dr. Hammal Baloch, from their residence in Quetta by Pakistani security forces.
Despite the pain, the protest continued peacefully, led by national leader and BYC organizer, Dr. Mahrang Baloch. Slogans filled the air until — in an instant — the sharp sound of gunfire pierced through the chants. Chaos erupted.
A poisonous wind — tear gas — spread across Saryab Road. Protesters scrambled, their eyes burning, vision blurred, choking on the air that once held their cries for justice. Through the haze, police vehicles emerged. The road was soon overtaken by security forces. Violence descended without warning.
They fired live rounds, brutally beat protestors, and arrested hundreds — including women and children. The streets became battlegrounds. Tear gas shells fell like rain. Live bullets tore through the silence of peaceful resistance.
And then — three lives were extinguished.
Their bodies crumbled to the earth, the sky above remaining unmoved, the stars distant and blind to the sorrow below. The cracked soil of Saryab Road drank their blood. Their voices silenced forever, their bodies cold on the warm ground.
One of the martyrs was Naimat Baloch — a 13-year-old boy, the youngest in his family, yet a pillar for them. He worked in Quetta to help feed his family. A child with dreams, ambitions, and a fire to live. But the state shattered it all — not for a crime, but for being Baloch and daring to speak against genocide.
In a defiant act of protest, BYC began a sit-in beside the lifeless bodies of their martyrs in front of Balochistan University. As the sun set, having witnessed the day’s horror, the moon rose — casting its pale light over grieving mothers, mourning families, and a people drenched in anguish. But the moon could only watch. It could not heal.
As night deepened, darkness wasn’t limited to the sky. Internet and mobile networks in Quetta were cut off — an attempt to suppress the truth. And then, once again, the crackdown came. Police returned, more violent than before. They fired live rounds and arrested countless protestors — their identities and whereabouts still unknown.
Among them was Dr. Mahrang Baloch — arrested not for violence, but for speaking the truth. For speaking about the disappeared. For demanding the return of loved ones. For challenging the cruelty of the state. Even the bodies of the martyrs were abducted — as if the state feared the dead might rise in resistance.
Yes, dead bodies. Because even in death, Baloch voices haunt the conscience of a nation that has none. Balochistan bled that day — every house echoed with mourning, every wall bore silent witness to grief.
Protests for the release of Dr. Mahrang and other disappeared persons spread across cities in Balochistan, despite threats and continued crackdowns. On March 24, BYC called for a peaceful protest in Karachi. There, too, the police struck — arresting Sammi Deen Baloch and other women who had gathered in solidarity.
The Sindh police dragged the chadar off Baloch women — a violation so profound it burns in the soul of every Baloch. The chadar is a symbol of honor. To remove it is to declare war. But they stood firm, resisting even in the face of this humiliation.
The arrested women were thrown into vans, but they resisted until the very end. From inside the van, Sammi stood tall, smiling, raising the symbol of resistance—a beacon of strength for her people.
Sammi and Mahrang are powerful voices — voices the state cannot silence through debate, only with chains. But even when imprisoned, threatened, or disappeared, their resistance lives on in others.
Sammi was eventually released, but Dr. Mahrang remains in custody, along with Shahji Baloch, Bebow Baloch, Bebarg Baloch and Gulzadi Baloch.
Their only crime? Love for their people. The desire to speak truth. The demand for justice.
But the Baloch — though drenched in blood and drowned in silence — are not broken. Their pain fuels their resistance. Their silence speaks louder than words. And their fight continues — in every voice that rises, in every march that moves forward, and in every dream that refuses to die.
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.