By: Izm Baloch
In the heart of Gwadar, a city central to the China-Pakistan Economic Corridor (CPEC), stands the Indus Hospital, a building branded with the slogan “China Aids for Better Future.” But for many Baloch, it represents something far darker: a symbol of occupation, exploitation, and modern-day colonialism.
The hospital was constructed as part of the $65 billion CPEC initiative, which was marketed as a grand economic lifeline for Pakistan, particularly Balochistan. Yet, on the ground, this so-called lifeline feels more like a noose for the indigenous Baloch population, one tightened by the language of “aid” and “friendship” that hides a bitter reality of systemic oppression and exploitation.
A Gift or a Gimmick?
The irony lies in the word “aid.” On the surface, a fully funded hospital may seem like a generous gesture from a foreign partner. But when that “gift” stands on land rich with gold, gas, and natural resources owned by the Baloch people, now extracted by foreign interests, the narrative begins to crack.
“Is it aid when it comes from our own stolen wealth?” asks a young local Baloch from Gwadar.
At the Indus Hospital Gwadar, foreign administrators and non-local doctors enjoy inflated salaries. In contrast, Baloch workers—including officers, porters, and even supervisors—earn less than Rs. 50,000. In certain cases, there is no more than a Rs. 5,000 to 8,000 difference between a porter and his supervisor, and in some cases, the salary is the same.
“Even educated local officers are treated as if they don’t belong,” says one hospital employee, “while outsiders walk in with authority and attitude, enjoying top-tier salaries and calling it a ‘service.’”
The Face of Colonial Superiority
The hospital’s leadership also reflects this imbalance. According to staff members, the current campus head behaves more like a colonial officer than a medical administrator, often showing visible disdain toward local employees while serving as a key enabler of the China-Pakistan narrative.
“He walks the halls like he owns them,” one staff member shared. “To him, we are nothing more than laborers under his rule.”
He personally oversees PR visits and hosts military and foreign officials during their frequent photo-op sessions. These visits happen weekly or monthly, carefully staged photo shoots with smiling officials in front of banners that read “China Aids for Better Future,” while local grievances remain ignored.
Celebrating Slavery with Smiles
Baloch voices are muted in these spaces, their work invisible, their rights unrecognized.
“This is not development; it’s decorated slavery,” says a local health technician.
The term is not an exaggeration. In an institution that operates within the Baloch homeland, built on Baloch soil, and meant to serve the Baloch people, the Baloch themselves have little say. Decision-making powers remain centralized in the hands of non-locals who neither share the history nor the pain of the region.
Political Silence, Painful Echoes
What adds salt to the wound is the silence—or worse, the applause—from non-elected Baloch leadership. The Chief Minister of Balochistan has publicly praised the hospital’s infrastructure multiple times, calling it a sign of progress. But these praises echo hollow when Baloch mothers cry along CPEC roads, mourning their sons who disappeared. What about the youth found lifeless in ditches, victims of the violence that comes with every new project? There is no statement for them. No compassion. No justice.
“They are building hospitals for the living, while burying the truth of the dead,” says a local woman, her voice trembling with anger.
“He praises buildings while ignoring bodies,” said a Gwadar resident bitterly. “His words are as empty as the promises etched on hospital walls.”
The Real Cost of “Aid”
If “aid” is used to silence, displace, and dominate, it is no aid at all. The hospital in Gwadar, with its flags of China and Pakistan proudly raised at its center, is not just a health facility. It is a statement: that power rests elsewhere, that the Baloch may work here, but they do not own here.
And perhaps the cruelest irony is this: while the walls declare a “shared future,” the Baloch are still fighting for a present where they are treated with dignity on their own land.
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.