Balochistan's struggle is human rights crisis that demands world's attention

Quetta, Nov 4 (IANS) Balochistan’s struggle is not a fringe conflict, it is a human rights crisis that demands attention. The forced labour, the disappearances, the land seizures — these are crimes against people who have asked for nothing more than control over their own lives and resources. Several analysts reckon that the Pakistani military and government must be held accountable for what they have done to Balochistan.

For decades, the Baloch have been told to be patient, to wait for development, to trust the State. But patience cannot grow where injustice is the only harvest. In 2025, Balochistan stands as a stark reminder of how power, when unchecked, becomes predation. The world must choose to listen — not to the Generals and politicians who speak of unity, but to the mothers, workers, and students who speak of freedom. Balochistan is not asking for privilege; it is demanding humanity, the experts highlight.

The land where mountains meet the sea deserves more than military parades and hollow promises. It deserves justice. It deserves freedom from forced labour, from land theft, from the iron hand of an army that claims to protect but only oppresses. The story of Balochistan in 2025 is the story of resilience against tyranny — people standing tall even as the State tries to break their back. One day, perhaps, Balochistan will no longer be the land where “anything is possible” for its oppressors. It will instead be the land where freedom, dignity, and justice are finally possible for its people.

Pakistan has done all kinds of oppression in Balochistan. They seize land of the people and drive people to forced labour. What began decades ago as marginalisation has transformed into a full-scale assault on the dignity and autonomy of an entire people. In 2025, the scars of Balochistan’s exploitation are deeper than ever. Behind the curtain of national security and development, the Pakistan military has entrenched its power through fear, coercion, and the systematic dismantling of Baloch society.

Across the rugged mountains and deserts of Balochistan, the story is tragically familiar. Villages emptied overnight under the shadow of military convoys. Families forced to abandon ancestral lands that generations had cultivated. Men rounded up and compelled to work without pay on projects linked to army infrastructure, roads, and bases. Women left behind, watching their homes turned into outposts and checkpoints. This is not just occupation by force of arms — it is occupation of life itself. The people of Balochistan have lived for decades under what can only be described as a slow, grinding war against their existence.

The Pakistan military, in the name of counter-insurgency and “maintaining order,” has created an environment where dissent is crushed, where journalists disappear, and where the silence of the mountains is broken only by the sounds of helicopters and gunfire. In 2025, reports from the ground reveal that entire communities in districts such as Kech, Panjgur, and Khuzdar have been subjected to forced relocations. Farmlands are fenced off, seized under the pretext of security zones, and then repurposed for military or government use. The same land that fed generations is now out of reach for those who tilled it.

The forced labour system imposed by the Pakistan military in various parts of Balochistan is a form of modern slavery dressed up in patriotic rhetoric. Local men are ordered to construct roads, carry supplies, and dig trenches for military bases. They are not paid fairly — often not paid at all — and refusal brings punishment. In areas around Gwadar, for instance, fishermen have been pushed into menial labour for military and Chinese-backed projects after being barred from their own fishing zones. Their boats are seized, their movement restricted, their livelihoods destroyed. The military calls it “development”; the Baloch call it survival under chains.

The year 2025 has seen an escalation in such practices, partly driven by the military’s increasing economic control in the province. Balochistan is rich in resources — natural gas, coal, copper, gold, and deep-sea ports — yet it remains the poorest region in Pakistan. The army’s corporate arms and allied companies have carved out concessions over mines, land, and infrastructure projects, while the indigenous people see none of the benefits. Billions flow through Balochistan, but barely a drop reaches its people.

The irony is bitter: a province that fuels Pakistan’s industries is itself left in darkness, with children walking miles for water and schools without roofs. The Pakistani government, complicit and silent, plays its part in the oppression by dressing exploitation as progress. Every promise of “integration” and “development” becomes another mechanism of control. Laws meant to regulate the province are wielded as weapons to confiscate land. Anti-terror legislation is used not to combat extremism but to silence activists, students, and intellectuals who dare to speak of freedom.

The state media paints them as traitors, the military brands them as insurgents, and their voices vanish into the black hole of enforced disappearance. Forced disappearances remain the most chilling signature of Pakistan’s rule over Balochistan. Thousands of Baloch men and boys have vanished over the years — abducted from their homes, workplaces, or checkpoints. Their families search endlessly, their photos held up at protests that the state calls “unpatriotic.” In 2025, the number of missing continues to rise despite repeated pleas for justice. Mothers march under the scorching sun carrying portraits of sons who may never return.

This culture of disappearance has become an instrument of terror — one that ensures silence, compliance, and despair. The pattern is unmistakable. The Pakistan military does not just dominate Balochistan; it extracts from it. Every mine, every port, every so-called “development” zone is secured through coercion and maintained by intimidation. People are forced to work for the very institutions that occupy their lands. The military’s projects in Gwadar, Lasbela, and Turbat rely heavily on local labour — but this labour is neither voluntary nor fairly compensated.

In many cases, families report being threatened with detention or the loss of their homes if they refuse to work. This is forced labour institutionalized under the banner of nationalism. In rural areas, especially around Khuzdar and Awaran, soldiers have been accused of forcing locals to assist in building camps and transport logistics during operations. Villages are cut off, communication networks jammed, and movement restricted. People live under constant surveillance and fear. It is the kind of oppression that erodes the human spirit — slow, methodical, and devastating.

Balochistan’s tragedy is compounded by the deliberate destruction of its culture and identity. The Pakistan state has systematically tried to erase the Baloch language and heritage from education and administration. Local teachers who insist on teaching Balochi or Brahui face harassment or dismissal. Textbooks portray Baloch resistance as rebellion, never as struggle for justice. Universities are watched; student leaders are monitored, some abducted, some found dead in remote valleys.

In 2025, student movements across Quetta and Turbat have been met with raids, arrests, and curfews. The youth who demand books instead of bullets are treated as enemies of the state. Yet, despite this suffocating repression, the Baloch spirit endures. Across the province, people continue to resist — sometimes through protests, sometimes through art, sometimes simply by refusing to be silent. Women have become the conscience of this struggle. Mothers of the disappeared march from Quetta to Karachi, holding pictures of their sons and chanting for justice.

The Pakistan government and military present Balochistan as an ungrateful province — one that must be pacified and tamed. But it is not ingratitude; it is the cry of a people who refuse to be stripped of their dignity. The Baloch do not reject progress; they reject progress built on their suffering. They do not reject Pakistan out of hatred; they reject oppression out of love for their land.

What the Pakistani State refuses to understand is that peace cannot be imposed at gunpoint, and loyalty cannot be extracted through labour camps and disappearances. The forced labour and land seizures of 2025 are not isolated incidents. They are part of a long continuum of state policy — one that began with the annexation of Balochistan in 1948 and has evolved into a military-driven colonial project. The faces change, the slogans change, but the machinery of control remains the same. Every new government promises reform; every general promises peace. Yet the boots remain on the ground, the land remains occupied, and the people remain chained. It is time for the world to look beyond Islamabad’s rhetoric.

--IANS

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