At the forefront of the movement against enforced disappearances are half-widows, unfortunate sisters and traumatised mothers.
Bibi Nazhatoon, the mother of missing persons activist Sammi Deen Baloch, marked the 15th anniversary of her husband’s disappearance on June 28. Dr Deen Baloch was abducted in 2009 — a day his wife remembers as if it were yesterday.
That fateful day, it was not just her life partner who was snatched from her but also her identity. For the past decade and a half, Bibi Nazhatoon has been living a life where she does not know whether she is a widow or not — a fate she shares with hundreds of fellow Baloch women. Not once has she worn colourful clothes, attended weddings or celebrated festivals such as Eid in all these years.
Today, scores of women across Pakistan live in a state of uncertainty — not knowing whether their fathers, brothers or husbands are alive or not. According to a report released this month, a total of 197 missing persons cases were reported in the first half of 2024 alone, with a vast majority recorded in Balochistan.
Pakistan has been haunted by the chronic malaise of enforced disappearances for decades. The government says that the problem cannot be solved overnight “in haste or due to someone’s anxiety or someone speaking on social media platforms or even court directives”.
Although conversations on the issue have picked up momentum over the last few years, what remains least discussed is the cost borne by Baloch women.
Uncertain future
Whenever and wherever a conflict occurs, women and children suffer the most, especially in conservative and male-dominated societies such as ours. These complex challenges create an environment in which women feel insecure, both socially and economically.
Women also suffer the most psychologically and emotionally, because they have to live in a perpetual state of uncertainty. The thought of losing their husbands, fathers, brothers and other loved ones haunts them the most.
In a report released in 2023, the United Nations found that more than 600 million women and girls lived in conflict-affected countries in 2022, recording a 50 per cent increase since 2017. Citing a study, the report noted that incidents of political violence targeting women increased by 50pc in conflict-ridden countries between 2020 and 2022.
This has also been the case in Balochistan — a province that has been reeling from violence for the last two decades — where conflict has taken the lives of scores of women.
In June 2020, Balochistan witnessed an organic and peaceful movement following the killing of Malik Naz in the province’s Kech district. While this incident managed to create a stir on social media, there are several other cases, particularly in remote areas, that largely go unreported.
This is the reason why hundreds of Baloch women, including myself, marched from Balochistan to Islamabad last year in freezing temperatures. But upon finally reaching the capital city, we received an unsavoury ‘welcome’ from the authorities.
Government officials cruelly dismissed our protest, terming us foreign agents and terrorist sympathisers. This does not, however, change the fact that people are disappearing in Balochistan in the absence of any legal procedures.
Neither does it ease the pain of Baloch women whose lives are stuck in a quandary.
‘Neither dead nor alive’
The last 15 years have been agonising for Bibi Nazhatoon to say the least, full of trials and tribulations. Yet, she hopes her husband is alive and spends every day in his loving memory, always referring to him as “Deen Jan”.
Of the many conversations I had with her, there is one painful exchange that I will never forget. It was the day we had decided to end our sit-in in Islamabad due to violence, harsh weather and government apathy.
As we scrambled to inform the families about the difficult decision to call off the demonstration, Nazhatoon came to me and said: “This time, I won’t return empty-handed. I need my Deen Jaan, my children’s father and soulmate. I am very ill, but I would rather die here than leave without an answer.”
As we stood there, Nazhatoon’s words pierced through my heart and left me speechless.
Nazhatoon’s story is one among hundreds. We live in a society where happiness is derived from the sense of belonging, which comes from family. The pain a family goes through after its head goes missing is unimaginable; it takes away all your happiness, joy, and financial support. Unfortunately, women suffer from this loss the most.
Just like last time, on Eid this year, relatives of missing persons registered a protest in Turbat. During the demonstration, I met the wife of Gul Muhammad Marri, a resident of Kohlu who has been missing for the last 12 years. She asked me if there was any good news regarding her husband’s release but I didn’t have an answer.
Mrs Marri then told me about her elder daughter, who was struggling to make the life-altering choice of getting married in her father’s absence. Fareeda stood next to us throughout the interaction, her eyes brimming with tears.
“The dead have a grave. But the disappeared persons have no signs — alive or dead. And we can neither mourn their absence nor celebrate our happiness,” she said and hugged me.
Fareeda and her mother have been delaying her marriage for the last three years, hoping that her father might return home safe and sound one day. That day when the rally reached its conclusion, Fareeda once again embraced me and said: “I don’t want to get married without my father, I just can’t.”
Lost identities
It is often said that the Baloch women are at the forefront of the movement against enforced disappearances. I disagree because these are not just women — they are unfortunate wives, mothers, sisters and children.
Some are lucky enough to have memories of their fathers to return home to. But there are also those who were still in their mothers’ wombs when their fathers were taken away.
Then there are people like me, whose family members became victims of enforced disappearances and torture until one day their bodies were left on our doorsteps. At least, they have a final resting place. We now find solace in raising the voices of the families of missing persons.
This struggle is all that I have. If I succeed in bringing even one missing person back, it will bring me peace and joy.
Hence, I repeat: the movement against enforced disappearances in Balochistan is led by half-widows, unfortunate sisters and traumatised mothers. The cruelty goes to an extent where Baloch women have lost their identities, now being called not by their names but by the relation they have with their missing family members.
Sammi is the daughter of missing Dr Deen Jan, Zarina is the half-widow of missing student leader Shabbir Baloch, and Zarjan is the mother of missing Zakir Majeed Baloch.
