A life searching rows of unclaimed bodies for disappeared brothers and sons

Saira Baloch was a mere 15 years old when she first entered a mortuary.

Within the dimly illuminated room, only hushed sobs, murmured prayers, and the soft shuffle of feet were audible. The initial corpse she observed exhibited signs of torture.

His eyes were missing, teeth forcibly removed, and burn marks marred his chest.

“I was unable to view any further bodies. I immediately left,” she recounted.

However, relief washed over her. It was not her brother, a police official who had vanished nearly a year prior after being apprehended in 2018 during a counter-terrorism operation in Balochistan, a highly volatile region of Pakistan.

Inside the mortuary, others persisted in their desperate quest, scrutinizing rows of unidentified bodies. Saira would soon adopt this somber ritual, repeatedly visiting various mortuaries. They were all similar: fluorescent lights flickering, the atmosphere heavy with the putrid smell of decay and antiseptics.

On each visit, she hoped to avoid discovering what she sought – seven years later, her search continues to be in vain.

Activists contend that over the past two decades, thousands of ethnic Baloch individuals have been subjected to enforced disappearance by Pakistani security forces. These actions allegedly involve detention without proper legal procedures, abduction, torture, and killings during operations against a decades-long separatist insurgency.

The Pakistani government refutes these accusations, asserting that numerous missing persons have either joined separatist factions or fled the nation.

While some eventually return, deeply traumatized and broken, many remain missing indefinitely. Others are discovered in unmarked burial sites scattered across Balochistan, their remains so disfigured as to prevent identification.

Consequently, generations of women find their lives defined by perpetual waiting.

Both young and old participate in protests, their faces etched with sorrow, clutching faded photographs of the men absent from their lives. During a BBC visit to their homes, they offered Sulemani chai, black tea, in chipped cups, their voices subdued by grief as they spoke.

Many maintain that their fathers, brothers, and sons are innocent, targeted for voicing dissent against government policies or as a form of collective reprisal.

Saira is among these women.

She explains that her participation in protests began after inquiries with the police and appeals to politicians yielded no information regarding her brother’s whereabouts.

Muhammad Asif Baloch was apprehended in August 2018, along with 10 others in Nushki, a city bordering Afghanistan. His family learned of his arrest when they saw him on television the following day, appearing frightened and unkempt.

Authorities declared the men to be “terrorists fleeing towards Afghanistan.” Muhammad’s family insists he was picnicking with companions.

Saira describes Muhammad as her “closest friend,” known for his humor and cheerful disposition. “My mother worries that she is losing the memory of his smile,” she laments.

On the day of his disappearance, Saira had excelled in a school examination and was eager to share the news with her brother, her “greatest supporter.” Muhammad had encouraged her to pursue university education in Quetta, the provincial capital.

“I was unaware then that my first trip to Quetta would be to participate in a demonstration demanding his freedom,” Saira recounts.

Three of the men detained with her brother were released in 2021, yet they have remained silent about their experiences.

Muhammad never returned home.

Venturing into Balochistan, located in Pakistan’s southwest, feels like entering a different realm.

The province is expansive, constituting roughly 44% of the nation, making it Pakistan’s largest. Its terrain is rich in natural resources, including gas, coal, copper, and gold. It stretches along the Arabian Sea, across from locations such as Dubai, a city that has transformed from desert sands to a skyline of opulent, towering skyscrapers.

However, Balochistan remains underdeveloped. Access to numerous areas is restricted for security concerns, and foreign journalists are frequently denied entry.

Travel within the region is also challenging. Roads are lengthy and desolate, cutting through arid hills and deserts. As infrastructure diminishes further inland, paved roads give way to dirt tracks, barely maintained by the sparse vehicles that traverse them.

Electricity supply is inconsistent, and water is even more scarce. Schools and healthcare facilities are in a deplorable state.

In marketplaces, men sit outside mud-brick shops, awaiting customers who seldom appear. Young boys, who elsewhere in Pakistan might aspire to careers, primarily discuss escape: fleeing to Karachi, the Gulf states, or anywhere offering a path out of this gradual confinement.

Balochistan became part of Pakistan in 1948, amidst the turmoil following the partition of British India, despite opposition from some influential tribal leaders who desired an independent nation.

Some resistance turned militant, fueled over the years by accusations of resource exploitation without adequate investment in the region’s development by Pakistan.

Militant organizations, such as the Balochistan Liberation Army (BLA), designated a terrorist group by Pakistan and other countries, have escalated their operations. Bombings, targeted killings, and ambushes against security forces have become increasingly frequent.

Earlier this month, the BLA seized control of a train in Bolan Pass, holding hundreds of passengers hostage. They demanded the release of individuals who have disappeared in Balochistan in exchange for the hostages’ freedom.

The siege persisted for over 30 hours. Official reports state that 33 BLA militants, 21 civilian hostages, and four military personnel perished. However, conflicting reports suggest that numerous passengers remain unaccounted for.

Enforced disappearances in the province are widely believed to be part of Islamabad’s strategy to quell the insurgency, suppress dissent, weaken nationalist sentiments, and undermine support for Balochistan’s independence.

Many of the missing are suspected members or sympathizers of Baloch nationalist groups advocating for greater autonomy or independence. However, a significant number are ordinary citizens with no known political connections.

Balochistan’s Chief Minister, Sarfaraz Bugti, acknowledged to the BBC that enforced disappearances are a concern, but dismissed the notion of widespread, systematic occurrences as “systematic propaganda.”

“Every child in Balochistan has been indoctrinated with the phrase ‘missing persons, missing persons.’ But who will ascertain the perpetrator of these disappearances?” he questioned.

“Self-disappearances also occur. How can one definitively prove if an individual was taken by intelligence agencies, police, Frontier Corps, or anyone else, including myself or you?”

Pakistan’s military spokesperson, Lieutenant General Ahmed Sharif, recently stated at a press briefing that the “state is systematically addressing the issue of missing persons.”

He reiterated the government’s frequently cited statistic: of over 2,900 reported cases of enforced disappearances from Balochistan since 2011, 80% have been resolved.

Activists suggest a higher figure of approximately 7,000. However, no single authoritative data source exists, and verifying claims from either side remains impossible.

Women like Jannat Bibi reject the official figures.

She persistently searches for her son, Nazar Muhammad, who she alleges was abducted in 2012 while having breakfast at a hotel.

“I searched for him everywhere, even traveling to Islamabad,” she stated. “All I encountered was mistreatment and rejection.”

The 70-year-old resides in a small mud dwelling on the outskirts of Quetta, near a symbolic cemetery dedicated to the missing.

Jannat, who operates a small shop selling biscuits and milk cartons, often struggles to afford bus fare to attend demonstrations demanding information about the missing. Nevertheless, she borrows funds to continue her pursuit.

“Silence is not a viable option,” she declared.

Most of these disappearances, including those of the family members we interviewed, occurred after 2006.

This was the year Nawab Akbar Bugti, a prominent Baloch leader, was killed in a military operation, leading to increased anti-government demonstrations and armed insurgent activities.

The government responded with a crackdown – enforced disappearances escalated, as did the discovery of bodies in the streets.

In 2014, mass graves of missing individuals were unearthed in Tootak, a small town near Khuzdar, where Saira resides, approximately 275km (170 miles) south of Quetta.

The bodies were unidentifiable. The images from Tootak shocked the nation, however, the horror was not novel to the people of Balochistan.

Mahrang Baloch’s father, a renowned nationalist leader who advocated for Baloch rights, disappeared in early 2009. Abdul Gaffar Langove had previously worked for the Pakistani government but resigned to champion what he believed would be a more secure Balochistan.

Three years later, Mahrang received a phone call informing her that his body had been found in the Lasbela district, in the southern region of the province.

“Upon my father’s body’s arrival, he was wearing the same clothes, now tattered. He had been severely tortured,” she recounted. For five years, she suffered nightmares about his final days. She visited his grave “to reassure myself of his death and to end the imagined torture.”

She embraced his grave “hoping to feel his presence, but it did not occur.”

When he was detained, Mahrang would write him letters – “numerous letters, and I would create greeting cards and send them for Eid.” But he returned the cards, stating that his prison cell was unsuitable for such “beautiful” cards. He wanted her to keep them at home.

“I still long for his embraces,” she expressed.

Following her father’s demise, Mahrang stated that her family’s world “fell apart.”

Then, in 2017, her brother was also apprehended by security forces, according to the family, and held for nearly three months.

“It was terrifying. I tried to reassure my mother that my father’s fate would not befall my brother. But it did,” Mahrang recounted. “I dreaded looking at my phone, fearing news of my brother’s body discovered somewhere.”

She explained that she and her mother found fortitude in each other. “Our small home was our sanctuary, where we would sometimes sit and weep for hours. But outside, we presented ourselves as two resilient women, unbreakable.”

It was then that Mahrang resolved to combat enforced disappearances and extrajudicial killings. Currently, at 32 years old, she leads the protest movement despite facing death threats, legal challenges, and travel restrictions.

“We demand the right to live in our homeland without persecution. We want our resources, our rights. We want an end to this reign of terror and brutality.”

Mahrang cautions that enforced disappearances incite further resistance, rather than suppressing it.

“They believe that disposing of bodies will resolve this issue. But how can anyone forget such a devastating loss of a loved one? No human being can endure such pain.”

She advocates for institutional reforms, ensuring no mother must fear for her child’s safety. “We do not want our children raised in protest camps. Is this an unreasonable request?”

Mahrang was arrested on Saturday morning, shortly after her interview with the BBC.

She was leading a demonstration in Quetta following the burial of 13 unidentified bodies, suspected to be those of missing persons, within the city. Authorities claimed they were militants killed in the aftermath of the Bolan Pass train hijacking, although independent verification was not possible.

Earlier, Mahrang had stated, “I could be arrested at any moment. But I am not afraid. This is not unprecedented for us.”

Even as she fights for a desired future, a new generation is already taking to the streets.

Masooma, a 10-year-old girl, tightly clutches her school bag as she navigates through the crowd of demonstrators, her eyes examining each face, searching for a resemblance to her father.

“Once, I saw a man and thought he was my father. I ran towards him, only to realize he was someone else,” she recounts.

“Everyone else’s father returns home after work. I have never found mine.”

Masooma was only three months old when security forces allegedly abducted her father during a late-night raid in Quetta.

Her mother was informed he would be back in a few hours. He never returned.

Today, Masooma dedicates more time to protests than to her schoolwork. Her father’s picture is always with her, safely tucked inside her school bag.

Before each class commences, she retrieves it and gazes at it.

“I always question if my father will come home today.”

She stands at the edge of the protest camp, chanting slogans with the others, her small figure lost in the multitude of grieving families.

As the protest concludes, she sits cross-legged on a thin mat in a quiet corner. The cacophony of slogans and traffic diminishes as she unfolds her letters – letters she has written but could never send.

Her fingers tremble as she smooths the creases, and in a faltering, hesitant voice, she begins to read them aloud.

“Dear Baba Jan, when will you return? Every time I eat or drink water, I miss you. Baba, where are you? I miss you so much. I am alone. I cannot sleep without you. I simply want to meet you and see your face again.”