The convictions against the husband-wife duo stem from tweets about enforced disappearances and other human rights concerns posted by Imaan and reposted by Hadi.

For these X posts, both have been convicted under various sections of the cybercrime law. However, the order does not clarify whether the sentences are to be served consecutively, amounting to a total of 17 years, or concurrently, which would cap the jail term at 10 years — the maximum sentence imposed under any single section.

Ten years ago, in 2016, when the Prevention of Electronic Crimes Act was passed under the Pakistan Muslim League – N (PML-N) government, it was widely criticized as a tool to suppress dissent. In the years since, vague call-up notices and First Information Reports (FIRs) against political workers, journalists, and dissidents have become routine. The accusations almost always involve posting “anti-state” content.

Originally enacted under the PML-N government, PECA was later turned against PML-N workers and leaders after their term ended in 2018. The Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf (PTI) attempted to further strengthen the law through controversial amendments and ordinances during its tenure from 2018 to 2022, though these moves did not survive judicial scrutiny.

“While the common complaint about Pakistan’s criminal justice system is endless delays, Imaan and Hadi’s trial was unusually swift — though far from fair.”

A constant criticism of PECA is that the process itself serves as punishment: individuals are charged and then subjected to the grueling criminal trial process, which becomes punitive in its own right. Arrests, bail hearings, repeated court appearances, the stigma of being labeled “anti-state,” and the constant threat of a lingering case – often without trial – have been the typical pattern under PECA. This ordeal itself seemed to be the goal, rather than securing convictions. That changed with Imaan and Hadi’s case, which proceeded with unusual swiftness.

Among other provisions, they were sentenced under the latest amendment to PECA, called Section 26-A, which was introduced after a rushed and controversial process just last year by the current ruling coalition. The amendment was pushed through the Parliament without meaningful debate and was deployed almost immediately against journalists less than two months after its passage. Imaan and Hadi had defended some of these journalists as counsel. Ironically, theirs is the first conviction under PECA’s latest amendment. Their only “crime” was refusing to acquiesce. This refusal is precisely what they have been punished for.

While the common complaint about Pakistan’s criminal justice system is endless delays, Imaan and Hadi’s trial was unusually swift — though far from fair. The cybercrime case against them was registered last August, and the trial concluded within five months. This trial can only be described as a mistrial, since they were sentenced in absentia. While on their way to appear before the trial court (after receiving protection from the High Court), they were violently arrested in connection with another case. A fresh, previously unknown FIR – dating back to February – was suddenly invoked against the couple, of which neither they nor anyone else had prior knowledge. They were stopped in the middle of the road, violently arrested, and secretly produced before the Anti-Terrorism Court without informing their family or legal counsel.

They were arrested on Jan. 23, and sent to Adiala Jail. The High Court had given them until Jan. 24 to join the trial court proceedings and complete the cross examination of prosecution witnesses. Had they not been arrested, they would have done so. But since they were intercepted on their way to court, then put in jail, they were made to join court proceedings in the PECA trial via video link from prison. They were told to complete their cross-examination remotely rather than in person — of course without access to any case files or ability to confront witnesses with material. Just because someone is placed under arrest in one case does not mean they forgo the right to appear in court to defend themselves in another case registered against them. Both protested how they were being dealt with, boycotting the proceedings. Hours later, they were convicted.

Laws like PECA, which excessively criminalize speech, are merely instruments of control. Compounded by a regressive and overbroad statute is a criminal justice system that many human rights advocates call a “criminal injustice” system, wielded by the state to target dissidents like Imaan and Hadi.

As seen in their case, complaints often originate from within the investigating agency itself: the case was built by an officer of the National Cyber Crime Investigation Agency (NCCIA). In most such cases, a technical assistant from the agency serves as the complainant or informant, monitoring and flagging posts. What is particularly absurd about their case is that the “incriminating” posts reflect positions long and publicly held by a wide range of human rights activists – including many now in government when they were in opposition. These concern the rights of political prisoners wrongly incarcerated by the state, the practice of enforced disappearances, the plight of affected families, and broader state policy on militancy.

When Imaan and Hadi cross-examined NCCIA officers, it became evident how quickly the case unraveled on its merits. But that was precisely what was not allowed. Not once but twice, their right to cross-examination was denied. They had to approach the High Court and Supreme Court to have it restored.

When they did get that right, they were hit with fresh cases and ultimately jailed in one and sentenced in another. The judgment itself makes no mention of the cross-examination that occurred, as though it never happened.

Two human rights lawyers who have defended others against the state’s excesses and advocated for the wrongfully incarcerated now face the same treatment themselves. It is now up to others to advocate for their rights, because if this can happen to them, it can happen to anyone.

Farieha Aziz

The writer is a co-founder of Bolo Bhi, an advocacy forum for digital rights and host of the Digi Pod on Dawn News English

The post How Imaan-Hadi Conviction Marks the Death of Fair Trial in Pakistan appeared first on Dissent Today.

When a supposed National Cyber Crime Agency (NCCIA) official witness, who could not even produce a valid NCCIA identification card, is cross-examined in this alleged cybercrime case and declares that using the term “enforced disappearance” in a tweet amounts to propagating a terrorist narrative, the farce underlying both the First Information Report (FIR) and the trial stands fully exposed.

The absurdity deepens when it is pointed out that the very same term has been used repeatedly by Pakistan’s Supreme Court, the Islamabad High Court, and other high courts; by politicians, including the current chief minister of Punjab, Maryam Nawaz Sharif; and that Pakistan itself has an official Commission of Inquiry on Enforced Disappearances. Yet the witness insists that when others use the term, it does not constitute terrorist propaganda, but when the accused uses it in this particular trial, even in a similar legal and factual context, it suddenly does.

This contradiction lays bare not only the falsehood underpinning the prosecution but also its mala fide intent. It shows how, in today’s Pakistan, words are being weaponized – stripped of their legal meaning and context – to silence human rights defenders, lawyers, journalists, and all those who question or criticize the policies and actions of the state and its institutions.

Take the term “enforced disappearance.” The NCCIA would do well to educate itself. Enforced disappearance is not a political slogan; it is a well-established concept in international law and international relations, particularly since the aftermath of the Second World War.

The first documented instance of systematic enforced disappearances occurred during WWII, when Nazi Germany covertly abducted thousands of people from occupied territories under the infamous 1941 Nacht und Nebel Erlass – the Night and Fog Decree.

The Nuremberg War Crimes Tribunal addressed this policy directly. Its judgments relating to the Night and Fog decree constituted the first application of international law to enforced disappearances. Field Marshal Wilhelm Keitel, who was responsible for implementing the decree, was tried and executed for his role. As legal scholars have noted, the Nuremberg judgments established that conduct underlying enforced disappearance was prohibited under the customary laws of war and constituted a war crime carrying individual criminal liability (Brian Finucane, “Enforced Disappearance as a Crime Under International Law: A Neglected Origin in the Laws of War,” Yale Journal of International Law, 2010). These judgments also underscored that enforced disappearance amounts to a crime against humanity, not merely a war crime.

Against this backdrop, how can the government of Pakistan justify filing a cybercrime case against an individual simply for using the term “enforced disappearance,” accusing them of furthering a terrorist narrative?

The argument that referencing enforced disappearances necessarily accuses the state, law enforcement agencies, or intelligence services is also legally untenable. International law has always defined enforced disappearance within these parameters.

“In today’s Pakistan, words are being weaponized – stripped of their legal meaning and context – to silence human rights defenders, lawyers, journalists, and all those who question or criticize the policies and actions of the state and its institutions.”

 

A clear distinction exists between kidnapping by non-state actors and enforced disappearance. Kidnapping is an unlawful seizure carried out by individuals and is addressed under ordinary criminal law. Enforced disappearance, by contrast, involves the arrest, detention, or abduction of a person by state agents, or by non-state actors acting with the authorization, support, or acquiescence of the state, followed by a refusal to acknowledge the detention or concealment of the person’s fate or whereabouts.

This places the individual outside the protection of the law, making enforced disappearance not only a crime but a grave human rights violation.

This distinction is reflected consistently in United Nations’ resolutions and in the International Convention for the Protection of All Persons from Enforced Disappearances (ICPPED). Pakistan’s position further undermines the NCCIA’s claims because the country did not oppose two key UN General Assembly resolutions on enforced disappearances: Resolution 33/173 in December 1978 and Resolution 47/133 in December 1992. Both were adopted unanimously.

The 1978 resolution expressed deep concern over reports of enforced or involuntary disappearances resulting from excesses by law enforcement or security authorities and called on states to hold perpetrators accountable and assist in locating the disappeared. It also urged UN bodies to take action to prevent such practices. The 1992 resolution adopted the Declaration on the Protection of All Persons from Enforced Disappearance and paved the way for the ICPPED.

Although Pakistan is not a party to the Convention, its definitions reflect the consensus expressed in those earlier, unanimously adopted resolutions.

Pakistan’s Supreme Court has itself relied on the same definition, including in the Mohabbat Shah case. Article 1(2) of the ICPPED states that no exceptional circumstances — whether war, political instability, or public emergency — may be invoked to justify enforced disappearance. Article 2 defines enforced disappearance as the deprivation of liberty by state agents or those acting with state acquiescence, followed by a refusal to acknowledge the detention or concealment of the person’s fate.

Enforced disappearances are not unique to Pakistan. They have occurred across the world — from Latin America to Asia and Africa — particularly during the Cold War era. The Indian state, for instance, has been implicated in enforced disappearances in Indian Illegally Occupied Jammu and Kashmir since 1989, as well as in Punjab and Manipur during the 1980s and 1990s.

In many Latin American countries, the end of military dictatorships and the restoration of democracy led to the cessation of enforced disappearances and, in some cases, accountability for past crimes.

In Pakistan, however, impunity continues to prevail, despite our international commitments against enforced disappearance.

Recently, Pakistan’s military spokesman Lieutenant General Ahmed Sharif Chaudhry held a prejudicial and inflammatory press conference and commented on the subject matter of Imaan and Hadi’s ongoing trial. It reveals the real origin of the case, making it clear that it is no longer possible for any court in Pakistan to adjudicate upon the matter in a fair and unbiased manner.

This trial is about whether Pakistan will uphold the rule of law, respect international legal norms, and protect the fundamental right to speak the truth.

Shireen Mazari

The writer is a defense and security analyst and served as Pakistan’s Minister for Human Rights from 2018 to 2022.

The post How My Daughter’s Trial Exposes Pakistan’s Assault on Human Rights appeared first on Dissent Today.

Balochistan is Pakistan’s largest province by land, bordering Afghanistan and Iran. It is rich in minerals and resources, but it has long suffered from poverty, underdevelopment, and weak political representation. 

Despite its strategic importance and its contributions, the voices of ordinary Baloch citizens are rarely heard in national debates.

Over the last year, Balochistan has been racked by escalating violence and systematic suppression of dissent. The arrests of leaders human rights activists like Dr. Mahrang Baloch and others connected with their group, Baloch Yakjehti Committee, reflect a government approach that favors coercion over conversation.

Several recent assassination attempts make this clear. In March of this year, my father, Sardar Akhtar Mengal, narrowly escaped a suicide bombing near a rally he was leading from Wadh to the capital, Quetta, in a mountainous district called Mastung. 

On September 2, in Quetta, a bomb exploded in the parking area after a memorial gathering for my grandfather, Sardar Ataullah Mengal, killing at least eleven people and injuring many more just as the event was ending. It was obvious the gathering itself was the target.

These attacks are meant to send a warning that political expression is allowed only on the state’s terms. Weeks have passed without serious inquiry or accountability. When Balochistan has no electoral impact, its concerns vanish from the spotlight. Its political space has shrunk through arrests, harassment, and threats. Once this void forms, restoring trust becomes extremely difficult.

Despite large budgets allocated for “security,” protection of lives does not follow. I remember watching news of disasters like the Jaffarabad Express tragedy and the casualties at my grandfather’s death anniversary. The urgency, which should come with such loss of life, was missing.

National politics treats Balochistan only as a bargaining chip — when votes are needed to pass controversial legislation or to form coalitions. But increasingly, even that limited influence is slipping, as handpicked representatives dominate assemblies and legislation passes without meaningful negotiation.

On the international stage, Balochistan is often framed as a place of resource opportunity — where mining, oil, gas, and ports matter for foreign investors. But the disparity between those economic narratives and the lived reality is stark. Communities remain underdeveloped, suffer human rights abuses, and see little benefit from the projects supposed to lift them.

There is also a trend of simplifying Baloch grievances into accusations of “foreign interference,” allowing governments to avoid real accountability. Meanwhile, people inside Pakistan who oppose or criticize repressive policies are punished or ignored. Opposition parties speak loudly about Baloch issues only when they are out of power. Once in power, they often fall silent, offering phrases like “we were constrained, what can we do?” — which only deepen the sense that suffering is rhetorical, not real.

To break this cycle, meaningful change is essential.

• End arbitrary arrests. Let political activists and human rights defenders work without fear.
• Create a credible, independent truth and reconciliation commission to address enforced disappearances and abuse.
• Ensure that local communities have a genuine say in decisions about resource extraction and development, so that they see benefits themselves.
• Shift from militarized security toward civilian governance, especially in cities where political expression must be protected.
• Invest in education, entrepreneurship, and civic engagement so young people see that politics can be a path to change — not a dead end.

This moment is dangerous but not irreversible. If the state does not act, the gulf of disillusionment will grow. If voices are silenced, unrest will grow. Dialogue, inclusion, and justice remain our only way forward.

Amid violence and unrest, Balochistan’s youth are waiting for reasons to believe in politics again. The responsibility now rests with those in power to offer those reasons before trust is lost permanently. It may feel like time has run out, but it is not yet over.

Banari Mengal

The writer is the co-founder of the NGO BYAC, which focuses on advocacy and community initiatives in Balochistan, Pakistan.

The post Why Balochistan’s Youth No Longer Trust Politics appeared first on Dissent Today.

“Will anyone come? We have been waiting for so many days,” asked a Baloch mother, grasping my hand in hope of good news. Another mother, Zar Gul, whose son Saeed Ahmed was forcibly disappeared in 2013, joined in, holding my other hand and saying, “Maybe this time we’ll bring our sons home.”

These past fifty-plus days in Islamabad have been an emotional whirlwind for anyone visiting the Baloch families’ camp near the National Press Club in F‑6 sector. The women’s stories are so harrowing that they often collapse while recounting their ordeal — seeing their sons abducted by plainclothes men who broke into their homes; enduring ten years of agonizing waiting, searching for answers in courts and on the streets; holding fifteen years of hope that their brothers remain alive as they were when taken before their eyes.

The Baloch National Movement’s human rights department, Paank, reported that in the first half of 2025 alone, 785 cases of enforced disappearances and 121 extrajudicial killings were documented.

The Defence of Human Rights has documented 3,140 cases since 2006, with 1,362 victims still missing. In 2025, 32 new cases were reported.

Only the families enduring this cruel, collective, and relentless punishment truly understand what each second of the day feels like. Their cries seem to go unheard in the corridors of power just streets away — no government minister has visited the camp to date. This government’s apathy is so stark and the war on its citizens so brazen that even the fiction of engagement with these elderly women and young girls has been abandoned.

The callousness is further illustrated by the authorities’ refusal to allow the peaceful protesters to set up camp for shelter outside the Press Club. Much like they are caged in Balochistan, these women are now confined to a narrow road, surrounded by barriers and barbed wire — a chilling reminder of that treatment during the 2023 Baloch long march to Islamabad.

During the freezing winter of 2023, many of them were attacked with water cannons and sticks as they peacefully protested. Many, including young Mahzaib (niece of forcibly disappeared Rashid Hussain), were unlawfully arrested, detained, and loaded into buses to be forcibly sent back to Balochistan.

Although the Baloch Yekjehti Committee has made significant strides in advocating for human rights, its impact has been severely hampered by the detention of its leadership, most notably Dr. Mahrang Baloch, its founder and a globally recognized human rights activist.

Dr. Baloch has now been detained since March 22, following a peaceful sit-in protesting state violence.

Her imprisonment has deeply affected the community. Elderly mothers at the protest camp have shown me photographs of their sons and said, “Mahrang raised her voice for them. Now, we will raise our voice for Mahrang.”

Moreover, almost the entire leadership of the Committee is now behind bars. This includes Sebghetullah Shah Jee, Beebarg Baloch, Beebow Baloch, and Gulzadi Baloch.

The legal process surrounding these detentions reflects a persistent pattern of arbitrary and prolonged incarceration. The authorities have repeatedly invoked the colonial-era Maintenance of Public Order (MPO) law — originally enacted in 1960 — allowing detention without formal charges. Even when the judicial system convenes hearings, the prosecution repeatedly fails to present credible evidence, yet the detainees remain imprisoned.

These women and girls are not just here for their loved ones – they are here to demand the release of those brave leaders who carried the grief of the Baloch people on their shoulders. They remember the Long March with Dr. Mahrang to Islamabad in 2023.

Though the state succeeded in breaking the hope of many — as seen in the much smaller number who returned this year — even the stubborn hope held by these few women sends a powerful message to the people of Pakistan: no matter how heartless the state’s response, the path of peaceful resistance must not be abandoned.

Passersby often approach the camp and ask, “Why have they been sitting here so long? Has anyone from the government come to speak to them yet?” When told that no one has come despite more than a month of protest, through scorching heat and torrential downpour, they merely sigh and move on. But these women cannot move forward, as their lives remain forever suspended.

There is no doubt that enforced disappearances are Pakistan’s greatest crisis — the clearest indication of a total breakdown in rule of law in a society that tolerates this atrocity. Impunity is entrenched: not a single perpetrator has been identified or brought to justice.

Worse still, impunity has grown in recent months, especially since the 26th Constitutional Amendment. 

Baloch families have always faced significant challenges in registering cases for crimes committed against them. But following recent amendments, police have begun to outright refuse the registration of abduction First Information Reports (FIRs) — even when the Islamabad High Court is actively hearing a habeas corpus petition or has issued a court order.

Habeas corpus petitions, which were once heard promptly — often the same or next day — are now delayed due to frivolous administrative objections, even when hearings are scheduled. New judges at the Islamabad High Court have started to decline directing police to register abduction FIRs immediately, even in cases where previous court interventions had led to the recovery of missing persons, as in the Ahmad Farhad case.

The state has given its people nothing to hope for. Yet against all odds, these courageous mothers, sisters, daughters, and wives still find hope. They refuse to give up. Their loved ones may be missing, but they will not be forgotten. 

The state must remember: this pain cannot be erased, and the peaceful struggle against enforced disappearances cannot be ignored — doing so risks irreparable damage to the integrity of the federation.

Imaan Zainab Mazari-Hazir

The writer is an Islamabad-based lawyer and human rights activist.

The post In Islamabad, State’s Apathy on Full Display as Baloch Families Hold Protest Camp appeared first on Dissent Today.

Organizations like the Tehrik-i-Labbaik Pakistan (TLP) have a history of hijacking public sentiment and transforming peaceful protests into violent demonstrations. Their methods often involve intimidation, property damage, and even physical violence. When activists and celebrities call for boycotts without fully considering this context, they inadvertently create a fertile ground for these groups to operate.

The recent attacks on KFC outlets in Pakistan on allegations the food chain has ties to Israel serve as a stark example of this dynamic. One KFC worker lost his life in a mob attack in the outskirts of Lahore last month and at least 11 incidents of arson targeting KFC outlets were reported in various cities. While the initial calls for boycott may have been intended to be non-violent, the subsequent actions demonstrate how quickly such movements can be co-opted by those with a more radical agenda. Such incidents are a chilling reminder that in Pakistan’s volatile landscape, even seemingly innocuous calls to action can be twisted into justification for violence and unrest.

Therefore, it is crucial for those advocating for boycotts to exercise extreme caution. While their intentions may be noble, they must acknowledge the very real risk that their words can be weaponized by extremist elements. Instead of broad, potentially inflammatory calls that can be easily manipulated, perhaps focusing on more targeted and strategically sound approaches would be more effective and less likely to endanger public safety.

For instance, Pakistan has the option to utilize international platforms such as the Organization of Islamic Cooperation (OIC) to seek justice for the Palestinian people.

The pursuit of justice abroad should not come at the cost of peace and security at home.

News Desk

dissenttoday.net

The post Why a ‘Boycott Israel’ Campaign Cannot Work in Pakistan appeared first on Dissent Today.

The amendments added a new provision, Section 26(A), to PECA. This addition is aimed at penalizing those responsible for spreading “fake news” online.

When PECA was first introduced in 2015 as a bill in the National Assembly, PPP, Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf (PTI), Muttahida Qaumi Movement (MQM) and the Awami National Party (ANP), allied with civil society and the press to resist the law. But once it arrived in the Senate where the opposition enjoyed a majority, the PPP made claims of “enough debate,” “it’s the need of the hour” and “we’ve fixed it” — which they hadn’t.

PECA was used against the PML-N, PTI, and PPP when they fell out of favor with the military establishment. Yet, this has not deterred any political party from being a vessel of further oppression when in power by expanding the scope of the law.  

This time around, the PPP supported the amendments in the National Assembly.

When the amendments were tabled in the Senate for passage, journalists staged a walkout. PPP Senator Sherry Rehman visited them and assured them their amendments would be supported just as the law was being passed with the party’s blessing in the Senate, receiving the assent of President Asif Zardari (the PPP’s co-chairman) soon after.

Once the law was signed, a member of the PPP reached out to us for input to prepare amendments. There was no offer for such input prior to the enactment of the law, but once it was all finalized thanks to their parliamentarians, they felt the need to hold “discussions.”

When the PPP was in opposition and its members headed National Assembly and Senate standing committees, they called upon digital rights advocates and journalists to brief them on the misuse of PECA. Yet at no point in all these years did the party or its members move a bill to roll back the damage PECA has done. Instead, for short-term gain and favor, they decided to rubber-stamp these amendments. 

The PPP certainly takes the cake in the art of deception and playing both sides. But it is also incumbent upon civil society and journalists to wisen up and see through these charades.

During advocacy against PECA back in 2015, consistent reminders were served to then allies in civil society, reminding them that despite flowery speeches, come time to vote we knew which way they swung: Pakistan Protection Act and the 21st amendment were recent debacles. This time it was the 26th amendment and PECA 2.0.

The amendments are a nefariously designed systemic assault on fundamental freedoms by expanding the state’s stranglehold over speech and information. This has not been whipped out of thin air; rather, its Machiavellian design is evident in the very deliberate and considered way granular changes have been introduced, to reverse years of judicial checks applied to misuse of the law’s provisions. There is a method to this madness.

These amendments close the door on the ability to seek relief based on misuse of the law, because it’s the very abuse of process that was challenged before courts and led to judicial pronouncements that has been legalized, so to speak. 

Cases were quashed by courts for not fulfilling the basic requirements of the law. For instance, journalist Shahzeb Jillani’s case was discharged recognizing that institutions or third parties on their behalf could not be complainants but that a “natural person” who was directly aggrieved had to be.

So conveniently, the amendments alter the definition of person to include legal and corporate entities paving the way for “institutions” and a complainant is now anyone who “has substantial reasons to believe that the offence has been committed.”

“PECA was used against the PML-N, PTI, and PPP when they fell out of favor with the military establishment. Yet, this has not deterred any political party from being a vessel of further oppression when in power by expanding the scope of the law.”

Not as though this was not already happening in practice. The case against journalist Bilal Farooqi, which is still pending, was on the complaint of a factory worker in Karachi who happened to stumble upon his social media posts and reported them. 

The way the law works in practice is that a person is identified as the target first. What they said or did not say, and whether it fits the offence or not, is an afterthought and semantics.

Once a complaint is filed, whether by issuing summons or registering an FIR, typically raids are conducted, attempts are made to arrest the person and seize their devices. Once arrested, there is a push for physical remand. Even where there is no arrest, appearance at every hearing is required.

Whether the offence is made out or not and whether procedures were followed or not, are things raised at later stages, once the damage is already done. An example of this is Asad Ali Toor’s arrest in February 2024, when after his arrest and 20-day incarceration, the court ultimately pronounced that the offence was never made out. By this time, the process was successfully used as punishment.

On the regulatory side, to counter checks against overreach, the amendments do away with the PTA, create a new regulatory authority that functions directly under the federal government and ensure its directives are “binding” upon it.

This is because under the earlier regulatory scheme, the IHC held that the federal government’s directives were not binding upon the PTA: X was banned upon a federal government notification.

Unfortunately, the courts did not prioritize petitions against the ban on the social platform X and the JIT and summons by the Federal Investigation Agency (FIA) in a timely manner. This gatekeeping further enabled the government to successfully weasel its way out of what would have been an obvious defeat in court by changing the rules of the game through altering the law.

Much of the resistance against PECA by journalist bodies today is stemming from being shunned after assurances by the government they would be taken into confidence. Too much is sacrificed at the altar of getting a seat at the table and eagerness to be co-opted.

There is nothing to “discuss.” No tweaks will prevent the persecution that this law enables. Nothing short of complete repeal should be accepted. These amendments are not just about press freedom; they have to do with the rights of every citizen of Pakistan.

Farieha Aziz

The writer is a co-founder of Bolo Bhi, an advocacy forum for digital rights and host of the Digi Pod on Dawn News English

The post How The PPP Played Both Sides While Passing The Draconian PECA Amendments appeared first on Dissent Today.

Despite its vastness, the region’s 280,000 residents, including a significant Hindu minority, have been mired in a decades-long struggle for land and water rights.

The people of Cholistan are striving to secure ownership of the land they were promised by the government for cultivation purposes. Furthermore, the region faces an acute scarcity of drinking water, prompting persistent demands from the community for access to clean water.

To address these issues, the then government established the Cholistan Development Authority (CDA), under the CDA Act of 1976, which was tasked with improving the region’s well-being. Its responsibilities include creating irrigation systems, providing drinking water for humans and cattle, establishing farms, healthcare facilities, and schools, and ensuring the prosperity of the local population. However, these lofty objectives have often been overshadowed by delays, corruption, and controversial policies.

The dream of land ownership in Cholistan dates back to 1959 when residents submitted applications under the Mazeed Ugao Scheme. Unfortunately, no records of these applications exist, and no land was ever distributed under this scheme. After the CDA’s formation, the first organized land allotment scheme began in 2013. Out of 65,000 applicants, only 21,000 met the strict eligibility criteria, which required proof of residency, a livestock tax receipt (Tarni), and a CNIC and voter registration from Cholistan. However, in 2018 when the Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf (PTI) government came to power, it cancelled the land allotment process on the grounds of corruption. 

In 2019, a fresh round of applications began, resulting in 41,841 eligible candidates out of 64,240. Yet, the process stalled during PTI’s tenure, leaving thousands in limbo. It wasn’t until December 2023, under the then Interim Chief Minister of Punjab, Mohsin Naqvi, that the long-awaited allotment materialized. Through a computerized lottery system, 27,451 farmers were finally granted 344,000 acres of land across Yazman, Liaquatpur, and Fort Abbas.

For the people of Cholistan, this marked the culmination of a 60-year struggle. Yet, this victory remains incomplete as many farmers still await possession of their allotted lands.

While the people of Cholistan fought tirelessly for land, thousands of acres were quietly handed over to influential groups. Human Rights Commission of Pakistan (HRCP) investigations revealed that the CDA allocated 74,000 acres to the military, though local residents claim this figure is closer to 400,000 acres.

Moreover, land has been given to foreign entities, including the Prince of Abu Dhabi and Chinese investors, according to HRCP’s findings.  In June 2023, the Punjab government announced plans to use Cholistan’s land for corporate farming under the Green Pakistan Initiative. 

By October 19, 2023, 700,000 acres had been leased to M/S Green Corporate Initiative Pvt. Ltd. for 20 years, with an optional 10-year extension. The terms of this agreement remain shrouded in secrecy, raising questions about transparency and accountability.

The proposed Cholistan Canal, which is a part of this initiative, adds another layer of controversy. Ostensibly aimed at supporting agriculture, there is widespread skepticism about whether its water will benefit local farmers or be monopolized by corporate farming ventures. Without water, the newly allotted lands for local farmers remain barren and unproductive.

While the people of Cholistan fought tirelessly for land, thousands of acres were quietly handed over to influential groups. Human Rights Commission of Pakistan (HRCP) investigations revealed that the CDA allocated 74,000 acres to the Pakistan military

The people of Cholistan are united in their fight for justice, demanding both water and land rights. Protests have highlighted the government’s failure to prioritize the needs of local farmers over corporate interests.

Political parties and civil society must stand with the people of Cholistan, ensuring that the region’s resources are not exploited for corporate gain. The government must:

1. Publicly disclose all corporate farming agreements.
2. Conduct a scientific analysis of the risks and benefits associated with the Cholistan Canal.
3. Guarantee that the Cholistan Canal serves local farmers first.
4. Expedite the transfer of land possession to rightful allottees.

Cholistan’s farmers have endured decades of broken promises. Now, their fight is not just for land but for the very resources that will sustain their livelihoods. The desert speaks of resilience, but it also echoes a plea for justice. Will the authorities pay heed?

Nazir Ahmad

The writer is a human rights defender with extensive experience in training and educating activists. He has twice served as a council member of the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan.  

The post Cholistan Farmers’ Longstanding Struggle for Land and Water Rights Remains Overlooked appeared first on Dissent Today.

The pattern for intolerance of dissent was set even before the new year began. In December 2023, hundreds of protesters from Balochistan, led by activist Mahrang Baloch, marched to Islamabad to demand the recovery of their forcibly disappeared family members. Ranging from elderly women in their eighties to toddlers, the protesters started their sit-in outside the Press Club in Islamabad on December 22, and continued till the end of January 2024. In the freezing cold of Islamabad, the protesters faced not only arbitrary arrests and detention but the denial of humanitarian assistance such as blankets and access to toilets.  In the face of twin hostilities — from the administration and the weather — the protesters were left with no option but to return to Balochistan.

In July, violence was once again inflicted upon the Baloch in Gwadar during the Baloch Raji Machi, where hundreds of people had gathered to demand their civil, political, and economic rights, as well as an end to enforced disappearances. On July 28, at least three protesters were killed by security personnel, and many others were injured. Earlier, roads and the internet were blocked to prevent participation in the protest, and convoys were fired upon.

In the same month, a “peace march” in Bannu, Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa, held to protest the rise in Taliban attacks in the province, faced violence from law enforcement personnel. Authorities allegedly opened fire on the protesters, resulting in two deaths.

In May, three young men were allegedly killed by the paramilitary Rangers in Pakistan-administered Kashmir during a protest march demanding subsidized flour and electricity. The Jammu Kashmir Joint Awami Action Committee, the group behind the protest, stated that the protesters were peaceful, but the government chose to deploy the Rangers, who ultimately used force against them.

Gilgit-Baltistan also saw massive protests in January against the dramatic increase in wheat prices, inflation, poor internet, and human rights violations in the region.

Meanwhile, Pakistan conducted a controversial general election in February 2024, which was marred by allegations of rigging and violence. Terrorist attacks during election campaigns have become a norm in Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa over the past few years, and the 2024 election was no exception. Anti-Taliban politicians and parties had to run their campaigns amidst a wave of fear and intimidation, as terrorist attacks in the province increased in 2024.

On February 1, Rehan Zeb Khan, an independent candidate affiliated with the Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf (PTI), was shot dead in a targeted attack; when gunmen opened fire on his car in a market in the Bajaur district. Three other people were injured, and the Islamic State (IS) claimed responsibility for the attack. In January, Malik Kaleem Ullah, an independent candidate for the Khyber Pakhtunkhwa Assembly, was shot dead in Waziristan, along with three others, while going door-to-door.

Two days after the election, former MNA and National Democratic Movement (NDM) chief Mohsin Dawar was shot and injured by security forces during a protest against alleged rigging in his constituency in Waziristan. Four of his supporters were killed. The incident served as a reminder of the impunity enjoyed by security forces in the province. The fact that a former lawmaker could be shot simply for protesting against rigging indicates that no citizen is safe from the disproportionate use of force by law enforcement agencies in tribal areas.

Increasingly, as more and more sections of the citizenry become frustrated by the state’s indifference or outright hostility to their demands for rights, the backlash they face is becoming harsher. The rulers’ perception of all protests as subversion has effectively transformed Pakistan into a security state.

Apart from other ethnic groups raising voices for their rights, the state also views the Pashtun Tahaffuz Movement (PTM) with suspicion. One of its founders, former MNA Ali Wazir, continues to be shunted from prison to prison, on dubious charges.

In October, when the PTM planned its Grand National Jirga (dialogue) in Khyber, the state responded by vandalizing the venue, killing four supporters and imposing a ban on the PTM. The purpose of the jirga was to discuss issues related to the Pashtuns and solutions for peace in Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa. Instead of responding positively to peace initiatives, in a deeply troubled region, the state tried its best to prevent this event. While the government later agreed to rescind the ban, the crackdown on the group continues, with one of its senior members, Haji Abdul Samar, having been arbitrarily arrested and handed over to the Counter Terrorism Department earlier this week.

There wasn’t a single month in 2024 when Pakistan did not witness protests by political parties or members of civil society. And there was probably not a single protest (except perhaps those organized by the extremist group Tehreek-e-Labbaik Pakistan) that did not experience a crackdown.

In October, when civil society organizations planned the Sindh Rawadari (tolerance) March in Karachi to promote interfaith harmony and protest the extrajudicial killing of blasphemy accused Dr. Shahnawaz Khunbar, their right to assemble was restricted by the imposition of Section 144. When the organizations decided to proceed despite the restriction, many rights activists were beaten and dragged into police vehicles.

There wasn’t a single month in 2024 when Pakistan did not witness protests by political parties or civil society. And there was probably not a single protest that did not experience a crackdown.

 

Protests in Islamabad face perhaps the biggest hurdles. The government’s SOPs include shutting down businesses and schools, as well as cutting off mobile networks and the internet. Containers are placed at all entry and exit points to deter participation. Historically, these measures have led to greater violence and clashes between demonstrators and law enforcement. However, no lessons are learned. This was evident during the PTI demonstration in the capital in November, when violent clashes resulted in the deaths of 12 protesters and several law enforcement officers.

As the year ends, the country sees sustained protests in the restive town of Parachinar, Kurram, with no prospects of peace. What possibly started as a land dispute quickly turned into a bloody sectarian conflict, claiming more than 130 lives. The government’s response of blocking roads in the severe winter months has resulted in a grave humanitarian crisis, with food and medical shortages resulting in the death of over a hundred children.

While the military spokesperson recently held the Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa government responsible for ensuring law and order, he overlooked the military’s role in promoting sectarianism in the region. Meanwhile, roads in Karachi have been blocked for a week by protesters in sympathy with those suffering in Parachinar. Similar protests against the violence in Parachinar have been staged in Lahore and Islamabad as well.

So how does 2025 look in the context of the right to peaceful assembly? Not very bright, judging by the controversial Peaceful Assembly and Public Order Act passed by the National Assembly in September. This proposed law places severe restrictions on demonstrations and public gatherings in Islamabad Capital Territory.

One can only hope that the provinces don’t follow the federal government’s footsteps and violate people’s fundamental right to peaceful assembly.

The protests and crackdowns mentioned above were largely absent from the mainstream media’s coverage, which has a history of overlooking unrest in peripheral regions. Self-censorship and state-enforced restrictions compel the media to turn a blind eye while human rights and civil liberties are increasingly violated in smaller provinces. Instead of giving coverage to the grievances of protesting activists, many voices in the mainstream media amplified state propaganda against them and attributed the protests to a “foreign hand.” Pakistan’s media must stop becoming complicit in the crackdown aimed at silencing dissenting voices in the country.

In 2025, Pakistan’s civil society must not allow these injustices in the peripheries to go unnoticed and should actively demand accountability and an end to the culture of impunity.

Zohra Yusuf and Ailia Zehra

Zohra Yusuf is a council member of HRCP and the Consulting Editor of Dissent Today.

Ailia Zehra is a journalist and the Founding Editor of Dissent Today.

The post How Pakistan’s Peripheries Dissented in 2024 appeared first on Dissent Today.

I recall the rapid rise of the civil rights group, Pashtun Tahaffuz Movement (PTM), following the extra-judicial killing of Naqeebullah Mehsud by the Karachi police in January 2018. Again, it was the social media that covered the PTM’s public meetings in an increasingly hostile environment. When PTM marchers entered Sindh to hold a meeting, the provincial government put up hindrances at every step, setting up blockades and disconnecting power. It was only through videos shared on social media that we got a sense of the support that the movement’s young founder, Manzoor Pashteen, and the PTM had managed to earn in a short while. Thousands of cell phones lit up the public meeting which turned out to be truly inspirational as far as political movements go.  

The PTM, much like the BYC, has been sustained by social media through videos created by supporters and widely shared. Much of what is going on in various parts of our country, particularly the widespread violation of rights, would not have come to our attention if not covered and shared by affected communities on social media. So how far out of touch is the traditional media with people’s movements? The short-lived ban on the PTM made headline news but there was no in-depth coverage of the historic Grand National Jirga (dialogue) held around the same time. And then there’s the case of former Parliamentarian Ali Wazir, a political prisoner by any definition, who is imprisoned on trumped-up charges under every government. The saga of his detention should have made it to the mainstream media. Wazir has set a record of being imprisoned by all recent governments: the Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf (PTI), the Pakistan People’s Party (PPP)-Pakistan Muslim League – N (PML-N) coalition, the caretaker government, and now under the PML-N again. The leading political parties and the provincial governments of Punjab and Sindh all appear to be on the “same page” when it comes to denying him freedom. He has also done a tour of jails; recently arrested in Islamabad, he was taken to jails in Jhelum, Gujrat, Bhakkar and abducted as soon as he was released from Bhakkar jail.

In cases such as these and many other rights’ issues, social media has taken on the role of the mainstream media, i.e. keeping people informed. The subtle and not so subtle pressures on the mainstream media prevent it from reporting truthfully on issues considered sensitive by the “establishment.” My fear is that a whole generation of journalists, affiliated with television channels, is being nurtured to have blinkers on when it comes to issues of human rights, particularly of marginalized communities. They are in danger of looking at nationalist movements through the tunnel vision popularized by the military, i.e. any movement for self-determination on the basis of identity is against the country and its ideology.

Much of the persecution Baloch and Pashtun civil rights movements are facing would not have come to our attention if it had not been shared on social media. This is why Pakistan’s establishment wants to restrict online space.

The mainstream media was, I believe, emasculated at the time when Lt. General Faiz Hameed headed the Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI) and Major-General Ghafoor managed the Inter Services Public Relations (ISPR). The pressure tactics adopted to cow down the media was part of the larger scheme of easing the situation for the newly elected—and experimental—PTI government. All criticism of PTI and its chief, Prime Minister Imran Khan, were killed by those “on the same page” at the time. There was no tolerance for dissenting views. I recall a particularly vindictive campaign against Dawn and its editor and publisher. During this period, copies of Dawn could not be distributed in Cantonment areas. Television channels were closely monitored and instructed to remove content even during transmission as was in the case of an interview of former president Asif Ali Zardari by prominent anchor Hamid Mir on Geo News. It was pulled off mid-sentence. 

The PML-N government in power, prior to the 2018 elections, may not have been an epitome of democracy, but was fairly tolerant of coverage of the opposition parties (PTI and PPP, primarily at the time). The non-stop coverage given to the long drawn out PTI’s dharna in 2014 was unprecedented even as PTI activists attacked and intimidated journalists they considered unfriendly. The PTI government, believed to be brought to power by the Faiz Hameed and Qamar Bajwa duo, initiated what they considered a clever manipulation of the media. No direct censorship but a more insidious form of control.

Today, it is their legacy that rules the mainstream and, partly, social media. It is ironic (and silly) that incarcerated former prime minister Imran Khan’s name cannot be mentioned in the electronic media. He is referred to as founder, PTI—or more often as “baani” (founder) as if he had undergone a name change while in prison. It is reminiscent of the dictator Zia ul Haq’s directives to add “so-called” before the Movement for Restoration for Democracy (MRD). Faux democracies or real dictatorships, our rulers don’t believe in letting the media breathe free. 

Even as I write this, two headlines on the front page of Dawn (16 November) ring alarm bells:  the Council of Islamic Ideology has declared the use of VPNs to be “un-Islamic” while the Army Chief has called for “stricter rules for social media”.

Zohra Yusuf

The writer is a Pakistani journalist and human rights defender. She is the former Chairperson of the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan (HRCP), and is currently its council member.

The post Why Pakistan’s Establishment Is Afraid of Social Media appeared first on Dissent Today.

When the legislature does not accurately represent the will of the people, when laws benefit only the powerful, and when brute force replaces public debate, no law—regardless of its substance—will be seen as legitimate. Lifetimes will be spent defending every sentence.

Parliamentary democracy is about more than simply erecting polling booths every few years. It’s a system premised on the role of public participation in government affairs. And elected representatives have a moral duty to do everything to enable this ideal. The 26th amendment’s crisis of legitimacy exists because it was conceived by discarding the principles of freedom of speech, information, transparency, and due process.

Consider the current composition of Pakistan’s Parliament. The 2024 general elections delivered a government whose representatives scatter the moment anyone utters the word “Form 45.” The Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf (PTI), forced to contest the election stripped of a unified electoral symbol, continues to be denied its share of reserved seats despite a Supreme Court ruling in its favour. To top it all off, the Senate elections for one province, Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, have yet to be held. 

This is the Parliament that sought to tinker with the Constitution. Legitimacy never really stood a chance. 

The legitimacy problem is compounded by the process that was adopted to pass the 26th amendment. Barring a small round of stump speeches by Pakistan People’s Party (PPP) Chairman Bilawal Bhutto-Zardari on the virtues of a constitutional court, no public draft of the amendment was ever shared, and no public deliberations were held. Clothed in secrecy, the people were deemed superfluous.

When it was finally presented in Parliament, no one could say for certain what its contents were. The public saw no draft, but saw visuals of politicians who until recently had been “missing” suddenly appear to cast their vote for an amendment that nobody had yet seen. 

“These are my senators,” wrote an exasperated Sardar Akhtar Mengal on social media. “Where are they coming from? Look at their condition.” Shortly following these scenes, members of the ruling coalition gave grand speeches on the sanctity of Parliament. Akhtar Mengal subsequently had a terrorism case filed against him.  

In the end, the 26th amendment was passed in the early hours of the morning after a marathon legislative session. According to Pakistan Institute of Legislative Development and Transparency (PILDAT), the National Assembly approved it in five hours. The Senate passed it in three. Everything, it seems, had to be done as soon as possible, lest the weight of conscience, or the retirement date for the Chief Justice of Pakistan, prove too much to bear. 

What is tragic is that those who brute forced this amendment knew exactly what they were doing. In a previous era, the same ruling parties had passed the 18th amendment. According to PILDAT, it was passed after a Parliamentary Committee on constitutional reform held 77 meetings over 10 months and spent 385 hours in deliberations. 982 public proposals were reviewed. 

The 26th amendment holds little democratic legitimacy because it is marred by allegations of coercion and a lack of transparency. A precedent has been set in which Parliament functions as a rubber stamp rather than a forum for democratic norms. For all the claims about its sovereignty, the institution of Parliament has been severely undermined. 

This brings us to the substance of the amendment. A substance that cannot escape the cost and circumstances through which it came about. 

There is no debate that Pakistan’s judiciary requires serious reform. Successive periods of judicial activism have left Pakistan’s democracy and the separation of powers in shreds. A massive backlog of cases has made the pursuit of justice elusive. But the solution to these problems is not to create a compromised judiciary unable to perform one of its core constitutional duties: accountability of the government. 

“The 26th amendment holds little democratic legitimacy because it is marred by allegations of coercion and a lack of transparency. It was conceived by discarding the principles of freedom of speech, transparency, and due process.”

The government’s first target was to restructure the Judicial Commission of Pakistan (JCP), the body responsible for appointing judges. It did so by reducing the “judicial” part of the commission to a minority. The incumbent government now enjoys a comfortable majority in appointing judges to the Supreme Court. The intent behind this change became clear when the government passed a recent law to increase the number of judges in the top court.  

There have been genuine calls to reform the JCP to allow for more stakeholders outside the judiciary to have a say in the appointment process. These proposals have called for greater transparency, objective criteria, and enhanced diversity in an effort to create balance between judicial independence and public accountability. Yet, the 26th amendment’s solution, devoid of objective criteria and balanced membership, simply gives today’s ruling government an uninhibited say over who gets to be a judge. 

Any law or constitutional scheme operates within a context and is developed according to that context. This is why references to how judicial appointments work in other jurisdictions can sometimes be unhelpful. While it may be true that there are certain jurisdictions where politicians have a say in judicial appointments, it is also true that many of these jurisdictions do not have a history of executive meddling in judicial affairs. In a state with a deep civil-military imbalance, giving the executive leverage over judicial appointments compromises the legitimacy of the judicial institution. 

Another innovation the 26th amendment introduced is to empower this compromised JCP to appoint constitutional benches within the Supreme Court. This court within a court would hear all constitutional matters. This was done in the name of reducing the backlog of cases before the Supreme Court. But it is a red herring. The number of constitutional cases before the Supreme Court is actually miniscule. The vast majority of cases clogging up the judicial system are before the trial courts and High Courts. Even otherwise, transferring cases from one department of the Supreme Court to another is no substitute for the deep structural reform that is necessary throughout the court system if pendency of cases is to be improved.

Perhaps if the government had left the composition and workings of this new bench to the Supreme Court, there would have been little objection. But the majority in the JCP will decide who sits on these benches, reserving for itself the power to exclude judges who it deems may go against its interest.

Constitutional cases, by definition, are cases against the government. A party to a case should not be allowed to choose its own judges. Especially if those judges owe their new appointments to them. In these circumstances, how much legitimacy would these constitutional benches have in the eyes of ordinary people?

Finally, a special parliamentary committee that proportionately represents all parties in parliament decides who becomes the Chief Justice of Pakistan from a panel of the three most senior judges of the Supreme Court. On the face of it, this seems like a fair proposal. But the process can only be fair if there is a clear criteria for selection based on merit rather than politics. In the absence of this, it is a mechanism to ensure the triumph of subservience over competence. Every few years, judicial politics will peak as judges audition to demonstrate that they will keep the government’s interest at the forefront in their decisions. 

In an effort to make judges less political, politicians have granted themselves the ability to appoint judges, select who hears constitutional cases, and pick the Chief Justice. 

This amendment was never about creating a more responsive and accountable judiciary, but one that could be more easily managed by a hybrid regime that is insecure about its own future. Divested of pretence, it must be called for what it truly is: an instrument of guarantee. In order to guarantee that a government with a shaky mandate continues to rule, both Parliament and the judiciary have been weakened. 

It is important to note that all this isn’t being done during an era of unchecked judicial activism. Instead, the catalyst was a decision where the judiciary pushed back against an unlawful attempt to deprive a political party of its share of reserved seats. The author of that verdict was prevented from becoming Chief Justice and excluded from constitutional cases. And the dissenting judge, who argued that compliance with Supreme Court verdicts was optional, ending up becoming the head of the constitutional bench.

Hassan A Niazi

The writer is a lawyer and former member of the visiting faculty at the Lahore University of Management Sciences. He did his LL.M. from New York University where he was a Hauser Global Scholar. He is currently based in Singapore.

The post Here’s Why The 26th Amendment to Pakistan’s Constitution Is Undemocratic appeared first on Dissent Today.