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.

The government of Pakistan’s decision to ban the Pashtun Tahaffuz Movement (PTM), a social movement that originated from the country’s peripheries, sends a troubling message to citizens—that their constitutional rights do not matter and that maintaining a non-violent stance will lead to harsh treatment. Since its inception, PTM has remained committed to peaceful protests. The non-violent nature of the struggle has been the movement’s greatest strength, and this peaceful approach is what appears to have provoked the state. The PTM has always been peaceful in its struggle, contrasting sharply with the actions of some mainstream political parties, such as the Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf (PTI) and the extremist group Tehreek-e-Labbaik Pakistan (TLP), which have resorted to violence in recent protests in several cities. Despite the unrest caused by these groups, they have been allowed to operate.

The way the state recently attempted to violently prevent the Grand National Jirga (dialogue) of Pashtuns organized by the PTM further reveals its intolerance for peaceful protests. The PTM called for a grand dialogue to discuss the situation of Pashtuns in Pakistan, the ongoing proxy wars in the region and their impact on Pashtuns, the militarization of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, and the way forward. Pashtun political parties, academics, activists, and Pashtuns from various backgrounds were invited to the jirga. District Khyber was selected as the venue for the gathering. However, the state began disrupting preparations by initiating a crackdown against the PTM. In response to this call for the jirga, the federal government announced a ban on the PTM and declared it a proscribed organization. On October 9, the Khyber Pakhtunkhwa police and Frontier Corps launched an attack on the campsite of the jirga, opening fire on PTM activists present at the venue. Four PTM activists were killed, and many others were injured. Mobile networks in the area were shut down. This is how the state, including both the federal and provincial governments, chose to respond to the PTM’s call for a gathering of Pashtuns for peace.

About a month ago, the Supreme Court of Pakistan was compelled to reverse a ruling in favor of the rights of a religious minority group due to violent protests and threats from TLP aimed at the Chief Justice. This difference in the state’s response to protests by social movements and extremist groups highlights a concerning reality: violent groups are taken seriously, while peaceful advocacy is met with repression.

The origin of PTM

The PTM was founded primarily as a response to the state’s oppression in the Pashtun regions of Pakistan. Over the decades, the state used the region of ex-FATA (tribal districts that were merged with Khyber Pakhtunkhwa in 2018) as a launching pad for Project Taliban, a state agenda aimed at protecting Western interests. Under this project, the people of the Khyber Pakhtunkhwa province endured significant injustices and had no channels through which to voice their grievances, leading to a constant rise in oppression.

It was the state that initially settled militants in that region, which resulted in widespread violence, including suicide bombings. After several years of TTP’s terror, a military operation against the Taliban was launched that displaced locals. They were reassured that normalcy would return when they are back home after the military operations. However, upon returning, they found their homes demolished. Instead of leading honorable lives after the military action, they faced further humiliation. Security forces regularly raided their homes without explanation, and they endured mistreatment at check posts—all justified under the guise of anti-militancy operations.

After the military operation, it became evident that terrorists had not been the primary targets; rather, it was the homes of ordinary citizens that were destroyed. The state displaced Pashtuns in the name of peace and subjected them to further humiliation. In this context, Pashtun youth rallied against the state. The PTM was founded in 2018 following the brutal killing of a Pashtun youth, Naqeebullah Mehsud, in a fake police encounter. The movement gained momentum very rapidly in a very short period of time.

PTM emerged as a response to decades of oppression faced by the Pashtun people. It laid the foundation for a new political narrative that challenged the establishment’s policies, advocating for justice and rights for the Pashtun community. And the movement began facing intimidation right after its formation. 

The government of Pakistan’s decision to ban the PTM, a social movement that originated from the country’s peripheries, sends a troubling message to citizens—that their constitutional rights do not matter.

The state’s double standards 

The state of Pakistan engaged in negotiations with the Taliban during a period marked by brutal acts, including beheadings and suicide bombings across the country. As a result of the violence, the government felt compelled to negotiate with the Tehreek-e-Taliban Pakistan (TTP), and their initial plan was to concede certain areas to the militant group. However, these intentions were disrupted by our protests. The state’s current accommodation of the Taliban in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa suggests that this policy of giving space to the militants is being repeated.

This pattern of double standards was also apparent during the protests against election rigging earlier this year. While the PTI was allowed to protest and control the narrative surrounding alleged electoral mismanagement, our party, the National Democratic Movement, faced violence when we protested against rigging in Waziristan. I was shot and injured, and four of my colleagues lost their lives two days after the election—all because we sought accountability regarding the announcement of results in our constituency. The recent killing of four PTM activists during the state’s attempts to prevent the grand jirga serves as a reminder that this policy of using force against peaceful Pashtun protestors continues. 

This disparity in the treatment of dissenting voices in Punjab compared to Khyber Pakhtunkhwa is alarming. The state has always overlooked the unrest perpetuated by religious extremist groups, such as the TLP and TTP. In contrast, peaceful social movements emerging from peripheral regions face disproportionate targeting and repression. This unjust treatment of individuals from smaller provinces has been a key feature in Pakistan’s relationship with these regions.

PML-N and PPP’s refusal to learn from the past

I urge the parties leading the federal government to learn from their past mistakes. During my time in the last National Assembly, I consistently warned PTI lawmakers not to facilitate legislation that granted unchecked power to the military establishment, as it could ultimately be used against them. I warned them that surrendering civilian authority to the establishment might make their own party vulnerable in the future, and that’s exactly what happened. 

Given PTI’s current situation, both the Pakistan People’s Party (PPP) and the Pakistan Muslim League-Nawaz (PML-N) should have learned a lesson. They have encountered similar challenges in the past, yet they seem unwilling to acknowledge this lesson. Their refusal to learn from history will cost them dearly.

Mohsin Dawar

The writer is a former Pakistani parliamentarian and chair of the National Democratic Movement.

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