‘And now they have come for me’

By Muatasim Qazi

First they came for the communists,
and I didn’t speak out because I wasn’t a communist.

Then they came for the trade unionists,
and I didn’t speak out because I wasn’t a trade unionist.

Then they came for the Jews,
and I didn’t speak out because I wasn’t a Jew.

Then they came for me
and there was no one left to speak out for me.

What Pastor Martin Niemöller had said in the preceding lines about the Nazi’s atrocities inGermanyclosely applies to today’s situation in Balochistan. Like the German pastor, every Baloch feels it’s now him and there’s no one in the world to speak on his behalf.

Yesterday, the trouble in Balochistan was somewhere in the hills of Kohlu and Dera Bugiti, today it’s in the plains and shores of Mekran; in the deserts and oases of Kharan and Taftan; in the valleys and hills of Jhalawan and Sarawan; and in the streets and the squares of Quetta. Many of us living in other parts of Balochistan may have ignored atrocities committed against innocent Bugtis and Marris then, but now it’s every one of us bearing the brunt of security forces anger.

I would have shrugged off the human rights violations occurring in Balochistan had things not worsened to the extent they are today. Some time back, I would respond to the news of atrocities committed elsewhere in Balochistan with a mere ‘so what,’ but now I’m no indifferent to the sentiments of families of victims of enforced disappearance, torture and extrajudicial killing. The utterance is not a mere ‘so what,’ it’s a pain that I feel from within.

Today, every Baloch is either already a victim of state atrocities or potentially soon to become one. I feel I am also one, or at least someone who belongs to some. I presume every sane individual from Balochistan, whether Baloch or not, equally shares the pain and sufferings of families that have lost loved ones.

And I have some reason to have the same feelings of pain and anger as the families of these victims do. Hamid Baloch, a childhood friend of mine, was a victim of enforced disappearance, torture and subsequent murder earlier this year. He was not the only one who may have bore pain in the dark dungeons. His family and those who knew him can still feel that pain.

Hamid was less fortunate of thousands of Baloch who have gone missing. At least the families of other missing persons can hope their loved ones are still alive and may return home one day despite the fact they have no clue about their whereabouts. But for Hamid’s family, there is nothing except pain and fear.

And the sufferings for his family didn’t stop when he was killed in February this year. On Monday, the security forces demolished their house in Basima in Washuk district. His father was detained, and then released with a threat that he should hand over his younger son, Khalid Baloch – a student activist – otherwise, he was told, the whole family would be ‘wiped out.’

I may have said “so what” to Hamid’s unlawful killing and to recent demolishing of his house, either out of fear or sheer indifference, but I can’t and should not. I don’t know why, like Pastor Martin Niemöller, I feel ‘they’ have now come for me and there is no one left to speak out for me; not even myself.

http://www.muatasimqazi.com