The Politics of Life & Death

Nafeesa Kakar

Quetta: Balochistan is too often viewed almost entirely through the language of security. Militancy, terrorism, insurgency, border security and counterterrorism dominate discussions about the province. These are undoubtedly serious challenges, but this vocabulary alone is not enough to explain the deeper crisis unfolding in Balochistan.

The more difficult question is not simply who is responsible for violence, but why political alienation has become so deep that violence continues to find opportunities to reproduce itself.

There can be no justification for attacks on civilians, security personnel or public infrastructure. Groups such as the BLA and TTP must be confronted, and the state has a legitimate responsibility to protect its citizens. Yet a security response, however necessary, cannot by itself resolve a crisis whose roots are also political, economic and historical.

Balochistan presents a striking contradiction. The province is rich in natural resources, land and strategic geography, yet many of its people continue to express concerns about political exclusion, inadequate development and limited participation in decisions involving their own resources. These grievances are not new.

They have accumulated over decades, and when long-standing grievances remain unresolved, every new security operation risks becoming another chapter in the same cycle.

When Politics Becomes Security

The first mistake, therefore, is to treat Balochistan exclusively as a security problem.

When demands for political rights, fair elections, equitable resource distribution or human rights are immediately viewed through a security lens, political space inevitably becomes narrower. Peaceful voices become weaker, while security institutions assume an increasingly central role in managing what are fundamentally political problems.

This creates a vicious cycle: grievances are securitised, alienation deepens, militant organisations exploit the resulting frustration, and militancy is then used to justify further securitisation.

Breaking this cycle requires recognising that not every grievance represents a security threat.

External actors may certainly seek to exploit instability, and their involvement should be investigated. But acknowledging external interference should not prevent us from asking the more uncomfortable question: why are there grievances available to exploit in the first place?

Foreign interference can aggravate a crisis, but it does not necessarily create every underlying grievance.

The Crisis of Political Representation

Political representation is therefore central to understanding Balochistan’s crisis.

Democracy is not simply about holding elections. It requires citizens to believe that their votes matter, that their representatives genuinely represent their concerns and that those representatives have sufficient political space to raise those concerns.

If an elected representative cannot adequately speak for his or her constituents, what democratic channel remains available to those citizens?

The answer cannot always be another security operation.

A functioning political system must provide mechanisms through which citizens can express anger, demand rights, challenge government decisions and seek institutional remedies without being pushed into political isolation.

When these mechanisms weaken, frustration does not necessarily disappear. It simply searches for another outlet.

When Identity Becomes Suspicion

There is an even more troubling dimension to the crisis: the growing tendency to associate ethnic identity with political suspicion.

For some young Baloch, there appears to be an increasing perception that being Baloch itself can invite suspicion of militancy or disloyalty. That is a dangerous path.

Terrorism has no ethnicity.

No community is born violent, and no geography naturally produces terrorists. Militancy emerges from particular political, social, economic and historical circumstances.

This does not absolve militant organisations of responsibility. Those who attack civilians, security personnel or public infrastructure must be held accountable. But accountability must remain individual rather than collective.

A Baloch citizen demanding constitutional rights is not necessarily a separatist. A Pashtun questioning state policy is not necessarily a terrorist. A citizen criticising government policy is not automatically an enemy of the state.

A democratic state must be capable of making these distinctions. If it cannot, a political conflict risks gradually becoming an identity conflict.

Resources, Development and Power

The economic dimension of Balochistan’s crisis deserves equal attention.

The province’s natural resources and strategic location have made it central to Pakistan’s economic ambitions. The China-Pakistan Economic Corridor is perhaps the clearest example.

CPEC has enormous strategic and economic significance for Pakistan, yet projects associated with it have also faced serious security threats. The obvious response is to increase security around infrastructure.

But another question deserves equal attention: why do development projects become politically vulnerable in communities where grievances remain unresolved?

Development requires more than roads, ports, mines and investment. It also requires legitimacy.

If local communities feel that decisions concerning their land and resources are being made without meaningful consultation, development can come to symbolise exclusion rather than prosperity.

A project may be physically protected by security forces, but its long-term sustainability depends on whether local communities regard it as something that benefits them rather than something imposed upon them.

At its core, resource distribution is a question of power: who makes the decisions, who benefits from them and who bears their costs?

A Weakening Social Contract

At the heart of the crisis lies a broader question about the relationship between the state and its citizens.

The Constitution is not merely a legal document. It represents a framework of rights and responsibilities between citizens and the state.

Citizens are expected to obey the law and fulfil their civic responsibilities. In return, the state is expected to provide security, justice, representation and equal citizenship.

When citizens begin to believe that some voices are more valuable than others, that their resources are being controlled without adequate participation, or that criticism is met with accusations of disloyalty, the social contract begins to weaken.

This is why the repeated use of labels such as “traitor” and “enemy of the state” should concern anyone committed to democratic politics.

A state cannot demand loyalty while treating criticism as evidence of disloyalty.

The strength of a state should not be measured only by the absence of criticism. It should also be measured by its ability to tolerate disagreement without treating dissent as an existential threat.

Necropolitics 

This is where Achille Mbembe’s concept of necropolitics provides a powerful lens through which to examine the crisis.

Necropolitics concerns the power to determine who is protected, who is exposed to violence and whose life becomes more vulnerable to conditions of insecurity, displacement and death.

Applied carefully to Balochistan and Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, the concept raises an uncomfortable question: are some populations increasingly experiencing the state through protection and political inclusion, while others experience it primarily through surveillance, force and insecurity?

This does not mean that every death is ordered by the state, nor does it absolve militant organisations of responsibility for violence.

Rather, it requires us to examine the political conditions under which certain communities become disproportionately exposed to insecurity.

The state possesses considerable power to define threats, determine where force is deployed and decide when political dialogue should take precedence over coercion. Those choices have consequences.

If a security policy repeatedly generates fear among the very population whose confidence the state needs, then that policy deserves serious scrutiny.

Counterterrorism Must Remain Accountable

Condemning militant violence does not require silence about state conduct.

When militants attack civilians or security forces, the law must take its course. But counterterrorism institutions must also remain accountable to the law.

Allegations of extrajudicial killings and violations of due process cannot simply be dismissed in the name of national security. Such allegations require transparent investigation and appropriate legal processes.

The rule of law matters most when circumstances are difficult.

A state cannot effectively defend constitutional order while weakening the legal principles that distinguish a constitutional system from the violent forces it is confronting.

Security and accountability should not be treated as competing objectives. In a constitutional democracy, they should reinforce one another.

Scholars Are Not Enemies of the State

The same principle applies to academics and researchers.

There is a fundamental difference between a politician and a scholar. A politician is concerned primarily with governance, political power and public policy, while a scholar’s responsibility is to investigate, question, interpret and challenge assumptions.

If a young person receives public funding to pursue a PhD, that investment should not be understood as purchasing political obedience.

It should produce knowledge.

A scholar who asks whether elections are fair, whether human rights are adequately protected, whether institutions are functioning or whether state policies are contributing to alienation is not necessarily working against the state.

Critical scholarship can, in fact, strengthen institutions by exposing weaknesses that political rhetoric may conceal.

A state confident in its legitimacy should not fear difficult questions. It should be capable of answering them.

Beyond Security Narrative

Balochistan therefore needs more than another debate between “security” and “anti-state” narratives.

Militancy must be confronted. External interference must be investigated. But political grievances must also be addressed.

Local communities need a meaningful voice in decisions concerning their resources. Elections must be credible. Parliament must provide genuine space for dissent. Courts must protect due process. Political representatives must be able to speak for their constituents.

Most importantly, citizens must be able to disagree with the state without automatically being treated as its enemies.

The real challenge is not simply to control Balochistan. It is to rebuild the relationship between Balochistan and Pakistan.

That requires more than administrative measures or additional security deployments. It requires a political settlement based on inclusion, constitutional rights, justice, economic fairness and meaningful dialogue.

The Politics of Listening

Ultimately, the politics of life and death is about more than who dies.

It is about whose life is protected, whose voice is heard, whose suffering is considered tolerable and whose future is regarded as politically important.

If Pakistan wants lasting peace in Balochistan, it must move beyond the belief that grievances can be permanently managed through force.

Peace cannot simply be imposed. It has to become legitimate.

That legitimacy can only be built through representation, constitutionalism, justice, economic fairness and a willingness to listen.

The question facing Pakistan is therefore not merely how to defeat militancy. It is how to ensure that citizens have fewer reasons to believe that violence is the only language the state understands.

Balochistan’s future will ultimately depend not only on the state’s ability to control territory, but also on its ability to rebuild trust.

And political trust, once lost, cannot be secured through force alone.

It has to be earned.

The writer is a political science researcher at University of Loralai, Balochistan. 

The article is the writer’s opinion, it may or may not adhere to the organization’s editorial policy.