First, it was the men who disappeared. Human rights activists, students, professors, intellectuals, politicians. Young, old, sometimes children. First, it was the men. And the women waited. Some without even crying, others sitting for days outside police stations. Or they walked. They walked as the mothers of the Plaza de Mayo walked decades ago under Argentina’s colonels, demanding news of their missing loved ones. They walked from Quetta to Islamabad, carrying photographs of fathers, brothers, husbands. Husbands who sometimes reappeared as corpses on the side of the road: tortured bodies, unrecognisable, dumped in mass graves hastily sealed by the authorities, left rotting on hospital rooftops under the sun. In the beginning, it was male activists, writers, students. Their crime: demanding that Balochistan’s resources benefit its people. Over time, repression evolved. The Baloch Yakjehti Committee – born from women’s mobilisation after Bramsh’s mother was killed in 2020 – grew into a movement. Peaceful, defiant, led by women who refused silence. They marched through Quetta, Karachi, Islamabad to ask for justice. They spoke of disappearances, extrajudicial killings, mass graves, the daily humiliations of militarisation. The state arrested them, teargassed them, beat them. Yet they kept speaking. First, it was the men who disappeared. And the women walked. Then they began to speak. But their voices – the voices of girls raised searching for their fathers – turned out to be more dangerous than weapons. And so now, it is the women themselves who are disappearing. The abduction of women and children in Balochistan is not new. For years, women have been kidnapped, detained, tortured, used as sex slaves by the military, then discarded. But it is difficult to obtain figures, because as is often the case in such violence, women are ashamed to speak out. Or they are dead. It took decades to uncover the truth about mass rapes during the war in Bangladesh – rapes committed by the same army. It will take years, if ever, to expose what has been done to Baloch women. The abduction of women is not new, but now it is systemic. In past 3 months alone, at least six Baloch women have been arrested, abducted, or simply vanished. On May 29, Mahjabeen Baloch, a 24-year-old polio survivor and student, was taken from her hostel room in Quetta before dawn. No warrant. No charges. No news since. Before her, Dr. Mahrang Baloch – who led thousands in the long march to Islamabad – was arrested in March. “I know that sooner or later they will take me,” she had declared, “but unity is our strength, and I have no intention of keeping quiet.” Then came Sammi Deen Baloch, Gulzadi Baloch, Beebow Baloch: all detained for protesting, often without formal accusations, sometimes without a lawyer. Sammi was released after a few days, the others are still in jail. In early July, Amna Baloch was arrested in Karachi for marching against yet another extrajudicial killing. In prison, they have faced continuous mistreatment, harassment, and denial of basic rights. On April 24, personnel from Quetta Police and the Counter Terrorism Department stormed the prison and brutally assaulted Mahrang, Beebow, and Gulzadi. Beebow was transferred from Hudda Jail to Pishin Jail, tortured during the journey. Surveillance cameras were installed inside her barracks and restroom, violating her dignity. In protest, they went on a five-day hunger strike. Very little changed. And after silencing their voices, after making them disappear, the state set out to kill their character. Following Mahrang’s arrest, ISPR launched press conferences against her, flooding media with false and misleading narratives to manipulate international opinion. The families of Dr. Sabiha Baloch and Beebow Baloch were collectively punished. Over 300 BYC members were detained. Even the Islamic State entered the equation, distributing audio-visual threats declaring Baloch activists apostates and traitors, legitimate targets. Many believe ISKP acts with tacit permission from Pakistan’s security agencies. Both the Islamic State and Pakistan’s military spokespersons use the same language. Their tone is identical. Both speak of eliminating them. Both label them foreign agents. Both are threatened by their progressive, 'feminist' struggle. Thus, Baloch women activists now live under a double shadow – hunted by the deep state for demanding rights, and by jihadists for refusing patriarchal theocracy. First, it was the men who disappeared. And the women walked. Then they spoke, and the state tried to silence them. In Argentina under the junta, mothers of the disappeared turned grief into resistance. In Balochistan, women’s mobilisation is becoming the next frontline in a conflict ignored by international headlines. Islamabad’s crackdown signals a dangerous escalation – an attempt to decapitate the moral leadership of a movement that has remained defiantly peaceful. An attempt to turn screams, rage, and tears into silence. For decades, Balochistan has been a theatre of slow-motion war between Islamabad’s security apparatus and Baloch nationalists demanding autonomy or independence. Beneath its mountains lie gas, copper, gold. Along its coast, Chinese engineers build Gwadar port, the jewel of Beijing’s Belt and Road. And within its villages, families count their missing. But this is not only a Baloch tragedy, not only a human rights story or a women’s tale of courage and resistance. It is a geopolitical story. Chinese investments expand along the CPEC corridor. Pakistan’s security services tighten their grip in the name of counterinsurgency and economic “stability.” The world watches only to ensure oil flows, gas is extracted, deals are signed, and rare minerals end up in the ‘right’ hands. It does not want to see who is thrown into a van in the night, or which girl does not return to her hostel bed. But it should. Because when the women begin to disappear, something fundamental has been broken. The social fabric is damaged beyond repair and cannot be fixed with deals, with inviting de facto dictators for lunch, with supplying more weapons to state assassins.


First, it was the men. And the women walked. Then they spoke, and they were silenced. One day, they will learn how loud and powerful the voice of silence can be.