On 10 April 2025, UK MP John McDonnell issued a stark warning to the University of Cambridge: “It is absolutely essential that his research into the critical issue of the Balochistan genocide is not obstructed—regardless of pressure from the Pakistani state.” His message, sent to Cambridge Vice-Chancellor Deborah Prentice and Wolfson College President Ijeoma Uchegbu, called for urgent clarity on how the university was responding to security concerns surrounding a postgraduate researcher facing threats. “I would therefore be most grateful,” McDonnell added, “if you could clarify any current security concerns and let me know how I and other Members of Parliament familiar with the Balochistan situation might offer assistance.” McDonnell was advocating on behalf of Roshaan Khattak, an Oscar-nominated filmmaker and academic whose proposed doctorate at Cambridge investigates enforced disappearances and other genocidal crimes in Balochistan—a region of Pakistan intersected by China’s multibillion-dollar Belt and Road Initiative. Politically explosive, both Islamabad and Beijing have a deep interest in controlling the narrative. And so, what began as a scholarly project has morphed into a high-stakes test: will one of the world’s most prestigious universities defend academic freedom, or capitulate to the pressures of transnational repression? Roshaan’s ordeal began in December, when he started receiving explicit threats. One anonymous message warned: “Don’t forget even Cambridge and UK is not safe. They can get anywhere…. Don’t be stupid.” According to security analysts, the threats bear the hallmarks of Pakistan’s intelligence services.

Rather than receiving institutional support, Khattak says he encountered obstruction. Wolfson College abruptly revoked his accommodation, changed his door locks without notice, and permitted staff to access his room while he was abroad—compromising hard drives that stored sensitive datas. He also reports that key emails mysteriously vanished from his university account. All of this, he says, occurred without a formal security review. Anonymous emails warned also that “senior staff had mentioned that the Pakistani state via its embassy and networks… [is"> not happy with your research” and cautioned that “just like they were looking for excuses to cancel your room, they will now be looking to cancel your PhD.”

The university’s response? Roshaan was told Cambridge lacked the “resources or expertise” to help, and was advised to rely on “his own resources.” This is no isolated case. Transnational repression—the long arm of authoritarian regimes targeting exiles and dissidents abroad—is now a grim feature of global politics. In the UK alone, police thwarted an assassination attempt on Dutch-based Pakistani activist Waqas Goraya. Scotland Yard has issued warnings to Iranian journalists in London. And in November 2023, Pakistani exile Shahzad Akbar survived an acid attack in England, widely believed to be orchestrated by Pakistan’s ISI. What’s new however—and deeply troubling—is the encroachment of these tactics into British universities. Dr Andrew Chubb, who serves on the UK Parliament’s working group on the issue, has described Khattak’s case as “a clear instance of transnational repression.” He’s right. The threats are credible. The patterns are familiar. And the institutional response has been shamefully inadequate. Cambridge, of all places, should know better. Between 2020 and 2024, the university accepted up to £19 million from Chinese sources. That alone should have triggered safeguards and scrutiny when a researcher’s work touched Beijing’s strategic interests. Instead, the university appears to have treated the problem not as a matter of principle, but of risk management—removing the vulnerable rather than confronting the powerful. This goes far beyond Cambridge. If one of Britain’s most prestigious university can’t—or won’t—protect a single postgraduate researcher, what hope is there for smaller institutions? What message does this send to young academics investigating authoritarianism, state violence, or contested territories? For Roshaan, the risks are not theoretical. “Two years ago,” he recalls, “I travelled to Stockholm to investigate the mysterious assassination of fellow journalist Sajid Hussain Baloch. Right at the start of my investigation, my hotel room was broken into. My cameras, laptop, passport, and hard drives containing invaluable research were stolen. A man carrying a dagger was reportedly seen on my floor that very night.” Khattak, who is part of the working group for Uk Parliamentary inquiry into transnational repression, has since submitted detailed testimony to the Parliament and proposed a model draft for Transnational Repression Bill—calling for visa bans, asset freezes, and criminal penalties targeting foreign officials who orchestrate threats or harassment abroad. These are not abstract proposals. They are urgently needed tools in an increasingly hostile global landscape.The stakes could not be higher. The deaths of Sajid Hussain in Sweden and Karima Baloch in Canada at the hand of Pakistani intelligence are grim reminders of what happens when states silence dissenters unchecked. Without formal safeguards—whether through the Office for Students, the Department for Education, or another body—Khattak’s case won’t be the last. As authoritarian regimes grow more aggressive, academics researching politically sensitive topics will continue to face serious threats—often without any institutional backup. Universities must decide what they stand for. Academic freedom is not just a slogan for glossy brochures. It’s a moral and academic duty. And it’s tested not in moments of comfort, but under pressure. Cambridge failed that test. The rest of the world should take note.