How anti-Shia violence debunks the idea of ​​Pakistan – Firstpost

On October 29, 2024, a disturbing demonstration of anti-Shia hatred took place in Islamabad, shockingly close to the headquarters of the ISI. Members of the Sipah-e-Sahaba, an extremist organization notorious for orchestrating violence against the Shia minority, gathered openly to spread vile accusations and demand the expulsion of Shias from Islam. They didn’t just stop at words, they demanded that Shiites visiting Iran for the pilgrimage have their passports and identity cards revoked, essentially demanding that they be made stateless.

This is not just bigotry at the fringes; it is a frighteningly bold attack on a minority with the tacit acceptance of a state that has turned its back. Pakistan, supposedly carved out of India as a safe haven for all Muslims, has become a breeding ground for sectarian extremism, where Shias are treated as foreigners in their own homeland.

In Kurram district, the situation is even more tragic. What began as a land dispute between Sunni and Shiite tribes in July 2024 turned into a brutal sectarian conflict that claimed more than 43 lives and injured more than 200 people. These are not just numbers; they are human lives, each story marked by fear and loss, in a region where sectarian violence has become routine. Sunni tribes are reportedly getting support from across the Afghan border, while Shia families are left vulnerable, caught in the crossfire of tribal rivalries and a history of bloodshed.

Kurram, with eight active conflicts spanning decades, symbolizes the absolute breakdown of law and order in the face of unchecked sectarian hatred. And yet those with power and influence continue to look the other way, allowing extremist agendas to dictate the fate of Pakistan’s Shia community. In every death, every displacement, the idea of ​​Pakistan as a sanctuary for Muslims away from Hindus is shamelessly defeated.

Sipah-e-Sahaba Pakistan (SSP), now masquerading under various names to evade bans, has long been the spearhead of anti-Shia violence in Pakistan. Founded in 1985 in Jhang by Haq Nawaz Jhangvi, the SSP was born out of a toxic mix of sectarianism and the ambition to create a Pakistan aligned exclusively with Sunni orthodoxy. What began as a reactionary movement to counter Iran’s post-revolutionary influence quickly turned into an engine of terror, targeting Pakistan’s Shia minority in search of an exclusive religious state. The SSP’s philosophy is clear: Shiites are heretics and enemies within and therefore deserve systemic violence, a message that has permeated society for decades through the SSP’s madrassas, sermons and hateful rhetoric.

SSP violence against Shiites is not abstract; it is ruthlessly real and shockingly consistent. By the late 1990s, the group claimed responsibility for thousands of murders in Punjab and Sindh, with its offshoot, Lashkar-e-Jhangvi (LeJ), ramping up its brutality by targeting prominent Shiite figures, doctors and even children. The SSP’s ideology spawned a spate of assassinations, including the cold-blooded killing of Shia leader Arif Hussain Hussaini in 1988 and mass casualty attacks such as the 2013 Quetta bombing that killed more than 90 Shias. According to Pakistan’s own security records, from 2001 to 2018, the SSP and its offshoots were responsible for over 2,300 deaths in sectarian violence in Pakistan. Even repeatedly banned, the SSP manages to rebrand and continue operations, often under names such as Ahle Sunnat Wal Jamaat (ASWJ), working with impunity, encouraged by tacit state support.

Today, as SSP followers openly gather near government institutions such as ISI headquarters, eagerly demanding that Shias be ostracized and stripped of their nationality, it is clear that the toxic legacy of the SSP remains firmly entrenched. With its networks deeply embedded in Pakistan’s social and political fabric, it remains a force that thrives on hatred, division and the state’s reluctant tolerance. The influence of the SSP is not just a chapter in Pakistan’s history, but an ongoing tragedy, one that shows the tragic and relentless power of sectarianism to shape the destiny of a nation.

When we call Pakistan a failed state, it’s tempting to point only to its economic problems, its mounting debt, or its democracy swaying under the thumb of the military. These problems, while severe, are only symptoms of a much deeper failure. Pakistan is essentially a failed idea – an idea rooted in the flawed concept of religious nationalism that was bound to collapse from the start. The creation of Pakistan, justified by the belief that a separate Muslim nation would ensure unity and peace for the Muslims of the subcontinent, paradoxically sowed endless division. The secession of Bangladesh in 1971 was the first major crisis, revealing the folly of assuming that only a common religion could form a united and unified nation. Cultural, linguistic and ethnic identities proved stronger than this fabricated religious nationalism and the very foundation of Pakistan’s purpose was shaken.

The idea that Muslims form a homogeneous political unit under the banner of a “Muslim Ummah” is a fiction to which Pakistan desperately clings, but which everyday reality undermines. In Balochistan, calls for autonomy and freedom grow louder every year as the state clings to control through repression. In Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, people are besieged by militancy and sectarian strife, fueling a sense of alienation from the Pakistani identity imposed on them. And for the Shia community, Pakistan has become a hostile terrain, where extremist groups like Sipah-e-Sahaba are allowed to threaten their very right to exist. These are not isolated incidents, but a pattern, revealing that the idea of ​​a unified “Muslim Pakistan” cannot contain the diversity and contradictions within it.

The dream of the Muslim Ummah — homogeneous and united — is not only an impracticability; it is a cover for an exclusive, communalist vision that marginalizes anyone who dares to be different. Every time a Shia is attacked, every time a Baloch voice is silenced, every time a non-Sunni citizen is sided with, it becomes clear that the founding vision of Pakistan is not a force of unity but of fragmentation , one that left the nation perpetually divided. against himself.

The less said about the plight of the Ahmadiyya community in Pakistan, the better. Officially declared “non-Muslim” in 1974 and targeted by blasphemy laws, Ahmadis live in perpetual fear. They cannot openly profess their faith; they are prohibited from using Islamic symbols, and even the most basic acts of religious expression invite harassment, arrest, or worse. Ahmadiyya mosques have been desecrated, their graves defaced, and their homes attacked, with the state standing idly by – or worse, actively sanctioning oppression. This persecution is a testament to the total failure of Pakistan’s vision of “religious purity”, which has paradoxically spawned religious violence, eliminating the security and freedom promised at its inception.

In stark contrast, India has embraced the principle of composite nationalism—an inclusive vision in which every citizen, regardless of religion, contributes to the nation’s identity. This secular, pluralistic approach, though certainly tested by its own challenges, has enabled India to become a sanctuary where Muslims, including Shias, Sunnis, Bohras, Sufis and even Ahmadis, can live and worship freely. Indian Muslims may face their own socio-political challenges, but they do not face systematic, state-sanctioned exclusion for the faith they profess.

India’s democracy provides a framework that supports religious freedoms, and its secular constitution protects minorities from the kind of institutionalized intolerance prevalent in Pakistan. For Muslims around the world, the irony is stark: the Hindu-majority India they were told to fear has turned out to be a much safer, more inclusive home than the “land of the pure.”

It is often argued that comparing India to Pakistan is unfair, that the two nations have developed on completely different paths, but this reluctance to make a comparison is little more than the “bland bigotry of low expectations”. Pakistan, as a nation created on the basis of religious exclusivity, was not a simple political rearrangement, but a radical experiment with a huge human cost. Millions have been displaced, countless lives have been lost and the cultural fabric of the subcontinent has been torn apart in the name of saving a specific religious identity. Given this background, it is not only reasonable but essential to check whether Pakistan has achieved what its founders envisioned: a prosperous, secure and unified homeland for Muslims. does it have The answer seems abundantly clear when we look at Pakistan’s internal divisions, economic instability and perpetual sectarian violence.

The comparison between India and Pakistan is not arbitrary – it is a textbook case of how two nations, sharing the same cultural, linguistic and racial roots, have diverged dramatically based on ideological choices. India chose pluralism, enshrining a secular constitution and embracing its diversity, while Pakistan chose a strictly defined religious nationalism. The results speak volumes: India, despite its own set of challenges, has maintained democratic stability, economic growth and a level of religious tolerance that far exceeds Pakistan’s fractured landscape. Pakistan, by clinging to the myth of an “Islamic state” capable of uniting diverse Muslim communities, has become a case study in ideological failure. The very identity it tried to impose became its undoing, while India’s open and composite identity allowed it to become a more resilient, united and prosperous society. The history of the subcontinent demands that we ask whether the ideological divergence was worth it – and it becomes increasingly difficult to justify the price paid for an idea that failed so tragically in practice.

The writer has a special interest in history, culture and geopolitics. The views expressed in the piece above are personal and solely the author’s. They do not necessarily reflect the views of Firstpost.