On a quiet November afternoon in 2019, my life changed forever. My father Muhammad Idris Khattak, a human rights researcher and activist, was on his way home when he was taken away; from us, from his home, from even himself. That was the moment our whole lives had changed without us knowing. That was when our journey of fear, anguish, and resilience began that would redefine what family, justice, and hope meant to us.
My father was a man of principles, someone who believed in standing up for the voiceless, and helping everyone around him; friends, family, and even total strangers. He would not care about himself but would make sure others were content. Through his research and advocacy, he shed light on the grim realities of enforced disappearances and human rights violations in Pakistan.
Little did we know: he would soon become a victim of the very injustice he fought against.
When we got a phone call from him late at night on the 13th of November, he told us he’d be staying at a friend's place for a few days and won’t be able to contact us. This had never happened before because we would speak every other day if not every day. A few days later when our friends shared a news article regarding his abduction, a cold wave of fear gripped my heart. I cannot describe the feelings. Even when I put pen to paper, the paper just stays empty. The feeling is indescribable.
Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, yet there was no trace of him. We were consumed by uncertainty, imagining scenarios that no family should ever have to consider. Was he alive? Was he safe? Was he being tortured? Where was he? These questions haunted us as we struggled to function in the vacuum of his absence.
Seven months later, we finally learned that he was in the custody of Pakistan’s state security agencies. While this revelation confirmed he was alive, it offered little comfort. We had no idea where he was being held or the conditions he was kept in. We didn’t know whether he had food, water, light. Despite his right to legal representation and family visits, these were denied to him. Knowing his health was fragile—he has diabetes and chronic back pain—added to our unbearable anxiety.
For years, my father had been a rock for our entire family. His quiet strength and unwavering dedication to justice inspired us all, and they still do, despite everything. But now, as he sat somewhere in isolation, it was our turn to find strength. It was a strength borne of love for him, but also of sheer necessity. We had to fight for him, speak for him, and make sure his story was heard.
The impact of his abduction has been devastating. Every celebration, every family gathering, every moment of joy has been tinged with his absence. On every occasion, I can feel a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes. Even the simple sound of his laughter is something we ache to hear again. I usually play his videos on repeat just to hear his voice. Yet, the pain of his absence has taught us resilience. My sister and I have found our voices in the struggle to bring him back.
We’ve turned to human rights organisations, journalists, and the international community for support. Groups like Amnesty International, Human Rights Watch, and Front Line Defenders, among many others, have helped amplify our calls for justice. We’ve spoken to anyone who will listen, not just for our father but for the countless others who’ve been silenced by enforced disappearances.
His case highlights a troubling pattern in Pakistan—a country where too many families live in the shadows of missing loved ones. Enforced disappearances are more than just statistics; they are stories of broken families, lost dreams, and silenced voices. My father is more than a “case”; he is a father, a brother, an uncle, and a friend.
What hurts the most is knowing the injustice he has suffered. In December 2021, after a secret trial, he was sentenced to 14 years in prison on charges of espionage. The verdict felt like a cruel blow. We still don’t know what the exact charges against him are.
But despite everything, we refuse to give up. My father taught us that justice is worth fighting for, no matter how long the road or how steep the climb. His resilience is etched into my heart, and we will continue fighting for his freedom.
There are days when the pain feels unbearable, and the weight of uncertainty crushes me. But then I remember who my father is—a man who stood tall in the face of injustice, who believed in the power of truth and compassion. He wouldn’t want us to stop now.
As his daughters, we continue to write letters, hold protests, and engage with activists worldwide. Every time someone speaks his name, every time his story is shared, it feels like a small victory against the forces that tried to erase him.
To those who have stood by us, thank you. Your support has reminded us that humanity still exists, even in the darkest of times. To the authorities holding my father, I ask: What harm could a man of peace, a defender of the oppressed, ever bring to you?
And to my father: We love you. We miss you. And we will never stop fighting for you. You are not forgotten, and you never will be.