Recent violent incidents in Balochistan have once again thrust this troubled region into the national and international spotlight. The scale, coordination, and brutality of the attacks have not only shocked the nation but have also raised critical questions about how the state chooses to respond to such crises. While the Balochistan Liberation Army (BLA) issued warnings for civilians to stay indoors, their attacks on unarmed individuals, particularly at locations with unarmed civilians, are indefensible. International law, especially Common Article 3 of the Geneva Conventions, clearly prohibits the targeting of civilians and unarmed individuals, whether by state or non-state actors. The international legal framework is in place; what remains to be seen is whether Pakistan can rise above a mere show of force and leverage international jurisprudence to enhance its response strategies.
The choice of response is not just a matter of tactics; it is a reflection of the state's intent and its adherence to the rule of law. Resorting solely to force and counter-insurgency strategies may appear to provide short-term relief but does nothing to address the root causes of conflict. In fact, it often exacerbates the situation, leading to a cycle of violence that is hard to break. It is imperative that the state demonstrates an ability to pursue non-violent means to resolve complex issues, using force only proportionately and as a last resort. However, while the physical actions taken by the state are important, the rhetoric that accompanies these actions is equally significant. Words, especially when spoken by position holders, have a profound impact. They can either soothe tensions or fan the flames of conflict. Unfortunately, in the case of recent events in Balochistan, the language used by Baloch armed groups and political position-holders has done more harm than good.
In the immediate aftermath of the violence, a war of words erupted, particularly on social media. This was not merely a spontaneous outburst; it was fueled by statements from all sides, Baloch insurgent leaders, social media activists and provincial and national leaders, whose words were absorbed by the public and amplified through various mediums and channels. What could have been an opportunity for measured and responsible communication strategy instead became a trigger for further violence, both physical and digital.
Understandably, Baloch separatist armed groups were threatened first by federalist political leaders, and then terrorised by the sudden rise and popularity of the Baloch Yakjehti Committee (BYC) and other civic voices. They needed a boost in their narrative and some tactical evidence to continue attracting the Baloch population to their cause. They chose a narrative of hate and ethnic division to describe and colour their issues. To understand the rationale behind the massive attacks, one must comprehend how non-state armed groups behave and operate. They exist in a climate of fear and are always reactionary due to a lack of resources and opportunities around them. In addition, neuroscience helps us understand that this reactionary behaviour is deeply rooted in the nervous system's response to chronic stress and perceived threats, which drives these groups to act out of survival instincts rather than strategic calculation.
For some peculiar reasons, there seems to be a prevailing belief that violence and internal conflict are necessary for Pakistan. This belief is supported by a heavy reliance on counter-insurgency, counter-violent extremism and counter-terrorism policies. Any suggestion of a non-violent and political solution to complex problems falls on deaf ears
The Baloch people had overwhelmingly chosen non-violent means to raise their voices. Thus, the use of hatred, particularly ethnic hatred, accompanied by intense violence is merely a tool used by Baloch armed groups and does not reflect these groups' political positioning. Once done with the Punjabi narrative, these groups will likely look for another tactic to reinforce a marginalised viewpoint of Balochistan, ensuring they remain relevant and exist within smaller social groups that are easier to manipulate. These actions, events, and narratives are purely circumstantial and lack any depth.
When it comes to the role of the provincial and national political position holders, we must explore this with a bit more depth than mere circumstantial evidence. Due to contextual realities, the topmost leadership seems to be locked in their perceptions of themselves. They justify their roles and responsibilities with an internal narrative to sustain themselves. The top leadership firmly believes that they are rightfully tasked with ruling an unruly mob of 250 million. It is their divine duty, and they see themselves and their offspring, chosen to fulfill this role. The logic of their actions and decisions in policy or management of the country is primarily to maintain their power by any means necessary, thereby performing their self-perceived divine right and duty. This mindset has manifested in Pakistan's national and foreign policies. Adversaries or a competing political agenda cannot exist within this belief system.
The leadership of the country is making deliberate and consequential decisions, as the leaders and their core teams believe solely in the agency of their own leader. Thus, control becomes the primary purpose of their roles. Top leaders and their core teams subscribe to Social Darwinism, which justifies their decisions, choices and the desire for unchecked power. For some peculiar reasons, there seems to be a prevailing belief that violence and internal conflict are necessary for Pakistan. This belief is supported by a heavy reliance on counter-insurgency, counter-violent extremism and counter-terrorism policies. Any suggestion of a non-violent and political solution to complex problems falls on deaf ears. It is unfortunate that enablers are plentiful and readily available.
Driven by the prevailing political context, the top leaders have adopted a poker strategy, keeping their views and intentions close to their chests. The purpose of this strategy is to ensure that what leaders think and believe remains unknown to their advisors and secondary leadership. This has resulted in a heavy reliance on bluffs, lies, and media narratives that are far from reality. This is not an exception but a rule for top leaders across the board. Therefore, when reviewing how position holders have reacted to Baloch incidents, each seems to tell a different storyline. The differences arose because top leadership had merely engaged in performative discussions on Baloch situations. None of the position holders were consulted or views were exchanged with limited ideas on how these leaders may decide and respond to the Baloch question in the future. Position holders needed to spin their arguments, irrespective of reality, to make them seem compatible with their leaders and simply endorse what they believed to have heard from their leader or point of reference. Consequently, we did not have a coherent response to the situation—each position holder told a different story based on their perception of what they heard and added a spin based on their individual interests. Somewhat similar to Baloch armed groups, these so-called narratives do not reflect reality or their topmost leaders' positions. They are merely tactics to achieve their short-term self-perceived goals and to maximise their advantage in a complex situation.
Neuroscience reveals that dehumanisation and polarisation activate regions of the brain associated with fear and aggression, such as the amygdala, while suppressing areas responsible for empathy and reasoning
For instance, the Chief Minister of Balochistan, a key position holder, initially condemned the violence with a degree of caution. However, as the stress of the situation mounted—compounded by exhaustion from the recent BYC demonstrations—his language became increasingly emotional and less restrained. He referred to the Baloch groups as "cowards" and "unworthy of political engagement," a significant departure from his earlier, more measured tone. This shift is not merely a matter of style; it reflects a deeper problem. Neuroscience tells us that sustained stress can lead to more reactive and less deliberative decision-making, which is often reflected in communication. The Chief Minister's choice of words, driven by emotion rather than reason, likely exacerbated the situation rather than calming it.
This was not an isolated incident. Federal ministers, including Interior Minister Mohsin Naqvi and Defense Minister Khawaja Asif, also contributed to the escalating rhetoric. Naqvi's challenge to the militants, questioning their courage and suggesting that even a small police force could handle them, was not just dismissive—it was dangerously provocative. His words were designed to belittle the militants, but they also risked inflaming the Baloch population who did not support an armed struggle by supporting BYC demonstrations and added a new complexity to the conflict. Khawaja Asif's statement was even more troubling. By questioning whether "Punjabi blood is cheaper," he invoked ethnic divisions that have long been a source of tension in Pakistan. This kind of rhetoric is not only irresponsible; it is dangerous. It risks turning a complex political issue into a full-blown ethnic conflict, with potentially devastating consequences for the entire nation.
The use of terms like "barbaric", "cowards", and "unworthy" to describe the attackers, while the Chief Minister and his fellow federal ministers expressed moral outrage, also mirrored the language of dehumanisation seen in other conflicts. This is not just a matter of semantics. The language used by the ministers was intended to dehumanise the enemy, making it easier to justify extreme measures against them. This is precisely what happened during the Rwandan genocide, where Tutsis were referred to as "cockroaches," a term that stripped them of their humanity and made the violence against them seem almost justified. The parallels between the current rhetoric floated by the position holders on Balochistan incidents and the language used during the Rwandan genocide are chilling. While the situation in Balochistan is not the same, the potential for words to cause harm is all too real. Neuroscience reveals that dehumanisation and polarisation activate regions of the brain associated with fear and aggression, such as the amygdala, while suppressing areas responsible for empathy and reasoning. This neural shift fosters an "us vs. them" mentality, making it easier to justify violence against those perceived as outsiders or enemies.
Repeated exposure to such language can desensitise individuals to the humanity of the other group, making violent actions seem more acceptable. In essence, language can escalate fear and division, fueling the very neural mechanisms that drive conflict and dehumanisation. If we follow social media, this division is very visible and widely shared among Pakistani users. Therefore, when our ministers use similar language, they risk inciting violence and legitimising actions that would otherwise be hard to choose.
The ministers' rhetoric has only succeeded in triggering raw emotions and trauma of past operations within Baloch communities, against a full-on military response to Baloch armed groups, and simultaneously closing off any opportunity for political solutions or the expression of dissent on how to handle Baloch conflict
The narrative constructed by these ministers positions the state as a resolute defender against terrorism. On the surface, this may seem like a necessary stance as the state has a duty to maintain order. However, when this narrative is built on divisive and inflammatory rhetoric, it does more harm than good. It has led to position holders becoming the subject of memes and outrageous inter-ethnic hatred towards perceived "others" among followers of their political lineage. Most importantly, the ministers' rhetoric has only succeeded in triggering raw emotions and trauma of past operations within Baloch communities, against a full-on military response to Baloch armed groups, and simultaneously closing off any opportunity for political solutions or the expression of dissent on how to handle Baloch conflict. In doing so, they have posed a significant risk to their leaders and the country as a whole by exacerbating the very issues that the top leadership may seek to resolve in the near future.
It is crucial for our leaders to be mindful of the power of their words. The language they use does not just reflect their emotions; it shapes the narrative and influences public perception. In a country as diverse and divided as Pakistan, the consequences of irresponsible rhetoric can be catastrophic. Words can either build bridges or burn them. They can either heal wounds or deepen them. Our leaders must choose their words wisely, recognising that in the delicate and volatile context of Balochistan, the wrong words can do as much damage as any weapons. We must learn from history, or we risk repeating it. This reminds me of the case of Leon Mugesera, a Rwandan politician and former Minister, who was repatriated from Canada and prosecuted and sentenced in Rwanda for using dehumanising words to incite communal violence. In the end, it is not just actions but words that will determine the course of our nation's future.