To the north of Quetta, in the centre of Nawa Killi, a neighbourhood predominantly populated by the Pakhtun community, is a Christian colony called Bashirabad. It is not an old settlement. In fact, not long ago, the entire area was nothing more than fields, with no one except the Christian community as its only inhabitants.

“The main road along Quetta cantonment was visible from Bashirabad,” recalls Saqib Masih, a resident reminiscing about the quieter past. “Except us [Christians] there was no one else around. Gradually however, Pakhtuns from neighbouring Afghanistan began to pour in and settled across the area.”

My host in Bashirabad, Arif Gill, is a retired mechanic who worked for the Army. As soon as I met him at the main gate of the colony, he told me that he was disappointed I had come only with a pen and a notebook. “I thought you were going to come visit us with a camera, and a crew. But I forgot that you’re not a TV wala,” said Mr Gill with a smirk. “At least you have come to see that we also exist in Quetta!”

Bashirabad is spread across four acres, and though overcrowded, the neighbourhood is clean. Inside the colony, in one end called Pakkay Mohalla, there are 24 residential quarters for homeless Christians. The residential block was built back in 1988 on orders of Gen Ziaul Haq.

After Gen Zia, the right to elect our representatives was taken away from us. All those who come and go claiming they represent us, are handpicked by their political parties and given reserved seats. We do not have the right to vote, and that is why we have been driven into a corner. Arif Gill, a resident

The streets near the quarters are filled with children playing games, as their parents walk about chatting about their days. Javed Masih, one of the oldest residents of the area, sits down to speak to us. His was one of the first families to come to live in the quarters.

Gen Zia is often remembered for nothing else than sowing the seeds of extremism in our society — the heavy price of which we still continue to pay. Javed however, quite ironically, does not agree. “We used to live in a Qabristan, in Quetta cantonment. We were homeless, and we lived in the cemetery because we had no place to go. The graves were our houses.”

By his account, Gen Zia during one of his visits to the city, saw Javed’s family in the cemetery. “After he saw our pitiful condition, Gen Zia asked about us and was told that we are homeless Christians. Apparently, the general was appalled and ordered our representative in the provincial assembly at the time — Bashir Masih — to build quarters for us. We are indebted to the general,” said Javed.

Shortly after the authorities finished building the quarters, Christian families flocked to their new residences from all over the city. Things have slowly deteriorated since then though, as the community finds itself cramped on all sides. The Bashirabad that was spread across 11 acres has now been squeezed down to four. “Outsiders [non-Christians] took most of our land away by intimidating us. At the time of Gen Zia, we elected Bashir Masih so that he could voice our concerns to the authorities. It was due to his efforts that we ended up having our own residential area, which he named after himself,” said Mr Gill.

We used to live in a Qabristan, in Quetta cantonment. We were homeless, and we lived in the cemetery because we had no place to go. The graves were our houses. Javed Masih, a resident

It was during Gen Zia’s administration that Christians could separately elect their candidates. Mr Gill recalled, “After Gen Zia, the right to elect our representatives was taken away from us. All those who come and go claiming they represent us, are handpicked by their political parties and given reserved seats. We do not have the right to vote, and that is why we have been driven into a corner.”

The community migrated from other parts of united India during the Raj when the British came to inhabit Quetta and use it as a military stronghold. At the time, the city was still a small village. The Baloch and the Pakhtuns already living here refused to engage in menial jobs, which is why we were brought in, Mr Gill explained. “Most of us came from Punjab. But despite living in Quetta for over a hundred years, we still can’t say we are locals. According to everyone else, we are outsiders.” He elaborated further, “we have been residents here all our lives; but we are not recognised as being from here. Not on paper and certainly not in government records.”

The only reason Bashirabad exists is because the Christian community had the right to elect representatives, as opposed to having someone picked from among them. “We don’t have that luxury today. A former member of the National Assembly, Aasiya Nasir — a Christian woman — was supposed to represent our community. Affiliated with the Jamiat Ulema-i-Islam, she often sarcastically taunted us saying that she was not elected by our votes. She was brought in by her party, which is where her loyalties lie,” said Mr Gill.

The MNA, he said, often remarked that “Christians should be happy for even the tiniest bit of effort I make to help them because I was not elected by their votes. I am answerable to my party; not to the Christian community. This is the kind of things we have to hear from our Christian legislators, let alone other candidates who belong to different religions,” said a disgruntled Mr Gill.

Published in Dawn, June 30th, 2018