On a rainy March morning in Quetta, I make my way through the streets of the Nasirabad area, which lies under the shadow of the Koh-e-Murdar Mountains. Situated near the Nasirabad Imambargah, next door to a massive, gushing nullah [sewer], is the residence of the late Shahida Raza.

Normally, Shahida’s name used to appear in the sports section of Pakistani newspapers, given that she was a gifted hockey player who also played football professionally. However, the circumstances of Shahida’s untimely death made her name appear on the front page of newspapers. The 27-year-old died after the wooden boat carrying her and 200 other migrants crashed against rocks, near the southern Italian coast on February 26, 2023.

Shahida’s last journey

When I arrive to meet Sadia Raza, one of Shahida’s four siblings, she is dressed in black clothes from head to toe and is also wearing a black face mask. We sit in the guest room inside the house, which is filled with Shahida’s awards and certificates. On one wall hangs the iconic green coat donned by members of Pakistan’s national hockey team. Sadia speaks in a sombre, grief-stricken tone as she sits surrounded by her family members and loved ones.

Over the past two decades, it has become the norm for members of the Hazara community to emigrate from Pakistan due to the security and financial issues they have been facing here. However, as demonstrated by Shahida’s death, the journey they undertake in order to find a new home for themselves abroad is a treacherous and potentially fatal one.

The tragic death of Shahida Raza, a celebrated Pakistani sportswoman who died after a boat carrying her and other illegal migrants capsized off the coast of Italy, has brought into sharp focus the desperation of the Hazara community to escape their homeland. Despite a reduction in the frequency of targeted attacks on the community, why are the Hazaras still so determined to leave Pakistan?

They first enter Iran by acquiring the necessary visa before illegally travelling to Turkey and, from there, to the West. Unfortunately, Shahida’s journey and story is not an uncommon one. Over the years, many of her Hazara brethren have lost their lives in the pursuit of a better future, the ticket for which lies aboard rickety boats traversing perilous waters.

I ask Sadia why her sister felt the need to leave the country despite having been a celebrated member of Pakistan’s women’s hockey team. She listens to my question without raising her head, as her eyes remain glued to the floor. After slightly lifting her head and with tears rolling down her cheeks, she says, “Shahida had a sick and paralysed son. That is why she was on the boat.”

After the birth of her son, Shahida had searched everywhere in Quetta and in Karachi for someone who could treat her child, but to no avail. “She was concerned about her son all the time,” Sadia says, “Concerned about what would happen to him and what others were saying about him.” Her predicament was worsened after she had a falling out with her husband, which resulted in a divorce.

Naturally, the challenges faced by the Hazara community in Pakistan also fuelled Shahida’s desire to look for a better future elsewhere. Hazaras, who are predominantly Shias, have faced constant attacks in Balochistan, particularly Quetta, where they are ghettoised in the city’s western and eastern localities: Marriabad and Hazara town. From sectarian killings to a lack of economic opportunities, the ill-fated and beleaguered Hazara community has had to endure countless hardships.

Sadia sums up the plight of Shahida, and by extension the plight of the Hazaras, in one sentence, “She wanted a future for her son.”

Sadia and her family were well aware of the dangerous route she would have to take if she wished to construct a new future for her son and herself in Europe. Sadia reveals that the family wanted to stop her from making the journey. “But our requests fell on deaf ears,” Sadia recalls, “Because she [Shahida] really wanted to go, for the sake of her son. She wanted to grasp a future for her son no matter the cost.”

Shahida was one of 60 individuals that died in the boat accident. “Ever since her childhood, Shahida had a great passion for sports,” Sadia informs me while gesturing toward her sister’s array of sports medals. “Due to her passion, she joined Pakistan’s national hockey team and hoped to make her family and country proud.”

Hazaras, who are predominantly Shias, have faced constant attacks in Balochistan, particularly Quetta, where they are ghettoised in the city’s western and eastern localities: Marriabad and Hazara town.

Sadia makes me listen to the last voice notes Shahida had sent her in which she keeps speaking about her son. Given the economic and social hardships faced by the Hazara community in Pakistan, Shahida knew she had to sacrifice her passion if she wished to ensure that her son could grow up to pursue his own passions one day.

“But fate had other plans,” Sadia says despondently, before exiting the room.

Yet another funeral

The Nasirabad Imambargah is crowded on March 17, 2023 as Hazara women and men gather to pay their last respects to Shahida. The female members of the family let out agonising wails as a group of men carry the dead body, wrapped in a green chador towards the Bahisht-e-Zainab graveyard, which lies in the vicinity of Nasirabad town. Around 50 men, mostly Hazara, accompany the body to the cemetery, leaving the women behind.

As the cleric prays for the departed soul of Shahida, I notice that the graveyard is filled with graves marked with Quranic verses, flags and pictures of the dead. I am told that most of the people buried here have not died due to natural causes.

The graves here show how sectarian violence has morphed Quetta’s landscape and demographics for all the wrong reasons. But, unfortunately, the Hazaras that come to this graveyard have now become immune to the violence which has enveloped their community for decades. They remember their dead loved ones without shedding tears, as if killing and violence is simply an immutable fact of life.

Hailing from Karachi, Somiayah is an athlete and was good friends with Shahida. She had been in contact with Shahida via WhatsApp during her journey out of the country.

Discussing Shahida’s decision to leave Pakistan, Somaiyah adds that, despite being a skilled hockey and football player, Shahida had become heartbroken after she lost her job when departmental sports were banned. As a result of this, she no longer had a job with Wapda and later also lost her place as a member of the Pakistan Army team. This, coupled with the condition of the Hazara community in Pakistan and her son’s medical issues, only further added to her hopelessness.

“What was the last message she sent to you?” I ask her.

“In her last message, she sounded ecstatic,” Somaiyah says. “She had texted me that she would reach her destination within a couple of hours.” Instead, after a few nightmarish weeks, Shahida would return to Pakistan in a coffin, to be buried at the Bahisth-e-Zainab graveyard.

As the men begin to bury Shahida’s body, I see that Somaiyah is the only woman present here, busy lending a hand in Shahida’s burial.

After the burial, I can’t help but notice that I did not see Shahida’s young son anywhere — the child for whose future she was prepared to go to such terrifying lengths. Sadia reveals that Shahida’s ex-husband did not allow their son to attend his mother’s funeral.

My conversations with members of the Hazara community make it apparent that there is still a deep-rooted trauma of sectarian violence looming over the lives of these individuals. Emigration offers them the opportunity to live lives free of fear, far away from the ghettoised towns which they currently inhabit.

The Hazara exodus

I make my way down Alamdar Road to meet with and speak to Hasan Riza Changezi, a Quetta-based Hazara writer. I often visit him to talk about the challenges his community is confronted with and how, despite the constant barrage of difficulties they face, the Hazaras still stand resolutely and united.

Hasan lives in a tiny house in a far-flung corner of Quetta. Since he is physically disabled and unable to walk, he spends most of his time at home in his studio, where he reads, writes and plays music.

While discussing the uncertainty faced by most Hazara families today, Hasan says, “Despite the decreasing threat of sectarian violence, Hazaras, especially the youngsters, have been moving abroad, both legally and illegally. This is because they do not see a bright future for themselves in Quetta, regardless of a decrease in violence against our community. In the face of this uncertainty, my own two sons have gone to London, legally, to study.”

Hasan is of the opinion that sectarian violence is only one of the manifold problems the Hazara community has had to deal with over the past two decades. Hence, even if this is tackled and reduced, there still remain a whole host of issues which need to be dealt with before the Hazaras can feel safe in Pakistan.

Most of these issues stem from financial hardships and a lack of economic opportunities for the Hazaras. Rampant joblessness and the state’s failure to provide employment opportunities which cater to an individual’s skillset, as exemplified by Shahida’s struggles in Pakistan, leave migration as the only viable option for those who seek to build a better life for themselves and their families.

For instance, Sadia reveals that her sister never received any kind of threats in Quetta nor was she the victim of any attack, despite many people in the area knowing who she was. It was the dwindling job opportunities and bleak future prospects in the provincial capital that were primarily weighing her down. She knew that she had to seek out a stable source of income abroad if she wished to provide for her son and her family.

When seen in this context, it is a little clearer to understand why members of this community are prepared to risk their lives for a chance to live abroad, be it in Europe, Australia or anywhere else. For them, living in Pakistan offers only a guaranteed dead end, one which they are prepared to escape, even if that means putting their lives in danger.

According to Hasan, like other Hazara parents, he would never want his children to take up the perilous journey so many illegal migrants embark upon. “Unfortunately, they are forced to leave this way as they do not have any other option,” Hasan remarks, acknowledging the grim reality confronting the Hazara community.

Though sectarian attacks in Quetta in particular, and in Balochistan in general, may not be occurring with the regularity with which they were until just a few years ago, the threat of violence remains ever-present. For a generation that grew up surrounded by death and had childhoods marred by violence, the Hazara youth are desperate to find a way out of the pit which consumed the lives of their parents and elders.

My conversations with members of the Hazara community make it apparent that there is still a deep-rooted trauma of sectarian violence looming over the lives of these individuals. Emigration offers them the opportunity to live lives free of fear, far away from the ghettoised towns which they currently inhabit.

Ironically, these ghettos also act as a sort of ‘sanctuary’ for the Hazara community, thus further limiting their social and economic mobility within Pakistan. When I speak to Hazara youngsters living in these two tiny overcrowded localities, they state that, whenever they themselves or their loved ones leave a Hazara dominated area to find work elsewhere, everyone in the community fears for his or her life.

“As a result,” one of the youngsters, Raza Ali Hazara, tells me, “many of our parents have taken early retirements or have quit their jobs, simply out of the fear of potential sectarian violence, which continues to hang over our lives.”

For the Hazara community, even leaving their neighbourhoods in the search of better job opportunities in other parts of the city, let alone other parts of the country, seems like it could become a matter of life and death.

Given the fact that they already have to confront this reality on a daily basis, it perhaps isn’t too difficult to see why they are willing to embark on the perilous journey undertaken by illegal migrants.

A risk worth taking

Given the stream of out-migration that has been taking place among the Hazara for quite some time now, many of the community have been settled in the West for several decades. The Hazara community in Pakistan has maintained a connection with such families and views their lives as aspirational examples of what they should all be working towards. Those who have a family member, relative or friend residing abroad wish to emulate this lifestyle by relocating to a foreign country.

The Hazara exodus is also, to some extent, driven by the same currents which are driving so many people out of Pakistan through any means necessary. Iltaf Hussain, a local businessman who also resides near Alamdar Road, tells me that the prevailing economic condition and rampant inflation in Pakistan has hastened the need amongst the Hazara community to leave the country.

“There is, of course, a collective threat to the lives of the Hazaras, which is why they are willing to leave their places of birth in Quetta,” he says. “But the recent price hikes and unimaginable inflation in the country has really added to their preexisting woes.”

Naimatullah Hazara, a social activist, is deeply critical of the failure of the relevant authorities to safeguard and provide for the Hazara community. The inability of the state to take action on this front has meant that the Hazaras, plagued by financial and security issues, are migrating in droves.

“We, the Hazaras, live in two barracks,” Naimatullah says while lambasting the authorities for failing to do anything for the Hazara community. “Our youngsters and our elders feel that they are suffocated, insecure and in a state of depression, which is why it is not surprising that women like Shahida Raza, and many young children, are ready to grasp on to any means through which they can migrate.”

But even those in positions of some power feel like helpless bystanders. The current Balochistan Minister for Sports and Culture, Abdul Khaliq Hazara, belongs to the Hazara community. He ruefully tells me that talented women like Shahida leave Pakistan because they are shunned and ignored, instead of being supported.

To try and gain the perspective of a Hazara individual who managed to leave Pakistan and settle abroad, I get in touch with Fida Gulzari, a researcher and author of the book The Hazaras. Gulzari had to endure persistent threats when he was living in Quetta, which is why he moved abroad.

He tells me that, back when he lived in Quetta, he and his family awoke and slept under the constant fear that they could fall prey to sectarian violence at any moment. “At the time, there were attacks on the Hazara community on most Fridays, let alone the other days,” he recalls over the phone.

“The Hazara migration has been taking place since 2001, after the war on terror began,” he informs me, also adding that the entire chain of human smuggling in Pakistan is clustered primarily in Quetta and some other parts of Balochistan.

It is also worth noting that the relentless wave of sectarian violence which has plagued Balochistan in the 21st century is not a new phenomenon. In fact, it can be traced back to the dictatorial reign of Gen Ziaul Haq, when intolerance and religious fanaticism aimed at other Islamic sects and religions began to gain currency. This build-up of hostilities was on full display in 2001 when unknown assailants opened indiscriminate fire on a Suzuki pick-up carrying Hazara passengers on Spinny Road, killing 11 of them.

“During my time in Quetta, we lived in a state of perpetual depression, as there were continuous attacks on the community,” Gulzari laments. “I thought I would be the next target whenever I would go to pick up my wife from the bank where she worked at the time.”

After completing his MPhil, Gulzari wanted to teach at the Balochistan University of Information Technology, Engineering and Management Sciences (BUITEMS) and the University of Balochistan. However, his family did not allow him to work there, insisting that teaching at such institutions would only help make him an easier target to attack.

“Over the last 20 years,” Gulzari says, “the violence which has been imposed upon the Hazara community has created a lasting and damaging impression. It will take a lot of time and progress to get rid of it.”

Typically, the Hazara community has always prided itself for giving great importance to education, with a great number of Hazaras historically enrolling themselves at BUITEMS and the University of Balochistan. But, unfortunately, the incessant sectarian violence and targeted attacks have impacted their education too.

For instance, on June 18, 2012, a bomb ripped through the BUITEMS bus which was transporting university students. The tragic incident resulted in the deaths of five Hazara students. “The Hazaras are an educated community and most of our youngsters want to study,” Gulzari adds. “But, due to the constant threats to their lives, instead of pursuing an education, most of the Hazara youngsters now want to find ways to move abroad.”

Militants also did not spare the sole female-only varsity in Quetta, the Sardar Bahadur Khan Women’s University. On June 15, 2013, a suicide bomb attack followed by gunfire led to 14 female students of the university being killed. According to sources, the militants had intended to attack the Hazara female students but, due to some miscalculations on the part of the terrorists, the Hazara students remained unharmed in that attack.

For the Hazaras, such attacks send a clear message to them that they are not welcome here and that any attempts they wish to make to better their circumstances will only be met with violence and bloodshed.

While many across Pakistan, and the world, were left horrified by Shahida’s death, the truth is that such instances have become a part of the daily lives of Pakistan’s Hazara community. They are willing to pay the ultimate price, if it gives them a shot at building a life and livelihood away from Pakistan. The violence, economic stagnation, lack of opportunities, discrimination and sense of ‘otherisation’ they are made to endure here leaves them with very little choice.

The perilous journey but guaranteed security abroad outweighs the unending cycle of drudgery the Hazara community faces in Pakistan.

For most of them, it is a risk worth taking.

The writer is a member of staff.
He tweets @Akbar_notezai

Clarification

The Eos cover story last week titled ‘The Forgotten Life Of Hemu Kalani’ was a translation of an Urdu piece carried on the BBCUrdu website in August 2020. The writer is Riaz Sohail, a senior journalist with BBC based in Karachi. Eos regrets that the writer originally credited with the piece misrepresented his authorship of the piece. He is now permanently blacklisted from writing for Dawn.

Published in Dawn, EOS, April 2nd, 2023