THE Partition lives strong in public imagination. It triggered mass migrations; millions died and even more were displaced. Generations of South Asian writers have since revisited its horrors, allowing us, in so many small ways, to grieve for what was lost. What there is far less recognition for is the other partition; the one that took place along the western border of our country exactly 130 years ago this week.

The formation of the Durand Line was not nearly as violent, but it did formalise a boundary, which permanently split a group of people into two in order to create a buffer zone between the British and Russians. Like most things irredeemably wrecked by imperial interference, the Durand Line was a colonial quagmire inherited by modern-day Pakistan and Afghanistan. And its anniversary could not have come at a more grievous time for relations between the two countries.

This kneejerk policy of expulsion has been adopted by a caretaker setup that lacks the mandate for decisions of such consequence. Afghan refugees have been asked to pack up entire lifetimes in a matter of days as the state resorts to seemingly deliberate obfuscation on who is to be expelled and who is deemed legal. A door-to-door witch hunt has ensued against all. Afghans are being rounded up like cattle, herded into holding centres and pushed across a border — the other side of which some of them have never even seen.

Public opinion, meanwhile, has been rife with hate. The levels of empathy and nuance extended to conflicts farther away disappear when the bigotry is closer to home. Some attribute it to security, others to the economy. ‘Pakistan is for Pakistanis,’ say the people most furious about Western countries exhibiting xenophobia. More gratitude is demanded of Afghans, with no thought given to why their country was rendered unlivable in the first place.

Sending them to an uncertain future with the Taliban does not reduce our economic burden.

We would like to think of our hospitality, not of discriminatory state policies or awkward truths such as the fact that the third generation of a family born in Pakistan is still foreign. For every Afghan who has prospered (and why should they not?), there are countless others living in squalid conditions as permanent residents of refugee camps. Sending them to an uncertain future with the Taliban does not reduce our economic burden, only our moral standing.

But what happens when Afghans are indistinguishable from us? It enables the state to, once again, extend xenophobia towards unprivileged Pakhtuns. They will be harassed, intimidated, and forced to carry documentation for fear of deportation — all with legal cover and carried out in our collective name. What happens when the state treats a certain segment of Pakhtuns as the ‘other’, but does not appreciate expressions of solidarity with their Afghan counterparts over the mutual devastation they have endured for decades? For the past few years, we have been too sensitive about expressions of unity; they are often seen as something more, something treasonous. Any cross-border display of familiarity or critique of our own policies seems to trigger a deep-rooted insecurity. This is precisely why questions of language and identity cut to the heart of state formation. Can the Pakistani state only exist in negation of all other identities? Or is it possible for Pakhtuns to share a nationality with other Pakistanis and an ethnicity with other Afghans? Is there a mutually exclusive hierarchy of identities?

The 130th anniversary of the Durand Line is an apt moment to introspect on all these questions. The answers may very well be the missing pieces in Pakistan’s existential puzzle. Acknowledging this country’s reality of being a state comprising a few nations sets us at ease. It reminds us that the imposition of a homogenous identity on one of the most diverse populations in the world has already cost us half the country.

Expressions of empathy and shared culture and heritage between people on both sides of the border bring us closer. But blanket denial of the existence of these sentiments with threats of sedition charges only makes them resurface with a vengeance. Targeting the most vulnerable segments of society deepens wounds, whereas recognition of the impacts of this other partition will pave the way for a healing process necessary to establish lasting peace.

To achieve such a reconciliation, we must seek comfort in our discomfort. When a country contains multitudes, it is impossible to segregate the populace into black and white.

Such a move is entirely antagonistic to its own parts. Therefore, when things don’t fall into neatly packaged categories, all rage against the grey is futile.

The writer is a journalist.

Published in Dawn, November 17th, 2023