A startling demonstration of anti-Shia bigotry took place in Islamabad on October 29, 2024, remarkably near the ISI headquarters. Members of the extremist group Sipah-e-Sahaba, which is notorious for planning acts of violence against the Shia minority in Pakistan, assembled in the open to make horrible claims and demand that Shias be expelled from Islam. They went beyond simply stating their opinions; they explicitly called for the statelessness of Shias traveling to Iran on pilgrimage by demanding that their identity cards and passports be cancelled.
This is not merely marginalized bigotry; rather, it is a terrifyingly audacious attack on a minority with the tacit approval of a state that has abandoned them. Shias are considered as foreigners in their own country, Pakistan, which was purportedly created out of India as a safe haven for all Muslims, but it has instead turned into a haven for sectarian fanaticism.
The situation is significantly worse in Kurram district. Over 43 people have been killed and more than 200 injured in a bloody sectarian conflict that started in July 2024 as a land dispute between Sunni and Shia communities. In an area where sectarian violence has been the norm, these are more than just numbers; these are human lives, each one characterized by loss and terror. Shia families are left defenseless, caught in the crossfire of tribal disputes and a history of carnage, while Sunni groups are said to receive support from across the Afghan border.
Kurram represents the complete collapse of law and order in the face of unbridled sectarian animosity, with eight ongoing battles spanning decades. However, people in positions of authority and influence keep turning a blind eye, letting radical agendas determine the future of Pakistan’s Shia population. The notion of Pakistan as a Muslim haven free from Hindus is blatantly destroyed with each death and every relocation.
The main organization behind anti-Shia violence in Pakistan for a long time has been Sipah-e-Sahaba Pakistan (SSP), which currently goes by numerous names to avoid prohibitions. Haq Nawaz Jhangvi established the SSP in Jhang in 1985 as a result of a poisonous combination of sectarianism and the desire to create a Pakistan that was exclusively in line with Sunni orthodoxy. In an attempt to create an exclusive religious state, what began as a reactionary movement to oppose Iran’s post-revolutionary influence quickly turned into a terror machine that targeted Pakistan’s Shia minority. SSP’s ideology is unmistakable: Shias are internal enemies and heretics who should be subjected to systematic violence. This message has been ingrained in society for many years through SSP’s sermons, madrassas, and hate speech.
The brutality and startling consistency of SSP’s assault against Shias are not abstract. The gang claimed responsibility for thousands of murders in Punjab and Sindh by the late 1990s, and its offshoot Lashkar-e-Jhangvi (LeJ) increased the savagery by attacking well-known Shia leaders, medical professionals, and even young children. The philosophy of the SSP led to a surge of mass casualty attacks, like as the 2013 Quetta bombing that murdered over 90 Shias, and assassinations, such as the ruthless 1988 murder of Shia leader Arif Hussain Hussaini.
It is evident that the harmful legacy of SSP is still deeply ingrained today as its adherents freely congregate close to official buildings like the ISI headquarters, blatantly demanding that Shias be shunned and deprived of their nationality. It continues to be a force that feeds on hatred, division, and the state’s grudging tolerance because of its networks, which are well ingrained in Pakistan’s social and political fabric. The impact of SSP is not only a part of Pakistan’s past; rather, it is a recurring tragedy that demonstrates the terrible, inexorable ability of sectarianism to determine a country’s destiny.
It’s easy to blame Pakistan’s economic problems, growing debt, or democracy that falters under the military’s control when we refer to it as a failed state. Despite their severity, these problems are only signs of a far larger failure. Fundamentally, Pakistan is a failed concept, based on the faulty notion of religious nationalism, which was doomed to fail from the beginning. The establishment of Pakistan, which was justified on the grounds that a distinct Muslim nation would provide peace and unity for all Muslims on the subcontinent, has ironically sowed the seeds of unending discord. The first significant break was Bangladesh’s independence in 1971, which demonstrated the foolishness of believing that a common religion could create a coherent, undivided country on its own. This fabricated religious nationalism was defeated by cultural, linguistic, and ethnic identities, upending the fundamental basis of Pakistan’s mission.
Pakistan has clung hard to the myth that Muslims constitute a single, cohesive political group known as the “Muslim Ummah,” although everyday life contradicts this idea. As the state uses repression to maintain power, the demands for independence and autonomy in Balochistan get louder every year. Militancy and sectarian strife plague the people of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, which exacerbates their sense of estrangement from the Pakistani identity that has been imposed upon them. Furthermore, Pakistan has turned into a toxic environment for the Shia population, as Sipah-e-Sahaba and other extremist organizations are permitted to threaten their very existence. These are not individual events, but rather a pattern that shows how the concept of a single “Muslim Pakistan” is unable to accommodate its contradictions and variety.
Not only is the Muslim Ummah’s ideal of unity and homogeneity unrealistic, but it also serves as a front for a communalist, exclusivist ideology that marginalizes anyone who dared to be different. Every time a Shia is attacked, a Baloch voice is suppressed, or a non-Sunni person is marginalized, it is evident that Pakistan’s original aim was one of division rather than unification, leaving the country permanently split against itself.
The less that is said about the Ahmadiyya community’s predicament in Pakistan, the better. Ahmadis, who were officially labeled “non-Muslims” in 1974 and are the focus of blasphemy legislation, are always afraid. They are prohibited from using Islamic symbols, they are unable to publicly declare their beliefs, and even the most basic forms of religious expression can result in harassment, incarceration, or worse. The state has stood by and, worse, actively supported the oppression while Ahmadiyya mosques have been desecrated, their graves vandalized, and their homes attacked. This persecution demonstrates the complete failure of Pakistan’s “religious purity” vision, which ironically encouraged religious conflict and deprived the country of the freedom and security that were promised at the outset.
India, on the other hand, adopted the idea of composite nationalism, which is an inclusive vision in which all citizens, regardless of faith, contribute to the identity of the country. Though undoubtedly put to the test by its own difficulties, this secular, pluralistic approach has made India a haven where Muslims of all stripes—Shias, Sunnis, Bohras, Sufis, and even Ahmadis—can freely live and worship. Indian Muslims do not experience systematic, state-sanctioned exclusion because of their faith, despite the fact that they may suffer their own sociopolitical difficulties.
India’s secular constitution shields minorities from the kind of institutionalized discrimination that is pervasive in Pakistan, while its democracy offers a framework that supports religious freedom. The irony is striking for Muslims worldwide: the Hindu-majority India they were instructed to be afraid of has turned out to be a far safer and more welcoming place to live than the “land of the pure.”
Also Read: How Pakistan Army fuelled freedom movement in Balochistan
It’s frequently said that it is unfair to compare India and Pakistan because the two countries have completely different histories, but this hesitation to do so is really the “soft bigotry of low expectations.” Pakistan, a country founded on religious exclusivity, was a daring experiment with a high human cost rather than a simple political reorganization. In the guise of preserving a particular religious identity, millions of people were uprooted, innumerable lives were lost, and the subcontinent’s cultural fabric was ripped apart.
The comparison between India and Pakistan is not arbitrary; rather, it is a classic example of how two countries with similar racial, cultural, and linguistic heritages have drastically differed due to ideological decisions. Whereas Pakistan opted for a limited form of religious nationalism, India embraced pluralism by embracing its diversity and enshrining a secular constitution. The outcomes are clear: India has maintained democratic stability, economic prosperity, and a degree of religious tolerance that much surpasses Pakistan’s divided environment, despite its own set of difficulties. Pakistan has turned into a case study of ideological failure by adhering to the idea of a “Islamic state” that can bring together disparate Muslim communities.
