The incarceration of Dr Mahrang Baloch, the face of Baloch Yekjehti Committee (BYC), for last 25 days has failed to deter the organisation from continuing with its protests against the highhandedness of the Pakistani security forces. Several other frontline leaders of the BYC have also been behind bars all this while but the movement has not weakened as new leaders spring up. BYC activist Gulzadi Baloch is one such Baloch woman who also seems to have come of age and is now considered a veteran.
Gulzadi is also in jail along with Mahrang, Beebo Baloch, Shah Ji Sibghatullah Baloch and Bebarg Baloch. She has released a powerful letter from Hudda Jail in Quetta where Mahrang’s late father was once jailed, tortured and then killed in cold blood by Pakistani men. In the letter, she has given details regarding her arrest, alleged torture in custody, and the growing repression faced by Baloch women. She can be called a veteran in facing brutalities as Gulzadi had previously been forcibly disappeared, according to The Balochistan Post.
This makes her narrative unique that ordinary Baloch families can easily relate to what she says as she shares her thoughts with them through the letter. She is among the countless BYC activists currently in custody under Pakistan’s Maintenance of Public Order (MPO) law. In her letter, dated April 14, Gulzadi calls on the Baloch people, especially women, to resist what she describes as a systematic state campaign of fear, torture, and suppression. The letter has since been widely shared across social media.
Gulzadi’s prison letter
Gulzadi’s letter has been reproduced hereinunder in full:
My Baloch Nation,
I hope this letter finds you well. Surely, even today, you are raising your voice for justice—on some road, at some intersection. Even now, brave Baloch mothers stand as unwavering symbols of resistance. And undoubtedly, the slogans that once left my lips are still echoing across our streets.
When masked state agents stormed my home to forcibly disappear me for the second time, they behaved like wild animals—snarling, ransacking, hurling abuse. They searched for me with rage. And when I appeared before them, their fury spilled over. If they had their way, they would have gouged out my eyes. They would have ended my life. The way their hands trembled on their weapons revealed a deeper truth: that the enemy, despite its overwhelming power, fears our peaceful resistance.
As they dragged me to their vehicle, one of them struck me three times with a rifle butt, spat curses, and slammed the door shut behind me.
We drove for some time. When the vehicle stopped, they tied my hands and led me into a room. There, multiple men surrounded me, shouting slurs and threats. I was made to stand with my hands raised, feet apart. If I flinched, a fist landed in my stomach. If I moved my foot, I was kicked to the ground. If I lifted my head, I was punched in the face.
Eventually, I was told to sit. When I refused to admit to fabricated charges, one man grabbed my head and slammed it down against my knees. Another struck my back so hard it sent searing pain through my body. They repeated this—over and over.
In that torture cell, they threatened to disappear my entire family. “Your brother is next,” they said.
I recount this not to highlight my suffering but to expose a system built on terror. Enforced disappearances, mutilated bodies, half-dead youths dumped in desolate places—this is now routine in Balochistan. Today, what unsettles the state most are the once-helpless Baloch mothers, sisters, and daughters who now stand firm, holding nothing but photographs of their disappeared loved ones. The state machinery, once hesitant, is now fully committed to silencing even them. Its paid agents do not hesitate to assault the dignity of Baloch women.
Let this letter serve as a message to that state: Baloch women are not accidental participants in this movement. We are conscious, resolute, and central to the struggle. No amount of threats, violence, or disappearances can silence us.
If state repression worked, then a young girl like Mahrang would not have risen after 2006. If disappearances were a solution, Sammi Deen would not have roared back at the tyrants of her time. If torture could kill ideas, then Rashid Hussain’s mother would not have become a symbol, nor would Zakir Majeed’s mother Raj Bibi still stand firm. If guns could crush resistance, then even now—with my hands and feet bound—you would not find Gulzadi still standing against you.
You tortured me for four hours. But there are thousands like me who, after losing their loved ones, have stood up, bearing the pain and transforming it into resistance.
To my people: we must face this fascist repression with courage. They want to break us, mentally and morally. But we must not falter. We are on the side of truth. We are the voice of the disappeared. We are their echo — and this echo will never fade.
Sammi Deen Baloch
Meanwhile, another BYC leader Sammi Deen Baloch has accused Pakistani authorities of imprisoning activists for speaking out against state repression in Balochistan. In a post on X, she said that BYC leaders, including Dr Mahrang Baloch, Shah Ji Sibghatullah Baloch, Beebarg Baloch, Gulzadi Baloch, and Beebow Baloch, along with several other activists, remain jailed under what she called an “unjust and unlawful” use of the Maintenance of Public Order (MPO) ordinance.
“It has been more than 25 days since their arrest,” she said. “The only crime they committed was daring to speak against the ongoing oppression in Balochistan and bringing it to the world’s attention.” A system which imprisons those demanding their rights and seeking justice reveals its own unwillingness to reform, she said.
“But the situation has changed,” she added. “Every child in Balochistan now recognises the reality of state oppression. Can the voices of those who speak the truth and demand justice really be silenced by throwing them behind bars?”
