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Dr Mahrang Baloch before being sentenced to life imprisonment. Photo: Isak Khan In June 2026, Dr Mahrang Baloch was sentenced to life in prison by an anti-terrorism court in Quetta, Balochistan’s capital. She and fellow Baloch activist Sibghatullah Shahji had been accused of inciting a crowd into killing a federal constabulary official during a 2024 Baloch Unity Committee rally. Dr Mahrang Baloch, leader of the Baloch Yakjehti Committee (BYC), is an advocate for Baloch rights, campaigning against state practices of enforced disappearances, extra-judicial killings and other human rights abuses in Pakistan’s Balochistan province. The defendants, who have already been held in solitary confinement for two years, deny the charges. Before her sentencing, Dr Mahrang Baloch participated in a written interview with Akbar Notezai. Some of her responses have been edited for clarity and brevity. Can you describe the conditions inside Hudda Jail? I am presently being held, with my two political collegues Beebow Baloch and Gulzadi Baloch, in solitary confinement in Barrack No 9 of Hudda Jail. Even though the jail has a separate ward for female prisoners, we have deliberately been kept isolated in a separate barrack. Over the last 14 months, my meetings have been limited to only to a few family members and lawyers. This severe restriction is a clear and continuous violation of my fundamental rights. Families of forcibly disappeared persons and ordinary people from across Balochistan have come to meet with us, but they are stopped at the prison gate. The objective, it seems, is to weaken our resistance and to disconnect us, ideologically and politically, from our people and the Baloch national movement. We have also faced restrictions on our access to books. At first, I was denied permission to bring books from my personal library into the jail. The restriction was temporarily lifted after we protested. But today, if we ask for new books we have to negotiate the same obstacles again. In October 2025 our trial was shifted to inside the jail, denying journalists and members of Balochistan’s civil society access to our hearings. This violates the fundamental principle of a fair and transparent trial. The charges filed against us themselves are politically motivated and made in bad faith; the Anti-Terrorism Court (ATC) has conducted our cases in a highly biased manner. In February, we formally requested the replacement of the presiding judge; even though no decision has been formally taken with respect to our application, the trial has not been halted. What impact has solitary confinement had on you? The barrack where we have been imprisoned was originally built to hold dangerous and high-profile prisoners. Even though our contact with outside life has been severely restricted, solitary confinement will not weaken my resolve. For me, prison and torture have become symbols of resistance, carrying a very significant meaning in my life. My childhood was shaped in the shadow of the state’s torture cells, thanks to my father’s struggle for freedom. My father, Ghaffar Baloch, was once imprisoned in this same jail. I visited him here with Eid cards. The torture cells, where thousands of forcibly disappeared Baloch were detained, remained alive in my imagination. Every night, I would mentally reconstruct those dark spaces in my mind. When my father was released after his third enforced disappearance, the stories of torture he shared became permanently engraved in my memory. I often imagined the darkness of those torture cells; the unbearable reality of state violence, the point where a person begins to pray for death every single day. After my father’s murder, I began to carry the deep urge to one day see the torture cell where he had been held. I wondered constantly about his final moments, about the suffering he endured. From that moment on, I made it the purpose of my life to work for the freedom of every individual trapped in such torture cells. My pain found meaning after I joined the struggle against enforced disappearances in Balochistan. Whenever we grew exhausted during sit-ins or long marches, we reminded ourselves of the young people of our nation, enduring detention and worse because they cared about the future and dignity of our people. Whenever one of our people were released from a torture cell, I experienced the same joy that I had felt when my father was himself released from detention. I always made sure to meet them. Gradually, the part of my mind that had been occupied the images of my father’s mutilated body and wounded face became filled with the faces of the newly freed Baloch youth. I took inspiration from them. On beginning a new campaign, I always tell myself that if our efforts lead to the release of even one forcibly disappeared person, that alone would be our greatest success. All other hardships would become meaningless. Becoming part of this struggle has allowed me to heal. The movement gave meaning and purpose to our collective pain and national suffering. That is why solitary confinement and prison cannot break me. As for the Baloch people, solitary confinement has become a place where we write, study the struggles for freedom of people around the world and strengthen our political consciousness. The paradox is that imprisonment only makes our movement stronger. How has solitary confinement affected you, physically and emotionally? Solitary confinement for 14 months, combined with restricted movement and delays in receiving medical care, has led to me suffering since last October from severe back pain and radiculopathy. The lack of timely diagnosis and proper medical treatment worsened my condition. I was eventually transferred to a hospital in February 2026, where I was diagnosed with a lumbar disc prolapse. Despite the diagnosis I am still being denied physiotherapy, which is an essential part of the recovery process. Solitary confinement leaves deep physical and psychological scars on political prisoners. The state’s objective is not just to punish us, but also to weaken our revolutionary identity, morale and political resistance. Our struggle is directed at ending every form of state oppression, which is why we continue to endure the inhumane conditions of solitary confinement with resolve. The state seeks to spread fear among the people by imprisoning them. Yet even within these prison walls, we continue to show our people that oppressed nations can continue to resist state violence effectively. When states choose repression and force over tolerance for dissent, they cease to become institutions of justice and instead turn into instruments of fear. But fear is always temporary. Genuine popular movements of the people will eventually overcome fear and turn it into a source of strength. The irony is that state repression has made people fearless. The killing of innocent individuals and the constant demand for justice have deepened public political consciousness. This is the purpose that I share with every Baloch political activist: that our people understand the importance of collective strength, resistance and political awareness. If my solitary confinement helps strengthen that purpose, then I will endure this imprisonment with pride and determination. What role does the BYC play in Balochistan? The BYC is an indigenous movement of Balochistan. After the state’s implementation of its “kill and dump” policy in Balochistan in 2009, it launched a crackdown on active political parties and movements. Over the past two decades, thousands of innocent Baloch people have been killed. There was an urgent need for a strong public movement against what many Baloch view as an ongoing genocide, with even women and children no longer safe. It was under these conditions that the BYC emerged. Beginning with resistance protests across Balochistan, the movement gradually evolved into a broad public movement that gained widespread support throughout the region. The BYC has played a central role in documenting human rights violations and in advocating for national and political rights in Balochistan. International human rights organisations have largely been denied access to the region under the pretext of security concerns. Representatives of the Working Group on Enforced or Involuntary Disappearances have been denied access to Balochistan for 15 years, preventing independent observation and reporting on ongoing human rights abuses. Similarly, many international institutions have been prevented from reporting effectively on the situation in Balochistan. The BYC functions simultaneously as a human rights organisation and as a civil rights movement. It has organised major public gatherings such as the March Against Baloch Genocide, the Raji Muchi and the Dalbandin gathering. Bringing together people from every segment of Baloch society, these mass assemblies served as public referendums against the state’s repressive policies. Alongside organising sit-ins and public demonstrations, the BYC has also become one of the most active bodies documenting and reporting human rights violations in Balochistan. In 2025 alone, the BYC collected data on 1,250 cases of enforced disappearances. This was despite the organisation itself facing an intense state crackdown, with much of its central leadership imprisoned and many activists subjected to harassment and intimidation. The strong participation of women within the BYC also reflects the movement’s progressive political vision. Women have been mobilised, educated about their fundamental rights and encouraged to become active participants and leaders within the organisation. What challenges have you faced promoting nonviolent resistance in Balochistan? Promoting nonviolent resistance and democratic political struggle in Balochistan is an extremely difficult task, given that students, journalists and human rights activists are routinely silenced through state-sanctioned enforced disappearances, killings and targeted violence. Peaceful political movements are often labelled as “anti-state” or “security threats”; activists are subjected to profiling, harassment, arrests and fabricated criminal cases. At present, more than 50 cases have been filed against me and other BYC leaders across Balochistan. Every protest organised by families of missing persons has resulted in cases being registered against us, evidence of the continuation of state policies aimed at suppressing freedom of expression and peaceful political dissent. Even First Information Reports (FIRs) related to the actions of armed groups have been filed against peaceful political activists. This represents an extreme form of state brutality whereby nonviolent political workers are deliberately linked to armed organisations in order to justify the violence inflicted on them by the state. Despite all these pressures and hardships, the people of Balochistan have not abandoned peaceful politics. For the BYC, nonviolent resistance is not merely a political struggle; it is a continuous effort to create space for human rights, justice and dialogue, in an environment dominated by fear, silence and repression. Does reading helping you overcome the isolation of solitary confinement? Books have been my greatest source of support during my solitary confinement, along with my memories of the Baloch resistance movement and the courage of those who have endured repression before us. Books have strengthened my political consciousness, intellectual depth and belief in resistance. They have expanded my understanding and helped me remain connected to my inner strength. Much of our protest inside prison has centred around access to books. Reading about revolutionary movements and political figures has given me the opportunity to reflect deeply on my own struggle, beliefs and purpose in life. Through this process, I have been able to understand my mission with greater clarity. Books have also helped me endure the weakest and most difficult moments of solitary confinement, by giving me the capacity to better understand and carry the pain and suffering of my people. Some of the books I have read during this period include:   Interview with History – Oriana Fallaci The Writings of Mao The Power of Habit – Charles Duhigg Living My Life – Emma Goldman Roots – Alex Haley No Friend but the Mountains: Writings from Manus Prison – Behrouz Boochani The Political Thought of Abdullah Öcalan – Abdullah Öcalan The Geopolitics of Shaming: When Human Rights Pressure Works and When It Doesn’t – Rochelle Teman The Paradox of Repression and Nonviolent Movements – Dalia Ziada Indira Gandhi and the Year That Transformed India – Srinath Raghavan Long Walk to Freedom – Nelson Mandela Mahr-e-Aflak – Surat Khan Marri The Song of Youth – Yang Mo World Order – Henry Kissinger Prisoners of Geography: Ten Maps That Tell You Everything You Need to Know About Global Politics – Tim Marshall Resistance and Decolonization – Amircarl Cabral Men in the Sun – Ghassan Kanafani Remotely Colonial: History and Politics in Balochistan – Nina Swidler Back to the Future: The Khanate of Kalat and the Genesis of Baluch – Martin Axmann Manufacturing Consent: The Political Economy of the Mass Media – Edward S. Herman and Noam Chomsky Battle Ground: 10 Conflicts that Explain the New Middle East – Christopher Phillips Baloch Aur Un Ka Watan (The Baloch and Their Homeland) – Dr Farooq Baloch READ MORE

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Dr Mahrang Baloch before being sentenced to life imprisonment. Photo: Isak Khan In June 2026, Dr Mahrang Baloch was sentenced to life in prison by an anti-terrorism court in Quetta, Balochistan’s capital. She and fellow Baloch activist Sibghatullah Shahji had been accused of inciting a crowd into killing a federal constabulary official during a 2024 Baloch Unity Committee rally. Dr Mahrang Baloch, leader of the Baloch Yakjehti Committee (BYC), is an advocate for Baloch rights, campaigning against state practices of enforced disappearances, extra-judicial killings and other human rights abuses in Pakistan’s Balochistan province. The defendants, who have already been held in solitary confinement for two years, deny the charges. Before her sentencing, Dr Mahrang Baloch participated in a written interview with Akbar Notezai. Some of her responses have been edited for clarity and brevity. Can you describe the conditions inside Hudda Jail? I am presently being held, with my two political collegues Beebow Baloch and Gulzadi Baloch, in solitary confinement in Barrack No 9 of Hudda Jail. Even though the jail has a separate ward for female prisoners, we have deliberately been kept isolated in a separate barrack. Over the last 14 months, my meetings have been limited to only to a few family members and lawyers. This severe restriction is a clear and continuous violation of my fundamental rights. Families of forcibly disappeared persons and ordinary people from across Balochistan have come to meet with us, but they are stopped at the prison gate. The objective, it seems, is to weaken our resistance and to disconnect us, ideologically and politically, from our people and the Baloch national movement. We have also faced restrictions on our access to books. At first, I was denied permission to bring books from my personal library into the jail. The restriction was temporarily lifted after we protested. But today, if we ask for new books we have to negotiate the same obstacles again. In October 2025 our trial was shifted to inside the jail, denying journalists and members of Balochistan’s civil society access to our hearings. This violates the fundamental principle of a fair and transparent trial. The charges filed against us themselves are politically motivated and made in bad faith; the Anti-Terrorism Court (ATC) has conducted our cases in a highly biased manner. In February, we formally requested the replacement of the presiding judge; even though no decision has been formally taken with respect to our application, the trial has not been halted. What impact has solitary confinement had on you? The barrack where we have been imprisoned was originally built to hold dangerous and high-profile prisoners. Even though our contact with outside life has been severely restricted, solitary confinement will not weaken my resolve. For me, prison and torture have become symbols of resistance, carrying a very significant meaning in my life. My childhood was shaped in the shadow of the state’s torture cells, thanks to my father’s struggle for freedom. My father, Ghaffar Baloch, was once imprisoned in this same jail. I visited him here with Eid cards. The torture cells, where thousands of forcibly disappeared Baloch were detained, remained alive in my imagination. Every night, I would mentally reconstruct those dark spaces in my mind. When my father was released after his third enforced disappearance, the stories of torture he shared became permanently engraved in my memory. I often imagined the darkness of those torture cells; the unbearable reality of state violence, the point where a person begins to pray for death every single day. After my father’s murder, I began to carry the deep urge to one day see the torture cell where he had been held. I wondered constantly about his final moments, about the suffering he endured. From that moment on, I made it the purpose of my life to work for the freedom of every individual trapped in such torture cells. My pain found meaning after I joined the struggle against enforced disappearances in Balochistan. Whenever we grew exhausted during sit-ins or long marches, we reminded ourselves of the young people of our nation, enduring detention and worse because they cared about the future and dignity of our people. Whenever one of our people were released from a torture cell, I experienced the same joy that I had felt when my father was himself released from detention. I always made sure to meet them. Gradually, the part of my mind that had been occupied the images of my father’s mutilated body and wounded face became filled with the faces of the newly freed Baloch youth. I took inspiration from them. On beginning a new campaign, I always tell myself that if our efforts lead to the release of even one forcibly disappeared person, that alone would be our greatest success. All other hardships would become meaningless. Becoming part of this struggle has allowed me to heal. The movement gave meaning and purpose to our collective pain and national suffering. That is why solitary confinement and prison cannot break me. As for the Baloch people, solitary confinement has become a place where we write, study the struggles for freedom of people around the world and strengthen our political consciousness. The paradox is that imprisonment only makes our movement stronger. How has solitary confinement affected you, physically and emotionally? Solitary confinement for 14 months, combined with restricted movement and delays in receiving medical care, has led to me suffering since last October from severe back pain and radiculopathy. The lack of timely diagnosis and proper medical treatment worsened my condition. I was eventually transferred to a hospital in February 2026, where I was diagnosed with a lumbar disc prolapse. Despite the diagnosis I am still being denied physiotherapy, which is an essential part of the recovery process. Solitary confinement leaves deep physical and psychological scars on political prisoners. The state’s objective is not just to punish us, but also to weaken our revolutionary identity, morale and political resistance. Our struggle is directed at ending every form of state oppression, which is why we continue to endure the inhumane conditions of solitary confinement with resolve. The state seeks to spread fear among the people by imprisoning them. Yet even within these prison walls, we continue to show our people that oppressed nations can continue to resist state violence effectively. When states choose repression and force over tolerance for dissent, they cease to become institutions of justice and instead turn into instruments of fear. But fear is always temporary. Genuine popular movements of the people will eventually overcome fear and turn it into a source of strength. The irony is that state repression has made people fearless. The killing of innocent individuals and the constant demand for justice have deepened public political consciousness. This is the purpose that I share with every Baloch political activist: that our people understand the importance of collective strength, resistance and political awareness. If my solitary confinement helps strengthen that purpose, then I will endure this imprisonment with pride and determination. What role does the BYC play in Balochistan? The BYC is an indigenous movement of Balochistan. After the state’s implementation of its “kill and dump” policy in Balochistan in 2009, it launched a crackdown on active political parties and movements. Over the past two decades, thousands of innocent Baloch people have been killed. There was an urgent need for a strong public movement against what many Baloch view as an ongoing genocide, with even women and children no longer safe. It was under these conditions that the BYC emerged. Beginning with resistance protests across Balochistan, the movement gradually evolved into a broad public movement that gained widespread support throughout the region. The BYC has played a central role in documenting human rights violations and in advocating for national and political rights in Balochistan. International human rights organisations have largely been denied access to the region under the pretext of security concerns. Representatives of the Working Group on Enforced or Involuntary Disappearances have been denied access to Balochistan for 15 years, preventing independent observation and reporting on ongoing human rights abuses. Similarly, many international institutions have been prevented from reporting effectively on the situation in Balochistan. The BYC functions simultaneously as a human rights organisation and as a civil rights movement. It has organised major public gatherings such as the March Against Baloch Genocide, the Raji Muchi and the Dalbandin gathering. Bringing together people from every segment of Baloch society, these mass assemblies served as public referendums against the state’s repressive policies. Alongside organising sit-ins and public demonstrations, the BYC has also become one of the most active bodies documenting and reporting human rights violations in Balochistan. In 2025 alone, the BYC collected data on 1,250 cases of enforced disappearances. This was despite the organisation itself facing an intense state crackdown, with much of its central leadership imprisoned and many activists subjected to harassment and intimidation. The strong participation of women within the BYC also reflects the movement’s progressive political vision. Women have been mobilised, educated about their fundamental rights and encouraged to become active participants and leaders within the organisation. What challenges have you faced promoting nonviolent resistance in Balochistan? Promoting nonviolent resistance and democratic political struggle in Balochistan is an extremely difficult task, given that students, journalists and human rights activists are routinely silenced through state-sanctioned enforced disappearances, killings and targeted violence. Peaceful political movements are often labelled as “anti-state” or “security threats”; activists are subjected to profiling, harassment, arrests and fabricated criminal cases. At present, more than 50 cases have been filed against me and other BYC leaders across Balochistan. Every protest organised by families of missing persons has resulted in cases being registered against us, evidence of the continuation of state policies aimed at suppressing freedom of expression and peaceful political dissent. Even First Information Reports (FIRs) related to the actions of armed groups have been filed against peaceful political activists. This represents an extreme form of state brutality whereby nonviolent political workers are deliberately linked to armed organisations in order to justify the violence inflicted on them by the state. Despite all these pressures and hardships, the people of Balochistan have not abandoned peaceful politics. For the BYC, nonviolent resistance is not merely a political struggle; it is a continuous effort to create space for human rights, justice and dialogue, in an environment dominated by fear, silence and repression. Does reading helping you overcome the isolation of solitary confinement? Books have been my greatest source of support during my solitary confinement, along with my memories of the Baloch resistance movement and the courage of those who have endured repression before us. Books have strengthened my political consciousness, intellectual depth and belief in resistance. They have expanded my understanding and helped me remain connected to my inner strength. Much of our protest inside prison has centred around access to books. Reading about revolutionary movements and political figures has given me the opportunity to reflect deeply on my own struggle, beliefs and purpose in life. Through this process, I have been able to understand my mission with greater clarity. Books have also helped me endure the weakest and most difficult moments of solitary confinement, by giving me the capacity to better understand and carry the pain and suffering of my people. Some of the books I have read during this period include:   Interview with History – Oriana Fallaci The Writings of Mao The Power of Habit – Charles Duhigg Living My Life – Emma Goldman Roots – Alex Haley No Friend but the Mountains: Writings from Manus Prison – Behrouz Boochani The Political Thought of Abdullah Öcalan – Abdullah Öcalan The Geopolitics of Shaming: When Human Rights Pressure Works and When It Doesn’t – Rochelle Teman The Paradox of Repression and Nonviolent Movements – Dalia Ziada Indira Gandhi and the Year That Transformed India – Srinath Raghavan Long Walk to Freedom – Nelson Mandela Mahr-e-Aflak – Surat Khan Marri The Song of Youth – Yang Mo World Order – Henry Kissinger Prisoners of Geography: Ten Maps That Tell You Everything You Need to Know About Global Politics – Tim Marshall Resistance and Decolonization – Amircarl Cabral Men in the Sun – Ghassan Kanafani Remotely Colonial: History and Politics in Balochistan – Nina Swidler Back to the Future: The Khanate of Kalat and the Genesis of Baluch – Martin Axmann Manufacturing Consent: The Political Economy of the Mass Media – Edward S. Herman and Noam Chomsky Battle Ground: 10 Conflicts that Explain the New Middle East – Christopher Phillips Baloch Aur Un Ka Watan (The Baloch and Their Homeland) – Dr Farooq Baloch READ MORE

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In June 2026, Dr Mahrang Baloch was sentenced to life in prison by an anti-terrorism court in Quetta, Balochistan’s capital. She and fellow Baloch activist Sibghatullah Shahji had been accused of inciting a crowd into killing a federal constabulary official during a 2024 Baloch Unity Committee rally.

Dr Mahrang Baloch, leader of the Baloch Yakjehti Committee (BYC), is an advocate for Baloch rights, campaigning against state practices of enforced disappearances, extra-judicial killings and other human rights abuses in Pakistan’s Balochistan province. The defendants, who have already been held in solitary confinement for two years, deny the charges. Before her sentencing, Dr Mahrang Baloch participated in a written interview with Akbar Notezai. Some of her responses have been edited for clarity and brevity.

Can you describe the conditions inside Hudda Jail?

I am presently being held, with my two political collegues Beebow Baloch and Gulzadi Baloch, in solitary confinement in Barrack No 9 of Hudda Jail. Even though the jail has a separate ward for female prisoners, we have deliberately been kept isolated in a separate barrack. Over the last 14 months, my meetings have been limited to only to a few family members and lawyers. This severe restriction is a clear and continuous violation of my fundamental rights.

Families of forcibly disappeared persons and ordinary people from across Balochistan have come to meet with us, but they are stopped at the prison gate. The objective, it seems, is to weaken our resistance and to disconnect us, ideologically and politically, from our people and the Baloch national movement.

We have also faced restrictions on our access to books. At first, I was denied permission to bring books from my personal library into the jail. The restriction was temporarily lifted after we protested. But today, if we ask for new books we have to negotiate the same obstacles again.

In October 2025 our trial was shifted to inside the jail, denying journalists and members of Balochistan’s civil society access to our hearings. This violates the fundamental principle of a fair and transparent trial.

The charges filed against us themselves are politically motivated and made in bad faith; the Anti-Terrorism Court (ATC) has conducted our cases in a highly biased manner. In February, we formally requested the replacement of the presiding judge; even though no decision has been formally taken with respect to our application, the trial has not been halted.

What impact has solitary confinement had on you?

The barrack where we have been imprisoned was originally built to hold dangerous and high-profile prisoners. Even though our contact with outside life has been severely restricted, solitary confinement will not weaken my resolve. For me, prison and torture have become symbols of resistance, carrying a very significant meaning in my life.

My childhood was shaped in the shadow of the state’s torture cells, thanks to my father’s struggle for freedom. My father, Ghaffar Baloch, was once imprisoned in this same jail. I visited him here with Eid cards. The torture cells, where thousands of forcibly disappeared Baloch were detained, remained alive in my imagination. Every night, I would mentally reconstruct those dark spaces in my mind.

When my father was released after his third enforced disappearance, the stories of torture he shared became permanently engraved in my memory. I often imagined the darkness of those torture cells; the unbearable reality of state violence, the point where a person begins to pray for death every single day.

After my father’s murder, I began to carry the deep urge to one day see the torture cell where he had been held. I wondered constantly about his final moments, about the suffering he endured. From that moment on, I made it the purpose of my life to work for the freedom of every individual trapped in such torture cells.

My pain found meaning after I joined the struggle against enforced disappearances in Balochistan. Whenever we grew exhausted during sit-ins or long marches, we reminded ourselves of the young people of our nation, enduring detention and worse because they cared about the future and dignity of our people.

Whenever one of our people were released from a torture cell, I experienced the same joy that I had felt when my father was himself released from detention. I always made sure to meet them. Gradually, the part of my mind that had been occupied the images of my father’s mutilated body and wounded face became filled with the faces of the newly freed Baloch youth. I took inspiration from them.

On beginning a new campaign, I always tell myself that if our efforts lead to the release of even one forcibly disappeared person, that alone would be our greatest success. All other hardships would become meaningless.

Becoming part of this struggle has allowed me to heal. The movement gave meaning and purpose to our collective pain and national suffering. That is why solitary confinement and prison cannot break me. As for the Baloch people, solitary confinement has become a place where we write, study the struggles for freedom of people around the world and strengthen our political consciousness. The paradox is that imprisonment only makes our movement stronger.

How has solitary confinement affected you, physically and emotionally?

Solitary confinement for 14 months, combined with restricted movement and delays in receiving medical care, has led to me suffering since last October from severe back pain and radiculopathy. The lack of timely diagnosis and proper medical treatment worsened my condition.

I was eventually transferred to a hospital in February 2026, where I was diagnosed with a lumbar disc prolapse. Despite the diagnosis I am still being denied physiotherapy, which is an essential part of the recovery process.

Solitary confinement leaves deep physical and psychological scars on political prisoners. The state’s objective is not just to punish us, but also to weaken our revolutionary identity, morale and political resistance.

Our struggle is directed at ending every form of state oppression, which is why we continue to endure the inhumane conditions of solitary confinement with resolve. The state seeks to spread fear among the people by imprisoning them. Yet even within these prison walls, we continue to show our people that oppressed nations can continue to resist state violence effectively.

When states choose repression and force over tolerance for dissent, they cease to become institutions of justice and instead turn into instruments of fear. But fear is always temporary. Genuine popular movements of the people will eventually overcome fear and turn it into a source of strength.

The irony is that state repression has made people fearless. The killing of innocent individuals and the constant demand for justice have deepened public political consciousness. This is the purpose that I share with every Baloch political activist: that our people understand the importance of collective strength, resistance and political awareness.

If my solitary confinement helps strengthen that purpose, then I will endure this imprisonment with pride and determination.

What role does the BYC play in Balochistan?

The BYC is an indigenous movement of Balochistan. After the state’s implementation of its “kill and dump” policy in Balochistan in 2009, it launched a crackdown on active political parties and movements. Over the past two decades, thousands of innocent Baloch people have been killed. There was an urgent need for a strong public movement against what many Baloch view as an ongoing genocide, with even women and children no longer safe.

It was under these conditions that the BYC emerged. Beginning with resistance protests across Balochistan, the movement gradually evolved into a broad public movement that gained widespread support throughout the region.

The BYC has played a central role in documenting human rights violations and in advocating for national and political rights in Balochistan. International human rights organisations have largely been denied access to the region under the pretext of security concerns. Representatives of the Working Group on Enforced or Involuntary Disappearances have been denied access to Balochistan for 15 years, preventing independent observation and reporting on ongoing human rights abuses. Similarly, many international institutions have been prevented from reporting effectively on the situation in Balochistan.

The BYC functions simultaneously as a human rights organisation and as a civil rights movement. It has organised major public gatherings such as the March Against Baloch Genocide, the Raji Muchi and the Dalbandin gathering. Bringing together people from every segment of Baloch society, these mass assemblies served as public referendums against the state’s repressive policies.

Alongside organising sit-ins and public demonstrations, the BYC has also become one of the most active bodies documenting and reporting human rights violations in Balochistan.

In 2025 alone, the BYC collected data on 1,250 cases of enforced disappearances. This was despite the organisation itself facing an intense state crackdown, with much of its central leadership imprisoned and many activists subjected to harassment and intimidation.

The strong participation of women within the BYC also reflects the movement’s progressive political vision. Women have been mobilised, educated about their fundamental rights and encouraged to become active participants and leaders within the organisation.

What challenges have you faced promoting nonviolent resistance in Balochistan?

Promoting nonviolent resistance and democratic political struggle in Balochistan is an extremely difficult task, given that students, journalists and human rights activists are routinely silenced through state-sanctioned enforced disappearances, killings and targeted violence.

Peaceful political movements are often labelled as “anti-state” or “security threats”; activists are subjected to profiling, harassment, arrests and fabricated criminal cases. At present, more than 50 cases have been filed against me and other BYC leaders across Balochistan. Every protest organised by families of missing persons has resulted in cases being registered against us, evidence of the continuation of state policies aimed at suppressing freedom of expression and peaceful political dissent.

Even First Information Reports (FIRs) related to the actions of armed groups have been filed against peaceful political activists. This represents an extreme form of state brutality whereby nonviolent political workers are deliberately linked to armed organisations in order to justify the violence inflicted on them by the state.

Despite all these pressures and hardships, the people of Balochistan have not abandoned peaceful politics. For the BYC, nonviolent resistance is not merely a political struggle; it is a continuous effort to create space for human rights, justice and dialogue, in an environment dominated by fear, silence and repression.

Does reading helping you overcome the isolation of solitary confinement?

Books have been my greatest source of support during my solitary confinement, along with my memories of the Baloch resistance movement and the courage of those who have endured repression before us. Books have strengthened my political consciousness, intellectual depth and belief in resistance. They have expanded my understanding and helped me remain connected to my inner strength.

Much of our protest inside prison has centred around access to books. Reading about revolutionary movements and political figures has given me the opportunity to reflect deeply on my own struggle, beliefs and purpose in life. Through this process, I have been able to understand my mission with greater clarity.

Books have also helped me endure the weakest and most difficult moments of solitary confinement, by giving me the capacity to better understand and carry the pain and suffering of my people.

Some of the books I have read during this period include:

 

  1. Interview with History – Oriana Fallaci
  2. The Writings of Mao
  3. The Power of Habit – Charles Duhigg
  4. Living My Life – Emma Goldman
  5. Roots – Alex Haley
  6. No Friend but the Mountains: Writings from Manus Prison – Behrouz Boochani
  7. The Political Thought of Abdullah Öcalan – Abdullah Öcalan
  8. The Geopolitics of Shaming: When Human Rights Pressure Works and When It Doesn’t – Rochelle Teman
  9. The Paradox of Repression and Nonviolent Movements – Dalia Ziada
  10. Indira Gandhi and the Year That Transformed India – Srinath Raghavan
  11. Long Walk to Freedom – Nelson Mandela
  12. Mahr-e-Aflak – Surat Khan Marri
  13. The Song of Youth – Yang Mo
  14. World Order – Henry Kissinger
  15. Prisoners of Geography: Ten Maps That Tell You Everything You Need to Know About Global Politics – Tim Marshall
  16. Resistance and Decolonization – Amircarl Cabral
  17. Men in the Sun – Ghassan Kanafani
  18. Remotely Colonial: History and Politics in Balochistan – Nina Swidler
  19. Back to the Future: The Khanate of Kalat and the Genesis of Baluch – Martin Axmann
  20. Manufacturing Consent: The Political Economy of the Mass Media – Edward S. Herman and Noam Chomsky
  21. Battle Ground: 10 Conflicts that Explain the New Middle East – Christopher Phillips
  22. Baloch Aur Un Ka Watan (The Baloch and Their Homeland) – Dr Farooq Baloch

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Global Free Speech

  Chow Hang-tung and Lee Cheuk-yan, co-leaders of the now disbanded Hong Kong Alliance in Support of Patriotic Democratic Movements of China (HKA) were found guilty today (21 August 2026) of incitement to subversion, because they organised vigils attended by tens of thousands in Hong Kong’s Victoria Park to mark the 1989 Tiananmen Square massacre. The vigils were banned in 2020 and both have been detained since 2021. Below is a translation of Chow Hang-tung’s message to the world, published yesterday I’m curious about tomorrow’s verdict. Justice resides in the hearts of the people; there’s no need to look up to such top-down judgments. One verdict is nothing. Thank you all for walking alongside me in different ways. I have received all your support and blessings. ************ Because I don’t want everyone to worry too much, and I don’t want the focus to be lost, I’m sharing these feelings that have been weighing on my mind since the trial: Several years ago, I made a documentary with friends, trying to visualise the issue of torture by inviting Hong Kong friends to experience the various forms of torture suffered by protesters in China, so that it wouldn’t just remain a “tragedy” on paper. The “torture” depicted in the film was designed and researched by me. I thought I had some understanding of the subject, but only in the last couple of days have I realised I was a completely incompetent “torture officer” back then. I knew absolutely nothing about inflicting physical pain. It’s true that some things are impossible to comprehend no matter how much you read about them; you have to experience them firsthand. I say this because since the trial began, the Correctional Services Department [Hong Kong’s prison authority] has changed its method of transport. It’s no longer just simple handcuffs; now they use a full set of handcuffs, leg irons, waist chains, and ankle chains, and then lead the prisoners like dogs on a chain. From the written description alone, it seems like it’s just more inconvenient and somewhat humiliating, nothing like torture. But it’s only when you actually put on those shackles that you realise the devil is in the details. Ordinary handcuffs have buckles on both sides that connect with slipknots, allowing for limited movement between the hands. However, this set of specially made handcuffs has an outer layer of hard plastic covering the outer layer, locking the hands tightly together. This alone wouldn’t be so bad, but the “rings” on the handcuffs aren’t the round kind you usually see in adult stores (uh, I’ve been there, but only to buy props for filming!). Instead, there’s an additional hard material inside, shrinking into a flat, crescent shape that fits snugly at the thickest part of the wrist. So, when the wrist is inside, there’s absolutely no possibility of rotation; you can only constantly twist your arm to accommodate the angle designed by the handcuffs. That already restricts movement to two dimensions. Then comes the small buckle on the waist chain, which locks the handcuffs above the abdomen. If you dare to relax and let your hands hang down, the buckle will move up and lock into the thicker part of the wrist. Moreover, the locking angle is an extremely unnatural twisted pretzel, forcing one to constantly hunch their shoulders, hunch their back, bend their wrists, and twist their arms to try and avoid the handcuffs getting stuck in their wrist bones. However, complete avoidance is impossible; after all, constantly hunching one’s shoulders for the entire journey from Tai Lam [the prison where Hang-tung is incarcerated] to West Kowloon [the courthouse where the trial is taking place] would likely lead to muscle cramps. So, one can only “choose” which part of the body shall suffer in turn—when the shoulders are too tired, let the bones ache; when the hands are numb with pain, tighten the shoulders further. Then, throughout the entire journey, although most of the time is spent “still,” one is already exhausted from the unseen “muscle battle.” Not to mention, no matter how you are locked, you have to carry your belongings; for me, that means court documents. With that added weight, it is inevitable that the handcuffs will cut into the flesh. The deep marks carved into the wrists don’t fade even after a whole day in court. It turns out that locking a person’s joints in certain relative positions can create a kind of “interlocking” effect between body parts. But to the untrained eye, it’s invisible—”It’s just putting your hands in front of your stomach, child’s play.” Sigh, just looking at that statement, I feel I have no reason to complain; but I never imagined the combined effect of locking all the joints would be so powerful. Thinking back to when I was researching for the documentary, I only focused on finding the most exaggerated physical movements, the torture methods most easily identifiable by the naked eye. I was indeed viewing the victims’ experiences through the eyes of a layman. When I “tortured” my friend, the handcuffs were loosely fastened. I was completely unaware that locking the joints was the key—it really was just a childish experiment. Sophisticated torture, much like mature totalitarianism, avoids the visible, “violent” acts of violence. Its power lies in exploiting and creating internal conflicts among the people, fostering constant mutual surveillance, control, and reporting. This diffuses the perpetrators, making it impossible to identify or apprehend any single “evildoer.” People appear to have “choices,” but they are ultimately forced to choose between harming one party and abandoning another. Power, however, seems detached, never directly intervening. Visible, publicly observable conflicts vanish, leaving only unseen internal strife. The damage to society can be far more lasting and profound than occasional violence. On a more personal level, I find my resistance to physical torture is quite low. When my body aches, my mind becomes blank, overwhelmed by aches and pains, making it impossible to enjoy the scenery as usual. If I were subjected to some of the Ten Great Tortures of the Qing Dynasty, I might confess quickly. The ability to endure torture truly requires dedicated training. So, on the bright side, these 75 days of transport can be seen as initial training in physical endurance—as long as my hands aren’t ruined? To say that this correctional system is intentionally designed to torture prisoners wouldn’t be accurate; it’s just that the prisoners’ comfort or pain isn’t a consideration in its design. So, frankly, what I have endured is far from real torture; at best, it was just a preliminary glimpse. The designers’ primary consideration was probably “safety first,” ensuring prisoners have no possibility of movement. Ultimately, prisoners are at the bottom of the food chain—voiceless, powerless. Our opinions, even after suffering, are meaningless in the face of “safety.” Not to mention asking what security needs there were – frankly, even without handcuffs, a weak scholar like me couldn’t escape. Using so many tricks is overkill, but where can I reason with that? In cases where national security is invoked, even if a lawsuit is filed, it will have to be dropped and legal fees paid. But it’s precisely because I don’t want to never have anywhere to voice my grievances, and I don’t want people to remain silent and at the mercy of others, that I must persist in fighting for democracy and human rights, and for systemic change. In this sense, this new experience offered by Correctional Services is actually helping to strengthen my resolve to fight. Well then, thank you for this generous gift. I will certainly not let you down and will fight this ongoing battle well. I also hope that everyone can gain something from this long trial, perhaps just a little bit of strength, a little bit of encouragement, and that would be enough to fulfill my wish! This message was first posted on Chow Hang-tung’s Patreon account yesterday. We are publishing this with the permission of Brian Kern who translated her message on his Substack account     READ MORE

Global Free Speech

Reporting in Somalia is becoming a much more dangerous proposition. Photo: UNSomalia/Ilyas Ahmed “Do you know that we can kill you? To us, your life is worth less than a cigarette.” These are the words with which operatives from Somalia’s National Intelligence and Security Agency (NISA) threatened freelance journalist Mohamed Bulbul, days after he co-authored a news report for UK news outlet The Guardian about the prosecution of activist Sadia Moalim Ali. Two days after the article ran in June 2026, Bulbul was having dinner with two fellow journalists at a restaurant in Mogadishu’s Zoobe area when armed men wearing black masks entered the establishment. “They walked straight towards our table [shouting] ‘Stand up! Stand up!’” Bulbul told Index. The masked men beat all three journalists before they dragged him outside, placed a bag over his head and forced him into a vehicle.  After being moved between two police stations and the offices of the regional police commissioner, Bulbul was interrogated by NISA officers about the article. “They asked me why I had published it.” He was then, he said, given three choices: “Work with us and take money, leave the country, or if you refuse both, we will kill you.” Bulbul fled Somalia and is now in an undisclosed safe location. “Saving my own life become my priority,” he said. “I can no longer spend time with my parents or my children.” Bulbul’s experience is not unique. Across Somalia, journalists and press freedom advocates say that intelligence and security agencies are intimidating, detaining and otherwise silencing reporters. Recent cases in Mogadishu and Puntland state indicate the state’s growing reliance on intelligence agencies and extra-legal actions, rather than the police and the courts, to deal with critical journalism. On 2 July, journalist Suways Jama Mohamed was arrested outside her home in Garowe, Puntland. Suways, founder of Suways Media, a Facebook-based news platform covering social issues, was detained after the platform published a 15-second video showing armed militia operating in her neighbourhood. She was held in Puntland’s Garowe Central Prison for 13 days before being released on bail on 15 July. Mohamed has been charged with spreading false information, defamation, insulting public officials and disturbing public order. If convicted, she could face up to three years in prison. Qareen Abdiweli, Suways’ lawyer, has challenged both the legal basis of the charges and the court’s jurisdiction. “A journalist cannot be prosecuted under the Penal Code for acts related to the exercise of their profession,” Abdiweli told RSF. Suways’ defence team have filed a motion asking for the case be referred to the Puntland Media Council, the media regulatory body. The case is pending. Less than two weeks after Suways’ arrest, Mohamed Jama Mohamad, an independent journalist who had previously worked for private television channel SBC TV, was also detained in Puntland state. Mohamed had been reporting on business closures in the city of Bosaso, following an increase in port taxes. Mohamed was taking photographs of the closed market when he noticed several men following him. “They looked suspicious and kept talking on their phones while following me everywhere I went.” Moments later, a vehicle pulled to a halt beside him. “[The people in the vehicle] weren’t police officers,” Mohamed told Source. “Their uniform [sic] looked more like military uniforms.”  Mohamed was forced into the vehicle without explanation, blindfolded and then taken to a detention facility run by the Puntland Intelligence Service (PISA). Mohamed said that he was held for four days without seeing a lawyer or being arraigned before a court.  “I had simply been taken from the marketplace. No warrant. No judge. No lawyer.” According to the Somali Journalists Syndicate (SJS), these arrests are indicative of the government’s wish to suppress free expression. In June, SJS reported the abduction by NISA agents of journalist Mascuud Warsame, founder of Xogbile TV, in Mogadishu. Warsame was released, without charge, after 39 days in detention. For media organisations, these incidents are becoming increasingly familiar. “Compared with previous years, the overall pattern of violations remains consistent,” Abdalle Ahmed Mumin, Secretary General of the Somali Journalists Syndicate, told Index. “But this year has seen a sharp increase in arbitrary arrests [and] politically motivated detentions, particularly during the ongoing political and constitutional crisis in Somalia.” Somalia’s federal government is currently advancing amendments to the country’s constitution despite objections from two federal states. This may have implications for the balance of power between the federal states, and critics fear that it will allow incumbent president Hassan Sheikh Mohamud to extend his current term of office. Mumin said that while journalists in Somalia have long been obliged to deal with intimidation and violence, the first seven months of 2026 have seen a spike in the use of prolonged detention without charge, alongside more overt interventions by Somalia’s intelligence agencies. Security analyst Samira Gaid told Index that Somalia’s security institutions are increasingly being used as a tool to suppress journalism, activists and anyone courageous enough to challenge the government.  “The role of the media is to hold those in public office accountable,” she said.  “Yet journalists are being targeted simply because they reported information that the government did not want the public to know.” International partners, according to Gaid, invested heavily in building Somalia’s security institutions – a key priority following the end of the country’s destructive civil war. “Those institutions are now being used in ways that go beyond the law.”  Gaid said, noting that NISA was created to protect national security rather than investigate journalists or detain civilians engaged in legitimate reporting. The journalists interviewed for this article all described strikingly similar experiences – arrests without warrants, detention by intelligence agencies, questioning over their reporting. For Somalia’s independent media, the message is becoming increasingly clear; reporting on anything deemed sensitive by the authorities may carry consequences extending far beyond the newsroom. READ MORE

Global Free Speech

The University of Cambridge. Photo: llee_wu / ICC BY-ND 2.0 Last month Index ran a story about a filmmaker and activist from Pakistan. His name was Roshaan Khattak and he was exploring human rights violations in Balochistan. Cambridge University had accepted him on a research pathway, with the understanding that completing this successfully would lead to him being accepted on the PhD programme. But then Khattak received a death threat and there was an unidentified explosion outside his college which scared him. He expected Cambridge to protect him but instead, as Khattak told Index, he was first locked out of his college then, despite achieving a distinction for his work, was told that he could not progress to doing a PhD and his enrolment was terminated. He saw this, and his supervisors agreed with him, as the university caving in to transnational repression. There has been little national newspaper coverage of his case. On the contrary, there was excessive and sometimes unjustifiable coverage of the allegations of plagiarism made against Professor Jason Arday. He was once hailed by Cambridge as their newest Black recruit and at 37, the youngest professor at the university. As Stephen Bush in the FT observes the question of race then became the focus of the media’s coverage, rather than Arday’s academic integrity. As the university came under increasing pressure, it announced an investigation into Arday. Since Arday’s death, there have been calls to impose curbs on the media. As you might expect, Index strongly opposes any regulation as an impingement of the right – indeed the duty – of the press to report on matters of genuine public interest. What purpose would regulation have served here? It might have shut down legitimate questions about Cambridge and its reputation for academic excellence; about the appointment of academics at the university; and about plagiarism, itself a growing issue across academia. Indeed, public focus on the role of the media in the events of the last few weeks has allowed Cambridge, arguably a more powerful institution than the press today, to evade scrutiny of its role in elevating Arday. Cambridge is supposed to be a world leader in research and teaching, yet when Arday was appointed three years ago, according to the BBC, there were only five other Black professors at Cambridge out of a total of more than 970. The numbers nationally are appalling too: 270 Black university professors in the whole of the country. There are so few Black professors today in British academia that they fear that they too will become the targets of impossible levels of public scrutiny – into their research, into their lives, into their very right to occupy a place in the public sphere on the basis of what they do for a living: in short that their freedom of expression will be curtailed. Also, research at Cambridge seems to be concentrated around subjects that are politically and financially advantageous to the institution – as opposed to research that has clear merit, but is less relevant with respect to commercial interests and priorities. Research income from China topped £23 million in 2024/25. The Judge Business School has formed a partnership with the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia’s defence ministry. I started with Khattak, a scholar from Pakistan whom Cambridge first welcomed and then cast aside. I end with the tragedy of Arday, who became the focus of arguments that extended far beyond the question of the rigour of his academic practice. The link between the two is that Cambridge adopted both as instruments that served its own purposes; then abandoned them when that purpose no longer suited them. Both cases have implications, direct and indirect, for the right to free expression in universities. READ MORE

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