When Saying No Becomes a Death Sentence

In the rugged silence of Balochistan’s mountains, a new and terrifying chapter of terrorism is being written—not with slogans or speeches, but with blood. This is not a war for freedom, nor a battle for rights. This is a campaign of fear, of forced conscription, of murder cloaked in the illusion of ideology. And the victims are not soldiers or spies, but young, innocent Baloch men—brothers, sons, students—being hunted for refusing to become pawns in a war they never chose.

The once subtle manipulation of Baloch youth has now taken a brutal turn. Banned outfits like the BLA and BLF have abandoned even the pretence of ideology. Instead, they now knock on doors with guns instead of promises. They offer no choice, only a threat—join us, or die. In towns like Tump, the names Adnan Baloch, Fahad Baloch, and Aman Baloch are no longer just names. They are echoes of lives cut short, symbols of a community held hostage by its own supposed liberators.

Adnan Baloch’s story is one that burns through the conscience. Abducted on January 31, 2024, by the BLF, he was denied even the basic dignity of justice. Days later, his lifeless body was thrown on Zubaida Jalal Road—a chilling message, not just to his family, but to every Baloch youth daring to say “no.” Before him, his brother Sharif was also murdered—gunned down in daylight while walking with his sister to the market. Two brothers, two lives lost, not to an enemy state or foreign force, but to the very groups that claim to fight for Baloch rights.

And what of Aman Baloch? A young man whose only crime was the courage to refuse. His mother’s voice still trembles as she recalls pleading for mercy. She asked not for pardon, but simply for a reason. “If my son made a mistake,” she said, “tell me. But don’t take his life.” Her words were not met with compassion, but with cold indifference. The bullets answered her better than any explanation ever could.

This is not resistance. This is not a freedom movement. This is terrorism, plain and devastating. It is exploitation of a community that has suffered long enough. Killing those who decline to bear arms is not revolution—it is tyranny. It is the very thing these groups claim to oppose. The hypocrisy is so thick, it chokes the air. When freedom becomes conditional on obedience, when dissent is punished by death, the truth is laid bare: this is no liberation struggle. It is the systematic silencing of the Baloch voice.

And yet, the most haunting silence is that of the larger community. How many more Adnans must be buried? How many more mothers must cradle the corpses of their sons before the people of Balochistan rise and say, “Enough”? This is no longer about politics. This is about survival—of a generation, of a future, of dignity.

To the people of Balochistan, the time for fear is over. This is the hour to stand not for a flag, but for the right to live, to choose, to say no without being shot. This is a fight not against the state, but against those who misuse the word “freedom” to justify murder. These young men did not die for a cause—they were slaughtered because they refused to be tools of terror. Their blood now cries out for justice, for awareness, for awakening.

The world may not hear it. But Balochistan must.