For years, the Baloch Yakjehti Committee (BYC) has projected itself as a movement for human rights and justice. Yet time and again, its leadership and supporters have found themselves defending individuals who later turned out to be members of banned terrorist organisations, amplifying narratives that benefit militant groups, and challenging state action against those involved in violence.
Today, as its leaders face prosecution under Pakistan’s Anti-Terrorism Act 1997, BYC is attempting to recast itself as the victim.
The organisation’s social media machinery has worked relentlessly to portray the cases against its leadership as politically motivated and unlawful. Sections of the Indian media have eagerly amplified the same narrative. Missing from this campaign, however, are the facts that led to these prosecutions in the first place.
The current cases did not begin with a speech, a protest, or criticism of the government. They began in the aftermath of the March 11,2025 terrorist attack on the Jaffar Express, one of the deadliest attacks in recent memory. Twenty-six innocent people lost their lives.
Following the security operation against the attackers, the bodies of slain militants were transferred to Civil Hospital Quetta. According to investigators, a crowd led by BYC leader Mahrang Baloch subsequently stormed the hospital, entered the mortuary and removed at least five bodies of terrorists. Within days, legal proceedings were initiated. On March 22, Mahrang Baloch was detained under the Maintenance of Public Order Ordinance, while BYC leader Gulzadi Baloch was also arrested in connection with the incident on 11 April 2025.
Yet anyone following BYC’s online campaign would hardly know these events occurred.
Instead of addressing the allegations, BYC has focused attention on faceless trials and special court procedures. The implication is that such measures are extraordinary. They are not.
The charges against Mahrang Baloch fall under Sections 11-EE and 11-F of the Anti-Terrorism Act 1997, provisions dealing with Fourth Schedule individuals and support for proscribed organisations. Terrorism cases are routinely subject to enhanced security measures because Pakistan has repeatedly witnessed judges, prosecutors, investigators and police officers become targets of terrorist violence.
Former Federal Shariat Court Chief Justice Noor Mohammad Muskanzai was assassinated by the BLA. Justice Mir Muhammad Nawaz Marri was also targeted by militants. More recently, CTD officer Mama Afzal Jan was martyred in a terrorist attack linked to the BLA. These are not hypothetical threats. They are the reason special procedures exist.
The Balochistan Assembly has passed a second set of amendments to the Anti-Terrorism Act, 1997.
The amendments introduce additional legal and procedural measures aimed at strengthening terrorism prosecutions while enhancing protection for judges, prosecutors, investigators and witnesses.
More troubling, however, is the pattern that has followed BYC for years.
Repeatedly, individuals presented by the BYC as victims of enforced disappearance have later emerged as members of banned terrorist organisations.
Abdul Wadud Satakzai was long portrayed as a missing person. The BLA later identified him as one of its fighters. Satakzai was also the brother of BYC leader Gulzadi Baloch.
The same pattern emerged in the case of Sohaib Langove, widely regarded as a close associate of Mahrang Baloch. After his death in July 2025, the BLA publicly claimed him as one of its members.
Then there is the case of Sarfaraz, an 18-year-old from Kharan. What began as activism and protest activity allegedly ended in militancy. Details of his recruitment surfaced following the arrest of BLA facilitator Sajid Ahmed on January 8, 2026.
The story of student Sufyan Kurd raises equally disturbing questions about how young people are drawn into narratives by the BYC that eventually lead them toward violent extremism.
Taken individually, these cases might be dismissed as coincidences. Taken together, they reveal a pattern that BYC has never adequately explained.
Why do so many individuals championed by the BYC and Mahrang Baloch later appear in the ranks of banned terrorist groups? Why does the organisation consistently challenge state action against militants while remaining silent about the atrocities committed by those same groups? And why has its leadership invested so much energy in attacking legal procedures while avoiding the substance of the allegations against them?
BYC would like the public debate to focus exclusively on faceless trials. The real issue is far broader. It concerns the Civil Hospital Quetta incident, the allegations under the Anti-Terrorism Act, the organisation’s repeated association with individuals later identified as militants, and the narrative space it has created for groups such as the BLA and BLF.
No amount of social media activism can erase those facts.
As the facts are examined, the narrative promoted by BYC begins to unravel. The charges against its leadership stem from anti-terrorism laws, the arrests are linked to documented incidents, and the security measures being challenged today exist because terrorism has repeatedly targeted judges, prosecutors, police officers and investigators in Balochistan.
While BYC and its supporters continue to portray these proceedings as political victimization, the record tells a different story. The facts show that the campaign surrounding these cases is not about denying justice, but about reshaping the narrative. And when the facts are separated from the propaganda, BYC’s claims stand rejected by the very events and evidence they seek to obscure.
