T&E and Amnesty International welcome MEPs’ support for landmark batteries legislation

Batteries produced or sold in the EU would need to comply with new environmental standards and checks to see if their raw materials are responsibly sourced, according to a draft law backed by the European Parliament. But the rules still need to be signed off by EU governments which want to delay the introduction of recycling targets and due diligence checks by battery-makers.

Alex Keynes, clean vehicles manager at Transport & Environment (T&E), said: “This puts Europe firmly on the path to a sustainable zero-emissions future. The batteries that replace the burning of oil will need to be produced with green energy, made from responsibly sourced metals and fully recycled at the end of their life. Europe’s battery factories are being set up today, so any delays to recycling targets and checks on responsibly sourced materials are indefensible.”

Under the draft law, battery-makers will face checks on their supply chains to ensure any environmental or human rights abuses are identified and addressed. Limits on the carbon emissions caused by battery production will reduce their climate impact even further and boost the climate advantage of electric vehicles over combustion engine cars. 

From 2026, key raw materials will need to be recycled at the end of each battery’s life: 90% of nickel, copper and cobalt used and 70% of lithium (up from the paltry 35% proposed by the Commission). This will help secure a critical domestic supply of battery metals and offset the need for new mining.

“This is an encouraging step in the right direction by the European Parliament. Batteries are central to the energy transition, and ensuring they are free from human rights abuse and environmental harm must be a top priority for lawmakers in the EU. Respecting frontline and indigenous communities’ rights and livelihoods must be respected at all costs. Having strict due diligence requirements on the extraction and processing of key battery metals can help safeguard these rights, and will set a strong precedent for regulation elsewhere,” said Richard Kent, Researcher on Human Rights and the Energy Transition at Amnesty International.

Respecting frontline and indigenous communities’ rights and livelihoods must be respected at all costs. Having strict due diligence requirements on the extraction and processing of key battery metals can help safeguard these rights, and will set a strong precedent for regulation elsewhere.”

Richard Kent, Researcher on Human Rights and the Energy Transition at Amnesty International

T&E and Amnesty International called on EU Environment Ministers to drop all proposals to delay the due diligence checks and recycling targets when they meet on 17 March. The Parliament and EU governments are expected to finalise the law by the end of June.

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• Independent media blocked, more than 150 journalists have fled the country
• Facebook and Twitter banned
• New legislation punishes independent reporting on the war with up to 15 years’ behind bars; the term “war” and calls for “peace” are effectively banned
• More than 13,800 arbitrarily arrested at anti-war rallies since 24 February

The Russian authorities have unleashed an unprecedented, nationwide crackdown on independent journalism, anti-war protests and dissenting voices following Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, Amnesty International said today.

By blocking the most popular critical media outlets, closing independent radio stations and forcing dozens of journalists to halt their work or leave the country, the authorities have almost completely deprived people in Russia of access to objective, unbiased and trustworthy information. Roskomnadzor, Russia’s media regulator, has also blocked access to Facebook and Twitter.

“For two decades, the Russian authorities have waged a covert war against dissenting voices by arresting journalists, cracking down on independent newsrooms and forcing media owners to impose self-censorship. Yet, after Russian tanks entered Ukraine, the authorities switched to a scorched-earth strategy that has turned Russia’s media landscape into a wasteland,” said Marie Struthers, Amnesty International’s Director for Eastern Europe and Central Asia.

After Russian tanks entered Ukraine, the authorities switched to a scorched-earth strategy that has turned Russia’s media landscape into a wasteland

Marie Struthers, Amnesty International’s Director for Eastern Europe and Central Asia

Critical reporting and social media silenced

Since the start of the invasion, Roskomnadzor began to establish war-like censorship to silence dissent. On 24 February, the regulator ordered all media outlets to only use official, state-sanctioned sources of information or else face severe punishments for spreading “fake news”. The words ‘war’, ‘invasion’ and ‘attack’ were all banned from use when describing Russia’s military actions in Ukraine.  

On 28 February, Roskomnadzor blocked Nastoyashchee Vremya (Current Times), a subsidiary of Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty, for spreading “unreliable” information about the invasion. On 1 March, almost all Ukrainian news outlets were inaccessible to internet users in Russia.

Over the days that followed, the Kremlin ruthlessly censored a swathe of independent media, including broadcaster TV Rain, the Echo of Moscow radio station, Latvia-based Meduza, critical Russian news outlets Mediazona, Republic and Sobesednik, grassroots activism portal Activatica and the Russian-language services of the BBC, Voice of America and Deutsche Welle.

The blocking of news sites and the threat of criminal prosecutions has also led to an exodus of journalists from Russia. According to Agentstvo, an investigative journalism site now inaccessible in Russia, at least 150 journalists have fled the country since the beginning of the war.

TV Rain chose to suspend broadcasting amidst fears of reprisals. Znak.com, a significant regional news channel, halted its operations citing censorship fears. The Echo of Moscow radio station was taken off the air; shortly after, its state-aligned owners decided to liquidate the company. Even Novaya Gazeta, a beacon of independent journalism led by Nobel Peace Prize laureate Dmitry Muratov, announced on 4 March that it would remove articles on Russia’s invasion of Ukraine.

From 1 March, Roskomnadzor began to slow traffic on Twitter and Facebook to a crawl, before accusing the two companies of disseminating “inaccurate” information about the conflict in Ukraine. On 4 March, both social media platforms were blocked.

“The free press in Russia has not died despite the authorities’ relentless efforts. The brave journalists continue their crucial work, not in newsrooms but as exiled reporters scattered around the world. One may not see their reports on TV or hear them on the radio, yet their truth is livestreamed on YouTube. Their words do not grace the pages of newspapers, but are spread to the world through Telegram-channels. Vital updates from all of these correspondents must be shared and valued,” said Marie Struthers.

The free press in Russia has not died despite the authorities’ relentless efforts. The brave journalists continue their crucial work, not in newsrooms but as exiled reporters scattered around the world

Marie Struthers, Amnesty International’s Director for Eastern Europe and Central Asia

Weaponizing of “foreign agents” and “undesirable organizations” laws

The Russian authorities also used notorious repressive legislation to crackdown on media and dissenting voices. On 5 March, two investigative reporting outlets, Vazhnye Istorii (Important Stories) and the Organized Crime and Corruption Reporting Project (OCCRP), were designated as “undesirable organizations”, which criminalized their operations and barred them from working in Russia.

On 9 March, a new bill was introduced in the State Duma creating a “unified register” of all current and former employees or members of NGOs, public associations and media entities labelled as “foreign agents” and persons labelled as such individually.

Crackdown on anti-war protests

Despite the introduction of draconian restrictions and a ferocious police response to peaceful protests, Russia’s anti-war movement continues to fill the streets with rallies even though the authorities immediately and brutally disperse them.

According to OVD-Info, a police watchdog NGO, around 13,800 peaceful protesters have been arbitrarily detained after anti-war rallies across Russia since 24 February. This figure includes more than 5,000 peaceful protesters who were detained across 70 cities on 6 March alone.

People deprived of their liberty in Russia are routinely subjected to beatings, humiliation and other forms of ill-treatment. Many people have also said they were denied access to lawyers and deprived of food, water or bedding.

In one particular case, at Brateyevo police station in Moscow on 6 March, a protester recorded a policeman telling her: “It’s over. Putin is on our side. You are the enemies of Russia. You are the enemies of the people.” He then said “we’re gonna kill you all here and that’s it. We’ll get another reward for it” as they dragged her by her hair and smashed her in the face with a plastic water bottle.

“The courageous people in Russia who oppose the war face serious personal risk. When they take to the streets, which is already a crime in the eyes of the authorities, and demand an end to the war, their message represents such a glaring contrast with state propaganda that it places them firmly in the crosshairs of the security forces. Yet these people should be celebrated for daring to raise their voices against the injustice of the invasion,” said Marie Struthers.

The courageous people in Russia who oppose the war face serious personal risk. […] Their message represents such a glaring contrast with state propaganda that it places them firmly in the crosshairs of the security forces

Marie Struthers, Amnesty International’s Director for Eastern Europe and Central Asia

Criminalization of “fake news”

On 4 March, Russia’s parliament introduced legislation that further criminalizes sharing “false information” about the activities of the Russian Armed Forces or “discrediting” Russian troops. Anyone accused of committing these “crimes” could face extortionate fines or a prison sentence of up to 15 years. Over the following three days, more than 140 people were detained under the new law effectively banning the word “war” and calls for “peace”.

“In dark times like these, only solidarity and goodwill can challenge the onslaught of state violence and rampant lawlessness. We call on the Russian authorities to end their relentless assault against civil society organizations and journalists. And we ask the international community to provide all possible support to Russian reporters, human rights defenders and activists who continue to deliver the truth and stand up against injustice despite suffering terribly for their cause,” said Marie Struthers.

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• Attack on March 3 killed people as they queued for bread

• Lethal air strike may constitute a war crime

A Russian air strike that reportedly killed 47 civilians in the Ukrainian city of Chernihiv may constitute a war crime, Amnesty International said today following an investigation into the attack.

At approximately 12.15pm on Thursday 3 March, the small public square formed by Chernihiv’s Viacheslava Chornovola and Kruhova streets was hit by multiple bombs, killing civilians and severely damaging nearby buildings.

Based on new interviews and the verification and analysis of video evidence, Amnesty International’s Crisis Response team has concluded the attack was mostly likely a Russian air strike in which at least eight unguided aerial bombs – known as ‘dumb bombs’ – were used.

This was a merciless, indiscriminate attack on people as they went about their daily business in their homes, streets and shops

Joanne Mariner, Amnesty International’s Crisis Response Director

“The air strike that hit the streets of Chernihiv shocks the conscience. This was a merciless, indiscriminate attack on people as they went about their daily business in their homes, streets and shops,” said Joanne Mariner, Amnesty International’s Crisis Response Director.

“This shocking attack is one of the deadliest that the people of Ukraine have endured yet. The Prosecutor of the International Criminal Court should investigate this air strike as a war crime. Those responsible for such crimes must be brought to justice, and victims and their families must receive full reparation.”

The Chernihiv Regional Administration reported that 47 people (38 men and nine women) were killed in the strike. Verified footage of the strike shows eight munitions being dropped in close succession and falling in a line, as is typical in a bombing run. 

Amnesty International was not able to identify a legitimate military target at, or close to, the scene of the strike. Satellite imagery from 28 February shows a queue of people outside the building that was impacted by the strike. Based on this imagery and testimony gathered from witnesses, Amnesty International believes the majority of victims were queuing for food when the missiles struck.

‘Everything was destroyed’ 

When the bombs struck, Alina, a 21-year-old student, was in her home on nearby Ivana Bohuna Street with her family.

She told Amnesty International: “I heard a very, very loud buzzing, and I felt our building shaking. It was as if our flat was inflating… And then after two seconds, I heard the windows get blown out into the courtyard. Our building shook a lot; I thought there would be no walls left.

“When I heard the buzz, I called my grandma into the corridor with me. We laid on the ground and that’s likely what saved us.”

Alina’s parents were in the street when the blast happened, and they survived the attack. She added: “At [a nearby] yellow building, there had been a line for bread, and that’s where they had wanted to go… I don’t remember whether it was my mother or my father, one of them said, ‘No the line is too long, let’s go.’ And so they left. The people who were in that line are no more.”

Yulia Matvienko, a 33-year-old mother-of-three, was at home with her children, also on Ivana Bohuna Street, when the attack happened.

She suffered a head injury, telling Amnesty International: “I was walking along the corridor and hadn’t even made it into the kitchen when I was suddenly deafened – I didn’t understand what was happening.

“Everything started to suddenly crumble and fall. The children screamed. For several seconds, it was like there was silence and time stood still. Then I dragged my children out from under the rubble. Blood was flowing down me, and I dragged my children out.

“Everything was destroyed, and the door [to their building] was knocked off. Not a single window was left, and some balconies were totally torn off. There is not a scratch on the children. It’s a miracle… [there was] only my blood on them.”

In dashcam footage of the strike, falling munitions are visible and the sound of what is likely a low quick-passing aircraft can be heard, consistent with the tactics of conducting a strike of this type. Dropping unguided bombs in populated areas violates the prohibition of carrying out indiscriminate attacks. Such bombs have wide-area effects and are far less accurate than precision-guided munitions.

Crisis Evidence Lab verification

Amnesty International’s Crisis Evidence Lab verified footage of the aftermath of the strike that showed damage to buildings and bodies in the street. Footage from the State Emergency Service of Ukraine also showed damage and the rescue effort.

Other verified videos of the aftermath show widespread destruction and at least one distinctive bomb crater, of a size consistent with surface impacted munitions of approximately 500kg.

Other verified content from another air strike location in Ukraine shows an unguided dud FAB-500 M62 bomb being removed by civil defence forces. In addition, an official video released by the Russian military on 6 March shows the sortie launch of Su-34 Fullback aircraft loaded with eight FAB-500 bombs, an indicator of the typical combat load in current Russian operations. 

“All states should cooperate with the ICC and the new Commission of Inquiry established by the UN Human Rights Council to help ensure accountability for grave violations and crimes such as this attack. Victims of this conflict must have justice,” said Joanne Mariner.

Amnesty International has previously called for international humanitarian and human rights law to be respected by all parties as the conflict in Ukraine continues.

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A prominent human rights activist in Morocco has been targeted with NSO Group’s Pegasus spyware in recent months, Amnesty International can reveal.

Analysis by Amnesty International’s Security Lab found that two phones belonging to Sahraoui human rights defender Aminatou Haidar were targeted and infected as recently as November 2021, just months after the Pegasus Project revelations shocked the world.

“The fact that Aminatou Haidar was targeted with Pegasus spyware mere months ago is further proof that companies like NSO Group will continue to facilitate human rights violations unless they are properly regulated,” said Danna Ingleton, Deputy Director of Amnesty Tech.

“This latest revelation shows NSO Group’s human rights policies are meaningless in practice. Amnesty International has repeatedly shown forensic evidence of Pegasus misuse since 2019 in Morocco, as well as in over a dozen countries in the Pegasus Project investigation, yet NSO Group has taken no action to prevent the ongoing human rights violations caused by its tools in Morocco.

“NSO Group must be held accountable for its role in the targeting of Aminatou Haidar, and other fearless activists from Morocco and Western Sahara.”

Aminatou Haidar is a human rights defender from Western Sahara, who has won multiple awards for her peaceful activism, including the Robert F. Kennedy Human Rights Award in 2008, the 2009 Civil Courage Prize, and the Right Livelihood Award in 2019.

After receiving security alerts by email from Apple saying her phones may have been targeted by state-sponsored attackers, Aminatou Haidar contacted the Right Livelihood Foundation, who referred her to Amnesty International’s Security Lab for forensic analysis. The Security Lab then confirmed the targeting and infection with NSO Group’s Pegasus spyware.

Amnesty International’s analysis showed that one of Haidar’s phones contained traces of Pegasus targeting dating back to September 2018, and further traces of infection as recently as October and November 2021 on the other. Amnesty International shared forensic records from Haidar’s phone with Citizen Lab researchers at the University of Toronto, who independently confirmed the Pegasus infections from October and November 2021.

This clearly indicates that civil society in Morocco and Western Sahara is still being unlawfully targeted with the Pegasus spyware, despite Amnesty International documenting an extensive history of misuse.

These attacks on human rights defenders are part of an intensifying clampdown of peaceful dissent in Morocco. The continued abuse of NSO Group’s tools in the country indicates Moroccan authorities are failing to respect and protect the rights to freedom of expression, association, and peaceful assembly.

In addition, NSO Group’s repeated failure to act on the misuse of its tools indicates that it has failed in its human rights responsibilities to not contribute to human rights violations and failed to conduct adequate human rights due diligence in order to mitigate harm.

Amnesty International provided detailed evidence of these abuses to NSO Group on multiple occasions, first in October 2019 with the cases of Maati Monjib and Abdessadak El Bouchattaoui; in June 2020 with the case of journalist Omar Radi; and in July 2021 with the Pegasus Project revelations including the case of Moroccan journalist in exile Hicham Mansouri and Claude Mangin, the partner of Naama Asfari, a Sahraoui activist who is imprisoned in Morocco.

The Moroccan authorities disputed the latest findings, citing a “lack of material evidence”. NSO Group did not respond by time of publication, but has previously refused to confirm or deny whether the Moroccan authorities use its technologies

Since the first revelations of the Pegasus Project, targets from countries including Palestine, El Salvador, Poland and Belgium, have been uncovered, highlighting the wide range of abuses and violations committed using NSO Group’s Pegasus spyware.

“Spyware companies like NSO Group cannot be trusted to regulate themselves, and we are again calling for an immediate moratorium on the sale, transfer, and use of spyware technology until a human rights regulatory framework is in place,” said Danna Ingleton.

Background

Western Sahara is the subject of a territorial dispute between Morocco, which annexed the territory in 1975 and claims sovereignty over it, and the Polisario Front, which calls for an independent state in the territory and has set up a self-proclaimed government-in-exile in the refugee camps in Tindouf, south-west Algeria.

A UN settlement in 1991, which ended fighting between Morocco and the Polisario Front, called for a referendum for people of Western Sahara to choose independence or integration into Morocco. The referendum has not yet been held. In recent years, access to Western Sahara has grown increasingly difficult for external monitors as the human rights situation continues to deteriorate.

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Enforced disappearance

1) The deprivation of liberty against the will of a person; (2) Involvement of government officials, at least by acquiescence; (3) Refusal to acknowledge the deprivation of liberty or concealment of the fate or whereabouts of the disappeared person.

Enforced disappearances in Pakistan started under the reign of military dictator General Pervez Musharraf and have continued ever since. Most often, male members of the family are abducted by state agencies on mere suspicion, due to their speaking out against official policies, or even for no apparent reason. No charges. No whereabouts. Nothing.

I had heard about these disappearances. I felt sorry for the families held in the strangest limbo, with the children not knowing if they are orphaned or not, the wives not knowing if they are widowed or not, and the men themselves having no idea why they were picked up in the first place.

I sympathised from a distance. Then it happened to us.

The morning of a spring day in 2016

We were sorting books that day.

There were books all over the place – we’re avid readers – and even dusty old books that I had never seen were pulled out of the cupboards.

I came across an old magazine – some sort of astronomy journal – and found a cool photograph of a night sky, the milky way clearly visible.

I went over to my dad. He was sitting at his desk, the tabletop holding two big monitors, a stack of folders, his calendar and various other work-related stuff – and in the corner, a jar of my sister’s home-baked ginger cookies. CEO’s aren’t invincible to a sweet tooth – my dad definitely isn’t. Even as his fingers raced over the keyboard, he still hadn’t had the heart to refuse our beloved ginger cat, Cado, a place in his lap.

“Hey, Baba, look what I found for you,” I said, holding the picture up.

He could have been in the middle of a crucial project pitch or key client chat, but as always, he dropped everything and turned his full attention to me.

“Oh, wow, that’s wonderful, jani!” he said, a big grin that always sent the opposite message of ‘tired’. “Could you cut it out for my wall?”

Baba’s ‘wall’ was the wooden partition behind his computer, where he would tape the drawings we ‘gifted’ him as well as pictures of constellations. Baba likes the stars.

“Alright, great!” I walked off to fetch the scissors.

After all the sorting was done, we put everything back in place, swept the floor and closed the cupboards. They wouldn’t stay closed for long.

“Where’s Baba?” my then 7-year-old sister asked my mom, as we stood in the middle of our own ransacked house.

I remember saying over and over in my head, “Don’t say it. Please don’t say it.”

Mama looked around the house, expressionless. “They took him.”

I walked back to the living room, my brain refusing to process anything, my heart refusing to believe anything. I found the picture of the stars. The one I had cut out for Baba. It lay amongst the rest of the papers on the ground, as if it was not any more important. As if it did not mean anything else.

I picked it up and held it in my hand. For a moment, I didn’t do anything.

Then my fingers came together, my palm clenched into a fist, and the paper crumpled.

I walked over to the trash can and threw it away.

---

The evening of the same spring day in 2016

I remember that day like it was yesterday. That’s not meant as a metaphor. I mean literally, I can recount every single moment of the most horrific day of my life like it just happened. I was eleven then. I even remember the clothes I was wearing – pink and gray.

They knocked on the door of my room. I was writing a story at that time. A fantasy story where I was the main character, with dragons and ninjas and evil robots.

“Who is it?” I asked, confused. I had not heard anyone come into the house.

“We need to search,” someone said.

My brain went numb, just disconnecting from the rest of my body. I couldn’t process what was happening.

I was still clutching my pencil when I somehow moved my legs and walked out. Our house was ransacked. The cupboards were flung open, things laid strewn around and plainclothes men with masks and guns were everywhere. As I went past the couch and looked over my shoulder, I saw two men – one with a gun – searching through our toys.

Our toys.

What they were looking for, I still do not know. What could they possibly find in our house other than books and computers? I joined my siblings and mom in the living room – the place they’d already searched – and just stood there, dazed.

After a few minutes, the rooms emptied, the doors sounded, and they were gone.

Illustration by Aymun Sajid

---

A day later

Relatives and neighbours came and went by. None of them stayed for very long. I guess they were afraid to linger in case our house cursed them.

“Where’s Baba?” my then 7-year-old sister asked my mom, as we stood in the middle of our own ransacked house.

I was sitting with my mom, the guests in the other room, and she was talking to me about being brave and patient.

I finally said it. “Alright, Mama, I can be patient. But please just tell me how long we have to wait.”

She hesitated. “Beta…”

“Just tell me! An estimate. Just a guess. So that I can be prepared. How long? One week? One…month?” and then I finally burst out my worst fear, “One YEAR?”

My mom took a deep breath. “We..we don’t know.”

“We don’t know?”

That was when the tears came.

I scoff at my childish estimates now. One year was the worst I could think of then.

It’s been a lot, lot longer.

Illustration by Aymun Sajid

---

The ones who noticed first

I was in the car with my mother when we pulled up into the gas station after grocery shopping. It was the first time I had been out after Baba had gone. It was also the first time for my mother to be getting the groceries and the gas on her own. We couldn’t decide whether to feel refreshed or miserable.

The attendant came over to Mama’s window, asked how much we needed and then put in the pipe. But instead of usually staying put, he came back.

“This is haji sahab’s car, right?” he asked anxiously. As soon as he spoke, I sensed the other attendants stiffening and trying to hear Mama’s answer.

“Yes, it is,” Mama faltered slightly.

“Where is he?” the attendant was clearly worried. “We haven’t seen him for a few weeks. Is everything alright?”

Mama looked over at me, sitting wide-eyed in the front seat. I knew Baba was friends with everyone, but a gas station worker? I recalled Baba chatting with them, but I didn’t know they’d be concerned enough to ask.

Mama hesitated, then turned to the attendant. “Just….make dua for him, please.”

They weren’t the only ones who asked. The newspaper vendor at the crossroads stopped us many times.The refugee chacha who sold corn-cobs on the street rung by a month in. When Mama asked the local grocery store uncle if there were any payments Baba had left to settle with him, he choked up. When he did speak, he said there was no need to.

I knew Baba was a people-magnet, and I knew he gave generously. But until he disappeared, I hadn’t realized how many lives he’d actually touched.

---

The first Ramadan

Whenever I made Dua’ for Baba’s return, eleven-year-old me always went, “Please, Allah Ta’ala, I know I can’t bear one more day without Baba…one more week without Baba…one more month without Baba…”

It soon turned into “I can’t bear a Ramadan without Baba, so please, please, bring him back.”

The evening the moon was sighted, I was upstairs in my room when the doorbell rang. My heart kicked into double gear and I frantically tried to catch a glimpse of who it was from the window. When I couldn’t see anything in the dark, I dropped in sajdah and made the same fervent – childish – prayer.

It wasn’t Baba.

Perhaps Allah was showing me that in fact, I could bear much, much more.

Illustration by Aymun Sajid

The first Eid

As I stood in the Masjid on the first Eid without Baba, I looked around as the prayer finished, the Aunties giving everyone big hugs and the girls laughing amongst each other. I wondered how many of them had a missing father or husband. I wondered if these few people in the crowd had perhaps learnt to just act well so that I couldn’t identify any faces as long as ours. Or maybe there weren’t any others at all.

I felt incredibly alone.

We used to go to Baba’s rural village, two hours away from the city, every Eid as well as every two weeks to visit my grandparents. Since my mom had never driven the unpaved roads there, we didn’t visit for the whole year. I guess it was a good excuse for getting a little time to gather some courage. On this eid-ul-fitr, our relatives came instead of us going.

My grandmother was not told that her son had gone missing for as long as possible. My Baba is her favourite son – the star of the family, always obedient to his parents and caring towards his siblings. But the secret couldn’t be hidden forever. She walked into our house with a damp face and hugged us without a word.

I thought I couldn’t survive Ramadan without Baba, let alone an Eid. But here I was.

Perhaps I had died the day he was taken.

---

The first court hearing

I was twelve now. Twelve-year-olds don’t usually go to the High Court. Neither do eight-year-olds. But that’s where my younger sister and I found ourselves, along with Mama and our grandfather Abbu Ji, for our case’s hearing.

It was a big compound. Small gardens alternated between buildings. There were a few TV cameras and lawyers in their black suits clustered around. Above it all, a large Pakistani flag fluttered.

Our lawyer was a cool guy, with wild hair and mis-matched socks: all the signs of a genius. He seemed to be well-respected amongst the legal circle. Greeting us warmly, he led us inside the courtroom. I thought about how Baba would’ve liked to meet him, and felt the torn part of me open up again.

I obviously didn’t know what to expect, but this room could very well decide what would happen next. As we sat in the back of the packed courtroom waiting for our turn, I looked on as the other cases were presented; disputes over inheritance, squabbles over money, arguments about dismissals. Compared to all that, I was here to find out where in the world my father had disappeared.

Finally, our turn came. I’ll admit I was nervous. As we stood on one side of the rostrum, the people presenting ‘against’ us came up on the other. Baba could’ve made friends with them too. He could make friends with anyone.

I hesitantly looked up at the judge in the high chair –  he seemed like a regal but kindly man. He listened to what our lawyer had to say, then took off his glasses and looked at the police.“So you’ve been unable to trace him?”

“Your honour…you see…the time…”

“This citizen has been missing for six months!” he exclaimed. “That still isn’t enough time?”

Time they asked for – and time they were given. They conducted a thorough investigation; they interviewed our neighbours and asked us for a written statement. For us, it was just reliving the horror over and over again. Hearing after hearing, report after report, the result was always the same; my Baba is innocent, all the neighbours spoke well of him, and yes, it is indeed an enforced disappearance. Month after month, hopes were raised, then dashed and driven to the ground again.

Then, two years later, the High Court gave the final judgement, that Baba be produced immediately. 

What laughed in my face was that Baba still didn’t come back. I remembered the flag above the High Court. I remembered how Baba would put it up every Independence day. I remembered how he would stop the car to pick up the green-and-white buntings off the road with us because he couldn’t bear seeing the flag on the ground.

But the systems that were under the flag he loved had failed him.

---

That tea party

Two years on, I had learnt a lot of things – how to hope, how to numb feelings – and how to lie.

We, as a family, had an unstated understanding that only those who needed to know – or who accidentally found out – would know about our situation. We didn’t want people to pity us – or run away from us, frankly. But our closest friends knew by now. They had to – Baba was always out there in the community, a larger-than-life extrovert, doing charity drives and events – with good laughs all the way. His sudden absence couldn’t go unnoticed. Some friends cut off, but the real ones stayed, Alhamdulillah.

We had to act up to the wider circle of friends.

This tea party was at such a friend’s place – whole families invited. Dads and sons on the right of the backyard, moms and daughters on the left. Dads would sometimes cross over to the middle strip of garden to speak to a wife or daughter.

I’m 14 now, sitting with a group of other teenage girls. We became acquainted with each other, and as we chit-chatted, I was feeling more of a normal teenager than I had in a long time.

Then a father called over to one of the girls I had just met. She pushed back her glasses and answered him. Then she poked me with her elbow, still looking in her father’s direction.

“Hey, where’s your Abbu?” She asked. “Can you point him out to me?”

For a moment, I felt offended. How dare she ask such a personal question. Couldn’t she consider the possibility…

Well, why would she? Most people don’t really know what missing persons are.

“He’s not here,” I said quickly.

“Huh? Why not?” Innocent question. But if she knew what she was doing, it wouldn’t be.

“He’s…working.” I was trained in that now, but it still made me feel guilty. Not just for lying – I felt as if I was betraying my father somehow.

But what could I answer her? “My father is a missing person?” “My father was kidnapped?” “My father was whisked away by masked government officials in an unmarked car two years ago and I have no idea where the heck he could be?”

Lies are easier sometimes.

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The charade of college life

As we progressed ahead in the life that had to somehow go on without my father, I found myself not prizing, but rather dreading every milestone we achieved. My sister’s hifz finished: and although she had waited months to complete the last page, Baba was not there for getting dad-proud and excited. We got A+ grades in our first official exams: Baba was not there to congratulate us. And now, at the age of 16, I was about to go to college – and Baba was still not back.

I wondered how much longer I’d have to wait, how much more life I’d have to spend without Baba. My mother reminded me of what Baba had always taught us: that this life is temporary anyway – meeting up together in Jannah is what really matters. Four years ago, eleven-year-old me would translate that to ‘we might never see Baba again all our lives’ and be horrified afresh; now, I was old enough to start finding solace in it.

That doesn’t mean that college was a piece of cake.

I thought it would be easy to pretend there, but a few weeks in, it was starting to get a little obvious.

A casual question came from a classmate whom I’d gotten to know a little. Both of us stood in front of the big black gate, bags slung over our shoulders as we waited for our rides. The merciless Pakistani heat beat down on us.

“Your Ammi is coming to pick you again?” She barely bothered to take the lollipop she was sucking on out of her mouth. “Why doesn’t your Abbu?”

“He’s got work,” I said quickly, a small wound reopening as I recalled the first time I’d had to tell the lie. “He’s busy at this time, so my mom picks us.”

“Oh…and what does he do?”

What does he do? I have no idea. He may be in a cell in some secret base. Does he pray? Does he do push-ups? Does he read? On second thought…is he allowed to do any of that? Is he forced to do labour? Is he allowed to eat?

“He’s an engineer.”

“Coooool.” She stuck the lollipop back in her mouth, unaware of what she’d done to me, what horrible scenarios she’d forced me to think of. “Doehs youhr mohm do anyfing?”

“She’s… also an engineer.”

She was. She’d left working after we were born. After they took Baba, she’d been forced to start again, despite all the other new pressures she was dealing with.

“Naaaiicceee…” My classmate popped the lollipop out and looked up the road. “Ooooh, my Abba is here now. Gotta go, see you tomorrow!” and just like that, ponytail swinging, she walked towards the car that happened to contain her father.

I don’t think she realized, but I didn’t answer her back.

It was worse on prize distribution day.

Both my older sister and I had won prizes for debates – that’s my Baba’s genes there – and so, we both got invitation cards that would each ensure the presence of one family member at the ceremony.

“Congratulations, beta, this is wonderful!” Our co-curricular teacher stood over us, her perfume a little too strong. “Now since you both got invitation cards, your mother as well as your father will be able to attend! It’s a little rare, you know!” and she let out a cheery laugh that sounded across the hall. “I can’t wait to meet your parents!”

My sister and I exchanged uneasy glances. “I….I don’t think our father…will be able to make it,” my sister hesitantly offered.

The laughter abruptly stopped and a pair of slightly concerned, heavily eye-shadowed eyes looked over at us. “Oh dear, why is that, beta?”

He’s missing.

“He’s got work.” It rolled easily off my tongue now.

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The last Eid

It’s this eid-ul-Adha. I sit outside at night time on a traditional charpai in the village. Baba’s village. You can see every star out here. It’s where Baba got his passion from. But for now, there’s a thick cloud cover and I can’t see a thing.

It’s six years later. I’m eighteen now.

Baba is still not back.

I wonder if he will recognize me when he In Sha Allah comes back. I wonder if I’ll recognize him. What if I’ve changed too much? What if he’s changed too much?

I also think of something else.

All these years, we’ve tried to hide it, blend into the background, play an endless act. We say it’s so that people don’t pity us or isolate us. But it’s also because we fear ‘them’.

There are many activists and journalists out there who simply spoke up for missing persons and ended up disappearing themselves – journalists Matiullah Jan and Sajid Gondal are yesterday’s examples. There are many people out there who have received threats for actively pursuing their cases in court. And that is why the families and children of the missing stay silent.

But that’s what ‘they’ want.

They want all these cases to go unnoticed. They want to scare us so that we stay shut up. It’s just another way of torturing us; taking our loved ones away and then not letting us do anything.

As I sit in the place of my Baba’s roots, I realize that it’s now up to us, the youth left behind – especially the women – to speak up for the forcibly disappeared. They like to bother high profile people who take a stand. But even in the shambles of what’s left of our democracy, they’ll still think twice before threatening kids.

And anyway, forget all the hero stuff. I just want to make peace with myself. I just want to be able to stop living with guilt. I just want to be able to look my Baba in the eye and say that I did at least a little something for him, that I tried.

So, I sit under that night sky and break my silence, scribbling out the first draft of this story. Not the story I was writing five years ago – of dragons and ninjas and evil robots – but my story, and the story of thousands of children across the country who have been trained not to tell it, for a very, very long time.

I’m forced to go through every stage of it again, reliving the first moment of horror, all the way to seeing my grandmother’s tear-stained face yesterday as she prayed for Baba. I tell the story that I have always wanted to tell, but have never been able to, as I agonizingly pull out every memory and place it in chronological order.

It’s difficult, but it’s almost like therapy. I feel better after writing it down.

If you have a story to tell, whether it’s like mine or about any other form of oppression – I beg you to say Bismillah and tell it. If you don’t have such a story to tell – I ask you to listen to those who do. Don’t pity us. Don’t alienate us. Just know. Know what it’s like to live as the daughter of a missing person, or the son of a deported immigrant, or the child of a refugee.

I close my diary and glance up. The clouds have parted. The picture I’d cut out for Baba and then crumpled up on day one looks down at me from the night sky.

This story is completely real and true. It is not finished yet.

I just hope the ending is a happy one.

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A Timeline since Sajid’s abduction

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