The continued suffering

Shunned and stigmatised in Pakistan, and psychologically as well as politically stranded in Bangladesh, there exists a community rendered stateless by history rather than by choice. More than half a century later, their story remains indistinct and peripheral to South Asian scholarship, to national security priorities and to the overall moral compass of our politics.

The Biharis, an umbrella term encompassing other non-Bengali Urdu-speaking Muslims who had migrated to East Pakistan after 1947, have seen their identity repeatedly redefined: from citizens of Pakistan to "collaborators" or razakars, and finally to collateral victims of a "war "they neither initiated nor controlled. This is only a simplified rendering of a complex and blood-soaked saga that began with the violent and betrayed partition of Pakistan in 1971.

I have detected that "Second Partition" is widely used in Indian and some Western scholarship influencing many Pakistanis as well, to describe 1971 as a "natural" or "inevitable" separation which subtly normalises it and dilutes the sense of betrayal and trauma that many Pakistanis (and especially Urdu-speaking Biharis) experienced.

If anti-Pakistan Bengalis faced an alleged genocide in 1971, their suffering ended with the creation of Bangladesh. The Biharis' sufferings, by contrast, did not end in 1971; they continue, quietly but cruelly, across four and even five generations, confined to nearly seventy inhumane camps spread across thirteen/fourteen cities and towns of Bangladesh. Thousands from my community found themselves trapped between the vengeance of Bangladeshi nationalism and the apathy of West Pakistani elites. The Mukti Bahini, enraged by decades of political marginalisation and vitalised by Indian military and political class, ruthlessly punished my community for its unwavering association with Pakistan.

The emotional and psychological dimension of this statelessness remains largely ignored. How does one live with a reduced identity in the same land where one's property was seized as "enemy property", families were attacked, women raped or trafficked to Indian cities, and countless men disappeared? How does a community rebuild trust when once-friendly neighbours and colleagues betrayed every bond of faith and friendship?

Recent trade, cultural exchanges and the restoration of PIA flights are welcome diplomatic gestures, but missing Bihari narratives shatters my heart.

Today, we stand as the nish?n-e-ibrat, a cautionary symbol of Pakistan's fractured ideology and the barb?di (ruin) borne in the name of ishq-e-watan (love of the homeland).

A close examination of the following four critical reasons - which I have repeatedly written and spoken about - behind the deliberate incomplete repatriation exposes that the real deficit lies not in resources, but in political will and moral clarity.

1. There is this comforting but misleading narrative that the "stranded Pakistanis" of Bangladesh were long granted citizenship and that their problem is a relic of the past. Alarmingly, this myth has been uncritically accepted by some academics and even lauded as an example of post-war rehabilitation. The reality, however, is far from resolved. The Dhaka High Court's 2003 ruling granted citizenship and voting rights to 10 Biharis living in the Geneva Camp in Dhaka - a landmark step recognising their legal claim to nationality after decades of marginalisation. The 2008 judgment further extended citizenship to all Biharis who were minors at the time of 1971 or born afterward, affecting approximately 150,000 individuals. While legally significant, these decisions have not translated into full social belonging. Thousands continue to struggle with obtaining identity cards, voter registration, education and employment. Many reputed Human Rights reports confirm that many remain confined to camps, facing daily discrimination. They are citizens on paper, stateless in practice - a painful distinction between documentation and dignity that defines their everyday existence.

2. Despite the digital age, Google and AI reveal only fragments of the Biharis' story. These are scattered across NGO reports, private archives and selectively edited media accounts. Rarely are these sympathetic or comprehensive. No consolidated data exist on camp populations, living conditions or repatriation trends. Few peer-reviewed studies examine whether legal citizenship has ever genuinely translated into equality or acknowledge that, from an academic lens, the persecution of this community constitutes a continuing, forgotten genocide.

3. Pakistan's own attitude toward these people signifies a mixture of amnesia, avoidance and political convenience. Misplaced fears of demographic change, particularly resistance from Sindhi nationalist groups, have long been cited as a barrier to their repatriation.

4. Another often-cited excuse is the alleged shortage of funds. Yet historical records show that substantial financial commitments were made through the OIC and the World Muslim League specifically for Bihari repatriation.

Why Bring Them Back Now?

This should not even be a question but our silence (wish it could be criminalised) has made it one. Repatriation is not about politics or nostalgia; it is about decency, dignity and doing what is right. Because these Biharis, citizens on paper but not even recognised refugees in practice, and perhaps worse off than the Rohingyas remain South Asia's most unfinished chapter. Their continued statelessness is not only a humanitarian issue; it is a test of moral and political responsibility for both Pakistan and Bangladesh.

Pakistan has to erase the haunting memories of 1971. It matters for the collective psyche of our nation.

I appeal to all who wield power not to dismiss this story as a relic of the past. To tell it today is not to reopen wounds but to heal them with truth. These are real people, not statistics. The deceased who faced the wrath of the Mukti Bahini and the disownment of Pakistan deserve respect. Silence cannot achieve justice; only recognition, restitution and remembrance can. The path ahead demands political will, scholarly integrity, and a shared human conscience that should transcend borders, biases and newsworthiness.

Pakistan today, as a nuclear state navigating new geopolitical realities, must send a strong message to friends and adversaries alike that it does not abandon its own. To take back the Biharis is to reclaim moral authority: to show that the nation is mature enough to atone for past misgovernance and strong enough to protect those who once fought for its integrity.