Syeda Sana Batool
On 22 November, a haunting video from Pakistan surfaced on social media. In it, a vehicle filled with the dead bodies of Shia Muslims sped through a crowded road in Kurram district, in the country’s northwest. A man’s lifeless body dangled out from an open door, his leg dragging along the ground, as children and young men pelted the vehicle with sticks and stones. A silent crowd looked on.
The vehicle was part of a convoy of over 100 vehicles with Shias traveling that day from Parachinar – a Shia-majority area in Upper Kurram, near the Afghanistan-Pakistan border – to Peshawar. A similar convoy was travelling from Peshawar to Parachinar. Both were under the security forces’ protection.
For the Shias of Parachinar, the Thall–Parachinar Road has been both a necessity and a nightmare. It remains their only connection to medical care, education and economic opportunities outside Parachinar, but it runs through Sunni-majority regions where Shias are exposed to brutal sectarian violence. Despite the presence of security escorts on 22 November, both convoys were attacked at three different locations by armed militants who fired bullets and even rockets. Survivors described fleeing into the surrounding bushes, hiding for hours as gunfire rained down. It was hours before ambulances were able to reach them.
A 17-year-old student who survived the attack shared his harrowing experience. He was traveling from Peshawar to Parachinar when, at the Shia-populated town of Alizai, “the call to prayer started from a mosque, and immediately after, the firing began. We hid under the seats as continuous gunfire rained down for half an hour. The attackers were everywhere – young, old and elderly men. It was impossible to tell what was happening.”
The deputy commissioner for Kurram, Javedullah Mehsud, confirmed the attack. “The convoy came under heavy gunfire in the Mandori Charkhel area,” he stated. “The death toll is rising, including women and children, and scores injured.”
According to local government officials, the overall death toll reached 130 people as of 27 November. Shortly after the attack, Shia community sources claimed the total number of people killed was 103, including 21 women, 17 children and 65 men. An official press release said that passenger vehicles were targeted at the village of Bagan, and the victims belonged to the Turi tribe.
Jawad Yousufzai, a journalist based in Peshawar who frequently travels to Kurram, said he had spoken to survivors who claimed the attackers hid in a nearby mosque. They also claimed that the attackers were Sunnis, pointing out that the bus was attacked in a Sunni-dominated area.
Other news reports featuring survivor accounts claim that announcements had been made from mosques in the area calling for the killing of Shias. Survivors described the attack as a massacre. It appeared to be premeditated, with the perpetrators using advanced weaponry on unarmed travellers.
This was not an isolated incident. It was part of the decades-long, bloody history of violence and persecution targeting the Shia Muslim community in Kurram – like elsewhere in Pakistan.
The government’s response was predictable – the interior minister, Mohsin Naqvi, called the shootings a “terrorist attack”. Pakistan’s prime minister, Shehbaz Sharif, and the president, Asif Ali Zardari, condemned the attack, and Sharif said those behind the killing of innocent civilians would not go unpunished. But so far – and as is so typical in cases of anti-Shia attacks – official condemnations and promises of justice have brought no real action against the culprits, and brought no comfort for a population that has suffered in silence for decades.
KURRAM DISTRICT, NESTLED in Pakistan’s Khyber Pakhtunkhwah province, is home to approximately 700,000 people, of whom 42 percent are Shias. The region’s location, bordering Afghanistan, makes it a gateway for transborder militant groups like the Tehreek-e-Taliban Pakistan (TTP) and ISIL.
In her paper “Unholy Nexus: Talibanism and Sectarianism in Pakistan’s ‘Tribal Areas’”, the political scientist and sociologist Mariam Abou Zahab writes that tensions between Sunni and Shia communities in the region, particularly among the Turi and Bangash tribes, have historically revolved around disputes over land, water resources and forest ownership. However, the 1980s saw a dangerous shift with the influx of Afghan refugees and the spread of militant Sunni ideologies during the Soviet–Afghan War.
The Turis, a Shia-majority tribe, became a direct obstacle to Sunni militant objectives as they refused to allow Afghan mujahideen to traverse their home areas. This resistance drew the ire of both local Sunni tribes and the Taliban, culminating in a “purge” of the Turis that had the support of Zia ul-Haq, Pakistan’s president and dictator. What began as sporadic skirmishes soon turned into entrenched sectarian conflict. By the 2000s, the region had become a sanctuary for banned Sunni revivalist Deobandi groups like Sipah-e-Sahaba and Lashkar-e-Jhangvi, further deepening the sectarian divide.
The deputy commissioner of Kurram linked the violence on 22 November to ongoing sectarian tensions. “This attack appears to be in retaliation for an earlier assault on 12 October, which left 15 dead, including two women and a child,” he explained.
Recent attacks indicate that sectarian hatred has overtaken land disputes as the primary driver of conflict in Parachinar. “This area has a 200-kanal land dispute with no records,” Yousufzai, the journalist, said. “Both Shia and Sunni communities claim ownership, but even minor disputes escalate into full-blown sectarian conflicts. The lack of documented resolutions has only worsened the situation.”
Media reports have often framed anti-Shia violence as a result of territorial rivalries, but locals like Ishtiaq Hussain, a 29-year-old Shia from Parachinar, argued that these explanations were misleading. “This isn’t about land disputes,” he insisted. “It’s about targeting us because of who we are.”
The involvement of Taliban factions, who see the Shia community as a hurdle to their ideological expansion, has only exacerbated the violence. Areas like Bagan and Uchat, which are militant strongholds, serve as launching pads for attacks on the Shias, while the government has remained either complicit or incapable of taking decisive action.
This sectarian violence, underpinned by the growing influence of the Taliban in the region, has left Kurram’s Shias fighting for their survival amid a near complete breakdown of state authority. The influx of Afghan refugees during the Soviet–Afghan War and the rise of madrassas promoting Sunni extremist ideologies only accelerated this trend, eroding traditional tribal coexistence and fuelling anti-Shia violence.
“Look at Bushehra,” Hussain said. “It’s a Taliban stronghold, but their people were setting up positions in Ahmedzai, a Shia-majority region. We have videos showing this.” (I was unable to independently verify the videos, although local news reports have confirmed the construction of bunkers in the area). The core issue, Hussain also emphasised, “is sectarianism, not land. The hatred is so deep that they openly demand Shias be deprived of even their land or barred from passing through their areas.”
Hussain’s perspective is shaped by years of witnessing violence and neglect. He holds a master’s degree from Tehran University in Iran, and said that he earns several thousand dollars a month through online affiliate marketing – not a rare achievement here because, although the region is plagued by instability, most youth in Parachinar are well educated. Yet their education and financial success offer little protection from systemic persecution.
“Every day, we hear slogans like Shia kafir or see the dead bodies of our loved ones,” Hussain said. “We believe in peace. We see all Muslims as brothers. But their hatred for us is unbearable. I’ve been forced to pick up a weapon because I know that if I don’t protect myself, I’ll be killed.”
From 2007 to 2011, Parachinar endured a four-year blockade by surrounding Sunni tribes, cutting off essential supplies and creating a humanitarian crisis. A large number of Shias were killed, and those who tried to break the siege were met with brutal attacks. Similar attacks over the years have left deep scars in the community. Yet coverage of these incidents, and other instances of targeted anti-Shia violence, is almost entirely absent from mainstream media in Pakistan.
Survivors of the 22 November attack accused security forces of standing by as the massacre unfolded. “For an hour and a half, gunfire rained down, and the security forces did nothing,” Hussain said. He also accused authorities of cutting off mobile communications in the vicinity. “This wasn’t just a failure – it was a betrayal. It is a pattern. The attackers pass by right in front of them in heavily armed vehicles, and they just watch.”
IN PARACHINAR, the government’s inaction has fuelled a sense of abandonment. The Shia community has made countless pleas for protection, even carrying the coffins of their loved ones to press clubs and government offices in protest. These efforts have yielded no results. “We’ve laid our martyrs in front of the corps commander, hoping for action,” Hussain said. “But nothing changes. Our pleas fall on deaf ears.”
However, Mehsud, the deputy commissioner, emphasised the security forces’ response. “Authorities are working to prevent further escalation and ensure the injured receive medical care,” he stated. “The bodies of the deceased have been moved to Parachinar.”
For nearly three months now, Parachinar has been under a virtual blockade similar to that in 2007, with roads closed and essential supplies cut off. Hussain said that while areas like Bagan, controlled by the Taliban, receive free rations, Parachinar’s residents have been left to fend for themselves. “Our oil tankers are set on fire, and the government provides us with nothing,” he said. “We buy essentials with our own money, but even that is destroyed.”
Yousufzai said that the Islamic State – Khorasan Province (IS–KP), another militant group active in the region, was exacerbating the sectarian violence. The local newspaper, Nida-e-Khurasan, reported on 27 November that IS–KP has been attempting to exploit Shia-Sunni conflicts in Kurram to boost recruitment and expand its influence. The group’s own Urdu-language magazine has framed the conflict as a sectarian struggle, portraying it as a continuation of the war against the Shia community in Syria and Iraq.
In the aftermath of 22 November, the chief minister of Khyber Pakhtunkhwah, Ali Amin Gandapur, called a high-level meeting to address the escalating violence in Kurram. The provincial government planned to deploy additional security forces along the volatile Thall–Sada–Parachinar Highway and to initiate assessments for compensation to victims of the destruction caused by the clashes.
“The government’s plans are pointless,” the 17-year-old student said. “We know they will never be implemented. Can you ever compensate for a life?”
In a bid to foster peace, the government facilitated a historic jirga assembly on 23 November, the first since the conflict began. The gathering brought Shias and Sunnis together, leading to a breakthrough agreement to exchange the bodies of the deceased and release prisoners. Muhammad Ali Saif, a spokesperson for the provincial government, described the agreement as a pivotal step toward reconciliation.
Despite these efforts, a ceasefire originally set for seven days and later extended to ten could not prevent sporadic clashes. The death toll has continued to climb. According to Mohammad, a resident of Parachinar, some of the bodies returned to the area showed signs of mutilation. “This shows the hatred they have for Shias,” he said. “Even in death, there is no dignity for us.”
For Parachinar’s Shias, survival continues to be a struggle against systemic neglect, extremist ideologies and entrenched hatred. The jirga may have brought a temporary truce, but the scars of the violence will run deep. Until its root causes are addressed, the cycle of bloodshed will likely continue, and peace will remain out of reach. Just living is now an act of defiance for local Shias. “If the state won’t act, we will,” Hussain said. “We’ve been left with no alternative but to fight for our survival, our dignity, and the lives of those we’ve lost.”
source : himalmag