In the age of media optics and narrative warfare, the figure of Mahrang Baloch has emerged as a symbol of resistance, carefully curated for international consumption. Her recent op-ed in TIME Magazine positions her as a peaceful activist, wrongly incarcerated for daring to speak truth to power. On the surface, it appears to be a compelling David-versus-Goliath tale: a lone voice defending the marginalised Baloch against an unyielding state apparatus. However, a deeper, more critical analysis reveals a deliberate blurring of lines between activism and ideological patronage of separatist militancy.
Understanding Mahrang Baloch’s role requires situating her within the broader political economy of insurgency—a framework that acknowledges the material, ideological, and institutional networks sustaining armed resistance. Contrary to the constructed binary between “peaceful” protestors and violent insurgents, her activism—alongside the activities of the Baloch Yakjehti Committee (BYC)—constitutes an essential component of the insurgency’s soft infrastructure. This infrastructure plays a crucial function in the legitimisation, recruitment, and logistics required for kinetic operations by groups like the Balochistan Liberation Army (BLA), a designated terrorist organisation.
Mahrang Baloch’s assertion that her movement “has always renounced violence” fails under the scrutiny of empirical evidence. The BYC and its leadership have repeatedly omitted condemnation of heinous acts committed by BLA militants—acts including ethnic killings, sabotage of critical infrastructure, and targeted assassinations. When BLA terrorists halted the Jaffar Express, identified non-Baloch passengers through their identity cards, and summarily executed them, the silence from BYC was not incidental—it was structural.
In political communication theory, silence is not apolitical; it is a performative act with strategic implications. Through selective condemnation—denouncing state violence while ignoring or rationalising insurgent attacks—Mahrang Baloch constructs an asymmetrical moral economy. The BLA is not named; its atrocities are not acknowledged; and its victims are erased. This strategic silence grants narrative immunity to violent non-state actors, while pathologising state responses as inherently oppressive. Such asymmetry obfuscates the fact that the state, too, has a legitimate right to self-defence, especially when faced with a hybrid insurgency enabled by both foreign interference and domestic enablers.
This is not benign political expression—it is insurgent pedagogy. It teaches young Baloch that martyrdom for a secessionist cause is honourable, that Pakistan is an occupying force, and that violence is a legitimate tool of liberation. This discursive construction is reinforced through social media amplification, international publications, and solidarity campaigns that valorise Baloch militants as freedom fighters rather than violent extremists. In effect, Mahrang Baloch operates as the ideological arm of the insurgency—a soft insurgent complementing hard insurgent tactics.
The internal crisis in Balochistan cannot be analysed without acknowledging the geopolitical contestations playing out in Pakistan’s peripheries. Multiple intelligence reports and state investigations have implicated hostile foreign agencies in supporting insurgent factions in Balochistan, transforming the conflict into a sub-conventional proxy war. In such a context, figures like Mahrang Baloch become critical nodes in a broader strategy of hybrid warfare—individuals who facilitate international attention, diplomatic pressure, and moral legitimacy for what is, at its core, a violent separatist agenda.
Western platforms such as TIME Magazine, whether through naivety or ideological alignment, amplify this dynamic. By providing an uncritical stage for narratives that whitewash the role of the BLA and its affiliates, such outlets transcend journalism and step into the realm of narrative warfare. They frame the insurgency as a civil rights movement, thereby inadvertently serving the interests of those who seek to fragment Pakistan from within.
Mahrang Baloch’s defenders argue that she has not picked up a gun and therefore cannot be equated with militants. But this is a simplistic interpretation of modern insurgencies, which operate in both physical and narrative terrains. Just as insurgents rely on weapons and tactics, they equally depend on ideological and informational operatives to sustain their cause. The dichotomy between “violent” and “non-violent” actors collapses in environments where political dissent provides strategic depth for armed rebellion.
Even liberal democracies recognise this interdependence. The United States, often heralded as a bastion of free speech, has acted decisively when expressions of support for designated terrorist groups threaten national cohesion. From the Patriot Act to the crackdown on Hamas sympathisers post-October 7, Western states have demonstrated that freedom of speech does not equate to freedom to abet terrorism. Pakistan, having lost over 80,000 lives to terrorism, cannot afford to be any less vigilant.
The international community must move beyond the seductive narratives of victimhood and heroism. It must engage with the complex, multilayered reality of insurgency, where “peaceful activism” can often serve as camouflage for deeper, darker agendas. In doing so, we can begin to build a discourse that genuinely prioritises peace, development, and justice—not just for Balochistan, but for all of Pakistan.