Are Ahmadis Citizens of Pakistan?
Every state has an unspoken truth it tries to hide. Pakistan’s is this: some citizens are citizens only on paper.
This reality became unmistakable again when parliament recently debated a “minorities protection” law — and wasted no time drawing clear lines around who deserves those protections. The loudest and clearest line, as always, was drawn around Ahmadis. And when Ahmadis are involved, the state doesn’t even pretend. The discrimination isn’t subtle, strategic, or coded — it’s open, loud, and almost proud. The mask isn’t slipping — it was never on.
What should have been a moment to reaffirm dignity and equality became a spectacle of exclusion. Lawmakers — whether from mainstream parties or so-called religious ones — made no effort to hide their disdain. They spoke not with empathy or justice, but with a deliberate insistence that Ahmadis must remain outside even symbolic protection.
The recent passage of the National Commission for Minority Rights Bill 2025 laid bare this hypocrisy in full daylight. While the bill is celebrated as a step forward, its very architects — led by Azam Nazir Tarar, the Law Minister — clarified in no uncertain terms that the law will not “contradict the Quran and Sunnah.” And by that logic, they declared, members of the Ahmadiyya Muslim Community remain excluded. (dawn.com)
That clarity is chilling: the bill may “protect minorities,” but not if you belong to a faith the state refuses to recognize as valid. Your faith becomes the gauge of your worth — and your rights vanish the moment your belief is judged unworthy.
It is no secret that this exclusion has consequences that extend far beyond a parliamentary clause. Time and again, members of the Ahmadiyya community have suffered horrific violence, harassment, legal injustice, and social ostracization — often with the implicit or explicit support of state institutions.
Recent findings by Human Rights Commission of Pakistan (HRCP) documented what many already know by heart: mob‑led attacks, arbitrary detentions, desecration of graves, closure of places of worship, and violent assaults against Ahmadis. (hrcommittee.org) In 2025 alone, multiple mosques belonging to Ahmadis were sealed or demolished; in some cases, authorities arrested worshippers or even minors — just for exercising their faith. (voicepk.net)
In many areas, Ahmadis aren’t even allowed to celebrate basic religious rituals. During recent festivals, local authorities forced community members to sign affidavits promising not to pray — turning houses of worship into forbidden spaces. Graveyards have been desecrated. Civic life denied. Careers ruined. Lives threatened.
And beyond social violence, there is structural erasure. Under the penal code — via Ordinance XX and the infamous blasphemy provisions (Sections 298‑B and 298‑C) — Ahmadis are legally forbidden to call themselves Muslims, to worship, to propagate their faith, or to refer to their places of worship as mosques. (hrw.org) Their right to vote, to worship, to be recognized, to exist without fear… all have been systematically stripped. (hrw.org)
In short: the exclusion is not accident. It is embedded in law, reinforced in politics, and enforced in society.
So we must ask, frankly: Are these “citizens” in any real sense of the word?
If citizenship means dignity, protection, equal rights under law — then Ahmadis have been betrayed. Their citizenship has been reduced to a label on a paper ID. Their dignity stripped. Their rights treated as privileges to be granted only with official approval.
And not only have they been denied protection — often they have been made targets. With each passing year, the pattern grows darker: houses of worship demolished, Eid rituals banned or monitored, innocent citizens arrested en masse, families forced to live in fear. (hrcommittee.org) The state does not just neglect them — in many ways, it enables their persecution.
This is not just about religion. This is about the very soul of a nation that claims to stand for justice.
When the state draws invisible lines around who deserves human rights — based on faith, theology, or sect — it betrays its own foundation. A state that pretends to protect “minorities,” while making the worst minority incapable of even praying safely — that state exposes itself.
And when voices like Reema Omar dare to call this hypocrisy out — not as a political game, but as a demand for justice — they remind us who we once promised to be, and who we still could become.
Because rights are not some reward for being the “right kind” of citizen. Rights are the birthright of every human being living under a flag.
If belonging to this nation means belonging to its people — then Ahmadis are citizens. More than paper‑citizens, they are living, breathing people who deserve dignity, protection, justice.
And if the state refuses that — then its claim to justice is a lie. The consequences are visible in every sphere: the decline of institutions, morality, governance, and public trust. Every foundation of the nation weakens when injustice is institutionalized — and the wrath of God, in His own time, is unrelenting and harsh.
متعلقہ
غزل، از ، طاہر احمد بھٹی
پروفیسر رخشندہ بتول، جہلم، پاکستان
نظم۔۔۔ از سلطان ناصر، اسلام آباد