Gilgit-Baltistan: Pakistan’s colony of silence and resistance (IANS Analysis)

New Delhi, Aug 31 Gilgit-Baltistan is a land of majestic mountains and proud people. Unfortunately, it has been suffering the brutality of Pakistani establishment for decades. The latest incident involves a recent clash in Sost Valley, where Pakistani police attacked peaceful protesters. Traders of Gilgit-Baltistan had blocked the routes in desperation, demanding their voices be heard. But they faced the wrath of the state machinery

This incident highlighted the fact that Pakistan’s rule in Gilgit-Baltistan rests not on legitimacy, but on force. The tragedy is not confined to one valley or one protest. It is written into the very fabric of Islamabad’s approach to Gilgit-Baltistan. From the moment Pakistan illegally occupied the region in 1947, it has ensured that the local residents remain voiceless and excluded from the constitutional framework of the country.

Meanwhile, they remain yet burdened with its taxes, coercive laws, and authoritarian institutions. The original residents of Gilgit-Baltistan do not have any say in terms of how they should be governed. Their resources are being siphoned off, their lands exploited, and their young men subjected to military harassment.

The Sost Valley clash is only the latest in a string of episodes where Pakistan has revealed its ugly hand. When people ask why they should be paying heavy taxes when they are denied representation, they are beaten into submission. When villagers raise their voices against the theft of their water and forests, they are branded as troublemakers and seditionists.

When students demand opportunities and institutions, they are met with empty promises and police crackdowns. The script is always the same: deny, dismiss, and destroy. Islamabad’s rulers see Gilgit-Baltistan not as a partner but as a colony, a captive territory to be drained of wealth and kept under control.

The violence is not only physical; it is structural. Gilgit-Baltistan is home to vast hydropower potential, enough to electrify much of Pakistan. Yet while electricity flows to cities like Lahore and Karachi, countless villages in Gilgit-Baltistan remain in darkness, living under daily power cuts and shortages.

The minerals extracted from its soil, the water harnessed from its rivers, the strategic advantage of its location—all of these enrich Pakistan while leaving the local population impoverished.

This economic exploitation is coupled with cultural erasure. Textbooks glorify Pakistan’s narrative while silencing Gilgit-Baltistan’s history and identity. Media is tightly controlled; journalists who dare to report honestly risk harassment, arrest, or worse. Activists are routinely picked up, disappeared, or slapped with draconian anti-terror laws simply for speaking out. What Pakistan presents to the outside world as governance is in truth a machinery of subjugation.

The clash in Sost Valley should therefore not surprise anyone who has followed Pakistan’s track record in Gilgit-Baltistan. The protesters were not demanding luxuries; they were asking for justice, for fair treatment, for their voices to be acknowledged.

Yet instead of opening dialogue, the government chose the baton. This reflexive use of violence underscores the reality that Pakistan cannot afford to listen, because listening would expose the injustice at the heart of its rule. To acknowledge the grievances of Gilgit-Baltistan would be to admit that its decades-long occupation is illegitimate.

It is easier, therefore, for Pakistan to continue crushing dissent and hoping the world remains silent. But the world cannot remain silent forever. The people of Gilgit-Baltistan have lived too long under suffocation, their patience worn thin by years of neglect and brutality. Pakistan claims the mantle of Muslim solidarity on the world stage, yet it denies Muslims in Gilgit-Baltistan their most basic rights. It speaks of Kashmir’s freedom, yet denies freedom to those within its own occupied territory.

The duplicity is staggering. And the irony is that by repressing Gilgit-Baltistan, Pakistan is not only alienating the people—it is sowing the seeds of its own eventual loss of control.

The scars left by the Sost Valley crackdown are not just physical wounds on those who were injured; they are wounds on the trust between people and state, wounds that deepen every time Pakistan responds with brutality.

Each clash, each protest crushed, each voice silenced drives home the point that the Pakistani establishment sees Gilgit-Baltistanis not as citizens but as subjects to be subdued. This breeds resentment that no amount of propaganda can erase. The people may be forced into silence temporarily, but beneath the surface their anger simmers, waiting for the moment when it can no longer be contained.

Contrast this with what is happening across the Line of Control. In Jammu and Kashmir, India has pursued a developmental vision that, while not without challenges, has sought to integrate the region with dignity and progress.

Roads and highways are being built, educational institutions are expanding, healthcare infrastructure is improving, and opportunities for the youth are multiplying. Where Pakistan relies on fear and batons, India invests in schools, universities, hospitals, and industries. Where Pakistan drains Gilgit-Baltistan of resources, India is pouring resources into Jammu and Kashmir to empower its people.

The difference is stark: repression on one side, development on the other. Pakistan’s rulers may scoff at this comparison, but it is precisely this contrast that exposes their moral bankruptcy.

The people of Gilgit-Baltistan are not blind. They see how Jammu and Kashmir is being transformed, while they remain trapped in neglect. They see that where India is building a future, Pakistan is denying them even a present. And they are asking the obvious question: why must we continue to suffer under Pakistan’s boot when our brothers across the border are being given opportunities to thrive?

Pakistan’s greatest fear is the political awakening of Gilgit-Baltistan. It dreads the day when people there fully realize how much has been taken from them and refuse to accept Islamabad’s falsehoods any longer. That is why repression has become the default policy. Crackdowns, like the recent one in Sost Valley, don’t reflect authority but rather weakness, insecurity, and a government aware that its control is eroding. A community demanding justice cannot be silenced forever. A population seeking only dignity cannot be permanently crushed.

The story of Gilgit-Baltistan is one of endurance against betrayal. For decades, despite neglect, its people have continued to rise, protest, and demand what rightfully belongs to them. Every clash with security forces, every blockade, every defiant slogan testifies that Pakistan has failed to break their spirit. The international community must recognize this struggle and stand with the people, not with their oppressors. To ignore it is to legitimize Pakistan’s colonial project, one that survives on the exploitation of those it pretends to represent.

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