This year, 2025, has been a nightmare for my family, the Qambranis. Since January, Pakistani forces have raided our home, abducted eight of my family members, and taken them to unknown locations. Their whereabouts remain a mystery, their supposed crimes undisclosed. We are left asking: What have we done? How long must we prove that we, too, are Pakistani citizens with the right to live freely, like others?
The weight of this uncertainty is crushing, a pain that has haunted us for over a decade.
On March 17, 2025, history repeated itself with a chilling familiarity. Pakistani forces stormed our home once again and took my father, Nasir Qambrani, before our eyes. He is not the man he was ten years ago when they first took him. Back then, from 2015 to 2018, he endured three years of captivity and torture for reasons never explained to us.
Today, he is older, much weaker, and battling multiple chronic illnesses—heart disease, high blood pressure, high cholesterol, hyperthyroidism—conditions that require daily medication. Before this latest raid, he had been recovering from dengue fever, his platelet count dangerously low. Four days have passed since they took him, and he has been without his life-sustaining medication. I fear for his life.
This is not a new story for us. The raids began long before this year. Even during my father’s imprisonment from 2015 to 2018, the forces returned, ransacking our home while we were already grieving his absence. In 2021, they came again—mercifully, he wasn’t there that time. But the terror lingers. We never sleep with peace of mind. Our home, meant to be a sanctuary, feels like a target. Each knock on the door, each unfamiliar sound at night, sends a jolt of dread through us. How can you feel safe when your own house is a battleground?
My father is no criminal. He is a tribal man, a peacemaker, a pillar of our community. For as long as I can remember, he has dedicated his life to helping others. He would drive across cities, tirelessly mediating disputes between tribes and families, fostering peace where there was conflict. Even when his health faltered, he put others first, never saying no to those in need. His selflessness is boundless—how many would sacrifice their own well-being to serve strangers? To me, he is more than a father; he is my inspiration, my pride, the man who taught me the value of compassion and humanity.
Yet this selfless man is now missing again. Ten years after his first disappearance, we still don’t know what crime he—or we—have committed. If he has broken any law, let him face a court. Let us hear the charges. Let justice be transparent.
Instead, we are met with silence, a void that swallows our pleas for answers. Eight family members gone this year alone, and now my father, taken from us once more. The helplessness is suffocating. Watching him being dragged away, powerless to stop it, leaves a scar that words can barely describe.
The pain of a missing loved one is an ache that defies explanation. It’s the scream of a soul unheard, the depth of hurt that no one can see. Where have they taken him? How are they treating him? Will he return to us alive? This uncertainty gnaws at me with every breath. As a family, we are trapped in a cycle of fear and loss, a torment that has stretched across a decade. Some feelings—some pains—cannot be captured in words.
I write this with tears, not just for my father but for all the families like ours, living with the agony of forced disappearances. My father’s love for others, his unwavering kindness, should not be repaid with suffering. He deserves to be home, safe, with the family he has always protected. We deserve answers. We deserve peace.
