A few days after the killing of 20 labourers on April 11, the Sorap stream in Turbat looks a completely barren place. The tents that the construction workers lived in are inhabited by the tools that they used. The machines have remained untouched since then. The site’s peace is only occasionally disturbed by a passing vehicle. When there is no traffic, there is absolute silence, as if the stream is in a state of mourning.

“Sorap means sour water,” says a motorcyclist who stops for a while. “After all this spilled blood, it has become even sourer.”

Indeed it has. A couple of days after the killing of the labourers, security forces retaliated and killed 13 supposed insurgents. The reason behind the death of 33 people in two days was an under-construction bridge just outside the town on Sorap, which is a small stream that hardly sees any water, on a road whose traffic hardly feels any disturbance from the stream.

Read: 20 labourers gunned down in Turbat

This makes you wonder whether Sorap was worth all the blood that it drained — whether a small, un-strategic bridge has more value than the lives of 33 human beings. But, you must know before forming an opinion, the road, the bridge and the stream have other purposes too.

It is apparently believed that if anyone was to capture Turbat, the un-bridged little Sorap will serve as a shield. It will become impassable after it will gather lots and lots of water (from where, it does not yet know), and embarrass the advancing force. It will also prove useful in draining blood from the battlefield as it has been doing recently.

The road and the bridge, on the contrary, have sided with the intruders. It is hoped that they will facilitate the meeting of hearts between the two sides. The road is actually a road to the to-be-conquered people’s hearts and the bridge, if fully constructed, would bridge the gulf of cultural, political and geographical differences.

Sadly, they will never live a normal life, these three. Just like the people in Balochistan.

Also read: Security forces kill 13 militants behind labourers' massacre in Turbat

If you are a labourer working on a road, you are not just an employee earning for your family. You are working on a grand design. Levies personnel are not just tired, ill-trained or underpaid, they are collaborators too. Collaborating with whom depends on who you ask. Even the peon of a government school can commit high treason or an act of incredible bravery by simply ignoring, or being part of, the morning assembly.

Hence, you are never a normal human being in Balochistan — never enjoying the futility of cursing the vendor for selling you a rotten watermelon or blaming your mother’s goats for the ugliness of your garden. You are, rather, two persons. At the same time you are a clerk and a traitor. A labourer and a hero. A shepherd and a coward.

An entire province, then, with a kind of multiple-personality disorder.

Meanwhile, roads have always been a vital part of the Baloch political narrative. They are said to reflect the overall state of development on a land. A few decades ago the nationalists said they wanted wider roads and bigger bridges in the province just like the ones Punjab has. But things have changed recently. Now they want none at all.

The Centre thinks roads are important for better governance, and that labourers, apart from their expertise with concrete and bricks, are also crucial for nation-building. That is why construction workers are among the first to visit the frontiers along with soldiers. That is why they are among the first to die.

On the recent Sorap incident, the insurgents opined that they killed the 20 labourers because they did not want the Centre to carry out development works in the province. The construction of roads, they believe, is actually a tool to invite economic powers like China to come and exploit the natural resources of the province. According to them, the killing of the labourers was actually an act of sending a message to the world that they were not happy with the grand design of making Makran a trade route — that the local people want none of the changes the Centre is forcing on them. However, they were almost apologetic a few days after killing the construction workers. But the damage had been done.

“No ifs and buts about it. Nothing can justify the killing of 20 innocent labourers,” tweeted a friend, who is a senior editor. Another friend’s tweet was more vague: “Terrible. Hate is such a terrible thing.”

A couple of days later his tweet lost some of its vagueness, though, when security forces launched an operation in Turbat and killed 13 in retaliation. Yes, hate really is a terrible thing.

Published in Dawn, May 3rd, 2015

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