THE recent tragedy in Khuzdar was not the first time Pakistan had buried its young amid the debris of someone else’s war. Nearly a decade after the massacre at Peshawar’s Army Public School (APS), the mourning returned, not to the same city, but to the same corners of our conscience.

The massacre in Peshawar on Dec 16, 2014, when gunmen stormed the school and left over 130 children martyred, marked one of the darkest chapters in the nation’s history. It was meant to be a turning point, a moment after which, we were told, things would change. But for the mothers still grieving in Peshawar, and now for those in Khuzdar, nothing fundamental has changed.

The school bus attack in Khuzdar, believed to have been carried out by some banned terrorist group, is not merely another tragedy. It is part of a pattern, where children become collateral in proxy wars, pawns in the games of insurgents and states.

After the Jaffar Express tragedy earlier this year, Balochistan had to put up with the one in Khuzdar. There is a rhythm to Balochistan’s mourning; too frequent, too normalised.

In a sharply worded statement, the Inter-Services Public Relations (ISPR) termed the attack “a cowardly and ghastly” act orchestrated by “the terrorist state of India” and executed by its proxies operating in Balochistan.

The statement, while politically charged, reflects a growing sense within Pakistan’s security establishment that its civilian population, particularly children, is being targeted as a soft symbol of vulnerability.

The targeting of schoolchildren, in fact, represents not just an act of war, but a calculated form of psychological warfare, aimed at weakening public morale and igniting instability through emotional devastation. Such acts aim at eroding the foundational fabric of society: trust, security, and the collective belief in a future that is worth building.

Schools are spaces meant to symbolise hope, progress and innocence. When these spaces are violated, it sends a chilling message: that no place is safe, and no life is too small to weaponise. The trauma does not end with the families. It spreads through classrooms, communities and generations, planting fear where there should be dreams, and silence where there should be laughter.

The attack also raises many uncom-fortable questions. What does security mean in a province where even children in uniforms are not spared?

Khuzdar will not be the last dot on his expanding map of grief. There is no greater indictment of a nation’s failure than its inability to protect its children.

Mashal Rizvi
Lahore

Published in Dawn, June 2nd, 2025