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There had been no warning, which is probably why Saqib Nazir’s young children wound up witnessing their father being murdered. Outside Nazir’s own home in central Okara district of Pakistan’s Punjab province, the assailant stabbed the 33-year-old farmer multiple times from behind, in the process also injuring one of the children.
The murderer was later revealed to be a young religious extremist, who had gone after Nazir for being an Ahmadi.
That was two years ago. Nazir, however, was not the first Ahmadi killed because of his faith in Pakistan. Neither would he be the last. Just last July 27, a 53-year-old Ahmadi dentist was shot and killed in Punjab’s Gujarat district, allegedly also because of his religion. The fatal attack on the dentist was the fourth among Ahmadis in Pakistan so far this year; his assailants are still at large.
There are no firm numbers regarding Ahmadis globally, although they are believed to reach as many as 20 million worldwide; one U.N. press release even says there are “tens of millions” of Ahmadis. In Pakistan, estimates concerning Ahmadi numbers range from 500,000 to four million. What few question, however, is that Ahmadis have been persecuted for their beliefs almost everywhere they are, including in Pakistan.
Ahmadis consider themselves Muslims, and uphold a faith closely aligned with mainstream Islam. But what is known formally as Ahmadiyya Muslim Jama’at has one significant difference with mainstream Islam: its followers’ belief that their founder, Mirza Ghulam Ahmad, was the prophesied messiah following Prophet Mohammad.
This belief has led to their being ostracized as “blasphemous infidels” and targets of vicious attacks in several countries, including Algeria, Bangladesh, Malaysia, and Indonesia. In predominantly Sunni Muslim Pakistan, Ahmadis face discrimination and hate almost daily, and in nearly every aspect of their lives.
“The discrimination against the Ahmadiyya community is immensely pervasive at the social level,” says Amir Mahmood, the community’s spokesperson in Pakistan. “Ahmadis are denied entry into shops, denied from buying goods. There are incidents where Ahmadis were isolated as they were considered untouchable.”
Citing data from the Saddar Ahmadiyya Anjuman Pakistan Office, the state agency National Commission for Human Rights (NCHR) said in its recent report on the religious minority that between 1984 and Sept. 11, 2023, 280 Ahmadis were killed in the country, while 415 were assaulted “for their faith” and 51 Ahmadiyya places of worship demolished. From January to Sept. 11, 2023 alone, at least 39 Ahmadiyya places of worship were attacked.
There have also been cases where bodies of dead Ahmadis were exhumed and their graves desecrated, according to the NCHR’s report, which was released last April. It noted. “These statistics highlight the urgent need for concerted efforts to address and rectify the systematic and grave violations faced by the Ahmadiyya community in Pakistan,” said the report.
Last July 24, the Office of the U.N. High Commission on Human Rights issued a press release regarding the “grave concern” of independent experts on the “reported upsurge in discrimination and violence against Ahmadi Muslims in Pakistan, including extrajudicial killings, arbitrary arrests and detentions, attacks on places of worship and curtailment of free expression, peaceful assembly, and association.”

Institutionalized discrimination
Much of the violence against Ahmadis, especially those in recent years, have been attributed to the influence of the Tehreek-e-Labbaik Pakistan (TLP), which has also been assumed to have had a direct hand in some of the attacks. A radical political party, TLP has been behind some of the violent blasphemy protests in Pakistan.
Indeed, TLP has recently been leading several rallies in protest against a February Supreme Court ruling that overturned the conviction of Mubarak Sani, an Ahmadi who had been accused of committing an offense under the Punjab Holy Quran (Printing and Recording) (Amendment) Act.
Last July 28, at one of these rallies, TLP Deputy Amir Pir Zaheer Hassan Shah announced a reward of PKR 10 million (US$36,000) for anyone who would bring him the head of Chief Justice Faez Isa. In a rare response from the government, Shah was arrested by the police and charged under the Anti-Terrorism Act.
“If the hate campaign against Ahmadis had been taken seriously and actions had been taken in accordance with the law, there would not have been decrees calling for murder,” says a representative of the Ahmadiyya community.
“We strongly condemn the hate campaign against the Chief Justice of Pakistan and the incitement of people to kill him,” the representative continues. “We believe the state must take strict legal action against those responsible. A case has just been registered, but it remains to be seen whether any real action will be taken against those who spread hatred.”
In fact, Ahmadis and observers alike say that Pakistan’s laws and policies have themselves led to Ahmadis being discriminated against and abused.
As Pakistan underwent a wave of Islamization in the 1970s, the then Pakistani government declared Ahmadis as non-Muslims. A decade later, in 1984, Ahmadis were banned from identifying themselves as Muslims and their publications were outlawed.
In 2002, Pakistan abolished a voters-list system that had split Muslims and non-Muslims into two categories. It then implemented just one list for all Pakistani voters – except for Ahmadis, for whom a separate list was prepared.
The Elections Act of 2017 retained this set-up while also giving the election commission the authority to summon anyone objecting to being categorized as “non-Muslim” so that it could ascertain whether or not the individual is Ahmadi.
Human Rights Watch associate Asia director Patricia Grossman pointed out that as a result, “most Ahmadis end up not voting at all,” rather than deny their beliefs.
In a December 2023 post on the international rights watchdog’s website, Grossman also said, “Pakistani law effectively legalizes and even encourages persecution of the Ahmadiyya community. The penal code explicitly discriminates against religious minorities and targets Ahmadis in particular by prohibiting them from ‘indirectly or directly posing as Muslim.’”
The post was timed before Pakistan’s most recent election, which took place last February. Rather than consider the observations of rights advocates like Grossman and the complaints of Ahmadis themselves, the election commission took to posting in public the list of Ahmadi voters, thereby making it easier for extremists to track down their targets.
In one chilling video, a young extremist is seen going through the list while saying, “The Election Commission has done commendable work, allowing us to distinguish Qadiyanis.”
“Qadiyani,” as well as “Mirzai,” is a derogatory term for Ahmadis. “Mirzai” stems from the name of their founder while “Qadiyani” references the movement’s origin in the Indian town of Qadian.

A rather insecure sanctuary
The only predominantly Ahmadi city in Pakistan is Rabwah in Punjab, about 187 kilometers west of the provincial capital Lahore. The city’s formal name, however, is Chenab Nagar, the result of a controversial move by government officials in the 1990s, as “Rabwah” is mentioned in the Quran.
Considered the Ahmadi spiritual heartland in Pakistan, Rabwah is where Saqib Nazir’s family fled after his murder, uprooting themselves from their ancestral village in Okara. “My husband harbored no animosity toward anyone,” Nazir’s widow Nasreen Rafi says. “His only sin was his adherence to his faith.”
“Our family has been turned upside down since his death,” says Nazir’s brother Ahsan. “We feel like we’re dead alongside our brother. Our entire family is immersed in trauma.”
Yet while Ahmadis feel relatively safer in Rabwah than in other parts of Pakistan, discrimination has ways of reaching the city.
In Rabwah’s community graveyard lie the remains of Abdus Salam, an Ahmadi who won the Nobel Prize for physics in 1979. Despite his achievement, he is not celebrated in his home country. His tombstone originally bore the inscription “First Muslim Nobel Laureate,” but the word “Muslim” was later removed by government order.
In truth, having stellar academic credentials can be no help to Ahmadis in Pakistan. In 2018, for instance, Princeton-educated Ahmadi Atif Mian was removed from a government economic advisory council after a strong backlash from the religious right.
Comments Mahmood: “Ahmadis by design are kept away from different spheres of life, such that there is no representation of Ahmadis in the judicial forums, political life, bureaucracy, and other important forums where the fate of citizens of the country is determined.”
That observation can apply even to educational institutions, as Asad Rahim has found out. For more than two decades, Rahim had been a public school teacher, and assigned to rural villages. Last year, he was given notice of a promotion and a reassignment. But a colleague somehow learned of his faith – which Rahim maintains is “a private matter” – and leaked the information that he is an Ahmadi.
The residents of the area where Rahim was to be reassigned got wind of the matter, and complaints began to grow about his impending arrival there. One local posted a threat-laden video on Facebook, saying, “I request the administration to suspend this blasphemer. If he joins the school, he will not return on his legs. And if there is bloodshed, the education department’s official will be responsible for that.”
Instead of acting against the man who issued the threats, officials delayed Rahim’s reassignment. But the video went viral and even got the attention of residents in the village where Rahim was still teaching. Protests broke out there, forcing Rahim to file for a leave. He had intended to wait until things settled down, but he was later forced by officials to take an early retirement.

Talking with ADC in his home in Rawalpindi, Rahim says that despite his efforts to provide “quality education and taking revolutionary measures” at the village schools, the locals didn’t come to protect him.
“It is an honor to get promoted to the highest rank in the department,” the 58-year-old says. “Getting promoted to the highest rank is a dream that everyone has when walking into service.
“But,” says Rahim, trying to hold back his tears, “my dream and honor were snatched from me.
“We are seen as social pariahs in Pakistan,” Ahsan Nazir says. “Friends can turn into foes if they know about our faith.” ◉