“The minute I step into the land of Afghanistan, a place they think is ‘my home’, I would be killed because of the art I make.”
“Mugging incidents have increased significantly ever since you guys migrated here.” Twenty-year-old Kazim* recalls hearing these words throughout his life in Pakistan.
“I can’t tell you the amount of times I have heard this sentence. This is just one example of the casual racism we face on a daily basis, that too from our friends,” said the freshman, enrolled in one of Karachi’s renowned private institutions.
Kazim’s parents came to Pakistan as refugees. While his parents are now documented refugees and Kazim a citizen of Pakistan, the government’s decision to expel ‘illegal’ Afghan refugees has caused immense psychological and physical suffering among the Afghan community in Pakistan, thousands of whom have been made to leave. Those left behind now face an uncertain future.
Feeling unwelcome
For the vast majority of Afghan citizens and refugees in Pakistan, racial slurs and comments are a common occurrence. In my conversations with Afghan students across the country, the one thing they spoke about over and over again was the lack of belonging they felt in Pakistan.
“When I was young, the kids in my neighbourhood would not play with me,” reminisced Kazim. “The hatred in their minds was planted by the elders in their families. One of the most traumatising experiences I had involved me being thrown in the trash because according to [the bullies], this was my future.”
Like most Afghan students in Pakistan, Kazim is viewed as an ‘illegal’ refugee despite his legal status. In his own words, “Regardless of my efforts, I’m always seen as just a refugee. I get blamed for everything that is wrong with this city. People would jump at the opportunity to deport me and my family if they could, even though all we’ve done is live peacefully.”
“The very first time I was subjected to racism due to my origin was when I was just eight years old. I walked into class one day and realised I had forgotten my notebook that had my homework in it at home. I walked up to my teacher to seek help and she said ‘As a punishment, I’d send you back to your country where your rulers would break your bones’ and started laughing. I was horrified. I came home crying and my mother recalls that I did not eat anything the entire day.”
Since the first call to expel illegal refugees in Pakistan, law enforcement agencies have been harassing and raiding the homes of Afghan families. Out of fear, Kazim’s family has been keeping their documents out in the open to ensure they are readily available in case of a raid. “We’ve been keeping all our documents on our drawing room table to show them proof that we ‘belong’ here, even though they have never accepted us as one of their own,” said Kazim.
The refugee barrier to education
Fatima*, a 23-year-old student from a renowned medical college in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa has a similar story to tell. “My facial features, loudly proclaiming my Afghan identity have exposed me to intense racism, pushing me to seek therapy. The psychological toll became unbearable. I never truly felt like I ‘belonged’ here, despite my parents always emphasising that we are indebted to Pakistan for giving us shelter.”
Fatima is a bright student and a documented refugee in Pakistan. With her top-notch educational record and ambition, she dreamed of becoming a psychiatrist. Despite ranking among the top 10 students in her class, her refugee status has deprived her of a scholarship.
Additionally, she also had to take a year off from her education due to documentation issues — a major setback in her academic trajectory. “The documentation issues during the admission process are on another level. It takes a toll on your mental health because you have to get them attested from multiple places, and at each place, you have to prove that you’re a documented refugee. Then, you have to get yourself registered for the entry test which is another mentally draining procedure. For people like me, it is better if we don’t get any education at all because they just keep interrupting the process,” she said, her voice breaking with emotion.
“Knowing everything, I kept my documents ready way before the Medical and Dental College Admission Test (MDCAT) was announced in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa. I was aware that my documentation procedure would take longer than other students and I was determined to defeat the system. The registrations were open for 15 days, and I was in the office to get my documents checked on the very first day. They kept my documents for ‘authentication’ and ‘double checking’ — their words, not mine — but they did not send them forward. As a result, I was not registered for the MDCAT,” she explained.
Missing out on the entrance exam in 2019 meant that Fatima had to wait an entire year for the next cycle. The stress from this situation was so overwhelming that she had to seek therapy to process and deal with it. During our brief conversation, she had to pause nearly three times to keep herself from breaking down.
“Even after a year of torture, my suffering did not end. After getting into the medical school of my choice, I was not ‘eligible’ for a merit-based scholarship. Is it even a surprise that the reason was my ‘refugee’ status? My educational records were exceptional. Even now my scores are great, but since my sole identity is a country my parents migrated from, I am deprived of my basic rights,” she said.
She recalled the micro-aggressions Afghan refugees face on a daily basis. “When they look at our faces, they think that we were either born to cook their bread or to clean their streets; we don’t deserve to study in their universities or even dare to imagine having a life similar to theirs,” Fatima said.
Among the pool of exceptionally talented Afghan students is Shayan*, a fine arts student who gained birthright citizenship in Pakistan. The 22-year-old green-eyed boy says he puts all his pain into hues and shades — his art reflects the suffering he has endured in this country.
“Very recently, a friend and I went out for a drive. On the way he jokingly said, ‘So should I drop you off at the detention centre or will you go yourself?’
“I was horrified by his words. Even though I knew I was not going to be detained, I just wanted to get out of that car. These are the kind of jokes I have been hearing from my ‘friends’ for as long as I can remember,” he said.
Art degrees are no longer offered widely since the Taliban takeover in Afghanistan in 2021. In Kabul University alone, the number of majors offered in the arts department has gone down from eight to two. Existing art degrees too face restrictions and regulations, shifting focus to more Islamic art and calligraphy, leaving students with limited options to hone their skills. This is in addition to the blanket ban on women attending universities put in place by the Taliban in December 2022.
“I have been told multiple times by my teachers, friends, even strangers that I should go back to my country. The minute I step into the land of Afghanistan, a place they think is ‘my home’, I would be killed because of the art I make. My guitar would be buried with me in the grave, and for years people will tell tales of a sinner who was killed because he dared to go against the morals. Now, you tell me, do you hate me so much that you would throw me into a hell like that?” he questioned.
Policies and subject choices
According to the Higher Education Commission of Pakistan, roughly 5,000 students are currently registered in public colleges and universities in Pakistan under the refugee quota. Additionally, some public universities allocate admissions through a foreign student quota, with specific reserved seats for Afghan students based on the majors they select.
“Usually, we have Afghan students enrolled in either liberal arts majors such as communication and design, fine arts or music, or science majors such as computer science. When we ask them why they are choosing this particular major in admission interviews, a common answer we hear is: ‘Because we can’t pursue this back home’,” said a student adviser from a private university in Karachi.
Speaking to Dawn, a foreign student adviser at Karachi University said, “We have around 150 Afghan students enrolled in the University of Karachi and they mostly opt for social science courses. In our gender studies class, we have around 20 Afghan students who will be graduating in the current batch.”
Despite the systemic hurdles and racism they face, Afghan students are striving to create a better life for themselves; to study what they are passionate about, to make a change, and to study freely, like any other student in Pakistan. While Afghan students move forward, it’s about time Pakistan catches up.
*Names have been changed to protect the identity of students.
Header image: Children of Afghan refugees attend a class in their school at an Afghan refugee camp in Lahore in October 2013. — Photo by Murtaza Ali/Shutterstock
