“This constant sword hanging over”: Life as a religious minority in Pakistan

Blasphemy accusations in Pakistan have been a longstanding problem — one that became far worse in recent years. In 2024, there were reportedly more than 40 times as many cases as there were in 2020.

“Samuel,” a Pakistani Christian in his late-20s, recalled a “big boom of blasphemy cases” in the years 2012 to 2014 and then again in 2021 to 2022.

Blasphemy is a crime punishable by death in Pakistan. And while, technically speaking, Pakistan has never actually executed anyone for blasphemy, the accused seem to die frequently while in custody, whether from mysterious causes or clear cases of violence.

Also, angry mobs may conduct extrajudicial executions before the accused even makes it into custody. More common yet is that these mobs burn down the home of the accused. In many cases, multiple homes go ablaze. Sometimes, whole neighborhoods get burned out, rendering hundreds of people homeless — all due to one blasphemy accusation, regardless of its legitimacy.

Those who unleash destruction during mob attacks usually avoid criminal penalties. On the other hand, those accused of blasphemy can easily spend years, if not decades, in prison while their case goes under appeal.

There are also many incidents that do not appear in mainstream Pakistani media, but “the Christian community hears about it in their own social media circles,” said Samuel.

Before ubiquitous social media, “It was mostly, ‘I heard this happened to this person in a random Punjabi city,’ and no one had the exact information about that person and what exactly happened,” said “Lydia,” a 20-something Catholic woman living in Karachi, the nation’s largest city.

But now, because of social media, the blasphemy accusations receive more attention, and people get information more quickly and more specifically, added Lydia.

People can also get trapped more quickly online. Pakistan has an organized network of people involved in making (or threatening to make) blasphemy accusations for profit. These individuals actively hunt for victims on social media—most often on Facebook or WhatsApp.

Someone seeking profit might strike up an online conversation with a potential target and, once there is a rapport, steer the discussion toward Islam. When exchanging messages about such sensitive subject matter in a place as excitable as Pakistan, the target is just one slip and a screenshot away from personal tragedy.

A different approach is to invite a target into a social media group, post a blasphemous image, and then take a screenshot image of the target’s profile belonging to the “blasphemous” group. At this point, people running the scam can reach out to friendly law enforcement officers (including members of Pakistan’s Federal Investigation Agency) to go find the target and extort money in return for not pressing blasphemy charges.

Lydia described the police in her country as “rotten to the core.” She related that her own father was once detained for “stealing a phone” under circumstances that were a clear attempt at extortion. She added that her parents always used to tell their children, “No matter what, if we’re lost and need help, we need to look for a woman and a mother.” Not the police.

Aside from predatory officers and blasphemy scammers, Lydia said the hardline Islamic political group Tehreek-e-Labbaik Pakistan is “definitely something that has become more prevalent in blasphemy accusations” and has at least some connection to most blasphemy-related mob incidents. But she added that people with no strong ties to any political group might undertake mob violence and lynchings just the same.

Almost no one is entirely safe from these blasphemy-related outbursts. However, religious minorities are at particular risk—be they Christian, Hindu, or followers of Islamic sects regarded as heretical by Pakistan’s Sunni Muslim majority.

Coming from a family of religious minorities in Pakistan, Lydia has long known she cannot talk about religion in public. “Since I was very young, I’ve been told that I need to be very, very careful how I speak and what I speak of.”

Like Lydia, Samuel learned early on in life about knowing his place as a religious minority in Pakistan. “You can never openly disagree with anyone who’s talking about Islam,” he related. “You have to say, ‘Yeah, yeah, you’re right,’ and get out of the situation.”

In some cases, however, people might force you to speak. Samuel once had a professor interrogate him about his religion in front of the whole class. He said he didn’t want to discuss such matters in public, but the professor became irate and insisted.

This would probably be an awkward situation in any country. But in Pakistan, it is especially problematic: If Samuel accounted for himself and his religion too well, his professor (and likely some, if not most, of the students) would be displeased. They might even choose to target him with a blasphemy accusation.

Deciding to let the professor embarrass him, Samuel said he didn’t know much about his own religion and that he would “research some more stuff.” Looking back on the incident, he remarked, “What could I even say in that scenario?”

Whether it’s in the streets or in the classroom, “Religion has always been weaponized in this country,” said Lydia.

Even though Pakistan’s issue with blasphemy accusations has spiraled out of control, Lydia believes most of the people in her country’s federal government have no interest in changing things. Rather, it’s all part of the plan. “When people are fighting each other, they have no reason to fight the government,” she said.

Though Samuel expressed his concern that certain Islamist political parties “are getting stronger,” he feels the source of Pakistan’s blasphemy problem is not primarily due to any political party but instead due to people who “believe they are individual vigilantes and must protect the honor of their religion.”

“So they take justice into their own hands,” he added. “And soon a crowd gathers around them, because everyone wants to defend the honor of their religion. Then the mob mentality takes over.”

Samuel related that his own family fell into a situation where they had to leave their city after a relative had a personal dispute with someone who then accused him of blasphemy. Though the matter did not lead to a formal blasphemy charge, “we had to pack up and run” to go live in a different city, he recalled. “It disrupted our entire lives, actually.” He added, “Many such things happen on a daily basis where the case doesn’t get reported officially at all.”

In Samuel’s view, there is no chance his country’s federal government would repeal blasphemy laws in the foreseeable future. “They know the backlash would be huge,” he said. “So they can never do anything to make the situation better. They will just keep things rolling.”

In the meantime, Pakistan now has its own industry of blasphemy accusations and a stream of volunteer vigilantes who spend their time prowling online in search of something or someone to label as blasphemous.

Over 96% of people in Pakistan are Muslim, and most victims of blasphemy accusations are themselves Muslim. However, from what Samuel can determine, most Pakistani Muslims do not want to repeal their country’s blasphemy laws. And among those Muslims who feel otherwise, almost none of them dare to speak openly about the issue.

Samuel has Muslim friends and likes many things about his country, but ultimately, “I want to get out,” he said. He knows he might have difficulties as an immigrant in a foreign land. “But I would still much rather live in a place where there is religious freedom.”

“I personally think that all the Christians and [other religious] minorities who have left the country are lucky and have done the right thing,” said Samuel. “At least they don’t have this constant sword hanging over their heads.”