Ethnic minority groups in Pakistan have long lived in legal limbo without ID cards

EVER SINCE THE blocking of his computerized national identity card (CNIC), Sohail Ahmad has stayed close to home. Squashed up against the port of Karachi — Pakistan’s most densely populated city — Machhar Colony is a decrepit sprawl of open sewers and trucks spilling fish guts on unpaved streets, but venturing into other neighborhoods can be even more unpleasant. 

Being hauled into a police van and roughed up or asked for “chai pani” (bribe money) are everyday hazards when you don’t have a CNIC. Not that Ahmad has much cash to part with these days. Like his father, he used to make a living fishing on the open sea but, for the past five years, he has not been able to set foot on a trawler. Given Pakistan’s disputed maritime boundary with neighboring India, he is not allowed to sail without a valid ID. 

Ahmad says that his card — one of millions issued to Pakistani citizens by the National Database and Registration Authority (NADRA) — was suspended a decade or so ago. According to him, the country’s Intelligence Bureau decided that his CNIC and supporting documents, including a ration card dating back to the 1970s, were all fake. He has been fighting the decision ever since. 

To fully understand Ahmad’s case, it is necessary to grasp how NADRA makes such decisions. Every CNIC blocked by the organization falls into one of two categories. If an individual’s card is suspended because of irregularities in their family tree, they must appear before a regional board and present their documents for reverification. This is referred to  as a “routine” case.

The majority of blocked CNICs, however, are “complex” cases, in which cardholders are suspected of not being Pakistani in the first place. In these instances, district committees of bureaucrats, police and intelligence agents interrogate and investigate the individual in question, then deliver a verdict on their citizenship. According to NADRA, the process should not take more than 40 days, but some people have been waiting for years. 

Like many others in Machhar Colony, which is home to at least half a million people, Ahmad is an of Bengali ancestry. His Urdu is stilted, but when speaking his mother tongue, his words become swift and fluid. He was born in Pakistan, he says, but doesn’t have the paperwork to prove it. The documents he does have — once sufficient for him to be given an identity card — are now considered suspect. Still, he carries them everywhere, creased and dog-eared, but carefully wrapped in plastic.   

“Look, if you tell me my documents are fake, I’ll believe you,” he said plainly. “I’m not educated. I can’t read or write. But, if I was issued fake papers without my knowledge, then how is this my fault?” 

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