Karachi: We write in Blood – A study of the everlasting imprint of the Army Public School attack on Pakistan.

• Mahnoor Gul
• Oct 24, 2024
• 3 min read

A city plagued by gun violence, black vego culture, and a lack of a functioning educational system is a two-step recipe for disaster. Growing up in Karachi, you tend to become accustomed to the Karachite norms of Altaf Hussain, declaring days off from school or being forced to show up regardless. A quintessential Karachi experience is the state arriving to check if the schools were safe enough for children – because as we were taught we were their most favourite target. 

Pakistani children might not have known how close they existed to the threat of an attack, but they all proclaimed the same statement growing up: My name is Khan, and I am not a terrorist. We were aware of the possibility of such an event taking place, but it never materialized into anything real because what we saw as terrorists on the screens of our televisions never seemed nonfictional. The veil between Shahrukh Khan movies and reality was lifted on the 16th of December when the safest place after one’s home was attacked and destroyed, and hearts were torn apart forever. Approximately 150 lives were lost, and millions of lives were altered, with the country now wondering whether schools are safe enough to attend and school systems struggling to meet the standard for child protection. 

Being from Karachi meant that you were far away geographically enough not to implement any policies for protection because you were not under a direct threat from the Taliban. However, the policies that were implemented did very little for the students of Karachi at all. From fire drills where we were made to walk in lines (because terrorists applaud discipline?) to “Stranger Danger!” panel talks being held at different campuses, students were suffocated with helplines, but what we were never really given was a chance to feel. On one occasion, school teacher photographs were plastered around the schools. The policy was meant to create awareness about adults who are not members of the faculty and to help identify them. However, one visit from higher authorities determined that this list becomes a checklist for terrorists to check off faces from during their attacks. 

Alongside securing the students the way they deemed fit and inciting more fear within them, the school systems also took upon approaches to continue producing excellent students because the wheels of life kept on turning. Schoolwide policies became more distractive than curative, preventing fear with Pythagoras’ Theorem instead of hiring counselors and having a dialogue about the circumstances. Not to mention, the very concept of students having to come to school and perform at the same academic level as they previously were is horrifying. Other accounts from Karachi students yield the same results: that no tangible change took place, and life went on rather than forced on. 

In retrospect, there was much that could have should have been done. First and foremost, the mental health, as well as the physical health of the students, should have been the first priority, which would mean that the academic lives of the students would be put to a standstill: a concept still difficult to grasp for Pakistani institutions. We saw the actions of the Taliban being condemned by leaders around the world, but we saw little for the students who had their built-up realities come crashing down. Even in more recent events, for example, on 9th May, institutions like LUMS continued on, only postponing their exams and encouraging students to continue preparing, barely acknowledging the fears that were stirring amongst the student body. Today we drive by the streets of Peshawar, Pakistan, and pray for the lives that were lost, but as important as this is, we must also begin conversations about the protection of students – not only in the physical sense, but the protection of their mental health, especially in regions where conflict tends to run rampant. Change can only take place if it is acknowledged that students’ mental and physical health takes priority over their academics. However, that change is far beyond the horizon for today’s Pakistan. Until then, the youth of Pakistan continue to write and write in the blood of those they wish to mourn but never could – never could because they were never given a chance to, because they were always taught that their education comes before their fear and before their sympathy.