Living ghosts in no man's land!

Raju Korti
I can visualize the Attari-Wagah border, a no-man’s-land where the air is thick with tension and uncertainty. I see a group of Pakistani nationals huddle under the scorching sun, their faces etched with despair. They were deported by India in the wake of the April 22, 2025, Pahalgam massacre, a brutal attack that claimed 28 lives and reignited the smouldering enmity between these nuclear-armed neighbours. But Pakistan has slammed its gates shut, refusing to accept its own citizens. Stranded between two nations that reject them, these individuals are caught in a legal and humanitarian purgatory. What happens to them? What is their status when neither country claims them? And has this happened before?

As a witness to this unfolding crisis, I see the human cost of geopolitical brinkmanship. These deportees -- men, women, some with children clutching their hands -- are not just collateral damage in a diplomatic standoff; they are lives suspended in limbo. India, citing security concerns after the massacre, revoked visas and ordered all Pakistani nationals to leave by April 27, 2025. Pakistan, denying involvement in the attack and accusing India of overreach, has refused to open its border, leaving many stranded. The Attari-Wagah crossing, once a symbol of cautious connectivity, is now a closed gate, guarded by soldiers on both sides.

The Attari-Wagah border

Their legal status is a bureaucratic nightmare. International law, including the principle of non-refoulement, mandates that a country must accept its nationals if they are deported. Yet Pakistan’s refusal defies this norm, and India, unwilling to harbour them, cannot forcibly send them across a sealed border. This leaves the deportees in a stateless-like condition -- not stateless in the legal sense, as they are still Pakistani citizens, but effectively without a country to claim them. India may detain them in camps or jails, as suggested by some observers, while diplomatic wrangling continues. But detention is a stopgap, not a solution. Without legal status to remain in India or a path back to Pakistan, they exist in a gray zone, vulnerable to exploitation, deprivation, and loss of dignity.

The immediate future is grim. India could set up temporary holding facilities, as it has done for other undocumented migrants, but resources are strained, and public sentiment, inflamed by the massacre, is hostile. Some deportees, like Suraj Kumar, who came to India for a pilgrimage, plead for mercy, their visas cancelled through no fault of their own. Others, like Maria Masih, a Pakistani woman married to an Indian, face the agony of potential family separation. Pakistan’s stance, meanwhile, seems driven by a mix of defiance and internal political pressures, with its leadership wary of appearing weak amid accusations of supporting terrorism. A diplomatic resolution could take weeks, months, or longer, leaving these individuals to languish.

If I remember correctly, this is not the first time people have been trapped between nations. History offers chilling parallels. In 1971, after the Bangladesh Liberation War, thousands of Bihari Muslims, considered Pakistani loyalists, were stranded in Bangladesh. Pakistan initially refused to repatriate them, fearing ethnic tensions, while Bangladesh viewed them as outsiders. Many lived in squalid camps, like Geneva Camp in Dhaka, for decades, stateless and forgotten until partial repatriation began in the 1980s. Similarly, in the 1990s, Bhutan expelled ethnic Nepalis, many of whom ended up in refugee camps in Nepal. Bhutan refused their return, and Nepal, unable to absorb them, left them in limbo for years until third countries like the US offered resettlement.

Closer to the present, the 2019 India-Pakistan standoff after the Pulwama attack saw similar border tensions. While not as severe as today’s crisis, cross-border movement froze, and some Pakistani nationals in India faced deportation orders. Most were eventually repatriated after backchannel talks, but the process was slow, and some endured detention. These cases show that resolution often hinges on political will. When governments prioritize posturing over pragmatism, the human toll mounts. Third-party mediation, like the UN or neutral countries, sometimes helps, but Pakistan’s call for a “neutral probe” into the Pahalgam attack has gained little traction, with only China offering tepid support.

What can be done? I watch the picture of a child among the deportees clinging to a tattered bag, her eyes scanning the horizon for hope. Should India provide short-term humanitarian aid -- food, shelter, medical care -- to prevent a crisis from becoming a tragedy? Long-term, both nations need to negotiate, perhaps through backchannels, to resolve the repatriation deadlock. The UN or a neutral body could mediate, though pride and mistrust make this unlikely. The deportees, meanwhile, are pawns in a larger game, their fate tied to the whims of two governments locked in a cycle of retribution.

As the sun dips below the border, casting long shadows over the stranded, I am struck by the absurdity of their plight. They are citizens of a nation that disowns them, guests in a country that expels them. Their story is a stark reminder that when borders become battle lines, it is the vulnerable who pay the price. History tells us this can end -- through diplomacy, pressure, or time -- but until then, these souls remain ghosts in a divided land.