There’s a heavy silence hanging over parts of Pakistan these days—streets, shops, and neighborhoods that once bustled with the voices of Afghan families now feel different. For decades, Afghan refugees have been part of our communities, working, studying, raising children, and building lives here. But now, many of them are being told to leave—some even before the promised deadline.

The government has begun deporting Afghan refugees who hold UNHCR-issued Proof of Registration (PoR) cards. This is part of the third phase of the so-called “Illegal Foreigners Repatriation Plan.” But what’s making this stage different—and more painful—is that it also affects people who are legally registered and have lived here for many years.

From August 1 to 4, reports emerged of registered Afghan families being detained and sent across the border, despite their documents still being valid. The UN refugee agency has warned that this could violate Pakistan’s international commitments, especially agreements that protect refugees from being forcibly returned to unsafe conditions.

For many Afghans, Pakistan wasn’t just a place to stay—it was home. Their children grew up here, learned in our schools, played cricket in our alleys. They opened shops, worked in markets, drove taxis, and wove themselves into the fabric of our daily lives. Now, all of that is being uprooted.

I can’t help but imagine the scenes: mothers clutching children as they wait near trucks piled high with their belongings; elderly men leaning on walking sticks under the burning sun; young people staring at the ground, unsure of what comes next. Over 1.3 million people hold PoR cards, and many more have other forms of legal refugee documentation. Yet their future here feels suddenly fragile.

Officials say the deportations are aimed at those without valid visas, citing security concerns and economic pressures. But rights groups and humanitarian organizations argue that sending people back like this—especially those who are legally registered—puts them at risk of harm and strips them of dignity. Afghanistan itself is still struggling with poverty, instability, and lack of infrastructure to support such a sudden influx.

The government had earlier extended the deadline for voluntary returns until the end of August. But with deportations already starting, many feel that promise has been broken. And when the grace period expires, the pace could quicken, leaving families with even less time to prepare.

This issue isn’t just about politics or policy—it’s about people. Every Afghan family forced to leave is losing more than a roof over their heads. They’re losing neighbors, schools, jobs, and the security they’ve known for years. And Pakistan is losing too—losing skilled workers, loyal friends, and part of the community that has been with us through our own struggles.

Of course, the challenges Pakistan faces are real. The economy is strained, and security threats do exist. But the way we respond matters. It’s possible to balance national interests with compassion. The UNHCR and other agencies have urged Pakistan to make the return process voluntary, gradual, and supported—so families aren’t thrown into crisis.

The principle of “non-refoulement”—not forcing refugees back to danger—is at the heart of international refugee law. Following it isn’t just a legal duty; it’s a moral one. These people came here seeking safety, and many have built decades-long ties with our land.

As the deadline draws closer, the choices Pakistan makes will speak volumes—not only to the world but to our own conscience. Are we a country that values human dignity, even when it’s difficult? Or will we let politics and pressure overshadow compassion?

This is not just a headline or a statistic. It’s a story of human lives—of Afghan families who dreamed of peace, who worked alongside us, and who now face a future filled with uncertainty. In the end, history will remember not just what we decided, but how we treated those who once called Pakistan home.