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Mahnoor Gul

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


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.


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Oct 27

Thank you for accurately portraying how life is in Karachi - especially how our childhoods were full of threats of imminent dangers and we eventually began to normalize it to feel some semblance of normalcy. You raise an important point about this whole situation, that we need to stop pretending to turn a blind eye to this and actually acknowledge the problem. The fire drills would be carried out but no one would bring up the fact that literal children were thinking of escape routes in case they were shot on sight. Losing that innocence was hard enough, but not having any coping mechanisms also added another burden to the constant ongoing struggle of living in a politically unstable country.

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The absence of measures to help students adapt to violence in schools is of critical importance as the fear of another attack can affect the mental health and learning of a child. Hence the school and the state are both stakeholders that need to foster change by hiring mental health counsellors as well training teachers in trauma enforced education. Policies only advocating for school drills are not inadequate and can instead have the opposite effect of instilling more fear in children. Moreover, there needs to be exploration how cultural barriers can be overcome to deal with attaching more importance to mental health. Also, the community can play an integral role in supporting children as teachers and the community act as…

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I must say that thank you for writing on such a prevalent and important issue, which is something i am sure all of us must have encountered once at least in one capacity or the other since the APS attack in Pakistan.  The vivid imagery you use highlights the frustrating reality that students in Karachi, and across Pakistan, were forced to move on without the mental health support they so clearly needed, and this was also prevalent in my own school where too many times we came across the fact that if there were plays being held for the APS tribute , it all ended up in creating a different purpose than the one it was suppose to achieve. …


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Your blog offers a compelling exploration of the profound impact of the Army Public School attack on Pakistan's youth. It’s disheartening to see that, instead of fostering open dialogues with students about their fears and trauma and providing emotional support, schools resort to superficial policies that often heighten anxiety rather than alleviate it.

Your critique of the absence of mental health resources is extremely important and accurate. Why haven't NGOs or community programs stepped in to create spaces where students can openly discuss their experiences and feelings? There is a clear lack of proactive measures to address the psychological well-being of students, leaving them to grapple with their fears in silence.

As a society, we must reevaluate our obsession with…

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You know, despite the fact that such NGOs exist that do prioritize the mental health of students, I do not think they have the ability to make a larger impact based off of the fact that our system is rooted in preparing students for yearly exams and forcing them down the conveyer belt until they make it to corporate life. Because of this idea of "being on time" and, of course, the rat race of the job world, schools are unlikely to prioritize health because it prevents them from moving forward. You are right; as a society, we are obsessed with academic achievement, and we refuse to acknowledge that academics and mental health go hand in hand.

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Ali Khan
Oct 27

Your blog truly brings out the anguish and urgency felt by students across Pakistan, especially in the wake of the Army Public School tragedy. Growing up in Peshawar, I resonate deeply with the fear pressure students faced after the Aps attack. Your recount of how policies focused on superficial security measures - like fire drills and "Stranger Danger" talks - instead of offering genuine mental health support, is very unsettling.

I also find your critique of how academia pushed forward without pause during and after these tragic events particularly compelling. It raises an important question: is it not equally detrimental for children to be deprived of a chance to process their grief as it is to endure physical threats? Rather…

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I believe it is a mixture of both. Pakistani societies tend to band against dialogue about topics that are considered controversial, especially when it involves topics related to our state. The policies our schools make are also reflective of it; performative activism as I like to call it because it is clear that the intent of the policies is to distract students form grief and to keep them focused on their studies, often resulting in future trauma. This is cloaked under the blanket of solidarity and support on the surface when nothing much changes on the inside.

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