June 15, 2013 was very a sad day. Quaid-e-Azam Mohammad Ali Jinnah’s Residency in Ziarat, near the capital of Balochistan, was destroyed in a bomb attack. The Balochistan Liberation Army (BLA) claimed responsibility by replacing the Pakistani flag on the building with its own flag. Jinnah’s Residency was the most prominent image of Balochistan in my mind. Back in time, just before an announcer of Pakistan Television announced a programme by Quetta station, viewers would be treated with an image of this building for a few seconds to the accompaniment of music. I could relate to this building through numerous accounts of the final weeks of Jinnah’s life there in Pakistan Studies textbooks in school/college, newspapers and magazines. I never visited Ziarat, but it was a sacred place in my imagination, so close to the founder of Pakistan and my identity as a Pakistani. Adil Najam, Vice Chancellor of Lahore University of Management Sciences (LUMS), summed up my initial reaction to the attack in a tweet; “Dastardly. Cowardly. Pathetic. Jinnah Residency in Ziarat attacked. This is attack on an idea. The idea of all of us. The idea of Pakistan.” To know that Jinnah’s Residency was reduced to a pile of ashes left a hole in my imagination. I am sure the Americans must have felt somewhat similarly when they saw the twin towers — the symbol of their country’s economic power — yielding to coordinated terrorist attacks. In addition to leaving behind a trail of death and destruction, 9/11 dealt a deadly psychological blow. The attack on Jinnah’s Residency in Ziarat did not involve a massive loss of life, but the loss of a building along with its collection of Jinnah memorabilia felt like an intimate attack on me. I feel I have a right to be enraged. But there is another side to this story that must be remembered and told. The long struggle of the Baloch for the right to live as dignified human beings now has become radicalised. They tried winning their economic and political rights through the force of guns earlier, but were brutally crushed. The Baloch then turned to democratic means, which could not bring even a modicum of improvement in their lives. They have picked up guns again, with a fierce determination to claim their rights, but have been responded to with brutal force yet again. The tit-for-tat game continues. But in the process both sides have suffered. I am wondering how the Baloch must feel when their friends, relatives, comrades and colleagues — not inanimate objects existing in their imagination — are picked up by the law enforcement agencies and later recovered as tortured bullet-riddled bodies or returned as the ‘living dead’, bearing deep psychological scars of the treatment meted out to them in interrogation cells. Each street and every other household has a story of grief and loss of a loved one, some at the hands of intelligence agencies, others at the hands of sectarian outfits, and yet others at the hands of the Baloch rebels. A person living comfortably in the secure environs of Lahore could probably not even imagine the desperation seen and felt on the streets of Quetta and other parts of Balochistan. That very day when the BLA burnt the Ziarat Residency, another blow came in the form of the news of bombing on a bus of Sardar Bahadur Khan Women’s University, and later in the casualty ward of Bolan Medical Complex where the injured students were taken. Lashkar-e-Jhangvi has claimed responsibility for these attacks. The dreams of 14 young girls — the hope and light of their loved ones — were snuffed out. Countless others have been scarred for life. How their parents must have received the news of their death. Some are struggling for life, others are trying to recover from the loss of a limb or deep wounds. How are they coping with this sudden blow? Each death and each injury has a story behind it. Why are those stories not reaching us? Why are they not being told? Are they not poignant enough, or are they just getting buried under the garbage of the counter-narrative? I rejoiced with my fellow Pakistanis over the successful holding of elections and a peaceful transition, but perhaps it is too early to celebrate. The bloodshed continues and there are not enough words or actions that can bring healing. Baloch activists continue to disappear and get tortured and killed. Sectarian outfits continue their attacks on innocent people without let or hindrance. The Taliban are actively pursuing their agenda without even a token resistance from the general public of Punjab. Most alarmingly, the stories of those who are suffering are not being told. Perhaps some of us — filmmakers, journalists, writers, theatre artists, painters, storytellers, politicians — should be more inquisitive about what is happening in the lives of those who are daily suffering from violence. Someone with the integrity to find out the truth and the skill to convey it should bring these stories to the general public. There are thousands and thousands of deeply moving, enraging, terrifying, elevating, touching, enlightening stories littered all around us. True stories tell the truth and have great wisdom. They make their own argument. Simple human stories of how a mother left her disabled son when fleeing for Swat because she could not carry him along with other children. How a child is struggling with the loss of a sibling or parent. How a military family is coping that lost all men to a terrorist attack on a mosque. How a parent is struggling to feed the children of his son, who just disappeared one day. How a girl was shot because she wanted an education. It is very important to tell a true human story to build a case against policies currently being pursued by the security establishment. The new government of Balochistan should allow access to the media, so that they can objectively report the situation on the ground. Empathetic listening, healing words and concrete actions to stop enforced disappearances in the province can lay the groundwork for reconciliation with the estranged elements. Likewise, it is important to inform the public of the havoc sectarian and other militant organisations are playing with the lives of their victims. Public opinion against militant outfits will allow the government space to eliminate their role from the security and foreign policies of Pakistan. The writer is a freelance journalist based in Washington, DC. She tweets at @ishrats and can be reached at isaleem@syr.edu