The controversy surrounding the Indian film Dhurandhar has once again exposed the alarming ease with which cinema can be weaponised to distort history. Political disagreements, artistic liberties, and ideological narratives have always shaped filmmaking, but what Dhurandhar does is not merely a reinterpretation-it is a calculated attack on truth. In its reckless attempt to sensationalise, the film crosses the line from fiction to fabrication, portraying Mohtarma Shaheed Benazir Bhutto as a sympathiser of terrorism, a narrative so absurd and historically bankrupt that it reveals far more about the filmmakers’ intentions than about the past they pretend to depict. Their portrayal is not just a mistake; it is a deliberate slander, a convenient fantasy designed to mislead audiences who may not have the context, depth, or political history required to separate historical fact from cinematic fiction.
Those who know even the basics of Pakistan’s political evolution understand how grotesque this caricature is. Benazir Bhutto did not merely oppose terrorism-she built her political identity around the courage to confront it. She stood against militant networks at a time when many world powers viewed extremists as strategic assets. She warned international policymakers long before terrorism became a global threat. And she ultimately sacrificed her life in the struggle against the very ideologies the film falsely accuses her of supporting. It is astonishing that a single movie could so shamelessly invert decades of documented history, turning a leader universally recognised as a victim of extremism into an accomplice of it.
Cinema has the power to influence millions, and it carries an ethical responsibility when it chooses to depict real political figures. Dhurandhar, however, abandons any semblance of responsibility. It weaponises misinformation for dramatic appeal, relying on caricature, insinuation, and selective half-truths to create a villain out of a woman who repeatedly risked her life to challenge extremists. In doing so, the filmmakers insult not just Benazir Bhutto, but also the thousands of Pakistanis who have died in terrorist attacks, including members of her own party who were targeted because of their commitment to democracy. The distortion is not merely offensive-it is dangerous, as it normalises narratives that blur the lines between victims and perpetrators, leaving space for real extremists to rewrite history to their benefit.
To understand why this distortion is so offensive, one must revisit Benazir Bhutto’s actual record, her public statements, and the continuous threats she navigated throughout her political journey. From the day she entered politics, she inherited not only a legacy of democratic struggle but also a growing landscape of militancy that threatened to destabilise Pakistan. During her first term as Prime Minister, she launched multiple operations against sectarian groups and criminal-terror networks that had taken advantage of the institutional vacuum left by years of military rule. Her government empowered law enforcement agencies to target extremist safe houses, arrest militant leaders, and clamp down on hate propaganda. These actions infuriated radical organisations that later became some of her most vocal enemies.
Benazir Bhutto built her political identity around the courage to confront it. She stood against militant networks at a time when many world powers viewed extremists as strategic assets.
Her second term coincided with the rise of the Taliban movement across the border in Afghanistan. While some regional actors viewed the Taliban as a stabilising force, Benazir Bhutto stood almost alone in warning about the ideological radicalism embedded in their project. She famously called Talibanization “a cancer that will not stop at the Afghan border,” a prediction that would become tragically accurate. Her efforts to steer Pakistan toward a more moderate and democratic approach to regional policy were resisted not only by extremist factions but also by elements within the state who viewed militant proxies as strategic assets. Despite this resistance, she continued speaking out, challenging the dangerous double game that allowed extremist groups to grow.
Her stance placed her in direct conflict with some of the most powerful and violent networks operating in South Asia. Throughout the 1990s, Pakistan saw an increase in sectarian killings, targeted assassinations, and extremist recruitment. Benazir responded by ordering widespread crackdowns, revisiting madrassa registration laws, investigating foreign funding flows, and directing intelligence agencies to track militant activity. Her determination made her a target, not only of terrorists but also of political rivals who accused her of provoking unrest. Even then, she did not step back. She continued telling the world that the threat of extremism was far greater than policymakers realised.
When she went into exile after 1999, many assumed that her voice would lose relevance. Instead, her years abroad strengthened her global stature. She wrote, lectured, and tirelessly advocated for recognising the ideological roots of terrorism, identifying poverty, political suppression, and dictatorship as its primary drivers. Her book Reconciliation: Islam, Democracy & the West remains one of the most profound intellectual works written by a Muslim leader on extremism. In it, she argued that democracy-not military authoritarianism-was the only sustainable way to defeat radicalisation. During those years, terrorist groups repeatedly declared her an enemy, while international analysts acknowledged that she had a clearer understanding of modern militancy than most world leaders.
When she finally returned to Pakistan in October 2007, it was not for power or privilege-it was to reclaim democracy from dictatorship and reclaim the narrative from extremists. Her homecoming procession in Karachi, attended by hundreds of thousands, was a symbol of hope. But within hours, the terrorists struck. A massive suicide attack, one of the deadliest in Pakistan’s political history, targeted her convoy. She narrowly survived, but more than 150 people died. Any other leader might have fled. She did not. Instead, she publicly named the militant networks and shadowy actors she believed were behind the attempt. She refused to be silenced by fear, declaring, “I know exactly who wants to kill me. They wish to stop the restoration of democracy. But I will not be deterred.”
Her courage after that attack was extraordinary. She continued campaigning openly, addressing rallies, visiting constituencies, and reminding the people that democracy required confrontation, not compromise, with terror. Her final political program centred on counterterrorism reforms, including strengthening civilian law enforcement, regulating madrassas, dismantling militant financial networks, and reintegrating neglected tribal and border areas into the constitutional fold. She argued that terrorism could not be defeated by force alone; it required dismantling the social, political, and economic conditions that allowed extremist ideologies to spread. She articulated these views in interviews, parliamentary speeches, and conversations with foreign officials, consistently emphasising that Pakistan’s survival depended on eliminating militancy from both society and the state apparatus.
Her bravery in those final weeks remains one of the most remarkable chapters in political history. Despite repeated warnings from international intelligence agencies about credible threats to her life, she refused to hide behind bulletproof glass. She believed that leaders must stand with the people, not above them. Her public presence was a direct challenge to extremists who thrived on fear. On 27 December 2007, after addressing a massive rally in Rawalpindi, she was assassinated in a coordinated attack involving gunfire and a suicide bomb. Her death confirmed everything she had warned: terrorism was not a distant threat-it was the central challenge facing Pakistan.
With this historical record, it becomes painfully clear how malicious the portrayal in Dhurandhar is. To suggest that a woman who risked everything, who was nearly killed once and ultimately assassinated, somehow supported terrorists is not merely false-it is obscene. It insults her memory, her sacrifice, her family, and the thousands who died for the same cause. It also exposes a troubling trend in which political films manipulate facts to fit nationalist narratives, disregarding the damage caused by such distortions.
When a film chooses to depict real political figures, it has a responsibility to the truth. Dhurandhar abandons that responsibility entirely. It reduces a complex, courageous leader into a fictional villain. It trades accuracy for sensationalism, hoping that dramatic exaggeration will pass for political commentary. It relies on the assumption that the audience will not know or care about the documented facts. But history is more resilient than propaganda. No matter how many times filmmakers attempt to distort the past, the truth remains unshaken.
Benazir Bhutto’s real legacy is not defined by the lies projected on a screen. It is defined by her unwavering defiance against the forces that ultimately took her life. It is defined by her speeches, her warnings, her policies, her sacrifices, and her final moments of bravery. It is defined by the movement she built and the millions of supporters who still view her as a beacon of democratic courage. She challenged terrorists not once, not twice, but throughout her entire life. She spoke against them when the world was silent. She stood against them when powerful actors preferred appeasement. She died confronting them face-to-face.
Dhurandhar may attempt to distort her image, but it cannot change the truth. It cannot rewrite her sacrifices. It cannot erase the historical record. It cannot silence the millions who remember her as she truly was: a woman who believed that Pakistan could only progress through democracy, pluralism, and unwavering resistance to extremism. A woman who walked into the line of fire because she believed her people deserved a future free from fear. A woman who remains, in death as in life, a symbol of defiance against terrorism.
Films can mislead, but history does not forget. Benazir Bhutto’s life stands as an unbroken testament to courage, to foresight, to the struggle for democracy, and to the uncompromising fight against terrorism. No amount of propaganda, no cinematic distortion, no politically motivated screenplay can overshadow the magnitude of her sacrifice. She challenged terror with her voice, with her politics, with her return from exile, with her public presence, and finally, with her life. And that truth, unlike the falsehoods projected in Dhurandhar, will endure.
The writer has been teaching at various universities for the past 12 years. He is also the Head of Research and Investigation at 365 News, works as Web Editor at Daily Times, and can be reached at Dr.Muhammad [email protected].