By Altamush Saeed
Beneath the dusty skies of Okara and along the shimmering shores of Gwadar, a quiet trade is taking root—one cloaked in the language of economic development, yet steeped in cruelty. Pakistan has inaugurated its first donkey meat and hide processing plants, aiming to export the carcasses of 200,000 donkeys annually to China. This venture, heralded by some as a breakthrough in livestock exports, demands closer scrutiny—for it risks deepening poverty, accelerating ecological decline, and eroding the moral fabric of our society.
Donkeys are not mere livestock in Pakistan. They are lifelines. In the blistering heat of southern Punjab’s brick kilns, the narrow alleys of Karachi’s informal settlements, and the flood-ravaged fields of Sindh, donkeys are essential to the survival of the country’s poorest. Over 5.9 million of them haul bricks, transport vegetables, carry water, and support countless households with no access to modern transport. For millions of Pakistanis, especially in rural and peri-urban areas, a donkey is not just a beast of burden—it is a vehicle of dignity, self-reliance, and daily bread.
Exporting these animals for slaughter disrupts this delicate ecosystem. When demand rises, so will prices. Those who can least afford to buy or maintain a donkey will be priced out. With no alternatives, they will fall deeper into debt and marginalization. In the name of trade, we risk dismantling a social safety net woven not in laws, but in hoofbeats and harnesses.
Africa offers a cautionary tale. In Kenya, over 360,000 donkeys were slaughtered in just four years following the opening of Chinese-backed abattoirs from 2012. Reports of donkey theft surged, often targeting poor families. Rural women who relied on donkeys for fetching water were stranded, sometimes assaulted on long walks they once avoided. Uganda, Tanzania, Botswana, Niger, Burkina Faso, Mali and Senegal have all since banned donkey slaughter for export. In 2023, the African Union called for a continent-wide moratorium, citing the risk of extinction and devastating social consequences. These are not hypothetical outcomes—they are lived realities in countries not unlike our own.
Yet Pakistan, rather than learning from their mistakes, appears eager to repeat them.
This donkey business falls outside the Pakistan Halal Authority Act of 2016. But Islamic ethics demand more than procedural compliance. The Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) explicitly forbade the consumption of domesticated donkey meat at the Battle of Khaybar. He condemned animal cruelty and overwork. Islam’s concept of tayyib—that which is pure, wholesome, and just—requires moral clarity, not loopholes. Can we, in good conscience, deem as halal the mass commodification of exhausted animals serving the poor, slaughtered not for need but for foreign profit?
The environmental costs are equally grave. Donkey farming on an industrial scale demands land, water, and feed—resources already under immense strain in Pakistan. Poor waste management at abattoirs risks contaminating local water supplies, especially in ecologically sensitive regions like Gwadar. In a country facing climate-induced droughts, floods, and ecological collapse, the last thing we need is another extractive industry masquerading as progress.
This trade will not uplift the masses—it will exploit them. It will enrich a few and impoverish many, both human and nonhuman. Pakistan must resist this short-sighted path and instead invest in humane donkey welfare systems, community veterinary care, and support for those whose lives are intertwined with these animals.
The donkey’s story is our story—one of resilience, struggle, and silent service. Between donkeys and dollars, we must choose dignity.
The writer is a Pakistani interspecies justice lawyer, Professor and founder of Environmental and Animal Rights Consultants Pakistan, the country’s first dedicated animal and environmental law firm and the Founder of Pakistan’s 1st International Animal and Environmental Rights Conference.