Malaysiakini says its reporter detained by MACC, blocked from contacting him
KUALA LUMPUR, March 1 — News portal Malaysiakini said today that its reporter B Nantha Kumar was detained last night by the Malaysian Anti-Corruption Commission (MACC).
It wrote that an alleged MACC officer said it would apply with the Putrajaya Magistrate's Court for the reporter to be remanded.
Malaysiakini said the detention was due to an article on an alleged Pakistani cartel smuggling migrant workers into Malaysia.
It also said it was refused access to the reporter.
Malay Mail is seeking to verify the detention and request more details from MACC.
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Yahoo
15 hours ago
- Yahoo
Rights Activist Mahrang Baloch Writes From a Pakistan Prison
Supporters of Balochistan National Party carry posters of Mahrang Baloch during a protest in Quetta on May 2, 2025. Credit - Banaras Khan—AFP/Getty Images It has been more than two and a half months since I was thrown into prison—Hudda Prison, in Quetta, Pakistan, the same place father was caged nearly two decades ago, also for promoting the rights of the people of Balochistan. Since my arrest, Pakistan's state secuity agencies have deployed every tactic to break me. I have been offered a deal: stay silent, avoid political activity, and you can be home. I refused. The state has failed to produce a single piece of evidence linking me to any act of violence or criminality. The only "proof" they cite is a press conference I gave a few days before my March 22 arrest. I spoke to reporters after armed militants had hijacked a train and held 300 passengers hostage for hours. The attack occurred in the Balochistan, the largest province in Pakistan, and was carried out by Baloch separatists who have been fighting with the state for decades. At the press conference, I spoke not to defend the hijackers—our movement, the Baloch Yakjehti [Unity] Committee, has always renounced violence. Indeed, my intention was to draw a distinction between those who confront the state with arms and those who confront it with words. It's a crucial distinction, one the state prefers to blur. In Pakistan, 'terrorist' is a label pinned on anyone who advocates for Baloch rights. Those who speak up run the risk of arrest by military and intelligence agencies. After their arrest, they might never be seen again. If they are, it is often as a body, produced after a violent incident like the train was why I asked reporters: Who were the more than two dozen 'unidentified' bodies brought to Quetta's Civil Hospital after the hijacking? And why were 13 of them buried overnight without being named? The attackers, the Baloch Liberation Army, had released pictures and details of the 12 militants it said were killed. The identities of the rest were a mystery, but we had our suspicions. In Balochistan it is common practice, after violent episodes, for the forcibly disappeared persons to be put to death, and their bodies produced as those of militants. I demanded DNA testing of those who had been buried in the dead of night. Families of the disappeared feared, with good reason, that their loved ones were among more: Pakistan Jails Baloch Human Rights Activist So I am in jail for insisting on the distinction between peaceful activism and violence. My work had already drawn unwelcome international attention. In May 2024, Pakistani officials were outraged after I visited Norway at the invitation of PEN Norway, the Norwegian branch of PEN International and the World Expression Forum. I was even harassed on Norwegian soil by individuals linked to Pakistan's embassy in Oslo, whose intervention was ended by the Norwegian domestic security agency, PST. When I returned to Pakistan, I was immediately charged with sedition, and treated as if I had returned from an ISIS camp in Syria or Iraq rather than one of the most peace-loving countries in the world. In October, the government's smear campaigns amplified with my inclusion on the TIME100 Next Emerging Leaders. I was called 'Malala 2' and a Western puppet. Surveillance around me intensified, and I was placed on the Fourth Schedule, an anti-terror watch list typically reserved for hardened militants, and which restricts the movement and activities of the listed. I was barred from travelling abroad. I am learning the price of peaceful activism. For decades, Pakistan has kept the rest of the country, and the world, in the dark about Balochistan. It remains an information black hole. Among those the military and intelligence agencies have forcibly disappeared, killed, or forced into exile are journalists who dare to write about these atrocities. According to the Balochistan Union of Journalists, more than 40 have been killed since 2000. Foreign media are denied access to the region. From this darkness, a woman leading a grassroots movement for Baloch rights was unacceptable. The hostility of the state intensified with the BBC's 100 Women list, and a nomination for the Nobel Peace Prize. But if international pressure has prevented my being killed, I face psychological warfare, threats, and the constant spectre of danger. I write this the day my sister told me that the Islamic State of Khorasan (ISIS-K) released a 100-page Urdu-language booklet accusing me of being a Western agent. Their "evidence"? The TIME honor and Norway trip. Other BYC leaders are in jail with me: Sabghat Ullah Shah Jee, Beebarg Zehri (a disabled man), Gulzadi, and Beebow. I tell them: We are not the first to be imprisoned for demanding peace, justice, and rights. From Nelson Mandela to Narges Mohammadi, we walk the same path. We draw strength from their courage, intellect, and defiance. Our movement is rooted in peace. We speak against enforced disappearances, extrajudicial killings, forced displacement, and the systematic denial of basic rights to the Baloch. We are the rightful owners of the Saindak Copper-Gold Project (worth billions of dollars, but the profits are not shared with the local population), the Reko Diq mine (estimated to hold copper and gold reserves worth over $60 billion, but the benefits are not reaching the Baloch people), and Gwadar — the gateway to the China-Pakistan Economic Corridor. Yet, 70% of Balochistan's population lives below the poverty more: Pakistan Bars Activist From Traveling to TIME Event Honoring HerThe state is offended and brands us terrorists and violent. But we are not violent. The state is armed, powerful, and ruthless. It uses violence to silence those who ask for justice. The practices once reserved for the Baloch, considered lesser citizens, are now expanding to other parts of Pakistan. Former Prime Minister Imran Khan and his party are now under the military's wrath. He is jailed. Is Imran Khan also a terrorist? Are members of his PTI party now "agents of hostile agencies"? If the Pakistan Army and its intelligence agencies are as competent as they claim to be, why have they failed to present a single piece of credible proof? Why have they not held a fair, transparent trial? Because this isn't about the law; it's about fear, their fear of our truth. This prison is more than bricks and bars. It carries the memory of my father. As a child, I visited him here. I didn't grow up playing with toys. I grew up holding posters of my father, who was detained and then disappeared. When I turned eighteen, I received his lifeless, tortured, bullet-riddled body. This is not just my story. It's the story of every child in Balochistan. Childhood here is shaped by grief, fear, and posters of the disappeared. When our generation came of age, those of us raised in the shadows of state violence, we vowed: No child after us should suffer the same fate. We are fully aware of the power imbalance between us and a nuclear-armed state. It controls the media. It runs smear campaigns. It weaponizes the judiciary. It deploys overwhelming force. It controls the parliament. It operates proxy groups and armed militias. Our confinement is part of a war of narratives. Speaking up for justice is not a crime. Raising our voices against state violence is not treason. Demanding rights is not terrorism. It is humanity. And one day, we believe, this struggle will succeed. Contact us at letters@
Time Magazine
16 hours ago
- Time Magazine
Mahrang Baloch Writes From Prison: ‘Speaking Up for Justice Is Not a Crime'
It has been more than two and a half months since I was thrown into prison —Hudda Prison, in Quetta, Pakistan, the same place father was caged nearly two decades ago, also for promoting the rights of the people of Balochistan. Since my arrest, Pakistan's state secuity agencies have deployed every tactic to break me. I have been offered a deal: stay silent, avoid political activity, and you can be home. I refused. The state has failed to produce a single piece of evidence linking me to any act of violence or criminality. The only "proof" they cite is a press conference I gave a few days before my March 22 arrest. I spoke to reporters after armed militants had hijacked a train and held 300 passengers hostage for hours. The attack occurred in the Balochistan, the largest province in Pakistan, and was carried out by Baloch separatists who have been fighting with the state for decades. At the press conference, I spoke not to defend the hijackers—our movement, the Baloch Yakjehti [Unity] Committee, has always renounced violence. Indeed, my intention was to draw a distinction between those who confront the state with arms and those who confront it with words. It's a crucial distinction, one the state prefers to blur. In Pakistan, 'terrorist' is a label pinned on anyone who advocates for Baloch rights. Those who speak up run the risk of arrest by military and intelligence agencies. After their arrest, they might never be seen again. If they are, it is often as a body, produced after a violent incident like the train attack. This was why I asked reporters: Who were the more than two dozen 'unidentified' bodies brought to Quetta's Civil Hospital after the hijacking? And why were 13 of them buried overnight without being named? The attackers, the Baloch Liberation Party, had released pictures and details of the 12 militants it said were killed. The identities of the rest were a mystery, but we had our suspicions. In Balochistan it is common practice, after violent episodes, for the forcibly disappeared persons to be put to death, and their bodies produced as those of militants. I demanded DNA testing of those who had been buried in the dead of night. Families of the disappeared feared, with good reason, that their loved ones were among them. Read more: Pakistan Jails Baloch Human Rights Activist So I am in jail for insisting on the distinction between peaceful activism and violence. My work had already drawn unwelcome international attention. In May 2024, Pakistani officials were outraged after I visited Norway at the invitation of PEN Norway, the Norwegian branch of PEN International and the World Expression Forum. I was even harassed on Norwegian soil by individuals linked to Pakistan's embassy in Oslo, whose intervention was ended by the Norwegian domestic security agency, PST. When I returned to Pakistan, I was immediately charged with sedition, and treated as if I had returned from an ISIS camp in Syria or Iraq rather than one of the most peace-loving countries in the world. In October, the government's smear campaigns amplified with my inclusion on the TIME100 Next Emerging Leaders. I was called 'Malala 2' and a Western puppet. Surveillance around me intensified, and I was placed on the Fourth Schedule, an anti-terror watch list typically reserved for hardened militants, and which restricts the movement and activities of the listed. I was barred from travelling abroad. I am learning the price of peaceful activism. For decades, Pakistan has kept the rest of the country, and the world, in the dark about Balochistan. It remains an information black hole. Among those the military and intelligence agencies have forcibly disappeared, killed, or forced into exile are journalists who dare to write about these atrocities. According to the Balochistan Union of Journalists, more than 40 have been killed since 2000. Foreign media are denied access to the region. From this darkness, a woman leading a grassroots movement for Baloch rights was unacceptable. The hostility of the state intensified with the BBC's 100 Women list, and a nomination for the Nobel Peace Prize. But if international pressure has prevented my being killed, I face psychological warfare, threats, and the constant spectre of danger. I write this the day my sister told me that the Islamic State of Khorasan (ISIS-K) released a 100-page Urdu-language booklet accusing me of being a Western agent. Their "evidence"? The TIME honor and Norway trip. Other BYC leaders are in jail with me: Sabghat Ullah Shah Jee, Beebarg Zehri (a disabled man), Gulzadi, and Beebow. I tell them: We are not the first to be imprisoned for demanding peace, justice, and rights. From Nelson Mandela to Narges Mohammadi, we walk the same path. We draw strength from their courage, intellect, and defiance. Our movement is rooted in peace. We speak against enforced disappearances, extrajudicial killings, forced displacement, and the systematic denial of basic rights to the Baloch. We are the rightful owners of the Saindak Copper-Gold Project (worth billions of dollars, but the profits are not shared with the local population), the Reko Diq mine (estimated to hold copper and gold reserves worth over $60 billion, but the benefits are not reaching the Baloch people), and Gwadar — the gateway to the China-Pakistan Economic Corridor. Yet, 70% of Balochistan's population lives below the poverty line. Read more: Pakistan Bars Activist From Traveling to TIME Event Honoring Her The state is offended and brands us terrorists and violent. But we are not violent. The state is armed, powerful, and ruthless. It uses violence to silence those who ask for justice. The practices once reserved for the Baloch, considered lesser citizens, are now expanding to other parts of Pakistan. Former Prime Minister Imran Khan and his party are now under the military's wrath. He is jailed. Is Imran Khan also a terrorist? Are members of his PTI party now "agents of hostile agencies"? If the Pakistan Army and its intelligence agencies are as competent as they claim to be, why have they failed to present a single piece of credible proof? Why have they not held a fair, transparent trial? Because this isn't about the law; it's about fear, their fear of our truth. This prison is more than bricks and bars. It carries the memory of my father. As a child, I visited him here. I didn't grow up playing with toys. I grew up holding posters of my father, who was detained and then disappeared. When I turned eighteen, I received his lifeless, tortured, bullet-riddled body. This is not just my story. It's the story of every child in Balochistan. Childhood here is shaped by grief, fear, and posters of the disappeared. When our generation came of age, those of us raised in the shadows of state violence, we vowed: No child after us should suffer the same fate. We are fully aware of the power imbalance between us and a nuclear-armed state. It controls the media. It runs smear campaigns. It weaponizes the judiciary. It deploys overwhelming force. It controls the parliament. It operates proxy groups and armed militias. Our confinement is part of a war of narratives. Speaking up for justice is not a crime. Raising our voices against state violence is not treason. Demanding rights is not terrorism. It is humanity. And one day, we believe, this struggle will succeed.
Yahoo
a day ago
- Yahoo
Teenage TikTok star's murder leaves Pakistani women questioning whether any safe spaces exist – online or on the street
When Sana Yousaf turned 17, she posted a video of her birthday celebrations to more than a million followers on TikTok. They saw her cutting a pink and cream cake beneath a matching balloon arch, the June breeze ruffling her long hair as she beamed against the backdrop of the cloud-covered Margalla Hills in Pakistan's capital, Islamabad. Less than 24 hours later, Sana was dead, a bullet through her chest and graphic images of her dead body going viral on Pakistani social media, outraging women across the country, who fear there are no safe spaces for them anymore – in reality, or online. Police have detained 22-year-old Umar Hayat, an unemployed man from the city of Faisalabad, over Sana's murder. Syed Ali Nasir Rizvi, the Inspector General of Police of Islamabad, alleged Rizvi 'repeatedly attempted to contact' the teenager and killed her when she refused to respond. CNN has not been able to locate a legal representative for Hayat. Sana's father, Syed Yousaf Hassan, told CNN no words could convey the family's loss, and his daughter hadn't told him she was being harassed. 'My daughter was braver than a son,' he said. 'She didn't fear anything.' As Sana's family prepared for her funeral, disturbing comments started popping up on her TikTok and Instagram posts, most in Urdu, celebrating her killing. 'Happy to see these things happening,' read one. Another stated, 'My heart is happy today, I'm going to turn on music and dance with joy.' Under a picture of Sana wearing traditional Pakistani clothes covering her entire body, a comment said, 'encouraging young women to seek attention or expose themselves can have serious negative consequences.' The Digital Rights Foundation (DRF), a women-led nonprofit that promotes online safety, said such rhetoric 'dangerously links a woman's online presence or perceived morality to justifications for violence.' 'This form of digital vigilantism contributes to a broader culture of victim-blaming, where abuse is normalized and accountability is shifted away from the perpetrator,' the DRF said in a report released soon after Sana's death. Alongside toxic online comments, rage has simmered among women across Pakistan, who are demanding justice for Sana, pointing to a crisis of masculinity in the South Asian nation. And Pakistan is far from alone in seeing heated debates over the prevalence of violence against women. Recent multiple murders in Latin America, including a Mexican influencer who was shot dead while livestreaming, has sparked indignation and highlighted the high rates of femicide across the continent. British miniseries'Adolescence' became a global hit this year with its raw depiction of the damage caused by online misogyny while a recent largescale Australia study found one in three men saying they have committed intimate partner violence at some point in their lives. Sana's TikTok content would be familiar to any teenager online. Her recent shorts included showing off her fashionwear, singing songs while driving, and filming a blowdry at the salon. But for prominent women's rights campaigners, Sana's death was the ultimate outcome of unrestricted online abuse of women in a patriarchal country. Amber Rahim Shamsi, a prominent journalist and Pakistan editor of a news digital platform, Nukta, says she was relentlessly harassed online in 2020 for a variety of issues, including her views on women's rights. 'I have also been stalked online, and became fearful when my stalker started to send me mugs and mounted photos to my office. I am just one example among millions of women from all walks of life. Most don't have the privilege or social safety nets to protect themselves,' Shamsi told CNN. Shamsi agrees that there is a crisis in masculinity, 'especially in how it plays out in our digital spaces.' And that it needs to be talked about 'not just for women's sake, but for men's, too.' According to Shamsi, 'social media has amplified women's voices – especially those of young women – who are increasingly educated, politically aware, and unafraid to own their choices. That visibility, that confidence, is unsettling for some men who have grown up believing their authority, their control, is a given.' 'It's an identity crisis,' says Shamsi. 'A subset of men is reacting with anxiety and aggression to this shift in gender dynamic as though the solution is to shrink women's spaces, rather than question why so many boys are being raised to feel threatened by equality.' The DRF's report stated that since 2017 its helpline 'has documented over 20,000 cases of technology-facilitated gender-based violence and online threats, numbers that have only grown.' Kanwal Ahmed, a Pakistani social entrepreneur and storyteller, runs Soul Sister Pakistan, a Facebook group created in 2013 with over 300,000 followers. For years, it's operated as a popular safe digital space for Pakistani women online, but Ahmed says the criticism of her page has been unrelenting. 'We have been called a man-hating, trauma-bonding club where all women do is gossip,' said Ahmed, who works with volunteers to help women in need who post on the page. Sana is not alone when it comes to unwanted online attention that's moved to real life. Ahmed recalled a case in 2019 of a young woman who had been stalked by a man after her friend leaked her number online. 'The only difference between her and Sana is that she wasn't killed, the stalker turned up at her door,' said Ahmed. 'You don't have to be an influencer to face this, it can happen to anyone.' Natalia Tariq, the resource mobilization lead at the Association for Progressive Communications (APC), a worldwide network of social activists who use the internet to make the world a better place, tells CNN that there is 'a complete culture of impunity' around online gender-based violence in Pakistan. Regulations and policies in place in the country are 'absolutely inadequate,' she said. There's a perception in Pakistan that 'violence that takes place online is not 'real' and is therefore less harmful,' Tariq said. But she added that what are sometimes seen as 'merely virtual' online threats can often turn to physical violence. Much praise has been heaped on Pakistani authorities for their sensitive and swift handling of Sana's murder, but some commentators say that's missing the point. Usama Khilji, the director of Bolo Bhi, a digital rights advocacy group Bolo Bhi, says Pakistan should be talking about educating boys about online harassment. 'Men in leadership positions need to be talking about these issues,' according to Khilji. Khilji said hate speech against women in Pakistan is still 'not a priority, and he's called on the government to 'show leadership in combatting online crimes against women.' Sana's murder comes less than two weeks after a landmark ruling by the country's Supreme Court upheld the death penalty for Zahir Jaffer, who murdered Noor Mukkadam, the daughter of a distinguished diplomat, in 2021. The brutal beheading horrified the country and renewed calls for better protection for victims of gender-based violence. Noor's father, Shaukat Mukadam, has been lauded for his relentless campaign for justice for his daughter. After the ruling, Noor's family issued a statement saying the verdict was a 'powerful reminder that women's lives matter.' Sana's father, Hassan, told CNN of his immense love for his daughter, of her plans to become a doctor, and the simple things that gave her joy, like birthday parties. 'Every moment with her was unforgettable,' he said.
