Marginalized, attacked and frequently hit by blasphemy charges, Pakistan’s religious minorities are hoping the country’s first census since 1998 will be a step toward greater political representation and rights.
In the congested Lahore district of Youhanabad, the largest Christian neighborhood in Pakistan, activist Sajid Christopher says his community looks forward to standing up and being counted. “The census will benefit us in two ways. Firstly we will be able to know about our exact population as so far there has been only guesswork,” he told AFP. “Secondly, our representation in Parliament will be according to our population as our present representation in the democratic system is based on the census of 1981,” he added.
Fast-growing Pakistan is the sixth most populous country in the world, with an estimated 200 million people, but has not held a census for nearly two decades, despite a constitutional requirement for one every decade. The count was delayed for years by politicians squabbling over the potential implications.
Estimates are approximate and disputed, ranging from two to 10 million for Christians, and 2.5 to 4.5 million for Hindus.
Christopher’s views were echoed by Nancy Stiegler, an adviser for the U.N. Population Fund who called the census a “powerful tool for planning” not only for minorities, “but all the population of Pakistan.”
This desire for more accurate data goes to the heart of the controversy surrounding the census: that it will redraw political boundaries and force a redistribution of resources. The process is not without complications—and not all religious minorities are eager to make themselves known.
Pakistan’s Ahmadis, a minority Islamic sect declared non-Muslims by law, number an estimated 500,000 and are victims of persecution and violence. Banned from even calling themselves Muslim, they find themselves in a dangerous position when census officials arrive asking them to declare their religion.
When a Balochistan resident identified himself as Ahmadi to Pakistani census officials, they chased him out of the mosque where they had gathered families to be counted, Saleemuddin, a spokesman for the community, told AFP, without identifying the man for safety reasons. In other cases, he said, census officials simply assume the Ahmadis are Muslim because their names are indistinguishable from the general population and tick that box on their behalf. It is a potentially dangerous move.
Under Pakistan’s laws, “If I declare myself as a Muslim … I can be imprisoned for three years,” Saleemuddin said.
Even those groups keen for recognition are wary, their suspicion fueled by bitter experiences that run deep among Pakistan’s minorities. Citizens can declare themselves to be Muslim, Christian, Hindu, Ahmadi or “other.” But Hindu rights activist Kapil Dev accused the government of divisiveness by having a caste option in the census, when the community believes it should be recorded as one entity, while the Sikh faith failed to make it onto the survey altogether.
Radesh Singh Tony went to court in Peshawar because there was no mention of Sikhism on the form. The court ruled in the activist’s favor, ordering the government to include Sikhs—but the count had already begun, and Radesh was not optimistic. “The government has a record of ignoring court orders,” he told AFP.
And though Christopher was confident, many of his fellow Christians argued even if they are accurately counted it will change nothing until Pakistan’s attitude toward non-Muslims improves. “Muslims can’t see a Christian progress, get a good education and a good job—this is a fact,” said Pervaiz Jazbi, a 37-year-old Christian shopkeeper in Islamabad. “The element of discrimination is always there,” agreed Christian student Sania Nishtar.
Saleemuddin said the Ahmadi man who fled the Balochistan mosque became the target of a hate campaign, barred even from buying food. “He fled with his family,” Saleemuddin told AFP. “He has been living in hiding ever since.”