Pakistani visa extensions canceled for Afghan refugees - and a judge's plea for aid
The conflict between Pakistan and Afghanistan continues to escalate.
Deadly border skirmishes on Oct. 11 ceased due to the intercession of Saudi Arabia and Qatar, but in the following days, strikes continued. The United Nations Assistance Mission in Afghanistan (UNAMA) has reported 37 civilians killed and 425 wounded as a result of further Pakistani air strikes last week.
A ceasefire reached Wednesday has reportedly been violated by Pakistani drone strikes on Thursday, resulting in a reported 10 additional deaths.
The Taliban, for their part, have been seen parading the pants, tanks, and weapons of Pakistani military personnel as trophies.
In the midst of the deadly battles, Afghan refugees in Pakistan tell me that their already tenuous and frightening situation has become more fraught with anxiety.
Pakistan’s efforts to remove all Afghan refugees from its borders, with Hasht e Subh Daily reporting that 500,000 Afghans have been deported to their homeland in recent months. This includes U.S. allies, particularly those with applications to the long-suspended U.S. Refugee Admissions Program.
On Oct. 17, Pakistani Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif said there would be no more leniency regarding extensions of Pakistani visas for Afghan refugees.
Amidst the tumult, fear is rising in the Afghan refugee population in Pakistan. Numerous sources within that community have informed me of increased numbers of arrests of Afghans, sending along videos of purported surprise arrests and Afghan refugees packed into what appear to be crowded jail cells.
Multiple Afghans in the USRAP program have begged me to share their stories with the world and advocate for their situation. Their stories explain the pain they feel far better than my words can. In closing, I am sharing the story of ‘Mohammad,’ a judge who enabled our war against terror inside Afghanistan.
The Judge in the Shadows: My Journey from the Courtroom to Exile
By Mohammad (Pseudonym)
My name is Mohammad. That is not my real name, but it is the only one I can use now—to protect my family and myself. I am a former Afghan judge, a husband, and the father of four beautiful children. For years, I served my country in pursuit of justice and the rule of law. But today, I am a man without a country, living in fear—just a shadow of the man I once was.
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A Life Devoted to Justice
My journey in law began shortly after U.S.-led coalition forces entered Afghanistan. Back then, our mission felt clear: defeat terrorism and restore stability to a nation ravaged by decades of war. I committed myself fully to that mission, serving as a judge in several provinces across Afghanistan.
Over time, I rose through the ranks and was eventually appointed Chief Judge of the Counterterrorism Court at Bagram Air Base—one of the most sensitive and dangerous judicial roles in the country.
Bagram was no ordinary court. It was the epicenter for prosecuting the most dangerous terrorist suspects captured by Afghan and international forces. I presided over trials involving members of the Taliban, ISIS, al-Qaeda, and affiliated extremist groups—individuals responsible for countless atrocities against both Afghans and the international community.
Some of the most high-profile cases I handled included:
Anas Haqqani, a senior figure in the Haqqani network
Hafiz Rasheed, a financier of terrorist operations
The ISIS operatives behind the deadly attack on Kabul University that shocked the entire nation
And dozens of other trials involving insurgents and war criminals
Every day I walked into that courtroom knowing I was one step closer to danger. Still, I remained committed to my duty—delivering justice with integrity and impartiality. But with every verdict, the threats against me grew. I accepted those risks because I believed in the rule of law and a peaceful future for Afghanistan.
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The Fall of Kabul — and the Collapse of My Life
On August 15, 2021, the Taliban seized Kabul. In a single night, everything I had worked for came crashing down. The job that once symbolized honor and service had now become my death sentence. My close cooperation with U.S. forces and my role in prosecuting terrorists made me a top target. My family—simply because they were mine—were also in danger.
There was no time to think. Evacuation flights were being organized, but our names were never called. Desperate and terrified, my wife and I gathered our four young children—then aged 8, 6, 3, and 1—and fled. We moved from house to house, hiding from the Taliban, living in fear, until we finally managed to cross the border into Pakistan.
I was registered under P1 priority refugee status, believing that the United States—our ally in the fight against terrorism—would not forget us.
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Three Years in Limbo
It has now been more than three years since we fled Afghanistan. Life in Pakistan has become increasingly uncertain and dangerous:
The Pakistani government has stopped issuing visas to Afghan refugees
The letters of support we once received from U.S. authorities have lost their power
We live under constant threat of arrest, deportation, or harassment
The government of Pakistan has announced the forced expulsion of all Afghan refugees, a policy intensified under Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif, amid growing tensions with the Taliban
My family and I live in constant fear. We’ve endured unbearable heat, slept in overcrowded shelters and under open skies, always watching for the knock on the door that could mean detention or deportation. My children no longer play freely—they whisper, hide, and look at us with anxious eyes. My wife remains strong, but I can see the exhaustion on her face.
We sold everything we had just to escape. Now, we have nothing—no income, no rights, no safety.
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A Plea from the Heart
This is not just the story of a refugee. It is the story of a man who stood on the frontlines of justice—side by side with international allies—and upheld the principles of law and human rights. I dedicated my life to fighting terrorism in the courtroom. Now, that very commitment has put my life, and the lives of my family, in grave danger.
Though we have completed every step of the resettlement process—including medical checks for entry to the United States—our case has been placed on hold.
I am ready to provide any documentation needed: court records, identity papers, proof of my refugee status. But more than bureaucracy, what we need now is safety—a place where my children can grow up without fear, where my wife can live without anxiety, and where we can be human again.
To the United States government, and to all those who remember how we stood together for peace and justice, I make this heartfelt plea:
Please don’t abandon us.
Don’t let our story end in silence.