On May 28, residents of Laghari Bajrani village finally buried Irfan Laghari, 30, who had succumbed to his injuries on May 23. Instead of returning his body to the family, the police buried him on May 25, declaring him Laawaris—unclaimed.

The protest, held on May 20, was against the controversial allocation of six canals on the Indus River and corporate farming. What began as a demonstration for land and water rights soon descended into tragedy. Sindh police opened fire on unarmed villagers, killing Zahid Laghari, 25, and injuring several others. Many were also abducted in the chaos that followed.

In a turn of cruel irony, the police filed four First Information Reports (FIRs) against the protesters—but the villagers themselves have been barred from registering an FIR over the deaths and violence they suffered. For more than a week now, Laghari Bajrani and parts of Moro city have remained under virtual siege, with mobile and internet services shut down and a lockdown imposed on the village.

The Sindh government claims the protesters belonged to a banned organization and accuses them of setting fire to the residence of Sindh Home Minister Zia Lanjar. But villagers have flatly denied the allegations, demanding a judicial inquiry. “If we belonged to a banned group,” they ask, “why did Home Minister Zia Lanjar come to our village to seek votes?” That question hangs heavy in the air—and the government has yet to answer it.

Herein lies the larger concern: since when does an elected government have the authority to open fire on unarmed citizens and casually brand them as terrorists? This isn’t democracy—it’s a page torn straight from the playbooks of dictators Zia-ul-Haq and Pervez Musharraf. Their regimes routinely used these very tactics to suppress those who dared to demand their basic rights.

Does the Pakistan Peoples Party not remember how Zia and Musharraf weaponized labels like “traitor” and “enemy of the state” against its own leader, Mohtrama Benazir Bhutto? Today, the same tune is being played—only this time, by those who once claimed to fight such authoritarianism.

Let us be clear: the violence began with the police. The villagers were not armed; they held sticks, not guns. One elected councilor, allegedly inside Zia Lanjar’s home, was heard saying he had weapons—and opened fire on the protesters.

It is not the legacy of Benazir Bhutto to muzzle dissent or to meet peaceful resistance with bullets. The villagers of Laghari Bajrani were asking for protection of Sindhu River, not war. To treat them as enemies of the state is to betray the very principles of democracy.

If justice is not served, the state will find itself not only on the wrong side of the people—but on the wrong side of history.

Wonder of wonders—the government has not yet registered a single FIR against the person who opened fire on villagers. And yet, four FIRs have been filed against those very villagers—whose loved ones were killed, whose people lie wounded in hospitals, and whose sons and brothers—more than thirty—have been abducted without a trace.

This government, which is supposed to be of the people, behaves instead like a political tool—serving only its party’s interests, not the public who cast the votes. If the Sindh government were truly concerned about the Moro incident, it would have immediately launched an impartial investigation. It would have allowed the protesters to register their own FIRs. But justice was not the priority—silencing the victims was.

The Moro tragedy has ripped open the pages of Pakistan’s darkest chapters. The echoes are undeniable. We are reminded of the days when Zia-ul-Haq and Pervez Musharraf buried political opponents—Zulfikar Ali Bhutto and Akbar Bugti—without their families’ consent. Today, the Sindh government has revived that grim playbook: killing protesters, branding them as terrorists, and burying Irfan Laghari as Laawaris, unclaimed.

This cannot be Mohtrama Benazir Bhutto’s legacy. She fought tooth and nail against both Zia and Musharraf. She stood for people’s rights, not state brutality. The actions of the current Sindh government reflect the authoritarianism of those very dictators she opposed. In crushing peaceful protests and treating citizens as enemies, the PPP has dragged Sindhis back into the very era they once resisted.

The state machinery—elite media outlets, social media cells, and narrative control—is firmly in the hands of those in power. But there is one thing no government can ever fully control: the pain and rage of the people.

How do you silence Anita, a young woman whose husband Zahid was gunned down in broad daylight? She is seven months pregnant. Who will explain this “narrative” to her? What comfort can you offer the family of Irfan, whose two-year-old daughter will grow up fatherless? In Laghari Bajrani, the wounds run deep—and the Sindh government has poured salt on them, not balm.

The PPP will eventually return to these same villages seeking votes. But how will it face the very people it has labelled terrorists? What will it say to those it brutalized?

In a democracy, the people have a right to protest, to speak freely, and to seek justice. In an authoritarian state, those rights are trampled. The irony could not be sharper: PPP leaders have vocally condemned the state violence unleashed on their political workers in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa under PTI. And yet, in Sindh—where the PPP itself governs—peaceful protest is met with bullets.

Do the people of Sindh not have the same right to protest? Or are democratic values only applicable when PPP is in opposition?

Now, the responsibility falls on Bilawal Bhutto Zardari. He must ask himself: What legacy is he really carrying forward? Because this—this violence, this silencing, this authoritarian playbook—is not the legacy of Mohtarma Benazir Bhutto. It mirrors the legacy of two generals: Zia and Musharraf.

Some chapters in history are written with the ink of tyranny. The chapter of May 20 will remain one such scar: the day a PPP-led government unleashed brutal violence on those who rose to protect the Indus—Sindhu Darya—the very river their ancestors depended on.

If the PPP truly wishes to heal these wounds, it must act, but with justice. Bilawal Bhutto must visit the victims. He must apologize on behalf of his government. He must ensure that those responsible are held to account.

Because if these wounds are not healed, they will not be forgotten.