by Stephen George

Renewed fighting between Pakistan and the Taliban is further exacerbating the precarious situation of families registered as refugees by the UNHCR but without a clear pathway to permanent resettlement. Often living incognito for security reasons, they fear repatriation to Afghanistan, under a government that persecutes them. One woman pleads: "I want my children to be able to grow up without fear.”

 

Islamabad (AsiaNews) – In a modest neighbourhood a few steps from Islamabad's oldest church, Ms Mastora (name changed for security reasons) spends her days in quiet seclusion, her life shaped by exile, uncertainty, and an unshaken faith that once put her in grave danger.

An Afghan convert to Christianity, she fled her homeland after the Taliban returned to power in 2021. For converts and members of other religious minorities, the takeover  meant immediate risk, as leaving Islam is considered a serious offence under the group's strict interpretation of Islamic law.

Many fled without any preparation, abandoning homes, possessions, and, in some cases, family members who could not escape.

Today, Ms Mastora is registered with the UNHCR in Pakistan. However, registration has brought only partial relief. She cannot safely return to Afghanistan, but she also has no clear pathway to permanent resettlement.

Like many refugees in similar circumstances, she lives in a state of prolonged waiting, dependent on limited assistance and the goodwill of local communities, a situation made even more precarious by the recent resurgence of fighting on the Pakistan-Afghan border.

Mastora's situation reflects a broader, largely invisible crisis affecting Afghan Christian families scattered across Pakistan.

Unlike other, larger refugee populations, these families often remain hidden for security reasons.

Public visibility could expose them to threats, stigma, or unwanted scrutiny, both from hostile actors and from the precarious legal environment surrounding undocumented or partially documented migrants.

Many arrived traumatised, having witnessed violence, received threats, or endured dangerous journeys across borders.

Parents worry constantly about their children’s safety and future, particularly when access to formal schooling is uncertain.

Families frequently share cramped accommodations to reduce costs, while adults struggle with the inability to work legally.

The resulting financial strain can push households into debt, dependency, or exploitative working conditions.

For families like Ms Mastora's, the fear of persecution is compounded by an equally uncertainty about their legal status in Pakistan.

Recent deportation drives targeting undocumented or irregular migrants have created widespread anxiety among Afghan refugees, including those registered with the UNHCR but still lacking long-term protection.

Many live in constant fear of arrest, detention, or forced repatriation, uncertain whether their documents will be recognised at checkpoints or during police operations.

For Afghan Christians, in particular, deportation carries existential consequences: returning to Afghanistan under the Taliban regime would expose them to severe persecution, imprisonment, or worse, because of their faith.

Families report limiting their movements, keeping children at home, and avoiding hospitals, schools, and public offices to reduce the risk of detection.

Women and girls face additional vulnerabilities, including social isolation and heightened safety risks. In some cases, widows or women separated from male relatives must navigate unfamiliar urban environments alone while providing for their children.

The absence of extended family networks, the cornerstone of social support in Afghan society, deepens the sense of uprootedness.

Psychological distress is widespread. Aid workers report symptoms of chronic anxiety, insomnia, and depression among refugees who have suffered persecution and now face an indefinite future.

For many, the inability to plan even for the next few months creates a sense that life is on hold.

Amid these hardships, faith communities often become informal support systems. For Ms Mastora, the nearby church represents a fragile sense of belonging. Whenever possible, she attends discreetly, drawing strength in prayer and the presence of fellow believers.

Religious institutions in Pakistan have historically played a quiet but significant role in assisting vulnerable migrants, providing food, counselling, and spiritual support where formal structures fall short.

Pakistan has hosted millions of Afghans for over four decades, often with limited international support. However, advocates note that smaller groups with specific vulnerabilities, including religious minorities, require tailored support and expedited resettlement options, because return to Afghanistan – which Islamabad continues to pursue – is not a viable or safe option.

As evening falls over Islamabad, the church lights glow softly, visible from the surrounding streets. Families enter to pray, children linger in the courtyard, and the sounds of ordinary life continue, a contrast with the quiet uncertainty in which refugees like Ms Mastora live.

“I don’t want to hide forever,” she said. “I want my children, and all families like ours to grow up without fear.”

Her appeal is not only personal. It speaks for a community of displaced Afghan Christians in Pakistan whose stories remain largely untold, their struggles unfolding behind closed doors and drawn curtains.

For them, safety is not simply the absence of violence. It is the presence of recognition, legal protection, and the possibility of a future that goes beyond mere survival.

Until then, families like Ms Mastora's continue to wait, hoping that the world will see them before their resilience gives way to despair.

• afghanistan
• pakistan
• christian converts
• refugees
• fear
• persecution
• discrimination
• taliban