Today, Soomro’s name is largely absent from Pakistan’s textbooks and official narratives.

In the narrative of Pakistan’s creation, the story is often framed as a unified struggle for a Muslim homeland. Yet, this overlooks the voices of dissent, none more compelling than Allah Bux Mohammed Umar Soomro, the former Premier of Sindh. A devout Muslim and staunch Indian nationalist, Soomro rejected the Muslim League’s Two-Nation Theory, advocating for a secular, united India. His defiance of Muhammad Ali Jinnah and his mysterious assassination in 1943 expose the contradictions and betrayals at the heart of Pakistan’s founding.

A Muslim Nationalist’s Stand

Allah Bux Soomro was no ordinary leader. As Premier of Sindh, he refused to let his Muslim identity be weaponized for political ends. Aligning with Mahatma Gandhi and the Indian National Congress, he championed a vision of India where civic identity trumped religious divides. “I am first an Indian and then a Muslim,” he declared, a statement that encapsulated his commitment to pluralism and unity.

His principles were matched by action. In 1942, Soomro returned his knighthood, a prestigious British honor, as a protest against colonial oppression and in support of the Quit India Movement. This bold move infuriated the British and alienated pro-British Muslim leaders, marking him as a true nationalist. While the Muslim League, led by Jinnah, avoided the Quit India Movement, Soomro’s government backed it, further antagonizing both colonial authorities and the League, which saw Sindh as crucial to its Pakistan agenda.

A Threat to Jinnah’s Vision

By 1943, Soomro’s influence was growing beyond Sindh, reaching Punjab and the North-West Frontier Province (now Khyber Pakhtunkhwa). His message of secularism and unity resonated with Muslims who saw no conflict between their faith and Indian identity. This alarmed the Muslim League, which relied on communalism to consolidate power. Soomro’s popularity threatened Jinnah’s narrative that only the League spoke for India’s Muslims.

Jinnah viewed Soomro as a formidable obstacle, publicly dismissing him as a “Congress stooge.” Soomro’s principled stand made him a target, not just in Sindh but in regions critical to the League’s vision of Pakistan. His ability to rally diverse communities around a pluralist ideal posed a direct challenge to the League’s momentum.

A Mysterious Death

On May 14, 1943, Allah Bux Soomro was assassinated near Shikarpur, Sindh, reportedly by a hired killer posing as a beggar. The official account cited personal motives, but the political context suggests otherwise. Soomro had been ousted from his premiership under pressure from the British and the Muslim League. His rising influence, particularly as his ideas spread to Punjab, made him a threat to Jinnah’s communal agenda. The timing of his death, just as his vision gained traction, points to a calculated act to silence dissent.

Maulana Abul Kalam Azad, a leading Muslim nationalist and Congress president, mourned Soomro’s death as a blow to India’s unity. In India Wins Freedom, Azad praised him as a “man of great character,” lamenting the loss of a leader driven by conscience, not communalism. The murder was not just a personal tragedy but a blow to the vision of a united India.

Erased from History

Today, Soomro’s name is largely absent from Pakistan’s textbooks and official narratives. This erasure is deliberate. His life and death challenge the myth that Pakistan was the unanimous will of Indian Muslims. Many Muslims, like Soomro, opposed partition, advocating for a democratic, pluralist India. His assassination silenced a voice that could have altered South Asia’s trajectory, sparing it the horrors of division.

The hypocrisy is stark: a movement claiming to protect Muslim interests eliminated a Muslim leader who dared to prioritize unity over division. Soomro’s death was not at the hands of Islam’s foes but those who used faith to justify power. His murder underscores the cost of dissent in a movement that brooked no opposition.

A Legacy for Today

As Pakistan grapples with religious extremism and identity crises, Soomro’s story holds vital lessons. The unresolved tensions of its founding—when voices like his were silenced—continue to shape its challenges. Glorifying myths about Pakistan’s creation only deepens these divides. Honoring Soomro means confronting the uncomfortable truths of the past and embracing the values he died for: democracy, justice, and interfaith harmony.

Allah Bux Soomro was more than a Sindhi leader; he was a symbol of what South Asia could have been—a region united by shared ideals, not torn by faith. His mysterious death remains a haunting reminder of the price paid for dissent and the enduring need to reclaim his vision of unity.

Political Islam, once employed as an identity marker, now divides more than it unites.

In recent remarks, Pakistan’s Army Chief General Asim Munir articulated his ideological vision for the country with a clarity that many leaders deliberately avoid. He unapologetically reaffirmed the Two-Nation Theory and emphasized the enduring divide between Hindus and Muslims—a worldview deeply rooted in religious exclusivism.

For me, this honesty is refreshing. At least he is not hiding behind the concept of “Taqiya” (dissimulation) or the carefully crafted ambiguity that many political actors use. He owns his hardline position openly.

But we must ask—what does this ideological commitment to Islamic identity actually mean in practice? If Islam is the unifying principle behind Pakistan’s statehood, as claimed by its top military leadership, then why have fellow Muslims suffered under its policies—both at home and across borders?

In 2023, the Pakistani state forcibly expelled nearly 1.7 million Afghan refugees, many of whom had been living in the country for decades. Men, women, and children—many of whom were born in Pakistan—were sent back to a nation plagued by instability and repression. These individuals were not ideological enemies or agents of discord; they were fellow Muslims seeking safety and sustenance. The logic behind their expulsion wasn’t religious. It was ethnic, political, and economic.

This contradiction isn’t new. In 1971, during the Bangladesh Liberation War, West Pakistan (now Pakistan) unleashed brutal violence against East Pakistanis (now Bangladeshis). According to historians, up to three million people were killed, and countless women were subjected to sexual violence. And who were the victims? They were not religious “others.” They were Muslims—sharing not just faith, but language, history, and family ties.

These historical and recent episodes raise a troubling question: Is Pakistan’s national identity truly anchored in Islam, or has religion been used selectively—as a political and strategic tool to justify repression, exclusion, and control?

The Two-Nation Theory, which underpinned the partition of British India in 1947, proposed that Muslims and Hindus were distinct nations who could not coexist peacefully in a single state. But this idea, though foundational to Pakistan’s creation, has since mutated. Rather than fostering a pluralistic Muslim society, the theory has been wielded to divide people further—between Punjabis and Pashtuns, Baloch and Mohajirs, Shias and Sunnis, Deobandis and Barelvis. The outcome is not national unity, but chronic fragmentation.

Instead of serving as a source of cohesion, Islam has become a battlefield of sectarian and ethnic contestation. Political Islam, once employed as an identity marker, now divides more than it unites. The lived reality of the Pakistani state contradicts its ideological claims. Whether it’s the suppression of Baloch voices, the marginalization of Sindhi culture, or the persecution of Shias, the nation has drifted far from its idealized Islamic unity.

This is not to say that Islam, as a faith or moral system, is to blame. The issue is how Islam has been instrumentalized by the state and military elites. When any religion becomes a political instrument, it loses its spiritual purpose and becomes a tool of coercion.

The youth of Pakistan—and indeed South Asia as a whole—deserve better than this endless recycling of exclusionary doctrines. They do not need more sermons on “us vs. them.” They need education systems that teach empathy, critical thinking, and historical introspection. They need media that values truth over propaganda. And most of all, they need leadership that champions collaboration over conflict.

True unity is not built by suppressing diversity. It is achieved by embracing it. Religion can inspire compassion and solidarity, but only when it is divorced from the machinery of state control and identity politics. A nation cannot find peace if its founding principle is fear of the other.

Pakistan’s future lies not in reinforcing ideological walls but in tearing them down—brick by brick. It lies in building bridges with its neighbors, reconciling with its own people, and redefining what it means to be Pakistani—not as a monolithic Islamic identity, but as a plural, inclusive, and humane society.

History has shown us where hate leads. It’s time to try something different.

Disclaimer: Views expressed by writers in this section are their own and do not reflect Milli Chronicle’s point-of-view.

Speaking at the Convention for Overseas Pakistanis in Islamabad—with Prime Minister Shahbaz Sharif in attendance—General Munir declared that Pakistan was created on the basis of “every possible difference” between the two religious communities.

“Our religion is different. Our customs are different. Our traditions are different. Our thoughts are different. Our ambitions are different,” Munir said, invoking the ideological foundation laid by Muhammad Ali Jinnah in the 1940s. “You must tell this to your children so that they never forget the story of Pakistan.”

But this “story” is not just about differences—it’s a carefully preserved narrative used by Pakistan’s military establishment to maintain a stranglehold on power, distract the public from economic failures, and perpetuate enmity with India. It is a story that has long come at the cost of regional peace, minority rights, and Pakistan’s own internal harmony.

Munir’s speech, delivered with a religious tone befitting his reputation as a “Hafiz-e-Quran”, did little to hide the Army’s obsession with defining Pakistan solely through what it is not—India. His remarks reflected the establishment’s enduring dependence on the ideological rhetoric of 1947, a time when the wounds of Partition were still fresh, and the world had not yet seen the consequences of such rigid identity politics.

A Doctrine Past Its Expiry Date

The Two-Nation Theory has not aged well. If anything, it collapsed under its own contradictions in 1971, when Bangladesh—originally East Pakistan—broke away in a bloody war that exposed the myth of religious unity. Despite sharing the same religion, East Pakistanis rejected the economic and political dominance of West Pakistan, shattering the illusion that Islam alone could form a cohesive national identity.

And yet, here we are in 2025, with the head of Pakistan’s most powerful institution lecturing overseas citizens to hold tight to that expired ideology. What purpose does this serve, other than reinforcing xenophobia, hostility, and a warped sense of nationalism rooted in exclusion and antagonism?

Critics across the globe have not held back. Indian strategic expert Aditya Raj Kaul accused Munir of “exposing his hate for Hindus and India,” while prominent Pakistani journalist Taha Siddiqui called the remarks an attempt to “brainwash youth” with dangerous falsehoods.

Assam Chief Minister Himanta Biswa Sarma called the speech a reminder of the stark ideological divide between the two nations, urging India to stop harboring illusions about reconciliation with its western neighbor.

The Real Jugular: The Army’s Grip on Pakistan

Munir’s speech also touched on Pakistan’s usual talking points—Kashmir and Balochistan. His threat-laced comments about Baloch rebels further illustrated how the military sees dissent as terrorism, rather than a call for justice. Kashmir, once again called Pakistan’s “jugular vein,” is less a heartfelt issue and more a strategic tool—one that sustains the military’s budget, influence, and unchallenged supremacy in Pakistan’s political life.

As Delhi-based journalist Rishi Suri rightly pointed out, Kashmir has become more of a “business model” for Pakistan’s generals than a national cause. Strategic analyst Sonam Mahajan summed it up bluntly, “Kashmir is Pakistan’s jugular vein, which explains why Pakistan has been in the ICU for 78 years, sustained only by IMF oxygen and jihadist morphine.”

An Unyielding Establishment in a Changing World

The tragedy of General Munir’s speech is that it wasn’t surprising. It’s the same tired script the Pakistan Army has relied on for decades—where religion is used to unify, enemies are used to justify military supremacy, and history is rewritten to prevent progress.

Pakistan’s establishment had a choice. It could have embraced a narrative of peace, coexistence, and modern statehood. Instead, it chose to double down on identity politics rooted in fear and historical grievances.

By clinging to an outdated and divisive ideology, General Asim Munir and the Pakistan military aren’t just looking backward—they’re actively obstructing the possibility of a forward-looking, inclusive, and stable Pakistan.

And perhaps that is by design. Because in a truly democratic and progressive Pakistan, the Army might no longer be the most powerful voice in the room.