By: Akram Kaimkhani
On the solemn occasion of the death anniversary of Rasool Bakhsh Palijo (1930-2018), one of the most visionary political thinkers and grassroots leaders Sindh has ever produced, it is essential to reflect not just on the milestones of his political journey, but also on the transformative impact he had on individuals who came in contact with his ideology and movement.
As I sit to pen down this reflection, I am reminded of my own early misconceptions about Sindhi political movements and their leaders. During my formative years in student politics through the National Students Federation (NSF), I, like many others, lacked the ideological depth and clarity that only experience and exposure can bring. It was in this context, in the mid-1970s, when prominent leaders like Meraj Muhammad Khan and Rasool Bakhsh Talpur left the Pakistan Peoples Party to form socialist platforms, that I found myself journeying to Hyderabad, where Rasool Bakhsh Palijo was about to formally announce his Sindhi Awami Tehreek.
What I witnessed there initially shocked me—fiery speeches laced with ethnic hostility, provocative slogans targeting non-Sindhi communities, and an overwhelming atmosphere of radical nationalism. As an Urdu-speaking individual raised in Marxist and progressive circles, I found these scenes difficult to reconcile. They challenged my ideals of inclusivity and solidarity. These impressions, coupled with sporadic reports of violence against Urdu-speaking Sindhis, fed into a distorted image of ethnic politics in Sindh.
However, reality had something far deeper and more profound in store.
In 1978, when General Zia-ul-Haq’s authoritarian regime triggered a journalists’ movement, a unique strategy emerged. Each day, a journalist, student, worker, or peasant would be voluntarily arrested, keeping the protest alive and sustained over months. I was among the early students detained in this remarkable display of resistance. Inside the prison, I encountered individuals I had previously dismissed—farmers and rural workers—many of whom were members of Palijo’s Sindhi Awami Tehreek.
What unfolded in those prison barracks reshaped my political understanding forever.
These so-called “illiterate” peasants stunned us all with their deep grasp of dialectical Marxism, their informed discussions on global and national politics, and their unwavering ideological clarity. It was humbling. What we, as urban student activists, struggled to articulate in classrooms and tea shops, these rural revolutionaries had internalized and lived through grassroots struggle.
It was then that we discovered that these men and women had been trained under the direct ideological mentorship of Rasool Bakhsh Palijo. The depth of his political education efforts, the breadth of his reach across the rural heartlands of Sindh, and the calibre of worker he had produced were unlike anything I had seen in Pakistan’s leftist landscape.
Later, I had the honour of meeting Palijo Sahib multiple times—particularly during our shared imprisonment. His calm composure, ideological clarity, and compassionate intellect left an unforgettable imprint on me. We discussed a range of issues—from the complexities of national questions to the failures of the Left in bridging ethnic divides. What stood out was his unwavering belief in unity through justice.
Palijo was not a demagogue. He did not believe in division, nor did he use ethnic identity as a weapon of exclusion. Unlike the politics of G.M. Syed which gradually adopted an exclusionary tone, Palijo’s vision remained rooted in inclusive socialism. He firmly held that the struggle of Sindhis for their rights was not against others, but with others—for collective liberation from the chains of feudalism, imperialism, and state-sponsored oppression.
He once said: “The national question is not about separation but about inclusion—it is about the right of every nation in this country to exist, thrive, and shape its destiny.”
His political vision, shaped by Marxist philosophy, foresaw the collapse of narrow nationalisms and the rise of global solidarity—a world where justice is not bound by ethnicity but by class and common humanity.
Palijo’s Sindhi Awami Tehreek created an ecosystem where political education was not the privilege of the elite but a right of the oppressed. His cadres—men, women, and youth alike—were not just foot soldiers; they were thinkers, poets, and strategists. Their intellectual rigor still sets a benchmark in Pakistan’s political history.
Even in prison, the influence of his ideology was visible. One of my close companions behind bars, Parvez—related to Palijo through marriage—was a brilliant political mind himself. Our debates and dialogues were not just about resistance but about constructing a better, just society—echoing Palijo’s lifelong mission.
Today, as we face increasing polarization, intolerance, and historical amnesia, remembering Rasool Bakhsh Palijo is more urgent than ever. He was not just a Sindhi leader—he was a Pakistani revolutionary. He stood not for hate, but for hope. Not for exclusion, but for equality. Not for division, but for dignity.
In the end, Palijo Sahib’s legacy is not merely that of a politician—it is the legacy of a teacher, an organizer, and a visionary who saw the dream of a just society not as a slogan, but as an achievable truth. (The writer, Akram Kaimkhani is a veteran left-wing activist and former student leader from Karachi, known for his unwavering commitment to democracy and justice since the 1970s. Originally from Tharparkar, he endured imprisonment and exile but never wavered in his ideals. Now based in the UK, he continues to promote South Asian art, culture, and dialogue through initiatives like VSAAL).
