M Zahid Raffat
The nation has just solemnly observed the 10th anniversary of one of its darkest days—the Army Public School (APS) Peshawar massacre. Ten years later, the grief still lingers, raw and unresolved, as we remember the 147 innocent lives—students, teachers, and staff—savagely taken by the hands of terrorists. These were children, for heaven’s sake, armed with nothing more than pencils and books. They had dreams in their eyes, and futures so bright it hurts to think about what was lost.
Across the country, mosques echoed with special prayers, and Quran Khwani was held in remembrance of those martyred on that blood-stained December morning in 2014. It was a moment for collective grief, a reminder of the price we continue to pay for the scourge of terrorism.
In their official statements, President Asif Ali Zardari and Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif emphasised the nation’s resolve to rid Pakistan of terrorism once and for all. President Zardari called the APS attack a “barbaric act,” a cold-blooded attempt to destabilise the country and inject fear into our hearts. He was right. It was an act that targeted the soul of Pakistan, an unthinkable strike against its future. Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif’s words captured the agony of that day: the attack not only stole young lives but robbed the nation of what those children might have become. “The pain of that day is still fresh,” he said, echoing what every Pakistani feels. The scars may not be visible, but they cut deep. And yet, while words are important, they are not enough.
It was heartening, at least, to see leaders across the political divide come together in remembering the APS martyrs. For once, there was no bickering or point-scoring—just a shared sense of loss and responsibility. The military, too, reiterated its commitment to the fight against extremism, ensuring that those sacrifices would not be in vain.
But promises and pledges can only go so far. The grim reality of December 16, 2014, must not fade into history as just another date. On that fateful day, six terrorists stormed into the school, transforming it into a scene of unimaginable horror. They didn’t just kill—they hunted. Room by room, child by child, their depravity knew no bounds. The youngest victims were only ten years old. Ten. Let that sink in.
The APS attack shook Pakistan to its core, and rightly so. It ignited a nationwide outcry and forced the government’s hand. Out of this tragedy was born the National Action Plan (NAP), a 20-point strategy meant to uproot terrorism once and for all. For a time, it seemed like a game-changer. The plan included everything from military operations to legal reforms, even measures to protect educational institutions. And for a while, progress was real and tangible.
But then, as is too often the case, momentum waned. Reviews of NAP’s implementation became sporadic. The initial urgency faded, replaced by the familiar bureaucratic malaise. One can’t help but wonder—what happened? Why weren’t we, the people, told how much of the plan was actually achieved? Accountability seems to be the one point missing from NAP.
Yet, amidst this frustration, one thing stands out: the relentless efforts of our security forces. The army and other security agencies have been unwavering in their mission to eliminate terrorism from Pakistan’s soil. They have faced bullets and bombs, laying down their lives so that we might sleep a little more peacefully. Their sacrifices are beyond words; they are the reason we still have hope.
As we remember the APS martyrs, there’s an unsettling feeling that we, as a nation, haven’t done enough. Ten years later, are we truly safer? Have we honoured those young lives by creating a world where such atrocities are impossible? Or have we let complacency creep in, allowing the horror of that day to become just another footnote in history?
What happened at APS wasn’t just a tragedy—it was a wake-up call. And while we have paid tributes, lit candles, and said our prayers, the real tribute lies in action. Those children deserved better, and so does the Pakistan of tomorrow.
The writer is Lahore-based Freelance Journalist, Columnist and retired Deputy Controller (News), Radio Pakistan, Islamabad and can be reached at zahidriffat@gmail.com
