Sonia’s dream hangs in balance amid struggles for identity in Pakistan

In the maze-like alleys of Karachi’s Machar Colony — a densely populated settlement too often ignored by policymakers — a 15-year-old girl is aiming for the stars.

Sonia Nazar-ul-Islam, a gifted gymnast, dreams of raising the Pakistani flag on international podiums. But despite her remarkable talent, dedication, and growing list of accolades, she remains stuck — not by lack of skill, but by a lack of official identity.

Sonia was born and raised in Pakistan, the daughter of Bengali migrants who settled here after the creation of Bangladesh in 1971. She has never known any country but Pakistan. Yet, the state does not legally recognize her as its own.

Her athletic journey began at the Imkaan Welfare Organization, a grassroots initiative offering free education and extracurricular programs to children from marginalized communities — including Bengali, Burmese, and Pashtun backgrounds. It was here that Sonia discovered gymnastics, a sport that would soon become her life’s calling.

Driven by passion and perseverance, Sonia went on to win numerous medals at national competitions. In 2021, she proudly represented Pakistan at the International Cheerleading Festival in Russia after Covid-19, where her team clinched first place — a landmark achievement not just for her, but for her entire community.

“At first, I didn’t even know what a championship was,” she says with a quiet smile. “I just knew I wanted to learn something exciting. Then we started winning… and I started dreaming.”

But now, her dream is in limbo. Although, Sonia has a B-Form (Child Registration Certificate) that allows her to compete nationally, she is unable to obtain a passport to participate in international events. The obstacle? Her mother, Koh-e-Noor, does not possess a CNIC (Computerized National Identity Card) — a requirement for passport issuance.

“It’s not my daughter’s fault,” Koh-e-Noor says, her voice shaking. “Because of an old error in my mother’s ID card — where my father’s name was entered incorrectly — I’ve been unable to get my own CNIC. And now, Sonia is the one paying the price.”

Sonia’s situation reflects a much larger, ongoing crisis. Thousands of families from Bengali, Burmese, and Rohingya communities face legal limbo in Pakistan. Despite living in the country for generations — and despite being born here — many still struggle to gain official documentation.

Tahira Hasan, director of Imkaan Welfare and a legal expert, emphasizes that Sonia is entitled to citizenship under Pakistan’s Citizenship Act, which guarantees nationality to anyone born on Pakistani soil.

“According to the law, Sonia should already have a CNIC and a passport,” Hasan explains. “But bureaucracy, ethnic discrimination, and administrative loopholes have created a system where children like Sonia are stuck in legal quicksand.”

She further notes, “If even one parent is a citizen, the child has the right to documentation. Sonia’s father holds a valid CNIC. Her B-Form is issued. But current passport policy requires valid CNICs for both parents — and that’s where she’s trapped.”

A family’s struggle for recognition

Sonia’s father, Nazar-ul-Islam, came to Pakistan as a child. Now in his 40s, he works long hours stitching bags, earning just Rs. 700 to 800 per day. Koh-e-Noor cleans homes, bringing in Rs. 20,000 per month — most of which is consumed by transportation and daily necessities. By month’s end, they often rely on borrowed money to make ends meet.

“This is the only home I’ve ever known,” says Nazar. “We’ve lived here, worked here, paid our dues — but we’re still treated like outsiders.”

Despite having his own CNIC, Nazar and his family continue to face repeated demands from NADRA (Pakistan’s registration authority) for historic proof of residency — sometimes dating as far back as 1971.

“Every time we go to NADRA, it’s something new — more documents, more waiting. How many times do we have to prove we belong here?”

Talent ignored, potential lost

Even with these challenges, Sonia refuses to give up. She trains daily, perfecting her routines and preparing for the opportunities she believes will one day come. Her coaches recognize her extraordinary potential.

“She’s already a national champion,” says Coach Muhammad Furqan. “She’s ready for the international stage. All she needs is the paperwork. Without it, her dreams stop at the passport office.”

Her journey hasn’t only been hindered by bureaucracy. Social attitudes have posed their own hurdles.

“People told us gymnastics wasn’t for girls — that she should be in the kitchen, not on a mat,” says Koh-e-Noor. “But Sonia had a dream, and we chose to believe in it.”

A cry for justice

As the world applauds stories of young athletes rising against the odds, Sonia waits — not for fame, but for recognition. She has done everything asked of her: trained, worked hard, won medals, and made her community proud. All she asks in return is the right to represent the country she calls home.

“I just want to raise Pakistan’s flag on the world stage,” she says softly. “But how can I, if my own country won’t give me the identity, I need to do it?”

Coach Furqan made a heartfelt appeal to the authorities: “Come visit the slums and neglected areas. See the children who were born and raised here. They’re not outsiders — they’re Pakistanis. Give them the rights they deserve.”

Koh-e-Noor echoed the plea: “My daughters are missing out on opportunities because of a mistake that wasn’t even ours. I appeal to the Government of Pakistan — please issue my identity card so my daughter can go to college, compete internationally, and live her dream.”