OP-ED: Once a proud and vibrant enclave nestled within Karachi’s sprawling metropolis, the Parsi community of Pakistan today teeters on the edge of extinction. With roots tracing back more than a millennium, this Zoroastrian sect, descendants of Persian refugees fleeing the Arab conquest, carved out an identity in the Indian subcontinent marked by philanthropy, leadership, and quiet strength. Yet, the same gates that once sheltered their sacred fire temples and homes have become symbolic of a community in retreat, as youth wave goodbye to aging relatives, seeking safety and freedom abroad.
The decline is not merely numerical but soul-deep. In the 1930s, Karachi celebrated its first elected mayor, Jamshed Nusserwanjee, a Parsi known for ushering in infrastructure reforms, hygiene campaigns, and upliftment of the poor. The city once echoed with the legacy of giants like Rustom Cowasjee, whose shipping empire became emblematic of entrepreneurial zeal. Parsis, originally from Gujarat, had flocked to this port city in search of opportunity and contributed richly to its civic life.
Following the birth of Pakistan, the first census in 1951 painted a hopeful picture: 5,018 Parsis called Karachi home. Yet that optimism proved fleeting. A mere decade later, the 1961 census showed a drop to 4,685, a subtle but worrying decline. Parsis in other Pakistani cities such as Quetta, Lahore, and Rawalpindi-Islamabad were even fewer, their presence scattered and faint.
In 1969, Elizabeth Gustafson of the University of California, Davis published an exhaustive demographic study in Social Biology, warning that the aging population and a high rate of emigration would inevitably push the community into steep decline. Her forecast, sobering in its clarity, has now come to pass with unnerving precision.
The Karachi-based Zarthoshti Banu Mandal, in their 1995 headcount, documented 2,831 Parsis across Pakistan. By 2004, that figure had plummeted to 2,121. The numbers dwindled even further, to just 1,766 individuals, according to community elder Toxy Cowasjee. Today numbers hover around 900 people in Karachi and a few dozen elsewhere in Pakistan. The descent has been rapid and unforgiving, marking a historic erosion of one of South Asia’s oldest Zoroastrian outposts.
In the span of just over a century, the Parsis of Pakistan, once symbols of integrity, innovation, and generosity, have receded almost into silence. Their decline is not merely statistical; it is emblematic of a loss far deeper: of cultural plurality, of quiet leadership, and of a moral compass that once helped steer an evolving nation.
The causes are manifold but unified in their intensity. Pakistan’s convulsions in the late 1970s proved seismic for minority communities. The military coup of 1977, Iran’s Islamic revolution, and Afghanistan’s descent into war brought not only geopolitical instability but also a surge in religious conservatism. Karachi, once tolerant and cosmopolitan, began to reel from security challenges and the erosion of law. For the Parsis, who valued dignity and discretion, the city no longer felt like home.
The national climate continued to sour. General Zia-ul-Haq’s Islamization campaign introduced Urdu-medium instruction that alienated Parsi children from their traditional schools. The first wave of emigration in the 1980s found refuge in Australia, and soon, Canada, the US, and Europe beckoned. The COVID-19 pandemic accelerated the hemorrhaging, and another 250 Parsis departed. Today, as Dinshaw B Avari laments, 60% of the remaining community is over 65. In just seven years, only 400 may remain.
Underlying these statistics is a story of exclusion. Pakistan’s constitution bars non-Muslims from serving as President or Prime Minister, a technicality, perhaps, but one with deep symbolic ramifications. It fosters an environment in which no non-Muslim can rise to head a state-run institution, a bank, or even find themselves reflected in national narratives. Young Parsis who aspire to lead, to innovate, or simply belong, confront ceilings impossible to shatter.
Artist Jimmy Engineer speaks to the subtle cruelty of societal change. In a culture increasingly inhospitable to difference, even the way Parsis dressed became grounds for alienation. The rise of Islamist sentiment has created a monoculture that sidelines the secular and the pluralistic. Minority students in Pakistan must declare their religious denomination to enter schools. They are often forced to study Islamiyat, Hanafi Sunni doctrine, with no equivalent curriculum for their own beliefs. Even a Zoroastrian fire temples, like the HJ Behrana Dar-E-Mehr agiary in Saddar, are derisively called “mad persons’ temples.” The name is both a stain and a signpost, marking a city unable to hold its diversity.
This bleak landscape is not limited to Parsis alone. The broader trend is unmistakable: Hindus, Sikhs, Christians, all are shrinking in the face of encroaching intolerance. Karachi’s streets once resonated with multilingual chatter and multi-religious rituals. Today, those echoes are faint.
For Pakistan, the dwindling of the Parsi community is more than the loss of a minority, it is the erosion of a moral compass, a gentle wisdom that once lit the corridors of civic life. The community’s departure signifies a rupture in the country’s pluralistic promise. It’s a departure not just of people but of memory, culture, and possibility.
But what remains in Pakistan is a poignant reminder of what happens when diversity is stifled rather than celebrated. As the fire temples flicker and the gates slowly close, they leave behind stories etched in stone and soul, of generosity, integrity, and hope.
[The opinions expressed in this article are of the author. Europeantimes.org takes no responsibility for the same.]
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Matteo Bianchi
Matteo Bianchi is a geopolitical analyst and author. With a distinguished career in information and security in government and the corporate world, Bianchi has lived in 4 continents and worked in several verticals. He is currently retired and writes on geopolitics, AI and cybersecurity.
