June 19, 2025
By Dauran Baloch
QUETTA
As the fallout from Iranian border tensions trickles from across the mountains of Taftan into the streets of Quetta, the city now finds itself not just short on fuel, but also short on answers.
A drive around the provincial capital offers a grim glimpse into everyday desperation. Petrol stations are either shut, or choked with endless queues. The familiar hum of motorcycles has been replaced by the sight of residents pushing their two-wheelers through dusty lanes in search of a liter of relief in the form of petrol.
“When Iranian fuel was available, in Quetta City at least people had peace of mind. It was cheap, accessible, and steady,” one local told Voicepk. “Now, people are in agony. I’ve been pushing my motorcycle to work. Patients can’t reach hospitals. Life has come to a halt.”
This isn’t a slow-burn crisis. It’s an explosion of what was inevitable: the collapse of an informal economy that sustained millions in Balochistan but was never officially recognized, nor prepared to be replaced.
A Province on pause
The closure of informal trade routes, more than official borders, has paralyzed the system. From Iranian biscuits to edible oil, basic necessities are now either unavailable or unaffordable.
Traders from border districts like Nushki and Panjgur describe a chaotic situation.
“Our warehouses are empty. Labourers have no work. Everything, even cooking oil and tea comes from across the Iranian border,” says one trader from Nushki. “The prices are rising daily, and with the border shut, we’ve lost our lifeline. There are no factories here. No industry. The economy in this region is the border.
And when the border closes, so too do livelihoods. Bazaars stand half-empty. Unemployment has soared. Even daily wagers reliant on goods movement, sit idle under the sun.
Contradictions in power
Yet amid this visible crisis, the government insists all is well.
“This shortage is artificial,” said Balochistan Minister Bakht Muhammad Kakar, addressing the media. “Quotas have been assigned to petrol pump owners, and supply will resume in a few days. There’s no reason to panic.”
The Minister cites a decision made in the apex committee last month to crack down on Iranian petroleum. But his reassurances ring hollow for those searching in vain for fuel across the city.
At best, this is a crisis of poor planning. At worst, it’s one of outright denial.
Adding to the confusion, MPA Barkat Rind from Kech district claims the legal border crossings remain open. “Only the illegal routes have been shut,” he said. “There is no real petrol crisis in Quetta. The problem lies with smuggling bans, not state trade.”
For citizens stuck in lines or stranded on roadsides, these technical distinctions are meaningless. They need fuel, not political nuance.
The real cost of informality
For decades, Balochistan’s informal border trade was the safety net for a population left behind by central development agendas. Cheap Iranian petrol wasn’t just a convenience it was a necessity. It kept rickshaws moving, kept prices low, and gave people work.
But informality also meant fragility. Now, with increased regional tensions, stricter controls, and an absence of backup infrastructure, the entire system has collapsed and the public is paying the price.
There is no emergency stockpile. No alternate fuel plan. No investment in local industry to compensate for the loss.
A wake-up call
This moment demands more than blame games or hollow promises. If the state continues to treat informal trade as illegal in times of peace but essential in times of crisis, this cycle will never end. Fuel crises, like the one Quetta is enduring today, are a symptom not the disease. Without serious investment in formal trade routes, local supply systems, and economic diversification, Balochistan will always remain one closed border away from catastrophe. Whether this crisis will prompt change or simply fade with the next delivery of fuel is a question the people of Quetta can’t afford to wait to answer.