On the humid morning of August 6, police arrived at a small home in Hujra Shah Muqeem, Okara District, Punjab. Inside lived Rasheed Masih, a 48-year-old Christian father battling severe depression. Within hours, he was in handcuffs — accused of blasphemy, terrorism, and sedition. His arrest, a chilling symbol of how faith and mental illness intersect in one of the world’s most dangerous places for religious minorities, has left his family shattered and frightened.
A Whistle-blower Turned Target
Rasheed was not a preacher, nor a politician. He was a sanitary worker in a rural health center, a man of quiet faith who believed that honesty was a form of worship. His troubles began when he spoke out against corruption, exposing the theft of medicines and misuse of government resources by some Muslim colleagues. According to his son, Nabeel Rasheed, those same colleagues later accused him of blasphemy after he refused their repeated attempts to convert him to Islam.
Instead of rewarding his courage, the health department retaliated. Rasheed was transferred multiple times, eventually terminated from his job in January 2018. Determined to seek justice, he filed petitions before the Lahore High Court, but his cries for fairness were ignored. Years of litigation drained the family’s savings. His children’s education stopped. His wife, Najma Rasheed, endured frequent transfers and salary delays as silent punishment for standing by him.
With every passing month, despair deepened. Rasheed slipped into severe depression, his faith the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. His family sought treatment at the Lahore General Hospital and later the Punjab Institute for Mental Health, but recovery never came. “My father is a good man,” said Nabeel. “He has suffered a lot because of his Christian faith. People who hated him for exposing corruption have now trapped him in a false case, exploiting his mental condition.”
Blasphemy, Sedition, and Terrorism — A Deadly Mix
Police claim that Rasheed recorded a video “against Islam and the government,” and charged him under Sections 295-A and 298 of the Pakistan Penal Code (for outraging religious feelings), Section 124-A (sedition), and Section 9 of the Anti-Terrorism Act. Each of these laws carries harsh penalties — imprisonment for years, sometimes even death — and together, they paint a portrait of a dangerous criminal. But in reality, Rasheed is a mentally ill, unemployed worker with a history of persecution, a man barely surviving in a system designed to crush dissenters and silence minorities.
Pakistan’s blasphemy laws have long been criticized for being vaguely worded and easily abused. Rights organizations note that these laws are often used to settle personal scores or target religious minorities. For Christians — who make up less than 2% of the population yet form a large portion of blasphemy defendants — every accusation is a potential death sentence. Even if acquitted, social stigma and the threat of mob violence rarely allow the accused to live freely again.
Mental Illness and the Law That Refuses to See
Under Pakistani law, there are legal provisions for mental illness. Section 84 of the Penal Code recognizes insanity as a defense, and Section 464 of the Criminal Procedure Code prevents the trial of individuals deemed “of unsound mind.” Yet, as Christian attorney Lazar Allah Rakha explains, “There is a huge gap between law and practice. Mental illness is rarely accepted as a defense, especially in blasphemy cases. Courts and police face enormous social and political pressure. Often, even the mention of mental health is seen as an attempt to avoid punishment.”
Pakistan’s mental-health system is chronically under-resourced. Stigma runs deep. Families hide illness out of fear of shame. In such an environment, a Christian man with depression is doubly invisible — ignored as a patient and condemned as a criminal.
The Cost of Courage
For the Masih family, faith has become both their refuge and their cross. Najma continues to face professional harassment; salaries are withheld, and transfers are frequent. “This is the price we pay for my father’s honesty,” says Nabeel. The children live with the daily terror that the same system that ignored their suffering might now take their father’s life.
The tragedy of Rasheed Masih is not just a story of one man — it is a reflection of Pakistan’s moral crisis, where truth-tellers are punished, minorities are silenced, and the mentally ill are forgotten. It shows how the misuse of religion and law can destroy a family and corrode a nation’s conscience.
What Justice Demands
If justice means anything, it begins with compassion. Rasheed needs immediate psychiatric evaluation and legal protection from both state and mob violence. His family deserves safety, not surveillance. His case demands a transparent review of how anti-terrorism and blasphemy charges were applied to a man already suffering from mental illness.
Beyond one case, Pakistan must confront its larger truth: no society is made stronger by persecuting the weak. Faith should be a source of mercy, not a weapon of fear. Laws meant to preserve peace should not be turned against the broken and the voiceless.
Rasheed Masih’s arrest is more than a legal failure — it is a moral wound. It asks, in painful clarity, whether a nation that claims faith in God can still find room for compassion for the smallest of its people.
Because no faith is defended by jailing the sick.
And no justice is served by crucifying the innocent.