On 6 February 2026, a suicide bomber struck an Imambargah in Tarlai, Islamabad. At least 31 people were killed and 169 others injured. Worshippers had gathered in what they believed was one of the safest places in the country—the capital city, inside a religious space. That belief was shattered in seconds.
This attack is not shocking because it was new. It is shocking because it was familiar.
For many Shia families in Pakistan, the Islamabad bombing felt like the continuation of a story they have been living for years. The locations change. The years pass. But the pattern remains the same.
Look back just a few years. In March 2025, Shia pilgrims were attacked at the shrine of Pir Rakhel Shah in Jhal Magsi. Thirty-five people were killed while visiting a place meant for prayer and peace. In July 2023, sectarian tensions flared again during violence in Zhob, where terrorist attacks and clashes between Sunni and Shia communities overlapped, reminding many how easily extremist violence feeds communal fear.
The story becomes darker as we move further back. In March 2022, a suicide bomber killed 63 worshippers inside a Shia mosque in Peshawar. Five years earlier, in Parachinar, another bomb attack killed 24 people and injured dozens more in a Shia-majority area that had already suffered repeated violence.
For the Shia community, mosques have often turned into death traps. In January 2015, a bomb ripped through a Shia mosque in Shikarpur, killing 61 worshippers. In February of the same year, another attack inside a mosque in Peshawar killed 19 more. Earlier, in 2010, a suicide bombing at a Shia mosque in Chakwal killed 22 people, proving that even smaller cities were not safe.
Public spaces have been just as dangerous. In May 2015, gunmen attacked a bus in Karachi, killing 46 Shia passengers. In August 2012, 20 Shia Muslims were pulled off vehicles and shot dead in Mansehra. Earlier still, in February 2012, terrorists ambushed a bus in Kohistan, killing 18 Shia civilians simply because of who they were.
Processions and religious gatherings have been repeatedly targeted. In September 2010, bomb blasts struck a Shia procession in Lahore, killing 30 people. In January 2012, a Chehlum procession in Rahim Yar Khan was hit by a bomb that killed 18 worshippers. Even hospitals have not been spared. In December 2010, a suicide bomber attacked a Shia-run hospital in Hangu, killing 16 people.
Quetta stands out as one of the most scarred cities. In January and February 2013, multiple large-scale attacks killed more than 200 people, most of them from the Hazara Shia community. These were among the deadliest sectarian attacks in Pakistan’s history, and yet they failed to bring lasting change.
The killing of Shia leaders has also been part of this pattern. In January 2012, Askari Raza, a Shia political leader, was shot dead in a targeted attack—another reminder that visibility itself can be dangerous.
Seen together, these incidents tell a clear story. The violence is not random. It is repeated, targeted, and predictable. It happens in mosques, on buses, during funerals, inside hospitals, and now even in the capital.
The February 2026 Islamabad bombing is not just another entry in a list. It is a warning. Without serious action, the next attack will come—and by then, it may no longer shock anyone at all.
For Pakistan’s Shia community, this violence is not an occasional shock but a permanent condition of life. Parents send children to prayer with quiet fear. Worshippers scan exits before bowing their heads. Funerals blur into fresh funerals. Entire neighbourhoods have learned to live behind barricades, not for protection alone but for survival. The suffering is not just in the numbers killed, but in the years stolen by anxiety, loss, and silence. A community should not have to choose between faith and safety, yet for Shias in Pakistan, that cruel choice has become routine.
