Salim Khan, the carpenter Salim Khan had just been released from Bagram. He could no longer recall the date of his capture, but believed he had been imprisoned for eight years. He was languishing in Peshawar Central Jail when JPP met him for the first interview in December 2013. He appeared to be about 60 years old, did not talk much, and mostly only smiled. At one point, he mentioned desperately needing a new set of false teeth. He had lost his in prison and, without a replacement, continued to experience difficulty chewing his food. Originally from North Waziristan, Salim had made a living as a carpenter in Peshawar prior to his detainment. He was well-known in his locality for quality workmanship that stood out from the rest, he said, and he had worked all over Khyber Pakhtunkhwa. Now, there was an agedness to his appearance and manner. He did not seem to comprehend our questions, and when he responded, he spoke slowly and haltingly. We met for a second interview about a month later, in the new year, by which time Salim had returned home. Though it was only about a month ago, he did not recall our visit to him at the Peshawar jail. This time, he was distinctly uncomfortable about having agreed to meet, as though he had done so against his own will. In an attempt to get through the meeting as quickly as possible, he suggested standing on the road to talk. Accompanied by two cousins, he told us to ask him whatever we wanted then and there so that he could go. We managed to convince him and his companions to dine at the closest restaurant, directly across the street. But Salim didn’t want fried food, he said; he wanted vegetables. When our meals arrived, Salim smiled and said, “I will not eat. I am going on a hunger strike. I will not eat unless you find me a girl and get me married.” Everyone at the table laughed, but Salim just sat there, not eating. We offered the food to him again but he refused to listen. Before we could attempt to reopen conversation, with a tone of demand in his voice, Salim told us, again, to ask him everything we wanted to know in one go. Travelling all the way from North Waziristan was not only expensive, but also dangerous, he explained, especially since he had not been able to acquire a CNIC — the Computerized National Identification Card.38 We assured him that as an advocacy organization, JPP would cover his travel costs for such trips. This seemed to reassure him a little, and he slowly began to open up.  This is a required piece of government issued documentation for all Pakistani citizens, without which they cannot vote, open bank accounts, obtain a driver’s licence, access state provided resources such as gas and electricity, or own a mobile SIM card. But the reality is that many underprivileged people do not own CNICs, only able to access the informal economy and the resources available there. It is also used for identity verification by security authorities and at checkposts throughout the country, meant to identify suspected terrorists, and monitor the movement of all people. Socioeconomically underprivileged Pashtuns and FATA residents are targeted through this apparatus as they are immediately flagged as potential militants and criminals. Without government-issued identification, they face harassment and possible imprisonment. Sayeed, Saad & Shah, Radha. “Displacement, Repatriation, and Rehabilitation: Stories of Dispossession from Pakistan’s Frontier.” Stiftung Wissenschaft und Politik German Institute for International and Security Affairs. April 2017. 38 20