The coastal road linking Karachi and Gwadar, known as the Makran Coastal Highway (N-10), was completed in 2004. It was originally built to connect scattered coastal towns, reduce travel time, and support local movement and fishing communities along Balochistan’s coast.
The character of the road changed after Gwadar Port became operational and CPEC was launched in 2015. Parts of the highway began to be widened and dualised to handle heavy cargo traffic linked to the port and long-distance transit. At the same time, new port-focused infrastructure, including a direct expressway out of Gwadar, was added to move containers quickly without passing through local areas.
What was once a regional road gradually became a cargo corridor, with speed and security taking priority over local access and daily use.
Add Zee News as a Preferred Source
The government calls the dualised coastal highway a development success. It is described as a key trade route that will improve connectivity and help the economy. The wider road and faster traffic are held up as proof that investment is finally reaching Balochistan’s coast.
For people who live along the highway, it does not feel that way.
Most of the traffic on the road is heavy cargo. Container trucks, fuel tankers, and long convoys move between ports and inland routes. The road is built for them. Speed and security matter more than local access. For ordinary residents, the highway is not something that makes daily life easier.
Many villages sit right next to the road, yet remain cut off. There are few safe crossings. Service roads are limited. Public transport is poor. People often have to wait long stretches to cross safely. For them, the highway is something to work around, not something that helps them move.
The size of the investment makes this harder to accept. Large sums have been spent to move trucks faster. At the same time, nearby communities still struggle with basic needs. Clean drinking water is not guaranteed. Health centres are far away or understaffed. Schools lack teachers and proper buildings.
The road passes through these areas, but it does not fix any of this.
Local residents watch cargo move past their homes every day. They do not see new markets opening for fishermen or small traders. The trucks do not stop. The money does not stay. The economic activity belongs to places elsewhere.
Security along the highway is heavy. Checkpoints, patrols, and escorted convoys are common. Officials say this is needed to protect an important route. Locals often feel the protection is not for them. It is for what is moving through their land.
Armed vehicles are everywhere. Basic services are not.
Over time, this creates a sense of being watched rather than supported. The highway starts to feel less like development and more like control. That feeling matters, especially in a region where trust in the state is already weak.
Jobs were another promise. During construction, some work was available, but most of it was temporary. Skilled workers were often brought in from outside. Once construction ended, the jobs disappeared. There was little left for local youth.
Highways do not create many long-term jobs. They move goods, not people into work. Without training programmes or support for local industries like fishing and farming, the road changes very little on the ground.
There is also the question of money. Tolls and transit fees bring in revenue. But this income usually goes to federal authorities or national agencies. Local governments rarely see a direct share. Districts host the road, deal with the disruption, and manage the security pressures, but the financial return goes elsewhere.
This is not new for Balochistan. Big projects arrive. Promises are made. Benefits are delayed or redirected. People are told to wait. Over time, patience runs out.
Supporters of the highway argue that national trade will eventually help everyone. They speak of long-term benefits. For families still struggling for water, healthcare, and schooling, these arguments feel distant. Development that always comes later does not feel real.
Roads are not neutral. They show what matters. A highway built mainly for foreign-linked cargo sends a clear signal. When local roads, hospitals, and schools do not receive the same attention, people notice.
This is not about opposing roads or trade. Connectivity is important. But development should not only be about moving goods quickly. It should improve daily life for the people who live along the route.
That would mean proper access roads, safe crossings, local hiring, and a share of revenue for local services. It would mean security that protects people, not just cargo.
Without these changes, the coastal highway will remain what many locals already believe it to be–a smooth road built for others, cutting through communities that are still waiting for the basics.
If progress continues to arrive only as passing trucks and armed convoys, the gap between official claims and lived reality will keep growing. And a road meant to connect the country may end up deepening the feeling of exclusion along its edges.
ALSO READ | Pakistan’s ‘Fake’ Amritsar Strikes Exposed: Satellite Imagery Debunks Operation Sindoor Disinformation