Nafisa Hoodbhoy - Aboard the Democracy Train: A Journey through Pakistans Last Decade of Democracy (Anthem Politics and International Relations)

NAFISA HOODBHOY

Chapter 2: Ethnic Violence in Sindh:
The MQM Saga

The Chickens Were Primed to Come
Home to Roost

Fleeing Militants Massacre my Christian
Friends

T his is a book about politics and journalism in Pakistan, told through first-hand experiences. It is one I have long wanted to write because of my access to people, places and events that are normally hidden from public view. By relating my personal experiences, I hope to give an original insight to Pakistan and reveal who really rules the country, as well as expose the enormous effects that being in the USs orbit of influence has had.

In 1984, I began my career at Dawn newspaper as its only female reporter, just as Benazir Bhutto made her bid to become Pakistans first woman prime minister. That year, I had come back from the US, armed with a masters degree in history and a dream, not only to work for the nations most established newspaper, but to also effect change while working within the bounds of its staid but reliable coverage. As an energetic, young, Western-educated woman, my editor bypassed senior male reporters and deputed me to cover Benazir and her Pakistan Peoples Party (PPP).

That decade of tumultuous democracy, which marked the onset of civilian rule and the end of 11 years of military dictatorship, would reveal to me why Pakistan has stubbornly resisted change. As an insider, my experience informs the reader on how the establishment acting in collusion with feudal lords, tribal chiefs, ethnic and mafia groups has worked against untidy civilian rule.

As a journalist in Pakistan, I constantly walked a tightrope, informing readers about the machinations of corrupt and dishonest military and government leaders, all the while working for a newspaper that often depended on the goodwill of the establishment. In attempting to get the inside story, I often found myself skating on thin ice and this book relates some of the narrow escapes I had from violently enforced censorship.

My status as a female journalist in a Muslim society inadvertently defined my career. In a society already laden with archaic customs, I covered Islamic legislation that aimed to tie women to medieval ways. The laws were supposedly meant to protect women, yet all around me women were raped and murdered, without recourse to justice. This only motivated me further to use my influence as an insider journalist.

The book focuses primarily on the decade of democratic rule (198899) when as a political reporter I had a front seat on history. Again, as a US-based academic and journalist from 2000 to the present, I have shared my unique perspective on Pakistans politics since it partnered with the US. Whilst the post-9/11 alliance opened the door for Benazirs PPP to return to power, it culminated in her murder and exposed the conspiracies and intrigue that are woven into the nations political fabric.

This book carries the reader through the issues that face a complex society like Pakistan, in which the population spins out of control, violence breeds because of the total collapse of judicial institutions and the situation for women is one of the most difficult in the world. Indeed, the region is a ticking time bomb and one that teems with conspiracies that threaten it, not only internally, but also on a global scale.

I was only in my late twenties when I began an exciting career as a journalist in Pakistan. As a young, idealistic woman I began with a clean slate and without any preconceived notions of the complex interplay between politics and society. Back then, I worked according to the news industrys modus operandi to cover breaking news. Given that journalism is often described as literature in a hurry, and I was too busy gathering facts to form a proper narrative at the time, this book is an attempt to unpack the message.

In essence, I hope to give a human face to a region associated with stereotypical images of Muslim women and terrorists. In offering a nuanced picture of Pakistan, I want readers to appreciate the fascinating kaleidoscope of its recent history. It is a nation riddled with contradictions, where the past and present live side-by-side and where the more things change, the more they remain the same.

It is with the intent of sharing a nuanced perspective that I invite the reader to better understand Pakistan, by sharing in the exciting and dramatic times that I have spent with the nations politicians and people.

Source: University of Texas.

I was born in the young Muslim state of Pakistan, which was carved by the British from India in 1947. My infant memory of the deep quiet that once pervaded Garden East our residential neighborhood in Karachi in the 1960s still remains.

Karachi was still a cosmopolitan city. Located along the Arabian Sea in the southern province of Sindh, the port city has always attracted immigrants. At the time, I was too small to know that we were on the threshold of a massive transformation, ushered in by wave upon wave of Muslim migrants arriving from India.

I grew up in a colonial-style two-storied bungalow with a towering fortress and a red bridge connecting two separate living units. Although the Garden zoo was about a mile away, the roar of the lions often shattered the nights silence and made me bolt up startled in my crib. My mother would assure me that the lion was actually quite far away before I could fall back to sleep.

Defying the ravages of the continuously growing port city of Karachi, spurned on by the influx of Indias migrants (Mohajirs) and arrivals from across Pakistan and the region, our family bungalow remains the oldest on the block. Although it has been partitioned, it still towers above the newer constructed apartments.

Although the giant banyan tree, which once embraced our bungalow with its muscular branches, was felled long ago, the gentle swoosh of its small diamond-shaped green leaves brushing the top floors where my uncles family once lived is etched in my memory.

Even after a decade of Pakistans existence, we lived in a mosaic of cultures. Our neighbors in Garden East were not only Ismailis the tiny Muslim sect to which we belong but also Christians, Hindus and Zoroastrians. I considered our Christian neighbors, who lived along Pedro Dsouza Road, as part of our extended family. It never struck me as odd that they were called the Pintos, Pereiras and Dsouzas or even that further down the block lived the tall, imposing, red-faced Englishman, Daddy Patterson a senior officer in the Karachi police.

The British exited India just as Pakistan was carved out of it in 1947. As a child in the 1960s, I grew up in the bubble they left behind. Being a well-off new Pakistani, my father was among the select few to become a member of the Karachi Gymkhana. The gymkhana was part of a chain of exclusive clubs left by the British. It had red Spanish roof tiles, lush green lawns and had, up until partition, displayed the sign:

Indians and Dogs not allowed.

We were seeped in Western culture, wearing shorts and frocks to the clubs, which were frequented by European families. It was at the Karachi Gymkhana that I saw blond and blue-eyed kids for the first time. I was fascinated: they looked just like the golden-haired dolls my mother brought back from Europe. And yet times were changing, as we locals with darker hair and eye color began to inherit their privileges.