December 24, 2006	Sunday	Zilhaj 02, 1427

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As the clock strikes the midnight hour on Christmas Eve, the majority of Christians, who form 1.5 per cent of Pakistan’s population, will attend the Midnight Mass, held at various parishes, to celebrate Jesus Christ’s birth. But somewhere in the dark recesses of Model Colony near DHA, a family is huddled together in what can be construed as a one-room house, waiting for the night to pass. “There’s no joy for us this Christmas. We don’t feel safe,” bemoans Bashiran whose husband has gone missing for two days now.

Hanging from the corner of the dingy room is a silver cut-out star, a decorative symbol seen at almost every Christian house at Model Colony. Beneath it lays a stark plant of unknown origin brought home three days before Christmas Eve by Bashiran’s husband, Shafeeq Masih. The denuded plant, left unattended by Shafeeq Masih’s family without the embellishments hanging from the traditional Christmas tree, best describes the family’s misery.

Taking a different route from the festivities surrounding Christmas, Bashiran Masih has decided to use the occasion to tell what it is like being a Christian in a Muslim majority country. Compensating in experience for what she lacks in academic knowledge, Bashiran, a mother of five, raises pertinent questions about the invisible state of being a minority. “You want to know how we spend Christmas? How can a family of seven living off Rs4,000 celebrate Christmas? And now with Shafeeq gone, there’s no Christmas for us,” says a shaken Bashiran Masih.

Her husband who worked at a nearby factory on a daily-wage basis was somehow falsely accused of theft by a resident of Defense whose house was looted a few days ago by a gang of five. “Whenever there’s theft in this area, we Christians are the first to be taken to the police station for interrogation. I don’t understand why Shafeeq’s name was taken. On December 20, he came home and said that he had a fight with a man and the next thing he knows, he’s accused of theft by the same man. Shafeeq hasn’t come home since then,” says Bashiran. Just as soon as the thought of approaching the police occur to her, it was soon dispelled. “Police? Oh no! I think it’s best for Shafeeq to stay wherever he is till everything dies down. I’m not going to the police because they don’t take Christians seriously.”

It is not exactly known why Shafeeq was accused of having involvement in theft. But, Bashiran’s tirade against the majority for discriminating against Christians cannot be clearer. “Just look at this area. Do you think it’s fit for humans? To get one bucket of water my two daughters have to queue for two hours. The sewerage system is so bad that whenever it rains the entire colony gets flooded. You know it doesn’t matter because who’s living here? Christians and they don’t matter!” vituperates Bashiran.

A bit further down Shafeeq Masih’s house Bajwa Chowk is festooned with decorative Christmas trappings. Brightly coloured clothes attiring overtly made up faces of shoppers devoted to last minute Christmas buy show no signs of feeling run down by the ramshackled Model Colony. “They are used to this life, but I’m not going to let my daughters be raised in this colony feeling little more than the grime I scrub daily off those huge houses. My eldest daughter worked at a factory for some time. She stopped going because the manager thought it was easier and less risky to make a pass at a Christian girl than a Muslim. Each time she steps out of the house I fear for my 18-year-old. I know there’s no one to turn to, no protection and no justice. At least not for us,” regrets Bashiran.

There is hope that Shafeeq Masih might come home one day; hope that prior to elections the Model Colony might have a better sewerage system and her daughters might have access to clean drinking water. But should Bashiran expect social integration for her daughters? “You know the term they use for us in this society. It’s at Christmas time when we feel most left out. The few Muslims living in this area don’t even wish to eat the things sent to them on Christmas by us. Tell me, is that the way to make us feel part of society? We live in ghettoes and work as cleaners. Christmas is just another day which makes me feel that I’m not a part of,” Bashiran nods her head in the direction of her door, “that world.”