Grief demands dignity. Destruction is an unnatural reaction to mourning. In fact, more often than not, the two make the strangest of bedfellows. Among us, however, it seems that indiscriminate violence is increasingly becoming an instinctive form of catharsis, born primarily of rampant deprivation and frustration. In the case of the carnage that followed Benazir Bhutto’s murder, one would like to believe that the frenzied emotions were outpourings of not just disbelief but also of the despair of devotees orphaned by her demise. Her sheer defiance in the face of militancy and the military had ensured that in her comeback, Benazir Bhutto — although tainted by allegations of unimaginable corruption — had cut loose and come of age.
Karachi’s state of anarchy on the fateful day of Dec 27 has raised many questions. Raging packs of armed youths roamed the streets with abandon, demanding valuables such as mobiles, money and jewellery before shattering windscreens or setting vehicles ablaze. From an area such as Lyari that was transformed into a virtual inferno following the crushing announcement, to upscale localities such as Clifton and Defence, the metropolis appeared to be in the grip of mindless terrorism rather than be ruing the loss of a political dynasty and a dream.
“There was a sudden announcement that everything would be shut for three days so I rushed out to get eggs, flour and milk but returned empty-handed,” laments Sakina, who works as a maid and lives in Mehmoodabad. “Boys with pistols were terrorising shopkeepers to lower their shutters and told me ‘ya tau goli kha lo ya anday’ [you can eat bullets or eggs], so I rushed home.”
In the more genteel environs, things were just as rough. “I watched from my flat as boys smashed cars and took whatever they could find, including stereo systems,” says Akram Mobin, an executive who lives on Khayaban-e-Shujaat. “All the parked cars, including my brand new Honda City, were destroyed. What has all this got to do with Benazir’s death?” he asks.
As long queues of traffic snaked through the main arteries of the city, all those who thought there was safety in numbers had another think coming. “We were stuck on M.A Jinnah Road and an armed man banged at our window, demanding that we hand over all our valuables. I even gave him my handbag which contained my identity card, driver’s license and credit cards,” cries Attiya, a bank executive.
At Karachi’s Submarine Intersection where shards of glass layered the road, there were incidents of boys pelting stones and stopping cars to demand money and mobile phones. “We went out looking for food items at around midnight, thinking it would be safer than going out in the evening,” recounts Amir from Gizri. “Four men stood in front of our car, forcing us to come to a halt, and then began to bang on our windscreen. In fear, we handed over our cell phones and wallets.”
Moving away from the harm done to individuals and the fact that a tragedy of such magnitude can be used to make a very quick buck, it takes a mind on a perverse latitude to attack sensitive spaces such as hospitals and ambulances.
This time round, mass instinct favoured Bhutto in her own right, removed from the shadow of her father’s aggressive charisma or his heartbreaking end.
However, a tragedy greater than her killing is the realisation that Karachi’s mob fury was fuelled by incentives other than vengeance. A majority of incidents both within and away from PPP strongholds reveal the sad truth of collective disenchantment. Aside from conventional political violence, Bhutto’s death became the trigger that unleashed a variety of pent-up demons. And as in the past, from MQM’s bloody battle with the state to May 12, to the slaying of Benazir Bhutto, Karachiites once again failed themselves and their beleaguered city. Its historic tragedies are rarely mourned with restraint or even sincerity. Instead, they spawn many more.
