Highlights of the April 2007 issue
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Between the Lines
Idrees Bakhtiar
I am luckier than the chief justice of Pakistan. For I have enjoyed the privilege of travelling in official helicopters more than once — and thankfully there is no chance that a reference will be presented against myself on this count. The chief justice, unfortunately, is not as lucky. He is facing the charge, among others, of asking the provincial governments to arrange a helicopter for him. When was the last time I travelled in a government-owned helicopter? Was it when I rode along with some officials to Mithi during the election fought by the then finance minister Shaukat Aziz? It had just so happened that our friend, and now the Information Minister Mohammad Ali Durrani, was going to visit the area and we were invited to join him and Chief Minister Arbab Ghulam Rahim on their flying visit to the scene of the polls. Which journalist would have turned down the offer? Readily we hopped on to the helicopter and flew from one place to the other to witness the voting process.
I also remember an earlier such ride, back in 1992 soon after the law enforcement agencies launched an anti-dacoit campaign in the interior of the Sindh province. A BBC team wanted to cover it and Lyse Doucet, now a star anchorwoman, was the organisation’s Pakistan correspondent. As it would have made a good story, I also hitched a ride on the helicopter.
We now celebrate the occasion by parading our military prowess in front of 160 million souls, taking pride in this vainglorious show. Is this all that we have to be proud of after 60 years of existence? What about our cultural heritage? Where is that on display? Certainly not at the National Museum of Pakistan where the Pakistan Day exhibits were a pitiful reflection of the country’s dire situation as a whole. Decaying parchments and photocopies of letters from student bodies praising “Quaid-i-Azam Mr M.A. Jinnah” were showcased next to creased and torn ticket stubs signed by Liaquat Ali Khan. Photographs of eminent “freedom fighters” were dragged out from a gallery upstairs, coloured and put on gaudy display without any captions indicating who they were or what they had achieved. A handful of pamphlets and bulletins carelessly placed in dusty showcases completed the exhibit.
What will it take for us to realise that we have already traversed some distance towards becoming a failed state? The country is facing one of the worst political crises ever in its relatively short history. A beleaguered judiciary is fighting to maintain its independence in the face of government provocation. An attack on the offices of Geo Television and The News in Islamabad, not to mention the many unveiled “warnings” to media organisations, or the hundreds of people who have mysteriously ‘disappeared’, underscores the limits imposed on free speech in this country. Hooliganism on the streets by a bunch of marauding Taliban-style enforcers is beginning to show its face in the capital city. In places such as Tank in the North-West Frontier Province, government forces are already fleeing as militant organisations enforce their own brand of justice, thumbing their nose at the writ of law in the land. The province of Balochistan is embroiled in a full-blown insurgency while the Federally Administered Tribal Areas are a haven for militant fighters from across the border.
Facts can be stranger and more mystifying than fiction. Much like the death of the disgraced South Africa cricket captain Hansie Cronje in a plane crash in the Western Cape (South Africa) in 2002, five years later the life of his friend and long-time coach Bob Woolmer also came to a sudden and mysterious end in Kingston, Jamaica. Humiliated and banned for taking bribes to throw matches, Cronje was only 32 when he missed his passenger flight and had to hitch a ride on a commercial cargo plane which went down, leaving behind many unanswered questions.
The circumstances of Woolmer’s death are equally baffling. As Pakistan’s cricket coach, an obviously dejected Woolmer went to his hotel room in the evening after a shocking defeat by Ireland on March 17. Next morning, a hotel maid discovered him unconscious, lying on the floor almost naked, with vomit and blood splattered around him.
The war of Wagers
By Feroze Khan
Technically, gambling is illegal in Pakistan and India. But, from the stock market to racecourses it is prevalent everywhere. Betting syndicates and bookmakers thrive in both countries, with a network spread across the globe. Given the public’s passion for the game, gambling on cricket matches is perhaps the most popular and lucrative part of the business. Unsurprisingly, the World Cup in the West Indies is a high season for the bookmakers.
Karim, a self-confessed frequent gambler, told the Herald that the stock markets become the hub of activity during matches between India and Pakistan and big tournaments such as the World Cup. “All transactions are done covertly and verbally. No evidence is left by way of documentation. But telephone calls and emails are good communication tools for the betting syndicates,” he says.
A battalion of slogan-chanting lawyers marches up to the Constitution Avenue on April 3, hours before the Supreme Judicial Council’s (SJC) hearing of a reference against Chief Justice Iftikhar Mohammad Chaudhry. Their mood of defiance is unchanged after three weeks of protests and rallies across the country. But the one striking difference this time around is the deliberate estrangement of lawyers from the political parties, witnessed with greater clarity than before on the day of the latest hearing.
Indigenous Taliban militants added a dangerous new dimension to their repertory in the middle of March when they began forcing schoolchildren in a small town of the Frontier province to sign up for suicide bombing missions. By March 26 local Taliban militants had abducted at least 30 schoolchildren in Tank, situated on the border of South Waziristan, and coerced dozens more into joining their cause. Their action sent shock waves through the town’s population and the inhabitants of nearby areas, triggering a wave of migration to the rural hinterland of Dera Ismail Khan district.
The Sound of Music
By Aurangzaib Khan
In Gulistan Music Centre at the upmarket and trendy Jinnah Road, Madonna looks down from a poster from the 80s. Her bare alabaster arms seem out of place in Balochistan’s male-dominated milieu — leave alone the shop itself. Even the streets outside are rarely trod upon by women. Only occasionally does an army begum venture out under the hawk-like eye of her husband or his batman.
However, the reality is different from what a first time visitor may expect; the material girl is quite at home in the music shop and raises no eyebrows. This in fact is just one morsel of evidence that life in Quetta is far more varied than what newspaper headlines suggest. Indeed, the city’s diverse taste in music indicates a culturally rich society rather than a uniform one merely marked by militancy, weapons and tribal customs.