Between two blasts, no lessons

The haunting scenes from the latest blast in Lahore on March 4 reinforce the devastating memories of a bomb explosion at the city’s GPO chowk on Jan 10 this year. The pain is exacerbated with the realisation that from one blast to another, our minders in uniform stand on duty un-chastened and unmindful of the virtues of learning.

It was as if thunder had struck us out of the blue. On Jan 10 I had just come out of the Aiwan-i-Adl along with the lawyers protesting for the restoration of the deposed judges when I heard a loud bang. I knew instinctively that something bad had happened and had to rush to the spot to confirm my worst fears, trying to catch my breath amid the heart-wrenching sounds of the ambulances setting out for the site of the blast. The ambulance people had a job to do. Just like us, journalists.

Within no time, I was scurrying around at the scene, in competition with dozens of other journalists, each one of us feverishly taking down notes and ‘firing’ questions at officials who came our way. The problem with us scribes is that things are either unfolding rather too fast or too slow for our liking. The blast had done nothing to shake that old pattern.

The law-enforcers took too long and did too little to seal off the site entirely. As if they had no idea how to go about the task and could not prevent intruders.

Later that day at the Services Hospital, my colleague’s query to the caretaker chief minister, Justice Ijaz Nisar (retired), as to why the crime scene was allowed to be tampered with was met with silence. Does anybody have answers?

Learning from mistakes sounds like a great idea but from what I witnessed at the blast site after last week’s double suicide hits, it seems there is something terribly wrong with the concept.

On Tuesday, when I reached the site of the blasts, it was sealed off partially.

Lay a cordon in front of the battered door leading to the parking lot of the Naval War Collage but the road outside still had the curious lot including journalists. I watched in horror as a bearded man, later made famous by the ever eager television channels, put bits of human flesh on his palm for the whole of Pakistan to see.

He told me that he was employed with a nearby bank and had thought it was his duty to reach the blast spot and provide help wherever it was needed. “I have gathered these bits from the spot to show it to media and inform what wrong has been committed here,” he told me.

I was suspicious and unable to fathom his logic. I went to a sub-inspector on the spot and informed him about the man. The policemen heard me, and hands in his pant pockets, walked away in silence.

I decided not to give up and walked up to another uniformed man standing guard in front of the cordon leading to the destroyed gate a few yards away. “Just move away,” I was told as I tried to have a word with him.

The next I introduced myself to a superintendent of police overseeing evidence gathering at the spot. I introduced myself to him and got a warm hug in reply accompanied by a wide smile. I told him a man had been playing with evidence. SP Saheb smiled again and said: “Karan dyo jo karda aey (let him do whatever he is doing).”

With an attitude like that, it is no surprise they are allowing all this to happen.