SOMETIME after Gen Wojciech Jaruzels­ki im­­posed martial law in Poland in December 1981 an innocuous-looking application for a demonstration in Lahore to protest against that military intervention was approved by the district administration.

Sadly, a few days ahead of the planned protest in Lahore’s Regal Chowk (if my memory serves me right about the venue), it dawned on someone in the administration what the applicant may have been trying to achieve: the protest against martial law in Poland could easily have been turned against Zia’s martial law in Pakistan.

Along with some childhood friends with whom I was staying, I have a vivid recollection of visiting their aunt. Her husband was a seasoned protester, who had left a successful career in the civil service to protest against Ayub Khan’s martial law.

Asma faced an orchestrated campaign of lies where her patriotism and integrity were routinely questioned.

He was virtually a lonely figure holding aloft a placard in Lahore in 1971, saying ‘Mashriqi Pakistan mein army action naa manzoor’ and then being jailed by the martial law administration for his stance, at a time when officially orchestrated propaganda had been all-pervasive, stripping East Pakistanis of support, even empathy, among a vast majority of their Western wing compatriots.

The wonderful man that my friends called Uncle Jillani though disappointed that evening, chuckled at how close he’d come to organising a protest in the heart of Lahore against a repressive military regime and challenging Zia, before being found out. The administration had rescinded its permission.

This was where I met Asma Jahangir for the third or the fourth time. I have a very hazy recollection of seeing her first in Kharian when I was nine or 10 at a wedding in her family where we were also invited as close friends. She could not have been more than 16/17 but stood out for her personality.

I must have met her a number of times on visits to Lahore but the other occasion I will never forget seeing her was when she was visiting her aunt — one of my mother’s best friends, Aunty Bano — and we heard of the Supreme Court’s 4-3 verdict upholding the Lahore High Court decision against Mr Z.A. Bhutto in the Nawab Mohammad Ahmad Khan murder trial.

Curious to understand the legal implications of the verdict, we hurriedly gathered around Asma, then a bright young lawyer, and were relieved to see her smile as she told us she’d checked and knew of no legal precedent of someone being executed on such a split apex court verdict.

She would be proved wrong as the dictator would decide to execute the popular leader he’d deposed in a coup. Later, one of the Supreme Court justices on the bench that heard the appeal would describe the whole process as a deeply flawed.

Asma Jahangir’s whole life was an epic struggle such that I am sure her passing has left many like me, crushed, devastated and lost. Over the past week there has been a multitude of tributes appearing in the media and even those who may have been ignorant of her life are not anymore.

So, I won’t get into that as what can my inadequate grasp of issues and expression tell you that many far more accomplished men and women have not already dwelt on at great length. I do wish more is said of her wit and humour.

Always fighting for causes that may not be universally popular, Asma tweeted her disapproval of the ban on Valentine’s Day celebrations. A young man, whose timeline established him as a supporter of a political party that must take the award for the most bitter and rude followers on social media responded: “OK. Then give me your daughter’s number so I can wish her Happy Valentine’s Day”.

This was meant to be provocative as these nasty people think of daughters as a vulnerability not the major strength they are. I know of many people who’d have been provoked. But not Asma: “Only if you wish me one first.” Her young detractor was nowhere to be seen.

A lawyer present in the Supreme Court where she recently appeared quotes a passionate Asma as having said ‘My Lord we must get to the heart of the Constitution … .’ To which the chief justice responded that the bench had heard her loud and clear and ‘Madam, … I have also drawn a heart here on the file [as a reminder]’. ‘That is fine, My Lord, as long as you don’t give that to me’.

She spent a lifetime campaigning for the rights of the vulnerable and in the bargain took on not just well-entrenched social biases but also the strongest, most invincible of state institutions. She faced an orchestrated campaign of lies where her patriotism and integrity were routinely questioned.

A lesser person would have wilted. She was a brave heart and carried on, dismissing all the lies with a smile, rather than the contempt they deserved. Those who could not find it in their hearts to come up with a word of sadness at her passing only showed their own pettiness. She was the voice of the voiceless. She did not and does not need them.

Her last public engagement was speaking at the Pakhtun Long March protest in Islamabad. And that peaceful protest is effective was demonstrated by the acceptance of the protesters’ demands, some which are already being implemented.

This was thanks largely to the determined, brave and peaceful Pakhtun youth, supported by rights champions like Asma Jahangir, even as the electronic media largely ignored their sit-in where no indecent language was used, threats uttered nor law and order disturbed.

For all the seemingly impossible causes, there may not be an Asma championing them anymore. But each of us can celebrate her life by trying to be a bit like her. She was a force of nature. Collectively we can make a difference too.

The writer is a former editor of Dawn.
abbas.nasir@hotmail.com

Published in Dawn, February 17th, 2018