by Meena Menon
Minorities formed 25 per cent of the population at the time of Partition; this figure had dwindled to 5 per cent or less. The rights and secular ideals envisaged by Jinnah have been consumed by violent sectarianism. Jinnah defended the only Ahmadi member of his Cabinet but the sect was outlawed by the Constitution itself. There is clear and present danger for religious minorities, including the Hindus who are escaping to India, fearing conversion and having their daughters kidnapped and forced into marriage. And the law takes its own time to deliver justice. Even if there are rational voices of protest and condemnation, hatred is a powerful force. Often leaving the country seems to be the only option for those who can afford it.
II. Covering Bomb Blasts, the 26/11 Case, Drone Strikes . . .
Terror and the Taliban
The blowback for supporting and training terror groups to fight the Soviets and later to infiltrate into Kashmir has been borne by ordinary Pakistanis and the security forces. Some of the radicalized tribal groups morphed into the TTP in 2007, which was bent on creating an Islamic state in Pakistan and imposing the Sharia. A decade previously, sectarian terror groups, including the Lashkar-e-Jhangvi and Sipah-e-Sahaba, were active in the Punjab with the support of the Taliban; one of them even attempted to assassinate Nawaz Sharif during the time of his first tenure as prime minister in 1998. Sectarian strikes targeted at Shias, Christians and Ahmadis, and at marketplaces and cinemas soon became the norm; in bombings that took place over a decade from 2000 onwards, nearly 60,000 fell victim, including a number of armed forces personnel.26 ‘By 1998 Pakistani Taliban groups were banning TV and videos in towns along the Pashtun belt, imposing Sharia punishment such as stoning and amputation in defiance of the legal system, killing Pakistani Shia and forcing people, particularly Pakistani women to adapt to the Taliban dress code and way of life. Pakistan’s support for the Taliban is thus coming back to haunt the country itself, even as Pakistan leaders appear to be oblivious of the challenge and continue to support the Taliban,’ writes Ahmed Rashid.27 The bombings intensified after General Musharraf supported the USA in the war against terror after the 11 September attack in New York, and endorsed drone strikes against terrorists.
Terror comes in many forms in Pakistan, and suicide bombings are unending. Islamabad, known to be a safe capital, was struck twice when I was there, one attack very close to where I lived. In 2002, attacks did take place in the capital when the Protestant International Church in the diplomatic enclave was attacked. A school run by Christians in Murree and a church attached to a hospital in Taxila were also targeted by the terrorists. The shocking attack on a public park in Lahore on Easter in 2016 was yet another monstrosity perpetrated by a faction of the TTP which splintered after the killing of its leader Hakimullah Mehsud on 1 November 2013.
The sectarian attacks in the Punjab have spread to other parts of the country and few are spared in this war. Civilians, minorities, army personnel, government officials, politicians and the media, too, have been victims, and in the chapters to come, some of the incidents I reported on are discussed in this context. The talks with the TTP went nowhere—they were destined to fail from the start, and the army launched Operation Zarb-e-Azb (the Prophet’s Sword) to bomb the terrorists in Waziristan towards the end of 2013, creating another massive civilian exodus. Terrorism and safe havens are still the subject of discussions among the US, Afghanistan and Pakistan, and Pakistan certainly does not seem to have given up its much-desired ‘strategic depth’28 policy in Afghanistan. The Haqqani Network, for instance, does not seem to be hampered in its activities in any way in spite of repeated requests from the US to Pakistan to stop backing the Haqqanis. Despite the TTP being in disarray and the Afghan Taliban weakened by the death in 2013 of their long-time chief, Mullah Omar, and later that of his successor Mullah Akhtar Mansour, who was killed by a US drone strike in Pakistan in 2016, there seems to be no let-up in Afghanistan. Sirajuddin Haqqani is now the second in command in the Afghan Taliban. The Haqqanis, once favoured by the CIA (Central Intelligence Agency), are now facing American wrath for targeting its armed personnel in Afghanistan. There is the overhanging threat of the Islamic State, though Pakistan denies it exists there. The Taliban’s spring offensive in April 2016 was launched with a bombing in Kabul, and the suicide attacks continue in 2017 with depressing regularity. Increasingly, more areas are coming under Taliban control in Afghanistan.
While the government offered the TTP an olive branch, the spate of bombings, starting with the church in Peshawar in September 2013, showed that the terror outfit thought little of peace. The capital was rocked by two bomb blasts in March and April 2014, and there were incidents all over the country—a teenaged boy died fighting a suicide bomber and a young politician in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa was killed on Bakri Id in his hujra (a place outside the house where men meet). Terrorists die or go unpunished for the most part, but Pakistan is trying the perpetrators of the 26/11 Mumbai attack, and this is a trial which is keenly watched in India.
Shrapnel for a souvenir
I met some of the families targeted by the suicide bombing of the Peshawar church. One of them showed me a small plastic box with a piece of shrapnel with congealed blood on it. It was from Arsalan’s neck, his mother explained. She clasped it in her hand like a treasure. In the end that’s all she had left of the boy. It was a bright Sunday morning on 22 September 2013, and I was hoping nothing would happen to disturb my holiday when I saw the flash on TV a little after 11.45 a.m. It was the All Saints Church in Peshawar and the twin suicide bombers were the first to strike in that week-long orgy of violence which ended with a third blast the following Sunday. It was a stunning attack and took place when the congregation stepped out to enjoy some food after the service. Putting aside shock and horror at the event, on a professional level, I was in helpless despair as I couldn’t get anywhere near the blast site and cover it from the ground. So I had to resort to a mix of Internet, TV interviews and some quick phone calls to put together a story, as was often the case with my reporting from Pakistan. Two weeks later I did meet some of the families of the survivors at the Pakistan Institute of Medical Sciences (PIMS) in the capital.
It was not the first church strike in Pakistan and it wasn’t going to be the last, but the intensity and boldness was chilling. In September 2012 in Mardan, sixty kilometres from Peshawar, a protest against a ‘blasphemous’ film—news reports indicated only that the US-made film was anti-Islamic—turned violent, resulting in the burning and ransacking of St Paul’s Church and the school, the library, the vicarage and two other houses inside its premises. All Saints Church is located in Kohati Gate, an inner city area of Peshawar, and at least eighty-one people were killed and over 100 injured (137 was the official figure, with ten of them critical); many of them were women and children. One of the suicide bombers reportedly carrying six kilograms of explosives entered the church while the other detonated himself outside the compound where around 600 people were milling around.
Missionary schools decided to close down for three days in protest, but it was only when I went around the churches in Islamabad that the fear and insecurity came home to me. One of the places I would have liked to visit was the Lady Reading Hospital in Peshawar, which seemed to be in a perpetual state of emergency. It managed admirably with the limited resources at its disposal to deal with the unending bombings; later, some of the critically injured were moved to the PIMS in Islamabad and the Combined Military Hospital in Peshawar. An eyewitness who lived close by saw one of the bombers blowing himself up sometime after 11 a.m. and felt the shattering effect of the two blasts. The All Saints Memorial Church has the distinctive Indo-Saracenic style of architecture favoured by the British, and it opened for service in December 1883. In a statement online, for which I was grateful, the Rt Revd Humphrey S. Peters of Peshawar, condemned the attack and said it reflected the total failure of the new government in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa (KPK) led by the Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf, to provide security to the minorities in the provi
nce. He had spoken to one of the parish members who lost his aunt and nephew in the bombing. Among the dead were a number of Sunday school children and members of the church choir.
In Peshawar, one of the few people I could depend on for reliable information, other than a few journalists, was Shiraz Paracha, a former journalist and then spokesperson for the Khyber Pakhtunkhwa chief minister. Even for Peshawar, often in the centre of a storm, this kind of attack was unprecedented, Paracha said. A multitude of protests erupted in the country and the PTI was under fire for not doing enough to secure institutions such as churches. All over the country there was mourning and condemnation.
The Peshawar diocese was created in 1980 and it is one of the largest in the country. The total number of Christians living in the KPK province is around 100,000, out of the provincial population of around 17 million, according to the diocese website. For the prime minister it was unfortunate that the incident happened on the day he was leaving for New York to attend the United Nations General Assembly session, and it was a strange coincidence that every time he was going abroad there would be a ‘situation’. There were calls for greater security for churches and more protection for the minorities, but the next day after visiting two of the main churches in the capital, I realized how vulnerable they were to attack.
A lone policeman with a sub-machine gun sat outside St Thomas Church, one of the two big churches in Islamabad. There were many small churches in the slums, often in small rooms with makeshift crosses and tiny groups of people praying. Here, the branches of the tall fir trees almost covered the warm red-brick church and a certain stillness and fear permeated through the closed maroon gates painted with golden crosses. Built in 1992, the church had installed CCTVs a few months ago for safety. Policemen on motorcycles patrolled the roads once in a while.
I wasn’t allowed to go inside, and apart from the policeman, I saw a man standing outside and he turned out to be someone who had a close connection with the All Saints Church. This parish member and retired government employee was in tears. His nikah ceremony had been held there in 1978. Soon after the incident he got in touch with his old Bible study coordinator in Peshawar, who had lost his wife and daughter. His relatives were all in hospital having suffered serious injuries, and the interview ended in a welter of fresh tears. The church had asked for increased security in the past and on Sunday there were usually two or three policemen. But he looked up and said, ‘We leave security to God.’
At the Roman Catholic Our Lady of Fatima Church, built in 1979, Father Rahmat Michael Hakim was discussing security with a senior officer when I was allowed inside after my passport was checked. The churches had to be very careful. Father Rahmat reminded the policeman gently that the Sunday mass began at 7 a.m. Outside, a Kalashnikov-wielding policeman lounged in a chair. There are 4000 Catholic families in the Islamabad Capital Territory. The Islamabad and Rawalpindi dioceses have about 200,000 Christians. The church was planning to install CCTVs but for now, Father Rahmat said the razor fencing would have to do. Churches have become soft targets after mosques. Father Rahmat and others were helpless against forces which hate so much that they were prepared to kill themselves.
The TTP claimed responsibility for the attacks, and coming after the All Parties Conference endorsing talks with the terror outfit, hope faded fast of any reconciliation as the TTP was not giving up on suicide bombings and terror strikes. The national flag flew at half mast and outraged protestors took to the streets in many parts of Pakistan. In Islamabad too, nearly 2000 people marched on the streets shouting slogans against the Taliban, demanding justice. Posters said ‘Save minority rights, be a true Pakistani’.
There was a protest at D-Chowk, opposite Parliament, where candles were lit, and religious and political leaders said this was a mourning (matham), not a protest, for those who were ‘martyred’ in the bombing. There were spontaneous actions from ordinary people outraged by the latest suicide attack. Farida Choudhry, a nurse, and her young son, who had come carrying placards, said that there should be no religious discrimination and this terrorism should end. Many women from the Christian-dominated slum colonies joined the protest, beating their chests in sorrow. Nageen Hyat of the Women’s Action Forum felt it was not a matter concerning the minorities alone and that all progressive people were under threat. Minorities like the Hazaras and the Kalash from Chitral also came all the way to lend support. Pakistan has several dynamic activists like eminent lawyer Asma Jahangir and activist Tahira Abdullah, and the National Human Rights Commission is helmed by the venerable I.A. Rehman. I met human rights activist Farzana Bari who said the country was moving towards chaos because the state was failing to provide security, while Khawar Mumtaz, the chairperson of the National Commission on the Status of Women, said this was part of the militant agenda—and the church was a soft target. In the past, it was bazaars and crowded places. I often met many activists in the small progressive circle and they were calm, reacting like rational people, helpless against the macabre violence. A few of them bravely took part in open demonstrations denouncing government policies or attacks on minorities, and faced great danger.
A little after the church blasts, I read about some Peshawar survivors who were admitted to PIMS, and decided to go there. At least this public hospital was accessible: a sprawling place with low buildings and many barricades. The broad road leads to the casualty ward while the burns ward where the three children were admitted, is located at a little distance behind. The oldest of them, eight-year-old Arsalan, didn’t return home. I went to the ward where I met his mother, Raziabibi, and uncle, Akram. A bed sheet was spread out in the corridor with some belongings on it and they excitedly showed me a small taped plastic box with a bloodied lump in it, possibly ball bearings congealed in flesh and blood, removed from the side of Arsalan’s throat.
Arsalan went to church every Sunday with his father, who suffered a fracture and was in a hospital in Peshawar. ‘Every home that day had at least four funerals,’ Razia said. She didn’t know at that time that she would lose the youngest of her five sons.
Arish, a first-year college student was accompanying his sister, Simran, who had extensive injuries, her body spattered with shrapnel; only her face was spared. She’d had two operations already. His younger sister, a six-year-old, was in hospital in Peshawar. They all loved church and they went to Sunday school with great enthusiasm.
For Asma and her family, the bombing would leave a bitter mark forever. She had celebrated her twenty-fifth birthday the night before. The young schoolteacher lost her father and brother, Imtiaz, in the bombing. ‘I can’t speak about it and I can’t forget that scene. I couldn’t do anything for them,’ Asma said, trying to control her grief. She was amazed that I was from India, but was welcoming despite the grim situation she was in. Her niece, three-year-old Mehek, had a head injury and was in a critical condition in the burns unit, while Asma’s younger brother, too, was in hospital at that time.
She had to come to Islamabad as Mehek’s mother was coping with her husband’s death. Asma said her brother, Imtiaz, had joined the police recently and he was killed in the attack. Her father had stepped out from the church to the compound where food was being served. That’s when the bombs went off. Asma was still inside and found it difficult to get to her father in the stampede and smoke.
That was only the first of the bomb blasts that week in Peshawar and in less than a fortnight the number had gone to five. After the All Saints Church, that Friday a bomb went off in a bus carrying government employees, killing nineteen of them and injuring over forty. Then, for the third time in a week, Peshawar was brought to its knees. This time it was a powerful 225-kg bomb in a car parked near a police station in the historic Qissa Khawani Bazaar, which killed over thirty persons and injured over 100 on Sunday. Just as shops were opening at around 11 a.m., the crowd, with many women and children, was stunned as the bomb detonated, causing another cylinder explosion in a nearby car. The market was engulfed in thick black smoke
as cars and shops caught fire while panic spread.
A white Toyota was fashioned into a bomb, and a crater was formed at the site of the blast. Firefighters had to climb up to the shops lining the road to douse fires, and the whole area was in a shambles. There were a number of handcart vendors on the road who took the brunt of the blast which came after the PTI chairperson, Imran Khan, suggested that the Taliban be allowed to open an office in the country for talks, for which he was roundly criticized. Qissa Khawani Bazaar is historically known for the massacre of the Khudai Khidmatgars, the legendary freedom fighters led by Khan Abdul Ghaffar Khan, the Frontier Gandhi. In April 1930, the Khudai Khidmatgars were gunned down by the British Army during a non-violent protest. It was also the place where a soldier of the Garhwal regiment refused to fire on unarmed people, yet today innocent lives are the target.29 A popular place, it was made famous by Kipling as the market of storytellers, and once caravans from far away used to find a resting place there. It is also the birthplace of Mohammed Yusuf Khan, better known as Dilip Kumar, an icon of Indian cinema. Qissa Khawani Bazaar has more macabre tales to tell now and they won’t be about the caravans from afar or Frontier Gandhi.
In the rest of Pakistan the pace of events was so rapid—unlike the somewhat sedate capital which chugged along at a different speed with its active think-tank seminars and formal social events. Peshawar seemed to be lurching from one bombing to another, and this frontier city reminded me of Mumbai and its bomb blasts which happened at one time with unfailing regularity. I also read the all-too-familiar stories of resilience in Peshawar, just as we eulogized Mumbai as an unbreakable city. I wondered if the Lady Reading Hospital was like the King Edward Memorial Hospital with its huge infrastructure or like the JJ Hospital. Both hospitals in Mumbai did a marvellous job each time there was a crisis.
