Kamila Shamsie
by Kamila Shamsie
On Monday, in Karachi, I stayed at home while protesters took to the streets in an attempt to rouse Pakistan into action against the continuing extermination of Shia.
On Saturday in Quetta a bomb had exploded in a busy market, killing 89 people; two days later, amid sit-ins and protests in different parts of the country in response to the attack, a Shia doctor and his school-age son were shot and killed in Lahore.
My reasons for staying away from the protests were those of a coward: I worried that they might be targeted. At the end of the day there was a bomb blast near the site of one of the sit-ins, though luckily it was a timed device that went off an hour after the protesters had dispersed, and no one was harmed.
Most of the time I stayed indoors, following via Twitter and text messages the movements of friends who were trying to leave Karachi on scheduled flights only to find the routes blocked by protesters. As I discovered when I ventured out in the evening, the roadblocks of the day were still in place, cutting off all access to Bilawal House, the Karachi home of President Zardari, and preventing protesters from approaching it, as planned, to stage a sit-in. It’s symbolic, really — Shias are murdered and no one who wants to protest can get anywhere near the president, whose silence can be heard well past the roadblocks.
The last time a bomb targeted Shias in Quetta in January, the mourners refused to bury their dead until the government heard their demands and brought “governor’s rule” to the province. The logic was that the civilian government had failed to take any action against the militant group Lashkar-e-Jhangvi (LeJ) who had claimed responsibility for the bombing, so someone else — with muscle and firepower — must be put in charge. Protests and sit-ins of solidarity sprung up around the country and when governor’s rule was brought about, and the mourners finally buried their dead, there were many who hailed it as a triumph of civil society, a rare instance of protests bringing about change.
So what should the mourners have demanded this time, as again they sat with the coffins of their dead, refusing to bury them? Some say the answer lies in military rule for Baluchistan. Others point to long-alleged links between sections of the military and the LeJ to rubbish such a proposition; still others say no one will act against the militants because everyone is terrified of finding themselves in the line of fire.
By whom, and for what? Everyone in Pakistan has their theories: It is the deal intelligence agencies have made with militants in exchange for support in Kashmir; it’s an attempt to derail forthcoming elections; it’s linked to the army’s struggle against Baluch nationalists; it’s “the foreign hand” causing instability; it’s the external influence; and on and on. But what will it take for the civilian government and — more importantly, the military — to do what is necessary to make it stop? This is the question that makes Pakistanis, uncharacteristically, fall silent. The Guardian
by Kamila Shamsie
On Monday, in Karachi, I stayed at home while protesters took to the streets in an attempt to rouse Pakistan into action against the continuing extermination of Shia.
On Saturday in Quetta a bomb had exploded in a busy market, killing 89 people; two days later, amid sit-ins and protests in different parts of the country in response to the attack, a Shia doctor and his school-age son were shot and killed in Lahore.
My reasons for staying away from the protests were those of a coward: I worried that they might be targeted. At the end of the day there was a bomb blast near the site of one of the sit-ins, though luckily it was a timed device that went off an hour after the protesters had dispersed, and no one was harmed.
Most of the time I stayed indoors, following via Twitter and text messages the movements of friends who were trying to leave Karachi on scheduled flights only to find the routes blocked by protesters. As I discovered when I ventured out in the evening, the roadblocks of the day were still in place, cutting off all access to Bilawal House, the Karachi home of President Zardari, and preventing protesters from approaching it, as planned, to stage a sit-in. It’s symbolic, really — Shias are murdered and no one who wants to protest can get anywhere near the president, whose silence can be heard well past the roadblocks.
The last time a bomb targeted Shias in Quetta in January, the mourners refused to bury their dead until the government heard their demands and brought “governor’s rule” to the province. The logic was that the civilian government had failed to take any action against the militant group Lashkar-e-Jhangvi (LeJ) who had claimed responsibility for the bombing, so someone else — with muscle and firepower — must be put in charge. Protests and sit-ins of solidarity sprung up around the country and when governor’s rule was brought about, and the mourners finally buried their dead, there were many who hailed it as a triumph of civil society, a rare instance of protests bringing about change.
So what should the mourners have demanded this time, as again they sat with the coffins of their dead, refusing to bury them? Some say the answer lies in military rule for Baluchistan. Others point to long-alleged links between sections of the military and the LeJ to rubbish such a proposition; still others say no one will act against the militants because everyone is terrified of finding themselves in the line of fire.
By whom, and for what? Everyone in Pakistan has their theories: It is the deal intelligence agencies have made with militants in exchange for support in Kashmir; it’s an attempt to derail forthcoming elections; it’s linked to the army’s struggle against Baluch nationalists; it’s “the foreign hand” causing instability; it’s the external influence; and on and on. But what will it take for the civilian government and — more importantly, the military — to do what is necessary to make it stop? This is the question that makes Pakistanis, uncharacteristically, fall silent. The Guardian
