Karachi, the city where the streets were washed down every morning, where the trams ran, where the lights twinkled, where different religions and cultures thrived, which, until his death in 1994, had a cardinal, has turned dark and become the scene of ethnic and sectarian violence. It was home to Muslims of every sect who lived and did business with Hindus, Christians, Zoroastrians and Jews. It was, in many ways, the Pakistan Jinnah referred to in his August 11, 1947 speech to the Constituent Assembly — the Pakistan where religion was not the business of the state.
So what happened to the music on Somerset Street? Where did all the Parsi ladies who embroidered the most beautiful garas and baked chocolate cakes to die for go? They have gone where their faith isn’t a bulls-eye. The pastry shops, fruit cakes, teachers, secretaries, war heroes and jurists, that well-educated, happy, fun-filled, skirt-wearing side of the city has moved to Canada, Australia and places more welcoming. I often wonder, what if they hadn’t gone? What if we had not stood by silently and watched them leave? What if they had fought back against the discrimination, against the institutionalisation of religion, against a constitution that relegated non-Muslims to the status of second-class citizens, what if we had seen our future in being part of that fight?
Which brings us back to the story of Karachi. It’s a story that on a particularly bloody day occupies the headlines, otherwise the stories of families torn apart by violence are relegated to a couple of paragraphs which we give a quick cursory glance, almost suggesting that if we ignore it and keep our heads down it won’t touch us. Life doesn’t work that way. Its time we realise that the environment may have closed in over its citizens but even more frightening is that the citizen’s minds have also closed and have in fact been closed for so long we were unable to think of the ‘what if’.
We have no tolerance for difference. While we believe we have driven diversity out we have done no such thing because today we have a different kind of diversity where ethnic groups are fighting for space and for economic and political control of the city. However, nobody is thinking of the city, its citizens or their needs. Our hate is so all-consuming that without a thought we have pressed the self-destruct button and, as one implosion after another occurs, we steadily eliminate ourselves. The response to the problem has been to be self-contained. Raise the walls, buy water, get a guard, generate your own electricity, buy a gun, become an island. Well it’s not a case of getting five countries to recognise you and become an independent island state. It doesn’t quite work like that.
We need to learn to live with each other, to accept each others’ differences and focus on the citizens needs. They need schools, libraries, playgrounds, a cheap, clean and efficient mass transit system, clean drinking water, garbage collection, security and much more. We may even encourage the music to start playing again. We can’t change what has happened over the last 64 years but if we start thinking ‘what if’ today, the story will not be in the telling but in the thinking.
Published in The Express Tribune, August 7th, 2011.
COMMENTS (28)
Comments are moderated and generally will be posted if they are on-topic and not abusive.
For more information, please see our Comments FAQ
1713893627-4/Shredded-10,000-yen-bill-(1)1713893627-4-270x192.webp)
1713889672-1/Plastic-waste-(2)1713889672-1-270x192.webp)
Very well written article which points out the race inequities in Karachi. I too grew up in a different time. Sadly all those times are now just memories. WHY do we still indulge in this bickering over India and Pakistan? Perhaps we should learn from each other? Would that be too difficult?
Tammy, your thoughts are respected.. no matter who you are, your ethnicity, or where abouts u in karachi you live, or how much violence you've witnessed...we all know that these "scars" inflicted are not a means to prove to the other that we know karachi any better or that we love it any less if we haven't had one of our family members bagged... if you love karachi - you will want to speak out for its good, its future.... Tammy thanks for at least doing that... people here don't think beyond themselves... they need to wake up and ask themselves how they contributed to alleviating the situation.. I'm sure you can hear pin-drop silence just about now.. :)
@DepressedKarachi: My thoughts exactly! Thank you for such a detailed analysis of the situation..
@ Brute I hope y are rught but reallty is diff based on margin NY times few years back show the true picture if india and specaily minorities condition in india i am not saying all hindus are well off there are lot hindus who are suffering too in the hand of upper class but least are those minority peoples and what about in modern democratic of india there is no one indian muslim PM ever and percentage in govt jobs are hardely 0.1% compare to 18% population in total yes there are some good luke peoples like shah rukh khan and premji but according to ny times muslims in india are least futunate peoples in any country minority.
@Tanoli:
Atleast you will be safe there, you can pray in your Mosques in peace. More people have died in Pakistan in the past year due to actions of fellow Muslims than in the entire history of modern India. If you add the 'Pakistani Bengalis' butchered by their own kin, that takes the number to staggering heights.
You can live in your bubble and think Indian Muslims are not well off, but the truth is entirely different. People like Abdul Kalam, Shahrukh Khan and Azim Premji(Who was India's richest man, and still is the richest Muslim in the Sub Continent, owner of IT giant Wipro) will beg to differ with your conclusion.
@ A Hegde, I forgote to mention it we also have palestinian discriminated by jews.
@ Hegde could u mention a job discrimination and hindu muslim riots also and pakistan is great country with three wars and all kind of problems its gonna be a power it is my feeling peoples learn from mistakes every country had and has problems no one is above these problems and one more thing we have beautifull Eid too if u come and see and we have all communities live too even with this political unrest u can come and see other parts of country where every body live with hormony.
@ Brute I dont wanna go and in bombay slumdogs.
bhupesh@Tanoli: Idiot, he has missed hindus as well because hindus and muslims uderstood by default live there
First and foremost requirement is to be one nation.We are all beyond repair now it is too late to expect miracles
@Tanoli:
Forget about Indian Muslim's apartment hunting scenario, Karachi, which is called the financial center of Pakistan, is burning. That cannot happen in Bombay.
If Mumbai is so dangerous for Muslims I wonder why Illegal immigrants from Bangladesh and Pakistan opt for choosing Mumbai as their place to stay.
@ Adhitya What about there is no muslim in Bombay or u missing for some reason and what about its hard for muslims to get apartment in some nice area because of they were ruler of india for over eight centuries.
Excellent Article but I think it's too late! People like us can be counted on fingers. No future for young generations.
@ Ayesha Tammy Haqji: Hello I know what your missing, when you right this. I can't offer you the Secular Fabric of Karachi Back as history takes no prisoners.
However, your invited to visit Mumbai where you will get Zoarastrians, Jews, Bori's, Sikhs, Jains and much much more. You will be astonished by and will relate to our city. I advocate our model to every city in the world. God bless Karachi! And oh yeah! We have islets of karachi life, karachi bakeries and the works too!
tammy, great piece, magu
@depressedkarachi well written poignant piece clearly outline lacunas/fears with present situation. u must b a really brave person to go back now n then. wish u good luck!!!!
With all respect, while Ma'am Ayesha Tammy Haq sits lavishly in Defense Karachi, the middle-class gets slaughtered on the pretext of ethnicity and sect; and then she expects peace to prevail. Marauders and beasts under direct protection from agencies loot and murder innocent citizens and people expect flowers to be showered instead on the same looters. How surprising? The usual cliche'd 'tit for tat' thing is being challenged here. Innocent citizens leaving their homes for work are killed in broad daylight; a breadwinner of family is lost; blood is spilled; families are torn apart; daughters and sisters are robbed of their love, and still they are expected to keep quiet. Sometimes its the Shia who are targeted; rest of the times its incidents like Katti Pahari taking place. How long would anyone expect peace and sanity to prevail in such situations? Retaliation is the only way when people cannot be given justice. The real responsible people for Karachi's situation today are the ones who have sought to deprive Karachites of their political and economic rights. These are the ones who have tried their best to keep a particular ethnic group isolated from positions of power though the 'group' were the one responsible for creation of Pakistan. The ones who made this city a vibrant one are the same ones who are suffering. Those who could afford to leave have left to foreign countries for better shores; those who couldn't have stayed here.But the writer is right in saying that religion should be kept away from politics, as the minorities have been adversely affected.
I thought about writing an article on revamping the situation and solution to the current problems faced by the country and Karachi city in particular .and u wrote it but my idea of the article is different. and Yes it is never too late .I think its just that we start thinking about change & actually accept it with open arms.
Great Article. I appreciate the optimistic note!
'Can I ever return home?' Pakistan has changed radically since Moni Mohsin left for London 15 years ago. While part of her yearns to go back, she's appalled by the everyday violence, intolerance and corruption. And she fears for the family she left there
Share
Moni Mohsin The Guardian, Saturday 6 August 2011
Moni Mohsin and her mother in Pakistan, in the late 60s Earlier this year, while in Pakistan, I visited my village where I share a house with my sister. Built nearly 300 years ago by an ancestor, it's a traditional courtyard house with fountains, frescoes and wooden balconies. It's also next door to a mosque mounted with powerful loudspeakers. Since we were staying the night, I sent a polite request to the mosque's imam. Would he, just this once, just for the dawn prayer, in line with age-old tradition, call the faithful to prayer in his own voice, instead of using the loudspeaker? He obliged. Two days later someone sent an anonymous note to the house. Before you make any such demands again, it read, remember what happened to Salman Taseer.
Taseer, governor of Punjab, Pakistan's most populous province, was assassinated in January by a fanatical member of his own security guard for proposing a review of Pakistan's contentious blasphemy laws. Taseer was a flamboyant figure who made no secret of his liberal views and lifestyle. Ecstatic lawyers showered his murderer with rose petals and mullahs led thousands in street demonstrations in support of the blasphemy law. Some Pakistanis who live in the west and enjoy every one of its hard-won liberties, set up Facebook pages lauding Taseer's murderer as a hero. Middle-class kids, who salivate over Angelina Jolie and dream of a green card, condoned the murder of "an immoral, westernised liberal". Taseer's murder and its aftermath marked a turning point in my relationship with my homeland.
I live in London. I moved here 15 years ago from Lahore, when I married a London-based Pakistani. My London life is full and varied. I have good friends, engrossing work and live in a nice part of town. My children go to good schools, my husband's work is prospering. We live with security and the rule of law. I have a deep affection for Britain because I spent my late teens and university years here. Much of what I am, I owe to my UK education.
Yet a part of me yearns every day for Pakistan. For that is where my siblings and parents live, where my childhood friends are, where I was born and raised, where I got my first job, where I married. It is also the place that fuels my literary imagination. When I inherited the courtyard house, I thought it would be my retirement home.
For the first seven or eight years of our marriage, my husband shared my enthusiasm for Pakistan. Security, though rocky in Karachi, seemed under control elsewhere. The energy crisis hadn't surfaced. The economy was strong and foreign investors considered the country an emerging market. If you earned in sterling or dollars, buying into Pakistan seemed seductive. Today the economy is flailing. There is rampant inflation, unbridled capital flight and virtually no foreign investment. An acute energy shortfall causing interminable power outages has bankrupted thousands of small businesses.
But it's not the economic uncertainty that has dimmed my enthusiasm for my country; it's the violence fuelled by religious extremism. More than 35,000 Pakistanis have died since 9/11 in assassinations, targeted attacks and suicide bombings. Virulent anti-Americanism – stoked last May by the humiliating raid on Osama bin Laden's compound – is radicalising moderate citizens. Xenophobic chat show hosts spread fear and loathing of the west. Murderous fatwas are passed against anyone who dares to question religious laws. The ISI (Pakistan army's feared intelligence wing) threatens journalists who reveal its links with jihadist outfits. Last month, the battered body of Saleem Shahzad, a journalist who was investigating al-Qaida's penetration of the navy, was fished out of a canal. He was the 37th journalist murdered in the past 10 years. Protests by the journalistic community were met by anger from the ISI and a cowed silence from the government.
This is not the Pakistan I grew up in. When I was a child, mullahs were figures of fun. Notorious for their greed, they were the butt of jokes. Now they are powerful figures running vast madrasas that churn out hate-filled, brainwashed terrorists. Backed by the army, and with massive street power, these new mullahs hold the government to ransom. The Pakistan of my childhood was safe and calm. Other than the old Lee Enfield carried by the guard who snoozed outside the local bank, I hadn't seen a gun. Now Kalashnikovs are as ubiquitous as fridges. Our night watchman carried a stick. Now anyone who can afford them has armed guards. In our neighbourhood, where gates were never closed, ordinary middle-class families live behind high walls.
Kidnappings, violent burglaries and car thefts are depressingly common. At any social gathering, say a dinner or a child's birthday, everyone has a story to tell. A friend recounted how her elderly parents were shot in the legs in separate incidents – one in a car theft and another in a burglary. During my last visit to Karachi, I, too, experienced the city's lawlessness. A couple of boys on a motorcycle cruised up to our car as we were turning into a friend's house and tapped on the window. Thinking they wanted directions, I was about to roll down the window when I noticed the handgun the pillion rider was pointing at me. Fortunately, the friend who was driving our car managed to speed off. Like all my friends who have had such experiences, I did not report it because no one trusts the police.
And yet, until Taseer's murder, I had hoped to return. Lots of countries in the developing world, I told myself, had high crime rates. Pakistan, too, would learn to cope. So although I knew we were ruled by venal generals and corrupt politicians, and though we were terrorised by a fringe of hardliners, I clung to the belief that ordinary Pakistanis were decent moderates, who yearned for economic opportunity and the rule of law. That's why I remained emotionally, financially and intellectually invested in Pakistan. I wrote in its newspapers, owned property there and served on charitable trusts. That's why, despite the bombs, the kidnappings, the fatwas I took my children back every year. So they could feel at home there.
Now 12 and nine, my children do love Pakistan. For them, it is indulgent grandparents, cousins, swimming, pets, gardens and badminton. But they are acutely aware of the darker under currents. They avoid crowded places and, accustomed to taking the tube to school and playing in the large local park in London, find their constant supervision restrictive. My daughter gets irritated by my frequent reminders to cover her legs and do up all her buttons. They worry about my sister and brother-in-law, high-profile journalists and critics of the generals and their proxy jihadists. They know their lives are under threat. They question me about militants. Why do they kill? Why can't they let us be? Why do the police never catch them? I answer as best as I can, but they are not satisfied. Meanwhile, I comfort myself with the thought that in every free, fair election since the formation of Pakistan, religious hardliners have been trounced at the ballot box.
But in the wake of Taseer's murder, I realised that it is we liberals who have been marginalised. Thirty years of state-sponsored Islamism inserted into the curriculum and broadcast on the media has produced a new mindset. Whatever the economic aspirations of ordinary Pakistanis, they now articulate their cultural and national identity in religious terms. Nationalism and religious fervour are fused into one. Even mainstream political parties scramble to prove their religious credentials.
The views and loyalties of secular liberals, particularly if they are westernised, are suspect. A recent article by my niece, identifying Pakistan's army as the chief obstacle to peace, received furious criticism in cyberspace. Outraged commentators questioned her patriotism, accused her of being an American agent and suggested that if she found present-day realities in Pakistan unpalatable, she should "pack her bags and leave". It is this culture of intolerance and intimidation that depresses me most.
The few liberals who dare to take on the mullahs live endangered lives. My sister and brother-in-law live under 24-hour protection. Even when my sister does the groceries, an armed guard accompanies her. My parents live next door. When I stay there with my children, I'm uneasy. When we board the plane for London I'm torn between regret at leaving my family behind and relief at getting away unharmed. Safe in London, I fear for my family's security. Every time the phone rings late at night, I panic. As violence and intolerance mount every passing week, I think of the courtyard house and ask myself if I can ever return for good.
But then I remind myself that freedom is not a gift. It has to be fought for. I will return, perhaps even my children will. Not to the country of my childhood, but to another more grownup place, where mistakes have been made but lessons learned.
Nauseating ! Why do i have this feeling whenever a bedecked pretty lady right out from the glosssy glamourus' page 5 , just ooze out , sitting on a far corner of this city , far from the ground realities without even knowing the aroma of gunsmoke , preaches ME , who is witnessing the messy bloodshed all the day ,whether I should opt for a school or rather think for my child's safety first, from the marauding hoardes of Kati Pahari .
Maam i hope so.
Loved the thought behind the write up and it's never, never too late.
lady, its too late now.
Ethnic, religious and sectarian violence are mere symptoms; the cause is the failure of the governments over past 6 decades to ensure equitable distribution of wealth and ill focus on security at the expense of welfare of the people. Jinnah rightly declared that religion has nothing to do with the business of the state (although he contradicted himself on many occasions), but he had no vision regarding the socioeconomic needs of the people. Muslim League had no manifesto at all!