Shame

The fact that this is the largest disaster does not mean that nobody can be apportioned responsibility.

The bridge suspended over the Indus at Thalpan is a magnificent structure, spanning the breadth of a river swollen with the silt-laden burden it carries along its journey to the sea. I have walked across this incredible specimen of civil engineering several times on my quest for the ancient carvings which grace the igneous rock littering the banks of the Indus all the way from Ladakh in India to Swat, Kohistan. The carving of two Buddhas, two Bodhisatvas, and a Purnaghata, or vase of plenty, etched into the rock-face alongside the Karakoram Highway has already been defaced, painted over by the Sipah-e-Sahaba for whom any representation of humans, sacred or otherwise, is considered sacrilegious. An inscription in either Kharoshti or Brahmi, (it is too distant for me to make the distinction), is partially obscured by the rising tide of water in the river. I stare at the water as it swirls beneath the bridge, breaking against the black rocks which rise from the river like beasts woken from a long slumber. The river is angry, and I fear the consequence of this anger as it travels along its veins through a body which has been neglected and abused for too long.

Within three days of my sojourn in Chilas, the Indus had risen to inundate the terraced fields located on its northern bank. Children run after drift wood. One falls in trying to salvage what he can, never to emerge from the depths of the angry, swirling water.  I know I can do nothing, I know it is too late to save him.

But that does not absolve me of the fact that I was not at the right place at the right time, doing the right thing. The fact that this is the largest disaster to have hit our beloved country does not mean that nobody can be apportioned responsibility. It is not the magnitude of the crisis which lies at the doorstep of government, but the magnitude of its neglect and ineptitude which sits squarely at the doorstep of state apparatus. For a country which is veering from one crisis to another, disaster preparedness should have been a national priority. All able-bodied citizens should have received at least the most fundamental training to cope with crises of all sorts, for times are uncertain, and the only certitude lies in the fact that the fabric which has been stretched, pulled, burnt, slashed, and mutilated is no longer able to provide shelter to those who have nothing but the open sky.

How long can the banks of the mighty Indus contain the anger which flows within?  How long will the people of Pakistan be told to exercise patience, to “sacrifice their futures for the sake of the country”? How long will children have to suffer hunger and deprivation, women the denial of their rights, men the abuse of their dignity? How long will inept bureaucrats implement short-sighted policy crafted by myopic politicians whose primary concern is to make back their election costs plus more? How long shall the crooked in power grant contracts to their brethren in kind? How long shall thieves rule us, and traitors befool us?  How long shall the ‘enlightened’ who sit at the same table as the guilty remain chaste and untouched by the sludge of decrepitude?  How long shall we wallow in the flood waters of shame?

In Birmingham another drama is played out as Larkana and Jamshoro are threatened with drowning. It is not just the poor timing of President Asif Ali Zardari’s European jaunt or his brazen visit to the Villa of Ill-Gotten Gains. It is the arrogance of his indifference, the vacuous content of his speech, the half-hearted cheering of the dismal Rent-a-Jiyala which is pathetic and reprehensible. It is the defence of the indefensible which is shameless and shameful at the same time. Only a nation drowning in ignominy can tolerate such disgrace. It is time for us to find a foothold before we lurch towards the abyss over which we slide toward the deep.

Published in The Express Tribune, August 11^th, 2010.