SACW - 17 Aug 2015 | Bangladesh: Killings in Name of Hurt Religious Sentiment / Pakistan: Investigating Murder of Sabeen Mahmud / Dhulipala on Idea of Pakistan and 1947 Partition / India: aadhaar & DNA Bills

[Harsh Kapoor]

South Asia Citizens Wire - 17 August 2015 - No. 2867 
[since 1996]

Contents:
1. Bangladesh: To kneel at the altar of violence | SN Rasul
2. ’Nowhere is safe’: Behind the Bangladesh blogger murders | Mukul Devichand
3. Why I blame Sheikh Hasina for Niloy Neel's death | Taslima Nasrin
4. Mukta Mona Statement on the murder of writer and rationalist Niloy Neel in Bangladesh
5. India: Equality, but with one exception | Aakar Patel
6. Pakistan: The Murder of Sabeen Mahmud - A media investigation | Naziha Syed Ali and Fahim Zaman
7. Full Audio: The Idea of Pakistan and the Partition of 1947 - Lecture by Prof Venkat Dhulipala
8. Museum of memories on Partition of 1947
9. The Great Divide: The violent legacy of Indian Partition | William Dalrymple
10. India: Text of Supreme Court Ruling of 11 August 2015 re Aadhaar / UID
11. India: Citizen's Public Statement on Biometric Profiling through aadhaar & DNA Bill
12. India: Dr N.P. Gupta - A tribute by Arun Kumar
13. India: Joint Statement by Journalists' Bodies Condemning I&B Ministry Show Cause Notice to TV Channels
14. Recent On Communalism Watch:
 - Bangladesh: Jamaat agents provocateurs let duped foot soldiers languish
 - Complaint filed against Tehelka magazine after its cover story referred to Bal Thackeray as terrorist
 - Mandal Commission report, 25 years later (Express News Service)
 - Press Release to Condemn Attack of ABVP on 20th Hariyana State Convention of BAMCEF
 - "Hinduize Politics and Militarize Hinduism" - All India Hindu Mahasabha's Message The Statesman of June 24, 1947
 - Why the hell is the Indian tax payer paying to provide security for RSS Headquarters in Nagpur ?
 - Who killed Mahatma Gandhi and why? (Abhishek Saha / Hindustan Times)
 - Saluting Courage: Memorial for Vasant Rajab (Ram Puniyani)
 - India: RSS-backed Muslim outfit’s Ulema meet

::: RESOURCEs & FULL TEXT :::
15. Bangladesh: Fight or no fight, political solution is the answer in CHT (Editorial, New Age)
16. Stormy borders, Editorial The News
17. Do we fight terrorism or Pakistan? | Anuradha Bhasin Jamwal
18. Letters from India: The 22-year-wait for a Pakistani fisherman's wife | Basil Andrews
19. A pseudo peace: Has the Naga insurgency, India’s oldest, really ended? | Sanjib Baruah
20. Review: Friend of the downtrodden: Eqbal Ahmad by Stuart Schaar | Irfan Husain
21. Letter from Pakistan: Gangs of Karachi | Matthieu Aikins

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1. BANGLADESH: TO KNEEL AT THE ALTAR OF VIOLENCE | SN Rasul
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on August 7, Niladri Chatterjee — writer, blogger, secular activist — was killed by unnamed assailants in his own home. The attack took place right after Jumma prayers at his residence in Goran, in Khilgaon, near Banasree. He was hacked to death, having been stabbed 14 times by machete-wielding pawns of justice.
http://sacw.net/article11461.html

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2. ’NOWHERE IS SAFE’: BEHIND THE BANGLADESH BLOGGER MURDERS | Mukul Devichand
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The mood among atheist and secular bloggers, after the latest murder, is a mixture of fear and defiance.
http://sacw.net/article11494.html

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3. WHY I BLAME SHEIKH HASINA FOR NILOY NEEL'S DEATH | Taslima Nasrin
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The Bangladesh government has done nothing to save these important and urgent voices of reason
http://sacw.net/article11456.html

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4. MUKTA MONA STATEMENT ON THE MURDER OF WRITER AND RATIONALIST NILOY NEEL IN BANGLADESH
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Following the murders of Rajeeb Haider, Avijit Roy, Washiqur Rahmna, and Ananta Bijoy Das, today, the Mukto-Mona writer, blogger, and activist Niloy Neel has been hacked to death. He wrote in Mutko-Mona as well as in Istishon, and Facebook under the name of “Niloy Neel” (twitter: #NiloyNeel). In addition to writing, Niloy Neel was involved in various social justice movements and was the founder of the Bangladesh Science and Rationalists Association.
http://sacw.net/article11447.html

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5. INDIA: EQUALITY, BUT WITH ONE EXCEPTION | Aakar Patel
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How will any change in the law that accommodates Bangladeshi Christians, Hindus, Sikhs, Jews as being qualified to migrate under persecution exclude Bangladeshi Muslims?
http://sacw.net/article11448.html

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6. PAKISTAN: THE MURDER OF SABEEN MAHMUD - A MEDIA INVESTIGATION
by Naziha Syed Ali and Fahim Zaman
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It was a 9mm gun, probably a Stoeger. Before Saad Aziz got this “samaan” through an associate, by his own admission, he had already plotted a murder. On the evening of Friday, April 24, 2015, he met four other young men, all well-educated like him, somewhere on Karachi’s Tariq Road to finalise and carry out the plot. As dusk deepened into night, they set off towards Defence Housing Society Phase II Extension on three motorcycles. Their destination: a café-cum-communal space – The Second Floor or T2F – where an event, Unsilencing Balochistan: take two, was under way. Their target: Sabeen Mahmud, 40, the founder and director of T2F.
http://sacw.net/article11472.html

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7.  FULL AUDIO: THE IDEA OF PAKISTAN AND THE PARTITION OF 1947 - LECTURE BY PROF VENKAT DHULIPALA
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the tensions over the idea of Pakistan continue to this day. The history society at Ramjas College in University of Delhi organised a lecture by Prof Venkat Dhulipala on his work on the idea of Pakistan and history of partition of India in 1947. He spoke at Ramjas college on 13 August 2015. The lecture was introduced by the well known Indian historian Prof Dilip Simeon (a former teacher at the history dept. at Ramjas college)
http://sacw.net/article11483.html

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8. MUSEUM OF MEMORIES ON PARTITION OF 1947
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Before the generation that experienced the pain of Partition passes away, cultural activists come together to build a museum to preserve the dusty images of composite culture for posterity
http://sacw.net/article11471.html

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9. THE GREAT DIVIDE: THE VIOLENT LEGACY OF INDIAN PARTITION | William Dalrymple
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In August, 1947, when, after three hundred years in India, the British finally left, the subcontinent was partitioned into two independent nation states: Hindu-majority India and Muslim-majority Pakistan. Immediately, there began one of the greatest migrations in human history, as millions of Muslims trekked to West and East Pakistan (the latter now known as Bangladesh) while millions of Hindus and Sikhs headed in the opposite direction. Many hundreds of thousands never made it.
http://sacw.net/article11416.html

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10. INDIA: TEXT OF SUPREME COURT RULING OF 11 AUGUST 2015 RE AADHAAR / UID
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Ruling by the three-judge bench of the Supreme Court on cases challenging the UID/Aadhaar project
http://sacw.net/article11459.html

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11. INDIA: CITIZEN'S PUBLIC STATEMENT ON BIOMETRIC PROFILING THROUGH AADHAAR & DNA BILL
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Right to privacy is an inalienable birth right & fundamental right
Biometric data collection, aadhaar number & related programs is a black act
Open war against sensitive personal information like biometric data through aadhaar and Human DNA Profiling Bill 2015 is condemnable
http://sacw.net/article11457.html

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12. INDIA: DR N.P. GUPTA - A TRIBUTE BY ARUN KUMAR
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I knew him in my early days as a contemporary of my father, Late Prof Asha Ram. They were together with friends like P.C. Joshi, Sulekh Chandra Gupta, and R.K. Garg (a student of my father in Allahabad University). They were all Communists to begin with but remained Marxists till the end even if disillusioned with the wider movement. They all believed in the wider unity of the Left forces in the country—so essential in today's context.
http://sacw.net/article11450.html

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13. INDIA: JOINT STATEMENT BY JOURNALISTS' BODIES CONDEMNING I&B MINISTRY SHOW CAUSE NOTICE TO TV CHANNELS
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The Press Club of India, Indian Women's Press Corps, Mumbai Press Club, Guwahati Press Club, Brihadmumbai Union of Journalists and Delhi Union of Journalists condemn the government's attempt to intimidate the media by issuing show-cause notices to three leading TV channels, ABP News, NDTV 24x7 and Aaj Tak, for their coverage of Yakub Memon's hanging.
http://sacw.net/article11449.html

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14. RECENT ON COMMUNALISM WATCH:
========================================
 - Bangladesh: Jamaat agents provocateurs let duped foot soldiers languish
 - Complaint filed against Tehelka magazine after its cover story referred to Bal Thackeray as terrorist
 - Mandal Commission report, 25 years later (Express News Service)
 - Swarajya Mag columinst responds to article regarding its Hindutva connections
 - Press Release to Condemn Attack of ABVP on 20th Hariyana State Convention of BAMCEF
 - "Hinduize Politics and Militarize Hinduism" - All India Hindu Mahasabha's Message The Statesman of June 24, 1947
 - Why the hell is the Indian tax payer paying to provide security for RSS Headquarters in Nagpur ?
 - The Debate on the Idea Pakistan: Audio recording of Lecture by Prof Venkat Dhulipala
 - Who killed Mahatma Gandhi and why? (Abhishek Saha / Hindustan Times)
 - India: RSS is on a roll: Number of shakhas up 61% in 5 years
 - Saluting Courage: Memorial for Vasant Rajab (Ram Puniyani)
 - Equip Ideologically to Challenge The Anti-National RSS (Shamsul Islam)
 - Secularism, Bangabandhu, Bangladesh (Anisur Rahman)
 - Anupama Katakam- History and Terror: book Review of "Deconstructing Terrorist Violence: Faith as a mask"
 - The Shah Bano effect: How India is quietly modernising religious law even without a uniform civil code
 - Interview with Irfan Habib: The Indian variant of secularism opens the door to majority communalism (Ajaz Ashraf in scroll.in)
 - Announcement: Book launch / discussion on 'Gita Press and the Making of Hindu India' (IIC Delhi, 24 August 2015, 6.30 PM)
 - A State Under The Swastika (Pranay Sharma)
 - India:: Not just Rohini Salian: Public prosecutor in Ajmer blast case is also unhappy with NIA (Supriya Sharma)
 - India: RSS's 'Guru pujan' - master - slave like obedience ceremony ritual in slums
 - India: RSS-backed Muslim outfit’s Ulema meet
 - Rastrabadi Muslim Manch in favour Nepal as a Hindu state [Is it connected to Muslim Rashtriya Manch of the RSS?]
 - India: Every year Kanwaria mayhem spills on the road [news reports]
 - India: Response to question in Lok Sabha re Bail to Samjhauta Express blast accused
 - India: Malegaon blasts- PIL by Harsh Mander wants Supreme Court to ensure fair trial 
 - available at: http://communalism.blogspot.com/
 
::: RESOURCES & FULL TEXT :::
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15. BANGLADESH: FIGHT OR NO FIGHT, POLITICAL SOLUTION IS THE ANSWER IN CHT
Editorial, New Age
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(New Age - August 17, 2015)

Editorial

THE death of at least five national minority people, reported to have split away from the Parbatya Chattagram Jana Sanghati Samiti, in a ‘fight’ with the army in a remote village of Baghaichari in Rangamati, as New Age reported on Sunday, is, indeed, dreadful and may have irreparable bearings on the peace-building process in the Chittagong Hill Tracts. While we reserve our remarks about the attack by the national minority group on the army personnel and the fight, which left the five dead, as we are unaware of exactly what happened there — the attack and the fight could have very well taken place, also in the manner that the media reported — what we fear is that such events, which martyrise political activists of the national minority community, will certainly have influenced the local politics, in the future.
This is more so especially in view of the place that has been facing the crisis of confidence being lost between the national minority people and the government authorities, on the one hand, and between the national minority people and the Bengali settlers, on the other. One man’s villain, after all, is another man’s hero, as it is said. Minorities living in the hill districts have for long been fighting for their right to land as traditionally perceived in the minority society and the CHT Land Dispute Resolution Commission has so far done almost nothing to resolve any land disputes in 16 years, as New Age reported on August 9, since its establishment in 1999 in the wake of the formal signing of a peace accord between the minorities and the government in December 1997.
Apprehensions are also there whether the state is reviving the theory of military solutions to political problems in the Chittagong Hill Tracts, especially when this is the second such incident — clash between the army and national minority people — in about five months, after another in March. A military solution to the CHT problems, if taken up, we believe, will not work as the government’s signing the Chittagong Hill Tracts Peace Accord with the PCJSS, and its armed wing Shanti Bahini, which ended three decades of armed feud, was effected only after exhausting all the military means for peace-building there. The establishment of the Chittagong Hill Tracts Development Board in 1978, the government’s failure to address the issue of displacement of a hundred thousand people, caused by the 1962 construction of the Kaptai Dam, the Bengali infiltration and the passage of the District Council Act, creating three tiers of local government councils for the devolution of power to minority people representatives have all failed and necessitated the signing of the peace accord.
In light of all this, we believe — fight or no fight, terrorism or no terrorism — the government should be earnest about politically resolving the problems that have gripped the CHT region for long and have of late only intensified, especially centring around land problems. The resolution of land disputes and a proper implementation of the CHT peace accord seem to be the only solution.

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16. STORMY BORDERS, EDITORIAL THE NEWS
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(The News - 16 August 2015)
 
After years of more or less ignoring the bomb attack on the Samjhota Express, one of two train services between India and Pakistan, Islamabad appears to have finally taken an interest in the issue and summoned the Indian Deputy High Commissioner, J P Singh, twice on Friday to lodge its complaints. The complaints came, ironically enough, on the occasion of Pakistan’s Independence Day – a day which also acts as a reminder of the violence and animosity that marked the division of the two countries. Pakistan pointed out to the deputy high commissioner that the man accused of bombing the Samjhota Express and killing 42 Pakistanis on Indian soil in February 2007, Swami Aseemanand had been released on bail. The Foreign Office made another complaint about firing along the LoC that had killed a woman and injured three of her family members in Muzaffarabad. It is notable that while India has assiduously pursued the case of the Mumbai siege of 2008, Pakistan has done little to follow up on the Samjhota bombing despite the high death toll of its citizens. Such actions should not come as tit-for-tat moves. One hopes this is not the case in the present matter.

The fact is the rapidly deteriorating relations between India and Pakistan now present a very real threat of regional instability. Despite several attempts, there has been no let-up in unprovoked cross-border firing from the Indian side of the border. Precisely what India hopes to achieve from this is uncertain. Swami Aseemanand was granted bail in the Samjhota case several days ago although he remains in prison since he was also charged with other terrorist offences. While all this continues, peace activists on both sides of the border continue their gestures for peace. On Friday, a candlelight vigil was held as has become the custom on Independence Day on the Wagah Border by peace activists. Indian activists joined in from across the fence. But right now, their attempts at goodwill seem to be lost in the storm of animosity we see everywhere. It is important that greater harmony somehow be restored. Its rapid loss, notably since the Narendra Modi government was sworn in, threatens disaster. The bail of a man responsible for a major act of violence by a court in Haryana will not help matters along. It simply adds to the existing mistrust and creates further disquiet. This will in the end lead us only into further trouble as the storm on the border rages on.

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17. DO WE FIGHT TERRORISM OR PAKISTAN?
by Anuradha Bhasin Jamwal
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(Kashmir Times - 9 August 2015)

The sudden spurt in terror attacks in Jammu region, close on the heels of the shocking Gurdaspur attack are condemnable and a matter of grave concern. However, neither the arrest of a 'militant' said to be a Pakistani, nor the coinciding ongoing spate of ceasefire violations on the borders offers the sweet luxury of turning a serious issue into a media Mahapanchayat and a circus. Nor would it be a matter of wisdom to deflect attention from the challenge of terrorism and turn it into the favourite pastime of Pakistan bashing and talk about snapping of ties at any level. Terrorism is a threat not just to the country but to humanity and this serious threat cannot be trivialized simply as a matter of national honour and pride or about martyrdom of some soldiers. It is a far graver threat to security and an even bigger onslaught on humanity as it seeks to not just kill and injure innocent human beings but also has multiple implications that have an adverse bearing on the social fabric of the society, hampering its psyche, economy and secular harmony. The nation needs to take a call on the changing patterns of terrorism and the recent incidents by first of all deciding what is it that it wants to focus on - the issue of terrorism or the invention of an Enemy. If the media churned discourse is an indication of the national discourse, then we seem to have chosen the latter over the former.

By releasing a recorded interview of the captured militant and by inviting Pakistani panelists on television channels simply to assume the holier than thou attitude on television channels would be a great disservice in the nation's fight against terrorism. This fight cannot be reduced to assumptions and belligerence but has to be based on facts, evidence, strategies and a modicum of seriousness. The circulation of a video footage of a man being interviewed by his captors, both laughing and joking in front of the camera as the young man admitted to being a part of a terror outfit and saying that he hails from Pakistan and that he enjoys to shoot and kill, while changing his answers all the time, may sound convincing only for those who have already made up their mind that all terror emanates from Pakistan with the blessings of Pakistani state. That the captured militant Yakub alias Usman's house has been traced in Faislabad does not reveal a connection with Pakistan's official agencies. Benefit of doubt needs to be given and there is every likelihood that this was a non-state actor with no blessings of the Pakistan army or its covert intelligence groups. Of course, neither Pakistan nor its official agencies can be absolved of any responsibility at the moment but rather than jumping to conclusions and putting Pakistani experts and former generals on television screens only to spew venom has created provocation rather than making them and their country's political and official leadership see things fairly and clearly and dispassionately. Senseless frenzy on one side finds an equal and opposite echo on the other side, like Newton's law. The result of this is the bone of contention over the Commonwealth Parliamentary Conference with Pakistan refusing to invite Jammu and Kashmir's Speaker and India threatening to boycott. The belligerence is likely to get uglier in the days to come.

To be fair, Pakistan is both a perpetrator and victim of terrorism. Much more terror related incidents happen on Pakistani soil than in India, and far more deadly too. That, however, does not totally absolve the various official agencies of Pakistan of hobnobbing with certain militant outfits and using them in secret warfare; a strategy that is not an exclusive patent of the neighbouring country but is practiced by many security and intelligence agencies in varying degrees and proportions across the globe and if you please, also by India, as recently admitted by the proud 'cultivator' intelligence man (in his memoirs) of many Kashmiris during the hey days of militancy. Perhaps, the extent of agency patronage to select terror groups is far higher in Pakistan. However, for every allegation that Indians make against Pakistan, there is a counter allegation of terrorism being sponsored from this side in Balochistan. One does not know the truth behind these allegations and these must stop till there is some evidence. India had hit some evidence in the form of Kasab when Mumbai was attacked and it has it now in the form the alleged militant caught in Udhampur. But in neither case, there is concrete evidence of involvement of Pakistan's official agencies. Rather than beating about the drum of 'othering', Indian investigating agencies should spend time in hunting for concrete evidence and interrogating their prized finds. Let us not forget that Kasab's prize catch never led to us to the masterminds of the Mumbai terror attacks. Let us not walk on that road once again. Secondly, to deal with terrorism from across the borders, it is imperative that Pakistan is brought on the board and engaged with rather than making a hullabaloo about isolating them and snapping all ties. Countries across the world are co-operating in forming co-operative mechanisms for sharing information on terror outfits. Both India and Pakistan need to understand that rather than getting engaged in a process of shouting out each other after every incident.

Can one overlook that there is terrorism growing and flourishing beyond Pakistan. That includes terror threats that are home grown, saffron terror, terror outfits exported from other neighbouring countries and the new global threat of Islamic State. Branding and demonising Pakistan amounts to ignoring all other forms of terrorism and finding wrong remedies even for this part of the ailment. Pakistan would also need to invest in due diligence for walking its talk against terrorism as also relooking at some its regressive strategies marked by dichotomy. Overall, fight against terrorism requires India and Pakistan to be on the same page, begin negotiations and invest a bit in making a transition from mutual bickering and chauvinism to mutual trust and co-operation. Another way to reduce terrorism is to ensure greater democratic space within South Asian region. Terrorism flourishes and feeds on frustration, alienation and anger. Kashmir today is a potential ground for its nurturing. No terror groups from outside can succeed if there are serious attempts to address the alienation of the people. Pakistan too can end its apprehensions in Balochistan by heeding the grievances of the people. Such steps can reduce the threat of terrorism to a great extent.

The bottom line is that this should be a fight against terrorism not India versus Pakistan.

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18. LETTERS FROM INDIA: THE 22-YEAR-WAIT FOR A PAKISTANI FISHERMAN'S WIFE
by Basil Andrews
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(Dawn - Aug 12, 2015)

5:10pm

It was 10 minutes past five at the Sachal Hall at Ibrahim Hyderi. Sakina anxiously waited for her husband’s arrival. She will see his face today after a long 22 years.

Hussain Walarhi Mallah left on a 10-day fishing journey after the monsoon season, only to be captured by Indian authorities for crossing into Indian waters. When he didn’t return home, Sakina thought his ship had capsised at sea due to the incessant rains that year.

“I didn’t know what I was going to do. Then, I received a letter from him, which said that he was in an Indian jail in the state of Gujarat. When I first read it, I was relieved. At least I knew he is alive.”
Sakina with her two granddaughters. —Basil Andrews
5:20pm

Sakina kept looking to her left down the corridor, as members of the Pakistan Fisher Folk Forum made arrangements for the fishermen’s arrival. She told me:

“We would correspond with each other on a monthly basis. I would ask him how he was doing. He would reply, he wasn’t being fed well but he was okay. I would write to him to have faith and patience.”
5:35pm

Hussain was expected to arrive at 6pm in the hall. As Sakina sat on the floor, I noticed that had she begun to sway impatiently, waiting for her husband's arrival. The creases on her forehead and the first tufts of white hair appeared to be a telling sign of her wait.

The couple had stayed in touch through letters. Sakina, of course, wished that she could speak to Hussain face-to-face for once, but there was no way to do that, and travelling to India was out of the question.

I asked her if she had any of his letters with her. That's when she reached for a pocket stitched inside her qameez, opened a plastic bag and took out a three-folded paper which she had gotten coated in plastic, to preserve it.
The front side of one of the letters written by Hussain to Sakina. —Basil Andrews
The back side of one of the letters written by Hussain to Sakina. —Basil Andrews

Did she ever lose hope of seeing him again, I ask her. She responded:

“Yes! When a representative from our area visited India, he came back with news that the jail has been broken down. My heart broke and I lost all hope. Fortunately, a letter from him arrived shortly. It gave me the will to carry on. He is alive.”

What kept you believing in his return, I asked.

“My faith in Allah and the support I received from my community, especially from the women who have been or are going through the same ordeal.”
5:50pm

Hussain’ arrival was just around the corner. Sakina got up and walked up to the other women, who had rose petals in plates and garlands of roses in hand. One of them started to fold an Ajrak into a shawl. For a moment, it felt like they were receiving a baraat (the ceremonious arrival of a groom at a wedding).

It warmed my heart to see Sakina ecstatic. She turned to me and said, “I’ve never danced in my life but if a drum started playing right now, I would.”
6:00pm

The van carrying the two fishermen arrives. Cameramen from different news networks got ready to film the reunion as Hussain climbed the stairs. Rose petals were thrown on him and the Ajrak was placed around his shoulders.

As newsmen jumped in to interview Hussain, Sakina took a step to the side. She was overwhelmed with joy but always patient.
Sakina in an emotional moment on her husband's arrival. —Basil Andrews

I looked at Sakina as she smiled with teary eyes. I asked her what she would do after her husband finally returned home.

“We will pray to Allah and thank Him for his safe return. After that we will celebrate with friends and family.”
Hussain as he arrives at Sachal Hall. —Basil Andrews
Sakina finally reunites with her husband, Hussain after 22 years. —Basil Andrews

Sakina’s story is one of many others, where fishermen have crossed into the territorial waters on the Indian and Pakistani side. Fishermen along the coastal belt of the Arabian Sea have been fishing in these waters for centuries. But only since 1947, and due to the antagonistic nature of Indo-Pak relations, have these fishermen begun to be punished for crossing boundaries that don't really exist, ending up in 'enemy' jails for years, on both side.

The idealist in me wishes we treated the sea like it treats us – with unabandoned generosity for everyone alike and irrespective of territorial boundaries.

As our Independence, I hope we move an inch closer to that thought.

Basil Andrews is a cultural photographer and writer, who is exploring the relationship between people and their ecological environment. He loves solitary bike rides, natural spaces, trekking through the mountains and contemplating life's deeper mysteries. 

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19. A PSEUDO PEACE: HAS THE NAGA INSURGENCY, INDIA’S OLDEST, REALLY ENDED? IT IS TOO SOON TO SAY
by Sanjib Baruah
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(Indian Express - August 11, 2015)

The signing of the agreement between the Nationalist Socialist Council of Nagaland (Isak-Muivah), or the NSCN-IM, and the Central government had all the drama of a reconciliation ceremony. But the details remain shrouded in secrecy. There appears to be much less to it than meets the eye. The ceremony had the telltale signs of a pseudo-event. Pseudo-events are occurrences designed to generate press coverage. Their relationship to reality is uncertain. But it is their inherent ambiguity that explains public interest in them.

Ambiguity has marked all official pronouncements about the ceremony. The Press Information Bureau headlined it as the prime minister having witnessed the signing of a “historic peace accord.” However, it referred to it later as a “framework agreement”. The news took key stakeholders by surprise. Chief Minister Okram Ibobi Singh of Manipur said that he did not know what the agreement says and reiterated his government’s position that it will not accept any accord that disturbs Manipur’s territorial integrity. The demand for the integration of all contiguous Naga-inhabited areas has been a highly contentious subject, nowhere more so than in Manipur. But the protracted Assam-Nagaland border dispute is also part of the same faultline.

The structural flaws in the design of the Naga peace process have been obvious for a while. The format — bilateral and secret meetings between NSCN-IM leaders and the government’s interlocutor — leaves out critical stakeholders. It is unlikely to produce a durable settlement.

NSCN-IM leaders have said from time to time that they are not asking for greater or smaller Nagaland, but only for the integration of areas where Nagas live. The formulation is clever, but it does not resolve the fundamental contradiction. The Central government is expected to make territorial concessions that evoke intense emotions in neighbouring states over the heads of popularly elected state governments.

However, there has been significant movement in this area in the course of the negotiations. Public statements that both parties recognise each other’s “compulsions” and talk of a solution that accepts “contemporary realities” point in that direction.

But the structural flaw of the peace process becomes painfully apparent in what an unnamed official source told The Hindu about the procedures that will be followed. Apparently, the interlocutor to the Naga talks will prepare a draft note for the home ministry. The views of relevant Central government ministries and state governments will be elicited. Following that exercise, a draft bill will be presented to the Central cabinet. Once the cabinet approves it, the bill will be submitted to Parliament. Whatever the merits of these procedures, they raise serious questions about the meaning of the ceremony.

Of course, the design of the process is not of this government’s own making. Key elements have been in place for a long time. Negotiating with leaders of particular insurgent groups and marginalising their rivals has been a key element of the Indian approach to conflict management in the region. It is difficult to alter the design of any peace process once it is set on a particular course. It becomes path-dependent — past decisions constrain options. It may have been obvious that negotiations that leave out neighbouring states carry significant risks. But it has been hard even to think of these states as stakeholders. What then justifies the optimism displayed by the NSCN-IM leaders and the government?

The government seems to be counting on potential shifts in the public mood in Manipur and Assam as a result of a number of major decisions it is considering, not all of them directly connected to the Naga issue. In Assam, conceding to the longstanding demand of six communities for ST status would mean a radical increase in the number of reserved seats in the state assembly. It would impact Assam’s parliamentary representation as well. But it will have an adverse impact on significant communities. The process of updating the National Register of Citizens is also likely to satisfy key constituencies. Significantly, these two issues now feature in the dialogue between the Centre and the pro-talks faction of the United Liberation Front of Assam (ULFA). However, it is too soon to say whether all of this would make the potential effects of the agreed terms of the Naga settlement on the disputed Assam-Nagaland border more acceptable in Assam.

Some version of an alternative arrangement for the Nagas of Manipur — perhaps the creation of autonomous councils — is clearly under consideration. But the crucial issue is the umbrella under which it gets linked to the Nagas of Nagaland. Even if it is only a symbolic gesture, it is far from obvious that it would be acceptable to Manipuris — Nagas and non-Nagas alike.

However, what happens to the issue of the Inner Line Permit in Manipur will be very significant. Even a partial acceptance of this demand would mean that, for the first time since the late 19th century, a colonial-era institution would be extended to a new region. It would undoubtedly soothe Manipuri public opinion. But will it really prepare the ground for the acceptance of an otherwise unpopular Naga accord?

Acceptance of the agreement by the Naga public in general is also far from certain. The NSCN-IM leaders sitting as equals with India’s PM and the country’s top political leadership was an important symbolic gesture. So were some of the PM’s words. But are the agreement’s provisions substantive enough for the Nagas to justify the sacrifices they made during their long struggle for independence? These are significant hurdles yet to be crossed.

What then accounts for the timing of the signing ceremony? Many rumours are making their rounds. However, one piece of speculation seems most plausible. The poor health of Isak Chisi Swu — one of the two Naga leaders negotiating with the government — may have prompted the decision to hold the ceremony. It is feared that if Swu does not survive, rumours that he may not have been a party to the agreement would fatally undermine it. But was this a good reason for the PM to tell the world that “a historic peace accord” has already been signed?

The writer is professor of political studies at Bard College, New York

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20. REVIEW: FRIEND OF THE DOWNTRODDEN: EQBAL AHMAD BY STUART SCHAAR
by Irfan Husain
=========================================
(Dawn,  August 16, 2015)

IT takes a brave writer to attempt the biography of somebody he has liked and admired for most of his life as it is difficult to view a fallen comrade objectively. But this is what Stuart Schaar has done in Eqbal Ahmad: Critical Outsider and Witness in a Turbulent Age. The many friends and admirers of Eqbal Ahmad (1930-1999) will welcome his book. Many aspects of his life as a student, an academic and political activist in the United States are not very widely known in Pakistan, and we owe Schaar a vote of thanks for his diligent documentation. The author was a friend of Ahmad’s from their days at Princeton in the late ’50s, and fills in many blanks in his early life.

Some lives leave ever-widening ripples in the pond that long survive them. Ahmad was one such person whose influence touched most of those he met. His strong personality, while never overwhelming, exuded a powerful aura of deep conviction. Perhaps his most precious gift was his ability to listen to others in a way most of us don’t: he would pay young students the same courtesy of carefully following their argument that he would extend to the rich and powerful.

I first met Ahmad in 1974 when I lived in Lahore, and got a call from the late I.H. Burney, the legendary editor of Outlook, the widely-quoted maverick Karachi weekly, asking me to do an interview with a certain Eqbal Ahmad who was in town. When (much to my later embarrassment) I expressed my ignorance about him, Burney told me briefly about his involvement in the famous Harrisburg Seven trial in the United States.

Those were pre-Internet days, and although I knew vaguely about a group of American radicals who had been arrested for an alleged plot to perform a citizens’ arrest on Henry Kissinger for his role in the Vietnam War, I had no idea that a Pakistani was a member of the group. In his book, Stuart Schaar gives fascinating details about this trial and the anti-war coalition that supported the Harrisburg Seven.

Without the help of Google, I quickly made up some questions on the fly and drove to the hotel where Ahmad was staying. I found him chatting to Safdar Mir, the left-wing intellectual who then wrote on cultural issues for the Pakistan Times as Zeno. I barely recall the interview now, but was quite pleased when Burney mentioned some months later that Ahmad had told him that I had asked him the most interesting questions posed by any journalist who had interviewed him.

In addition to being students together, Schaar and Ahmad travelled to North Africa where the latter got deeply involved with the Algerian freedom movement while they were both doing research in Tunisia. The two had been deeply influenced by Roger Le Tourneau, a French expert on North Africa, who taught them at Princeton. Ahmad went to Paris to learn French, and developed an abiding interest in ‘Third World’ freedom struggles through his contacts with Algerian resistance figures. His time in Tunis — where many journalists and Algerian activists lived during the Algerian war — gave him the opportunity to meet many interesting media figures and politicians. But despite his huge range of interests and passions, no other issue got his intellectual and emotional juices flowing as much as Palestine, and the injustices inflicted on Palestinians. Schaar describes his deep engagement with the major actors on the Palestinian side, and his efforts to make the Palestine Liberation Organisation understand that they could never hope to win their freedom through armed action. The Israelis were just too powerful for them to be defeated on the battlefield and enjoyed open-ended American support. Instead, Ahmad advocated a peaceful campaign based on moral persuasion to gain international support. He also supported a single state shared by Israelis and Palestinians. Much to his frustration, this advice was ignored by Yasser Arafat and his coterie.

Up until his death, Ahmad continued to write and talk about Palestine to express his pain and anger over the oppression there. Despite the large number of Jews he counted among his close friends, he could not empathise with the Israeli narrative of a persecuted people who had been homeless for millennia, and had finally achieved their own state. Given their experience as a downtrodden minority in the diaspora, as well as the horrors of the Holocaust, their paranoia and their desire for security could partly explain their endless foot-dragging over the creation of a Palestinian state.

Of course the Israeli oppression of the occupied people of Palestine is inexcusable, but Ahmad made little effort to put himself in an Israeli’s shoes. However, Schaar does not make this point. Indeed, while describing Ahmad’s political positions on a wide range of issues, the author makes no attempt to analyse or critique them. His affection and admiration for his old friend thus prevents him from wearing an impartial biographer’s hat. So while he chronicles events and the development of Ahmad’s ideas accurately, the reader does not get a sense of any disagreement the author might have had with his subject. Nor, indeed, are flaws in any of Ahmad’s arguments discussed.

Every now and then, Ahmad would mention some episode from his early days to me, and I am grateful to Schaar for giving us details about his childhood and youth. A description of the trauma of his father’s murder in Bihar before his eyes, and his crossing to Pakistan in 1947, gives readers insights into the early influences that shaped him. In the last phase of his peripatetic life, Ahmad spent a lot of time in India in an attempt to push the peace process forward. Indeed, Schaar mentions his conviction that Partition could be somehow undone.

Schaar mentions several delightful exchanges between Ahmad and his closest friend, Edward Said. In one, Ahmad wrote: “With much humble affection and prayers that I stay a particle of dust under your vigorous feet, I remain forever your homage-paying chamcha.” In his speech at Ahmad’s memorial at Hampshire College in 1999, Schaar cites Said quoting from a letter written to him by his friend.

This kind of wit and elaborate, self-mocking turn of phrase was never far from the surface with Ahmad. Although I often disagreed with him, as friends do, I always respected his views. So now when I mull over issues I am writing about, I find myself asking: What would Ahmad think about this? What position would he take?

By taking readers across the entire fascinating range of Ahmad’s preoccupations and passions, Schaar has made his subject accessible to all those who never had the privilege of knowing him. In a fairly short, fluently written work, Schaar has done his old friend proud, and shed light on a thinker, an engaged activist and a wonderful man.

Eqbal Ahmad: Critical Outsider and Witness in a Turbulent Age
(BIOGRAPHY)
By Stuart Schaar
Oxford University Press, Karachi
ISBN 978-019906305
247pp.

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21. LETTER FROM PAKISTAN: GANGS OF KARACHI
Meet the mobsters who run the show in one of the world’s deadliest cities
by Matthieu Aikins
=========================================
(Harper's Magazine, September 2015 issue)

This spring, the Rangers, Pakistan’s paramilitary security force, launched a series of raids into Karachi’s slums for what was described by the government as a crime-prevention campaign. Members of the force blocked off the streets surrounding the city’s poorest neighborhoods and exchanged fire with the locals. Over several days, the Rangers seized several caches of weapons and captured or killed dozens of alleged gang members.

As the raids continued, news reports emerged that Uzair Baloch, the former leader of one of the gangs targeted by the military, had accused a number of high-ranking politicians of extortion and conspiracy to commit murder. Karachi is Pakistan’s largest city, with an estimated population of 20 million, and stories of corruption and violence are commonplace there. But Uzair, who is a member of Pakistan’s Baloch ethnic group, was more powerful than your average gang leader, and his accusations were unusually damning.
An armored police vehicle patrols the Agra Taj section of Karachi’s Lyari neighborhood, near the border that separates the territories of the Kutchi Rabta Committee and the Amn Committee. All photographs © Asim Rafiqui/NOOR Images

An armored police vehicle patrols the Agra Taj section of Karachi’s Lyari neighborhood, near the border that separates the territories of the Kutchi Rabta Committee and the Amn Committee. All photographs © Asim Rafiqui/NOOR Images

Uzair had fled the country in 2013. In December, he was arrested in Dubai, and he was held by the authorities in the Emirates while the Pakistani government sought his extradition. Now, according to a report that aired on March 19 on Express News, he had admitted to carrying out assassinations at the behest of powerful figures within the Pakistan Peoples Party, including the country’s former president, Asif Ali Zardari.

The P.P.P. responded that Uzair was a member of a conspiracy against it. On March 18, Saulat Mirza, an assassin who had been on death row for almost seventeen years, had given a sensational televised confession hours before he was due at the gallows. In his speech, Mirza blamed the leadership of the Muttahida Quami Movement, or M.Q.M., Karachi’s most powerful political party, for his crimes. (The execution was delayed, but Mirza was hanged a few weeks later.) There was speculation that Uzair’s confession — which, unlike Mirza’s, had only been reported secondhand — was part of a plot by the military to weaken the P.P.P. and the M.Q.M., Karachi’s two main civilian parties.

That didn’t necessarily mean that Uzair’s claims were untrue, of course. I have been following his career for several years, and the arrest in Dubai was a dramatic reversal of fortune for a man who, during the 2013 general election, had been a key ally of the P.P.P. He had hosted many party leaders, including the chief minister of Sindh province, at his lavish mansion in the slum of Lyari, on the west side of Karachi.

Uzair had been trying to transform himself from a gangster into a legitimate politician. His downfall showed just how provisional legitimacy can be in Karachi, and how deeply embedded gangs are in the city’s politics. His alleged confession suggested he didn’t want to be brought down alone.

On May 11, 2013, the day of the general election, I paid a visit to Uzair in Lyari. Like most Westerners in Karachi, I was staying in Defence, the wealthiest and most secure part of the city, which got its name because its housing developments are operated by a military-owned authority. It occupies a peninsula on the southeastern end of the city, which can be sealed off from the rest of Karachi in times of civil unrest or, on New Year’s Eve, to prevent the city’s poor from mingling with the crowd that watches the fireworks on Clifton Beach.

My taxi drove past high walls that hid manicured gardens and multistory, air-conditioned homes. We were heading north — downtown — toward the bank towers and high-rise offices that lined I. I. Chundrigar Road. To the west, I could see the cranes that served the container ships; Karachi’s ports account for 95 percent of Pakistan’s international trade by volume. The car slowed and we turned onto a narrow, curving road surrounded by stone buildings and shops with their rusted, graffitied shutters pulled down.
The funeral procession for a man killed in a gun battle between rival gangs, Agra Taj

The funeral procession for a man killed in a gun battle between rival gangs, Agra Taj

For the past two months, election posters had made Karachi’s convoluted political geography legible even to an outsider. I had learned to recognize the major players: the arrow symbol and the green, black, and red banners for the incumbent P.P.P., and the image of a kite in red, white, and green for the M.Q.M.

Much of central Karachi is M.Q.M. territory. The posters there showed the broad face and bristly mustache of the party’s leader, Altaf Hussain. But as we came down Napier Road and entered Lea Market — normally overflowing with people, now practically deserted because of security fears — the kites petered out. We passed a small island of Awami National Party flags in leftist red that marked a cluster of Pashtun shops, and then the green, black, and red banners of the P.P.P. began.

Lyari’s entrance was marked by a double arch with welcome lyari town painted on it in English and Urdu. Atop the left pillar was a photo of Benazir Bhutto, the former prime minister, who was assassinated in 2007; atop the right was her father, Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, the founder of the P.P.P., who was hanged by a military dictatorship in 1979. The Bhuttos are revered in Lyari. Their photos — Benazir’s especially — could be seen on most of the political posters found there. So, however, could the image of a third figure, who was neither a candidate for the election nor a Bhutto: Uzair Baloch. A fair-skinned man with a symmetrical, pleasant face, he was in his late thirties, with a trim black beard and mustache. His eyes crinkled warmly when he smiled — as he did in most portraits — and his slightly elfin ears stuck out a little on each side.

On one set of posters, Uzair appeared with several of his fallen lieutenants. Here was Rashid Bengali, slain by a fellow gangster in an internecine dispute. There, in wraparound sunglasses, was young Fahim Badshah Khan, killed by the Rangers. Khan, like many of the martyrs, as they are called, had been photoshopped onto a Swiss-looking meadow along with a luxury SUV. In Lyari, all gangsters go to heaven.

The deeper we went into the slum, the busier the streets became. It was safer there, in territory that belonged indisputably to Uzair. People were out walking around, some of them heading toward polling stations. Others were watching us, a car with strangers, very carefully. We turned into a side alley and drove up to a group of young men sitting on plastic lawn furniture. They wore loud dress shirts, knockoff designer jeans, and ball caps. Many of them had pistols concealed in their waistbands, and nearby, I was certain, there would be men with assault rifles, rocket-propelled grenades, and belt-fed machine guns — ready to wage war at a moment’s notice. There were pickets like this all over Lyari, but the men I saw were especially attentive, because they were guarding the alley that led to Uzair’s house. They peered into the taxi and, recognizing my face, nodded for us to pass.

In 2013, Karachi recorded nearly 3,000 murders, more than any other city in the world. It hadn’t always been that way — in 2003, the official number of homicides was seventy-six. The stunning rise in violence came in the past decade, when the P.P.P. challenged the M.Q.M. for control of the city.

Until the middle of the twentieth century, Karachi was a small, Hindu-dominated city, but after the partition of India, in 1947, hundreds of thousands of Urdu-speaking Muslim refugees arrived. Despite forming a majority, these migrants, known as mohajirs, were never effectively integrated into Karachi’s patronage network. The M.Q.M. was founded in 1978 with the aim of uniting them with the rest of the city’s Urdu speakers.
Map by Dolly Holmes

Map by Dolly Holmes

By the turn of the millennium, the M.Q.M. was the city’s dominant political force. With the support of President Pervez Musharraf, a military dictator who was himself of mohajir origin, the party took over the municipal government, which led to the relative peace of 2003. But Karachi is one of the world’s fastest-growing megacities, and its demographics keep changing.

Every year, hundreds of thousands of migrants come to Karachi from the villages of Sindh and from Pakistan’s mountainous tribal areas. The newly arrived Balochis, Punjabis, Sindhis, and Pashtuns have gravitated to the M.Q.M.’s rivals, most notably the P.P.P. but also to a host of smaller ethnic and religious parties. These parties, in turn, have followed the M.Q.M.’s lead and seized whole neighborhoods with armed militias.

Everyone participates in Karachi’s lucrative bhatta economy, the system of extortion, racketeering, protection payments, and “voluntary” donations that has become inseparable from the city’s political life. (Bhatta is Urdu for “portion.”) It is this connection between politics and the criminal economy that distinguishes Karachi’s gangs from their no less violent but far more clandestine counterparts in places like Latin America. In Karachi, sometimes only the thinnest of polite fictions separates the politicians from the men who kill and extort on their behalf.

In Lyari, the P.P.P. has long worked with the neighborhood gangs to defeat political rivals and to help corral voters on election day. But in 2003, the neighborhood was divided by a brutal turf war between two rival groups, one led by Arshad Pappu, and the other by a man known as Rehman Dakait — Rehman the Bandit.

Uzair joined Rehman’s crew shortly after the war with Pappu began. Uzair had been born into a life of relative privilege and was known as a polite, subdued boy. “We used to tease him for being so quiet,” one of his elementary-school classmates told me. Uzair’s father, Faizu, was a wealthy transporter and local notable. Faizu was distantly related to Rehman, and he collected bhatta payments from the other transporters on his behalf.

Then, late one night, Pappu and his men kidnapped Faizu off the street. A few hours later, his bullet-riddled body was found stuffed in a gunnysack. Uzair vowed revenge, and quickly rose to become Rehman’s right-hand man. Rehman had plenty of brave street commanders, but he needed someone like Uzair, with his education and wealthy background, to help him enter politics.

In 2007, Musharraf bowed to mounting pressure and agreed to hold the country’s first free elections in a decade. Benazir Bhutto returned from exile to lead the P.P.P.’s campaign. In Lyari, however, the incumbent member of parliament from the P.P.P. was facing an insurrection from local organizers, who were fed up with his corruption and absenteeism. Desperate to ward off a challenge from a local, independent candidate, the party approached Rehman and asked for help fixing the elections. In return they promised a share of the spoils of office. Rehman agreed — though his task was made easier when Bhutto was assassinated while campaigning and a wave of sympathy swept the P.P.P. into power.
A policeman on patrol in Agra Taj

A policeman on patrol in Agra Taj

After the election, Rehman looked for a way to settle the gang war. Pappu was in prison (some said he had gotten himself arrested in order to avoid being killed), and only his toughest commander was still fighting in Lyari. On a hot summer day in 2008, Rehman sent Uzair to a hotel in Lyari, where the two sides swore an oath of truce. A group called the People’s Amn Committee was formed to uphold the agreement, with Rehman as its leader. (Amn means “peace” in Urdu.)

At first, the P.P.P. saw the Amn Committee as a way to roll back the M.Q.M. “They couldn’t take on the M.Q.M.’s militant wing openly,” a senior police official in Karachi told me. “Besides, they were fearful of creating a situation where there was enough chaos that the military had a pretext to intervene. So they created their own militant wing, but it became a Frankenstein and turned on them.”

In August 2009, Rehman was assassinated by the police — likely because his political ambitions were threatening the P.P.P. leadership. The next day, Uzair was appointed as the new leader of the Amn Committee. But if the P.P.P. thought they were getting a more pliant figure in Uzair, they had badly miscalculated. The party watched in dismay as he began to build an independent political base.

In the summer of 2011, Uzair met with Owais Muzaffar Tappi, a P.P.P. official and the brother of President Zardari, at the Bhutto family house. The two men clashed over Uzair’s refusal to accept political direction from the party. “I was offered twenty-five crores of contracts,” Uzair later told the press, “but I told Tappi that I didn’t need money and instead wanted Lyari’s problems to be solved. He called me obstinate and then I left.” (Twenty-five crore rupees is approximately $2.5 million; Tappi denies offering Uzair any money.)

Shortly afterward, the P.P.P. denounced the Amn Committee. The provincial government charged Uzair and the rest of the Amn leadership in several murder cases, and the police mounted a full-scale invasion of Lyari. But Uzair was ready. The Amn Committee fought back with machine guns and rocket-propelled grenades, and the outgunned cops soon bogged down in Lyari’s reticular streets. To the Pakistani media, it was a live-action gangster flick straight out of Bollywood, and the TV channels covered it around the clock. “It was like a war,” recalled Sohail Khattak, a local journalist who covered both sides of the battle. “The Amn guys had taken up fighting positions in all the frontline buildings and were coordinating with each other over their radios.”

Uzair’s men brought food and water to Lyari’s besieged residents. The Rangers, who had the arms and training to take the neighborhood by force, were absent, a sign that the military did not approve of the operation. After a week of fighting, the government called off the siege. Thirty-eight people, many of them civilians, had been killed. Lyarians blamed the P.P.P. for their suffering; Uzair was hailed as a hero.

By the beginning of 2013, with the national and provincial elections approaching, the P.P.P. faced the possibility that Uzair could take Lyari’s seats to a rival party. It chose a humiliating reversal instead. “Our demands were, first, that the cases against the leadership be withdrawn,” Zafar Baloch, one of Uzair’s lieutenants, told me. “Second, that the government agree to compensate the victims of the operation. Third, we demanded that candidates for the election should be locals from Lyari. And they accepted.”

There was one bit of unfinished business. On March 16, Arshad Pappu, who had been released from prison ahead of the police operation, was lured to a party in Defence by three cops. It was a setup. Pappu was handed over to the Amn Committee. They tortured him to death and then, late that night, brought his body to Lyari. It was a Saturday and the locals were sitting out on their stoops, drinking cheap Murree beer and smoking hash. The Amn Committee fighters came swaggering down the street, waving guns and ordering everyone to go to the square. “See the punishment that Arshad Pappu has been given,” they said.

A local who was present that night told me that one of the cops, who was later charged in the murder, was at the square pleading with the gangsters: “For God’s sake, he’s already dead, just give us the body!” But the gangsters were having fun, egging one another on, shouting, “Cut his head, cut his hands!” They chopped off Pappu’s head and started kicking it around like a soccer ball. In a video that was later posted online, men can be seen plunging their blood-slicked hands into a slit hacked in Pappu’s chest, trying to yank out his slippery, stringy organs. That was the end of the vendetta with Pappu. His cronies fled Lyari, and Uzair and the Amn Committee were left unopposed.

On election day, Uzair was stationed at a school that the P.P.P. had been using as a campaign office. His house was next door. When I arrived, I was frisked by a man carrying a submachine gun and shown into the courtyard, which was set up with posters and plastic chairs and tables. There were only a few people there — most of the campaign workers were out canvassing and monitoring polls.

Uzair was sitting alone, hunched forward sullenly, with a pistol and several phones on the table in front of him. Short and thickset, he was wearing a robe and an embroidered Balochi cap. His men were standing behind him at a distance, their faces mirroring his anxiety. Uzair smiled weakly as I entered, waved his hand in acknowledgment, and turned back to one of his flunkies. “Where are the Lassis?” he asked, referring to one of Lyari’s many ethnic groups. “Don’t we have Lassis? Have they voted yet?”
Habib Hasan at a girls’ school run by the Lyari Resource Centre

Habib Hasan at a girls’ school run by the Lyari Resource Centre

Election day was not going well. The Rangers had blocked off the borders of Lyari with shipping containers. Uzair hoped to win three seats in the National Assembly and three seats in the Sindh Provincial Assembly, and several key constituencies were split across those border areas. The M.Q.M. was far better at staffing contested polling booths, and several Amn men had been run out of their stations. The well-oiled M.Q.M. machine was teaching the upstarts a lesson. It was a critical day for Uzair — the moment he hoped to turn more of his street power into political capital — and he was worried that it was slipping from his hands.

After a few minutes, Uzair decided to tour the polling stations. He jumped to his feet and tucked his pistol into his waistband. His bodyguards sprang into action, looking relieved to be on the move again. Several rushed outside to ready the convoy while the others tightened into a protective circle around him. He walked out into the street, where a caravan of 125cc Honda motorcycles had been assembled. For a moment he contemplated the rutted dirt road, the crowd of gawkers, the hard-faced men with guns and radios, and the posters of smiling candidates, his candidates. The M.Q.M., Pappu’s cronies, even the P.P.P. — they all wanted him dead. His survival depended on whether he could bind his fate to Lyari’s and emerge on the other side, transformed. He chuckled bitterly. “I don’t even know where to go,” he said.

The day after the election, I visited Zafar Baloch at his home. Zafar didn’t usually pick up his phone until at least two in the afternoon, and the Amn men had worked through the night. It was nearly four by the time I found him sitting at the foot of his daybed drinking milky tea and watching cricket highlights on television. “Are you happy with the results?” I asked.

Zafar rubbed his face wearily. He was tall and bulky, his lips and brow heavy, but his eyes were always animated, and he was quick to laugh, exposing betel-stained teeth. “We have won a decent victory,” he said. “Now we’ll see if things continue like before.” The P.P.P. candidates chosen by the Amn Committee had won a seat in the National Assembly and two in the Provincial Assembly. Fewer than they had hoped for, but still a remarkable victory for a group that had been hunted like criminals a year earlier.

Working behind the scenes, Zafar had played a key role in the campaign. He had gotten his start as a P.P.P. activist and had once served as a municipal councillor. Now he was Uzair’s man, in a role in which his contacts with the party were exquisitely useful. “As a political worker, I understood very well that politics in Pakistan are like a war,” he said. He was a front man and political boss for the Amn Committee; he was often called upon to deliver press conferences denouncing the M.Q.M.

“When we joined Rehman, I told him, you can’t do crime your whole life, you have to do social and political works as well, then you’ll have a shelter,” Zafar said. But, at bottom, he said, Rehman had been a street thug, whereas Uzair, with his education and poise, had the potential to take the Amn Committee much further.
A pigeon coop on a rooftop in Lyari

A pigeon coop on a rooftop in Lyari

Zafar’s bulk on the daybed was enhanced by a cylindrical metal frame that encased his swollen right leg. His tibia and fibula had been shattered by bullets during an assassination attempt the year before and were held in place by metal rods. The flesh around the rods was infected and Zafar often seemed half-stunned from a cocktail of antibiotics and painkillers; nevertheless, he insisted on riding around Lyari’s crowded streets on the back of a motorcycle, his busted leg sticking out into traffic.

Uzair and Zafar were members of what the Amn Committee called the A Team, which controlled political decisions and citywide patronage. The muscle was the B Team: a loose and shifting confederation of charismatic gangsters who had pledged allegiance to the Amn Committee. They employed gangs of men and boys in bhatta collection, kidnapping, and various forms of vice — running brothels and casinos, loan-sharking, and drug trafficking. In both Pakistan and India, a gangster is known as a dada or bhai (“grandfather” or “brother”; the plural of bhai is bhai log), which hints at the intimate, often familial ties that bind them to one another and to their neighborhoods. As Michael Corleone puts it in The Godfather: “It’s all personal, every bit of business.”

The most feared member of the B Team was Baba Ladla, a short, stocky Lyarian who looked younger than his forty-odd years. He had grown up in a poor family in Lyari’s Bihar Colony, and his real name was Noor Mohammed. His nickname, Baba Ladla, “Little Kind One,” was ironic. In fact, he was known for his extreme violence. He was said to be responsible for the Shershah Scrap Market Massacre: in the fall of 2010, after merchants had balked at making bhatta payments, thugs had attacked the market with assault rifles, killing thirteen people and injuring dozens. “He’s ruthless and smart, the perfect combination for a mob boss,” said Omar Shahid Hamid, a city cop who oversaw the police in Lyari until 2006. “Uzair has no strength on his own without Baba and company.”

The A/B dichotomy posed a dilemma for Uzair in his quest to escape the fate of his murdered predecessor. On the one hand, to make his way into legitimate politics, he would need to rein in Baba and his commanders, and at times even serve them up to the authorities. On the other hand, to maintain his lucrative hold on the underground economy, he needed the B Team to battle the M.Q.M. and the city’s other gangs. Uzair could not disown Baba — just as Baba and the commanders needed Uzair and Zafar’s political machine to protect them.

“Now we are taking revenge,” Zafar said as we drove around the neighborhood. “Millions of rupees are collected in bhatta from the old city, and the M.Q.M. is afraid that we’re going to take that from them.”

After the election, the whole of Lyari resonated in triumph. Uzair’s men handed out sweets, and fireworks and drum processions lasted through the night. A few days later, I went to visit Habib Hasan, one of Lyari’s leading social workers and the chairman of the Lyari Resource Centre, a community building funded by the Amn Committee, which functions as a sort of nerve center for social and development work in the area. Broad-shouldered, with dark skin and short salt-and-pepper hair, Hasan had a permanently creased brow. He took me on a tour of Lyari’s schools, hospitals, and NGOs to explain just how much the neighborhood was changing thanks to Uzair. “This was a ghost house,” he said outside one school. “The gangsters used to torture people in there and do drugs. No one else came here. Now it is a high school. We have three batches of students graduating each year. It’s a surprise for all of Lyari.”

Hasan grew up in a low-caste family and started work at a young age as a donkey-cart driver and a factory laborer — the kind of clever, motivated young man for whom the gangs might have provided a path to economic mobility. But his ambition was to be educated. In those days, adults could take free literacy courses that were taught by local activists and held on the pavement, in the open. “That’s how I learned to read and write,” Hasan said, with a note of defiant pride. “I still had nothing besides my education, but I resolved that that’s what I would dedicate my life to.”

He became an instructor and activist and eventually taught the same free courses he had taken. By 2002, he had enough standing in the community to run in the municipal elections on a P.P.P. ticket, against a young Uzair Baloch — and he won. Afterward, Uzair’s father brought the two men together and told his son to accept Hasan’s victory. Uzair still treated Hasan with deference, but it was comical to think of the two as rivals now. The old order had changed beyond recognition in the past decade.

Hasan left politics with the advent of Rehman and Pappu’s gang war, despairing at what was happening in Lyari. But when Uzair became leader of the Amn Committee, he started calling around to Lyari’s social workers, asking for help starting a community center. “The Amn Committee wasn’t organized at that time, it was just a name, not a party, not an organization,” said Hasan. “I had reservations. I told him, ‘You have armed men, how can we work in the same environment?’ ”

Uzair, he recalled, was insistent. “He said, ‘Give us a chance. No one will interfere with your work. We will give you all kinds of support, books, an office, protection if anyone threatens you — just make our schools a better place.’ ”

Uzair was as good as his word, Hasan told me as we drove past the refurbished Lyari General Hospital, behind which a new medical school was being built. During the Musharraf Administration, nothing had been built in the neighborhood, a deliberate policy, Hasan and many Lyarians believed, that was intended to sap the strength of a P.P.P. stronghold. The area’s elected officials stole the few development funds that were apportioned. “None of them ever came to Lyari,” he said. “Even the police stations were involved in crime.”

When the P.P.P. came back to power in 2008, $28 million in new funding was earmarked for Lyari. Uzair used the Amn Committee’s muscle to ensure that corruption was kept within reasonable bounds. “Uzair’s principle was that the work should get done,” Hasan said. “Okay, there’s corruption, people take their cut, but in the end the projects should be finished. And they were. Uzair forced them to complete them on time, and to maintain their quality.”

Just as important was the end of the gang war within Lyari, and an ensuing ban on street crime that was enforced by the Amn Committee. “Uzair said, ‘Let’s finish the big crimes — robbery, drug peddling,’ ” Hasan told me. It was true. I felt safer inside Lyari than I did in most other places in Karachi, including the wealthy enclaves, where carjackings and robberies at gunpoint were common. In Lyari, muggers, rapists, cell-phone snatchers, and drug touts knew to ply their trade elsewhere, or get a bullet in the head. I would sometimes stay in Lyari with friends past midnight, and we’d walk the streets, which were full of locals browsing vegetable stands and munching on sticky, sweet jalebis. Only the borderlands near the M.Q.M.’s territory were abandoned, and tense. “People call them criminals, but they’ve built hospitals, schools, and social projects,” said Akram Baloch, a former journalist who became the head of the Amn Committee’s media team. “In these circumstances, you must make compromises.”

Like so many robber barons before him, Uzair understood that philanthropy was the path to respectability. Some of his efforts had already borne fruit. When the police and Rangers raided Lyari in 2012, the residents demonstrated in the streets, decrying the killing and arrest of “innocents.” “Ek Lyari sab se bari, Uzair bhai, Uzair bhai,” they chanted: “One Lyari, stronger than any, brother Uzair, brother Uzair.”

Around the corner from the Lyari Resource Centre was the rooftop Youth Café, where a crew of kids was putting up straw screens against the sun and painting the concrete walls with colorful murals. Excited to see a foreign visitor, one of the kids walked up to me. “Sir, let me show you my Michael Jackson dance,” he said, before doing a rendition of “Thriller.” As the others crowded around, I recognized one of the older boys; he had worked on a security detail during the election, and was in the process of transitioning from a scout and gofer into someone tasked with more serious jobs — I had seen Uzair’s men let him handle their pistols. Here, though, he was a kid again, giggling as the runty M.J. let a slow-motion wave ripple from one skinny wrist to the other.

For Hasan, kids like these were the reason he’d made an alliance with Uzair. Lyari could support educated youth whose talent and vigor would balance that of the bhai log in the streets, a new generation that would expiate the sins and compromises of their fathers. “There is an education revolution happening right now in Lyari,” he said. “Of course it’s not a democratic culture. But it’s our only chance.”

For a moment, it seemed like the peace would hold in Lyari. The days after the election brought the hottest part of year, when even the nightly sea breeze turned languid and stifling. In summer, Pakistan’s chronic electricity woes become a crisis. The city flickered like a dying bulb as power came in shorter and shorter spurts; when the lights went out and the fans stopped, the little cinder-block apartments seemed to press in on their occupants. Even the drunks on their stoops seemed too heat-stricken to shout.

Then, a week after the ballots were cast, a group of Baba Ladla’s men walked north past Hingorabad Road. This was the dividing line between his group’s turf and that of the Kutchi Rabta Committee, a rival armed group. The K.R.C. occupied Agra Taj, a small corner of Lyari that was populated mostly by Katchis, one of Karachi’s ethnic minorities. As far back as anyone could remember, the Katchis had lived in peace with the Baloch-dominated neighborhoods around them. But in 2009, when a group of Katchi businessmen stood up to the Amn Committee’s attempts to extend bhatta collection to Agra Taj, open warfare had erupted. The K.R.C. had turned to the M.Q.M. for assistance and now, to the Amn Committee, Agra Taj represented an unacceptable foothold for their mortal enemies in Lyari.

On the evening of May 18, 2013, three men under Ladla’s command entered Agra Taj armed with a submachine gun and two Kalashnikovs and started firing into a crowded street. Eight people died in all, including a twelve-year-old girl. Word spread quickly that another spasm of violence was coming, and the neighborhood resounded with a preparatory commotion: the rasp of shutters being pulled down; a mother’s frantic cell-phone call; the wail of an ambulance; feet pounding up staircases, bearing the weight of cans of ammunition; the roar of Honda motorbikes. The K.R.C. hit back by opening fire from their rooftops. The two sides battled with machine guns and rocket-propelled grenades as the people in the neighborhoods cowered in their homes.

The battle raged for twenty-four hours. I arrived at the tail end of it, weaving through the traffic jam on a motorcycle driven by my Katchi-speaking fixer. A mob of younger boys started throwing stones at us until he shouted at them frantically in their native tongue. We pulled into a side alley; ahead we could hear the rattle of automatic weapons. Agra Taj’s streets were even filthier than the rest of Lyari. There was no trash collection, and a tremendous amount of plastic garbage had accumulated in the lanes.

We turned down another alley. The fighting was almost over, and in the sheltered back streets families were coming out to stretch their limbs after a day stuck inside crowded apartments. They pointed to where stray bullets had pocked satellite dishes and windowsills and conferred about where to find milk and other essentials.

We parked the bike. A little farther down the alley, half a dozen young K.R.C. fighters were crouched together. Some of them were leaning on long-barreled assault rifles. I could hear the metallic snick-snick of bullets being slipped into magazines. Their leader, a heavyset kid with a bowl cut, introduced himself as Haider.

He told me that they had been up all night exchanging fire with the Amn Committee. They looked shell-shocked from their first real taste of combat. When I made a clumsy joke about treating them to lunch, only Haider laughed, a soft, mirthless chuckle as his gaze slid up and down the alleyway.

I asked whom they were fighting on the other side. “It’s Jasim Golden and Fahim Baloch, both are part of Baba Ladla’s crew,” Haider said. He pulled out a phone to show me pictures of them. He knew an awful lot about the bhai log — later I would learn that he had once been a leader of the M.Q.M. cadres in Lyari, and had a long rap sheet.

Once the firing stopped, the Rangers and police showed up. The locals jeered. “Where were you when we were getting slaughtered?” shouted one old man as he shook his bony fist at an armored personnel carrier. The mob became rowdier, and the Rangers fired some tear-gas canisters and then live ammunition over our heads. We ran back with the crowd into the side streets. When some of the people there realized that I was a foreigner, they formed a curious knot around me and shouted their complaints. “Lyari is like Afghanistan!” one man exclaimed. Another came up and handed me a heavy silver cylinder as long as my palm; it was a VOG-25P bounding fragmentation grenade, fired from behind Amn lines. It had, thus far, failed to explode.

As the fight with Baba Ladla’s men continued over the next few days, Agra Taj began to feel like an open-air prison. Residents started stockpiling milk and water, and those who lived closest to the front lines tunneled through their walls in order to create unexposed escape routes. But if the urban warfare in Karachi was astonishing in its intensity, it was also highly localized, limited to the slums and poor neighborhoods of the periphery. Certain evenings, in another universe, at some cocktail party at a mansion in Defence, I’d be interrupted by a call summoning me to the latest outbreak of violence, and, slightly tipsy, I would have my driver rush me across town and deposit me at the border of Agra Taj, where my fixer would be waiting with his motorcycle.

On one night, in an alley where the K.R.C. fighters had cut the power, we skirted a large puddle by the glow of our cell phones. We advanced gingerly until, from a group of obscure figures, a man’s voice hissed, “Put out the light!” The man then beckoned me to a fighting position barricaded with sandbags. He pointed down the deserted alley toward a set of pale, faint shapes — the enemy was only thirty yards away. “There’s twenty or twenty-five of them down there,” he said.

The houses nearby had been evacuated of women and children, and the men and boys had all come down into the alley to form a communal defense in case of a raid by the Amn side. The youngest was fifteen, and the oldest was around seventy, the teen’s grandfather, a man with stooped shoulders, a bushy white beard, and a scarf tied up under his chin and over the top of his head. He said he had lived in Agra Taj his whole life. It had always been a peaceful area, but now here they were at the barricades, like guerrillas.

I asked whether they had any experience or training with the weapons they were using. “This is our training,” he said.

When the P.P.P. came to power seven years ago, businessmen in Karachi no longer knew whom to pay off. “The recent deregulation of the market of protection, following the gradual loss of control of the M.Q.M. over revenue collection,” writes political scientist Laurent Gayer, in Karachi: Ordered Disorder and the Struggle for the City, distressed the city’s mercantile and industrial classes. The change “paved the way for increasingly violent and arbitrary forms of extortion.”

The owner of a large factory in the eastern part of the city told me a typical story. For years, he had been giving small sums to the various political parties in his neighborhood, perhaps a few hundred dollars a month, to keep them happy. As a supporter of the M.Q.M., he voluntarily contributed larger payments to that party. But early in 2013, he received a phone call from someone claiming to be allied with the Amn Committee. The man demanded a lump sum of $25,000. “We said, ‘Who are you, can you prove it?’ ” the factory owner recalled, as we sipped tea in his palatial home in Defence. “He said, ‘I’ll prove it in thirty minutes.’ ” Around half an hour later, men on motorcycles fired a burst of bullets into the storage area at the back of the factory.

The negotiations continued over the next three weeks as the owner pleaded for a lower bhatta payment. In the meantime, he worked his contacts in the police and the military. “But everyone we talked to said that if it’s the Amn Committee, then there’s nothing they can do, they’re connected with the government,” he said. Eventually, they settled on monthly installments of $4,000. The owner said that after the first payment the man divided the money into four stacks and said, ‘This is for the Rangers, this is for the chief minister, and this is for the police. And this is our share.’ Now he sends his guy every month, saying ‘My man is wearing this color cap.’ They’re absolutely unafraid of doing this openly.”

Uzair, meanwhile, continued to consolidate political power. Immediately after the swearing-in ceremony for new members at the Provincial Assembly, while the fighting in Agra Taj continued, a delegation of high-ranking P.P.P. leaders traveled to his house in Lyari for a lavish banquet.

When I visited Uzair a few days later, he sardonically recounted all the P.P.P. dignitaries who had been there, the same notables who had called for him to be arrested the year before. Political necessity had brought them together, but their alliance would last only as long as Uzair had something to offer. The fate of his predecessor weighed heavily on him. “They tried to use me like they used Rehman,” he said.

I asked him if he ever imagined what his life would have been like had his father not been killed by Pappu. “It overturned my life completely,” he said, and sighed. “Before that, I was just a normal kid, but then I had to manage his business, manage the welfare of the community, meet with all the people — I had to become a man of the people.”

He paused a moment, then fixed me with a pleading gaze. “I am not a don,” he said in English, and chuckled gently. I noticed that there was a biography of Nelson Mandela under the table. Some guests arrived — representatives of communities around the city seeking Uzair’s favor — and I excused myself. He offered me these parting words: “Whoever supports and cares for the poor people, I am with them.”

Uzair refused to allow me to interview any of the Amn Committee’s B Team commanders. In some ways he was as much their prisoner as their leader, a figurehead who could not escape their demands. “People think that Uzair is the big boss and leader of Lyari, but the criminal elements are the real behind-the-scenes power,” the senior police official told me. “He can only influence them so far, especially Baba Ladla, who is a power of equivalent standing.”

The last time I saw Uzair, he was in full politician mode, entertaining a wealthy society lady from Defence who was interested in philanthropic work in Lyari. She seemed enthralled by him; he in turn was taking great pleasure in showing her around his many projects. We traveled in a convoy and stopped at a blood bank that he was funding. The locals gawked as Uzair stepped out, surrounded by machine gun–toting bodyguards and trailed by the lady in her colorful robes.

The blood bank was a well-made one-story clinic, though the drywall inside was still being hung. We stepped into the courtyard, which had been decorated in a style common to warlords’ mansions and wedding halls in Pakistan and Afghanistan — what might be called Rococo grotto. There were mirrored columns, fake gilding, and elaborate chandeliers, along with rustic touches such as plaster trees, plastic flowers, and animal statuary. One wall bulged with tree trunks that had stubby, shorn limbs. A concrete parasol in the shape of a giant mushroom sprouted from the ground, and in the center was a stepped fountain with a dangling, tonguelike waterspout. The wall had been partially painted in orange and green; the rest of the décor, with its pale, raw texture, looked like cake icing.

“Did you design this yourself?” I asked Uzair.

“I will show you the designer,” he said, grinning. “Baba! Come here, Baba!”

One of the men in the garden came toward us hesitantly. He was dressed in a salmon-colored shalwar kameez, with a checked scarf tied like a bandanna over his forehead. He was short but muscular, with high cheekbones and a square, handsome jaw. He looked around bashfully as he shook our hands. I realized that he was Baba Ladla.

“Baba Ladla designed this garden?” I said in astonishment. Ladla beat a hasty retreat.

“He is wanted, Ladla,” Uzair said with a snicker to the society lady, using the English word.

Seeing my expression, one of Uzair’s advisers remarked, “Inside of every bhai, there is an artist.”

Six months after that meeting, in March 2014, I attended a rally in front of the Karachi Press Club, which serves as a focal point for demonstrations in the city. Several hundred residents of Lyari had gathered to protest the violence in their neighborhood; they were arrayed in rows, with the women at the front. “No more gang war!” they shouted to the television cameras, as a group of bored-looking police officers watched.

Riven by mistrust, Uzair and Baba turned on each other, and both had fled the country. The Amn Committee had split into two rival groups of bhai log who were killing each other mercilessly, egged on by the city’s political powers. The inciting incident had been the assassination of Zafar Baloch, who was shot near his house by motorcycle-riding gunmen. The gangsters’ intimate knowledge of one another’s hideouts and methods made their attacks all the more effective; each day brought tit-for-tat assassinations and kidnappings, and every week a battle involving machine guns and rockets would erupt in Lyari’s streets, causing scores of civilian casualties.

“If the people don’t stand up for themselves, there won’t be peace for anyone,” said Mahagul Baloch, an eighteen-year-old member of the Baloch Human Rights Organization, the local activist group that had organized the rally. “As for Uzair, he’s not a leader, he’s a gangster.”

The anger against the gangs was palpable, but there was something perfunctory to the demonstration as well. It was always the same routine in Karachi: get together at the Arts Council, walk a few hundred yards to the press club while the police held back traffic, chant slogans for an hour until the news cameras got their fill. It was hardly enough to make your presence felt above the din of the city; for the rest of Karachi, it was just another spat among thugs in Lyari.

Arbab Ali, a cameraman from Samaa TV, stood watching the protesters, a pack of Gold Leaf cigarettes in his hand. I asked him how many rallies like this he usually saw. He shrugged. “Sometimes we have twelve in one day,” he said. “Let’s see, there was the rickshaw-drivers’ union here before today, and some teachers. There will probably be two or three more.”

Lyari was no longer the open space it had been during Uzair’s reign. Entering the slum now meant navigating carefully around the latest trouble spots. The Lyari Resource Centre, which was near the front line between Baba and Uzair, had been closed. I found Habib Hasan at home in a glum mood. “When war begins, your fate passes out of your hands,” he told me.

Zafar’s death had taken him by surprise. He shook his head. “This was an announcement. Zafar was running the system in Uzair’s absence; they announced that the system was finished.”

The political power of the Amn Committee had been broken; Lyari’s pot was kept boiling again. Everything that Hasan had been working for, all the dividends of peace, had been put on ice. “All those projects I showed you? They’re stopped. Nothing can happen when there’s no security,” Hasan told me. I asked him if he had made a mistake allying himself with Uzair, and his face darkened.

“You think I’m on the same team as them?” he said, and then sighed. “I took a risk for my people, for my community. Maybe it was a mistake.”

What would happen next? In May 2014, Baba was reportedly killed by Iranian guards while trying to cross the border — though I was told his family has yet to receive his body, and there were rumors in Lyari that he was still alive. This April, Uzair was released by the Emirati authorities, shortly after he leveled his accusations against Zardari. The Pakistani government had been curiously inept in its attempts to extradite him; its delegations kept getting turned back at the Dubai airport with improper paperwork. One officer had even mistakenly brought along his service pistol. The threat of Uzair’s sensational story had, like the man himself, disappeared, though one Karachi news channel recently reported that he was in the custody of Pakistan’s intelligence agencies.

“They will decide if Uzair will come back, or if it is someone else’s turn,” said one of my friends in Lyari. It was a familiar refrain: events in Lyari were controlled by dark, hidden forces. But was the alternative thought — that Karachi’s chaos has grown too unpredictable for anyone to master — any less terrifying?

Matthieu Aikins is the Schell Fellow at The Nation Institute and the recipient of a grant from the Pulitzer Center on Crisis Reporting. His article “Kabubble” appeared in the February 2013 issue of Harper’s Magazine.


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South Asia Citizens Wire
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