Counting today, we have six more days to live in 2021. Less than a week. This is the time when we ‘look before and after – and pine for what is not’. In many ways, the year that is ending was unusual, somewhat like the previous year.
For two years, we have lived with the pandemic. Many of us have lost their dear ones. And the New Year, with all its uncertainties, is beginning under the dark shadow of the virus that is now armed with a new variant that is spreading, at least in Europe and the United States, like wildfire. That it does not seem to be so deadly is little consolation.
Fortunately, Pakistan has been spared the brunt of Covid-19’s attack – and we keep our fingers crossed. But beyond the pandemic, our prospects are not so cheerful. In fact, this is particularly a time of our discontent. December is our cruellest month, breeding memories of some of our foremost national disasters.
There was, of course, the sixteenth of December. It is the darkest day in our history for not one but two calamities of the kind that cast their shadows on our lives as we move from one year to another. Incidentally, one more tragedy has been added to the month this year. Yes, the lynching of the Sri Lankan citizen in Sialkot had taken place on the third of December.
Ah, but there is another anniversary that falls tomorrow, on the twenty-seventh of December. The very thought of it is hard to bear because we are still unable to comprehend the meaning of Benazir Bhutto’s assassination in Rawalpindi in 2007 and to measure its impact on Pakistan’s destiny. Was her death tantamount to the demise of Pakistan’s capacity to become a modern, peaceful nation?
Frankly, I am hesitating to focus entirely on Benazir Bhutto’s life and death on this occasion for the reason that it could become rather personal and emotional. She was the only political leader of stature that I happened to know, from soon after her father’s execution. I was then a young journalist, writing a weekly column – Karachi Diary – in Dawn. But I am not going in that direction.
On the contrary, I wish to relate Benazir Bhutto’s assassination to the present state of affairs in the country. To a considerable extent, the massacre of our schoolchildren in Peshawar’s Army Public School on the sixteenth of December in 2014 was also a milestone in Pakistan’s persistent descent into the labyrinth of terrorism, extremism, intolerance and bigotry. The forces of religious obscurantism that have been unleashed in our society are gaining more power under Imran Khan’s watch.
Former Senate chairman Raza Rabbani had a point when he talked about the breakdown of the writ of the state in the Senate session on Friday. He questioned the government’s haste in supporting the Afghan Taliban when they did “not even recognise the border”.
One significant remark he made was that the state of Pakistan meant the civil and military bureaucracy and not the people sitting in parliament. Raza Rabbani also expressed alarm over reports that the banned Tehreek-e-Taliban Pakistan was regrouping in Afghanistan, which could fuel terrorism in Pakistan.
With reference to Benazir’s assassination, it should be said that she was one leader who had the ability and the resolve to confront the forces of terror and extremism if she were to come into power. She had the courage of her convictions in this context.
Actually, she personified a liberal and progressive image of Pakistan in the world. She had made history by becoming the first woman prime minister of a Muslim country. There is no doubt that she was an exceptional person and her charisma held the promise of Pakistan moving forward and gaining respect in the comity of nations.
Naturally, Benazir’s death was a shock that left people shocked. There are stories of that traumatic moment that have become a part of our collective memory. Particularly in Sindh, there was a spontaneous explosion of grief and anger, resulting in violent protests. I did not witness that upheaval since I was not in the country. But I still have a story to tell about how I got the news in another time zone and how my wife and I sat dazed before a television set, sleepless for two days.
As I said, we miss Benazir the more because of what we have to suffer with this resistible rise of extremism and intolerance. This is a very perilous time. Earlier this month, the 14th International Urdu Conference was held at the Arts Council, Karachi and the concerns that our leading writers and critics felt were expressed in a resolution approved in its concluding session.
It noted that different facets of extremism were affecting the lives of creative individuals. Cultural spaces were shrinking. It called upon the federal and the provincial governments to fulfil their constitutional obligations and bring about peace in the country. The conference demanded a curriculum that respects the plurality of the Pakistani society and inculcates the spirit of tolerance in the minds of the students.
Finally, I have to say that I have borrowed the title of this column from Victoria Schofield’s memoir published this year by the Oxford University Press. ‘The Fragrance of Tears’ is an intimate and touching account of Victoria’s friendship with Benazir from their days at Oxford.
Drawing on diaries and letters, Victoria has narrated her close and enduring relationship “with one of the most charismatic and controversial figures in South Asian politics – whose life and career were defined by tragedy”.
The title is taken from the verse of Sindh’s great Sufi poet, Shah Abdul Latif Bhitai. And these are the closing lines of the book: “The sorrowful smell of the mist / Lingering over the Indus, / Gentle waves of rice, dung and rind / This is the salt cry of Sindh / As I die let me feel / The fragrance of tears”.
The writer is a senior journalist. He can be reached at: ghazi_salahuddin hotmail.com