Sudden death

We seem to have had a sudden drove of deaths. Days ago, Malik Ishaq, one of the three men who in 1996 founded the extreme anti-Shia Lashkar-e-Jhangvi group, responsible for hundreds of deaths, was killed in what has been called a police encounter near Muzaffargarh in southern Punjab. Two of his sons and a number of accomplices died with him.
We also have confirmations from the Afghan government that Mullah Omar, the secretive, one-eyed leader of the Afghan Taliban whose brutal government presided over that country from 1996 to 2001, killing, maiming and destroying along the way, died two years ago apparently in a Karachi hospital. How he got there or why he died we do not know.
Few images of this man who refused to allow himself to be photographed, presumably on religious grounds, exist. But we do know that he has been buried, it is believed, in his native Kandahar in Afghanistan, a place which he rarely left during his tenure in power. His death appears to have been kept a deep secret, and was initially denied by the Taliban.
One question that arises is how Mullah Omar got to Karachi or received treatment at a hospital without our huge network of agencies uncovering this information. The story is similar to that of Osama bin Laden’s presence in Abbottabad. Pakistan had always denied either man was in the country. In the Federally Administered Tribal Areas, people asked questions as to why their villages and hamlets had been bombed when the key leaders seemed to have taken up residence comfortably in larger cities.
The tally of death has continued. Days ago, media reports reiterated the rumours that had floated before about the death of Jalaluddin Haqqani, the founder of the powerful Haqqani Network created nearly 30 years ago to fight the Soviets after they invaded Afghanistan in 1979. Jalaluddin, in his 70s, was a much respected jihadist fighter known for his personal courage and tactical skills. He had developed close alliances with Pakistani agencies also opposed to the Soviet presence in Afghanistan and precisely how long these links lasted is disputed.
It is, however, now evident that Jalaluddin indeed died some time ago. His son, Sirajuddin Haqqani, runs the network his father created and it is uncertain if he can command the same respect and support that Jalaluddin had gathered around him.
The question to be asked is as follows: what does the death of these three different men, in three different locations, mean and how will it influence the militant movement in the country? The gunning down of Malik Ishaq means that all the three principal leaders of the LeJ, including Riaz Basra, killed in a 2002 shoot-out with police in Vehari and Akram Lahori, executed early this year, are no longer on the scene. How far has their organisation been weakened by their deaths and that of key persons who worked with them? It is hard to say.
The same holds true for Mullah Omar and Jalaluddin Haqqani. Yes, certainly, their demise will have an impact on the organisations they led with much vigour and almost complete control. But will their deaths alone bring down these organisations to their knees? Or will other leaders arise to fill their place? This of course has happened in other nations, contributing to the rise of groups such as the Islamic State.
But it is important not to be too pessimistic. The removal of top leaders, whether by natural causes or police action, will certainly weaken the groups they led and dilute the philosophy of violence they preached. This of course is welcome in a region torn apart by a seemingly endless reign of violence.
But there is more to the equation than death. The roots of extremism, in all its forms, have now seeped deep into the soil of our country. They will need to be washed away by plenty of watering and plenty of action that goes beyond bullets, arrests, the noose or death as a result of illness. We must remember that the hatred and violence we live with now first emerged in the country in the last 1970s and 1980s, aided by the incredibly effective policies put in place by the canny general Ziaul Haq. He and his team, with devious expertise, used school textbooks, the media, religious groups, mosque imams and all kinds of other means to change the country – while we looked on.
Things seemed to swing overnight. Suddenly, we had minority groups fleeing the country for safer places and a new awareness of sect and precisely what religion meant in a society that had for centuries essentially accepted diversity as part of the heritage it gained from being a part of a vast Subcontinent shaped by many invasions, many religions living side by side and many cultural influences.
Today, we need to consider how to reverse this process. It literally needs to be replicated with the opposite goals to those that Zia placed before us. As is inevitably the case, the process may be a slower one. It may also be harder. Something in human psychology means that removing hatred is often more difficult than creating it. Even today, anti-Semitic feelings live on in Europe despite the campaigns begun after the Holocaust. The same is true in other nations, other places.
Stripping away intolerance will be slow, but it is something we have to begin attempting immediately. Such policies must go along with whatever strategies led to the death of Ishaq, and before him Basra. Just their killing alone will not change things. The shootings may in fact turn these men into martyrs. It is important that the media be used. Admittedly, this was easier in the days of Zia when the lone state-owned channel flickered on to the screens and was tightly controlled by the government.
The multitude of channels makes control far harder. This is of course a positive development. But the channels must be prevented and persuaded not to disseminate hatred and to in fact work towards creating a nation within which it is possible for everyone to live in harmony and without the fear of death lurking everywhere. Media owners, influential anchors and other persons all need to be brought in to make such an agenda successful.
We also need the religious parties, which we know can be influenced in a number of ways as well as the clerics who lead prayers at local mosques everywhere in the country. Major campaigns are also required, though they need to be somewhat subtle and intelligently orchestrated.
At times, we see slogans advocating tolerance for all inscribed on rickshaws or trucks. Perhaps this school of thought can be promoted. To do so, we need to look at our past in South Asia, at the history of religion in this region and remember that our roots lie in this part of the world and not in the Arab world where we have attempted to transport ourselves by altering the language we use and the manner in which we conduct ourselves.
Looking to the east is then important, just as it is important that we look at ourselves and change the manner in which we act so that we can save ourselves from further ravages.
The writer is a freelance columnist and former newspaper editor.
Email: kamilahyat@hotmail.com