t has been ten years
since Sabeen Mahmud was killed.

After she was brutally killed on a warm April night in 2015, close to her work space in Karachi, her friends, colleagues and those who visited T2F as participants and audience to the dialogue sessions came together as a community. Robust protests on streets and social media spaces were followed by statements of resolve to never let her voice die. This led to the arrest of the so-called perpetrator who was eventually tried and a sentence was announced. With time, her colleagues and the community she created – including those of us who were neither colleagues nor friends, just “beneficiaries” of T2F, dispersed. T2F itself underwent a separate battle for sustainability. However, consistent efforts to revive the space have always been met with enthusiasm from the community.

Sabeen founded and ran T2F, through PeaceNiche, with a stated agenda to promote, “intellectual poverty alleviation.” T2F did this by indiscriminately offering - to all classes and sections of society - its space as a platform for dialogue and creative expression.

T2F was not the first or the last community space that Karachi has had. However, what set it apart from others was that it had no gatekeepers to discourage access. It was also not coloured by any political or ethnic affiliation. There was no fee for those who attended the sessions and no compulsion to make donations or buy items from the attached bookshop and café. It was a flexible built space for public meetings, art exhibitions and workshops; a quiet workspace, a chat with a friend; a movie showing; a jamming session or a conversation on political and civic issues, in a safe and respectful environment. In terms of service, the T2F team, under Sabeen, delivered with utmost professionalism. All the activities at T2F were well-planned and executed. Logistics, aesthetics, hygiene and security were taken care of. The space was as welcoming to corporate professionals and renowned artists as it was to the fisher people movement and trade union activists. The organisation’s message was clear. It would provide space for any kind of dialogue and expression within the boundaries of respect and tolerance.

Sabeen is not the first person in the city to have been killed for reasons related to her work. Countless political workers, civil society activists, rights defenders and others have been attacked and lost their lives for being perceived as threat to the forces that exercise violence. That a person accused of killing her is rotting in jail may be a source of comfort for some, but that is where it ends. Regardless of exactly what part of her work led to her killing, the fact is that Sabeen’s death was closely linked to what she was trying to do for the city.

By way of social entrepreneurship, Sabeen was enabling a fractured city to rise above ethnic, religious and political affiliations and engage; to not shy away from expressing love through mindless shairi; to appreciate music; to find humour in everyday mayhem; to share without fear; to apologise for an error and move on; to join protests and movements for solidarity, without carrying the baggage of association; to set reasonable boundaries; to have a strong sense of right and wrong, yet not stop communicating even after an unpleasant exchange; to make an effort to understand others’ viewpoints and withhold judgment for a while.

In an exchange I was witness to - as a part of a citizens’ collective to resist nuclear power plants that were being planned in 2014 close to Karachi’s cherished French Beach area - I noticed how she had internalised her commitment to dialogue. We had amongst us a member of the MQM, who was suddenly being cornered by a bunch of disgruntled group members, while he was trying to speak. She interrupted the high pitched conversation with a polite but firm tone: “Let him speak at least,” she said and the temperature in the room started to come down.

The violent act extinguished a living, breathing individual in a matter of four seconds, and ruthlessly jolted all those associated with her, closely or remotely. Her death deeply changed the sense of safety that is critical for trusting and engaging with fellow citizens. 

Another observation about Sabeen was how she did not want to be bracketed. In the early days following her killing, people, while in their outpouring of grief, described her as a human rights activist, an art and culture patron and a rights defender... Such statements were met with expressions of frustration from people who had been close to her. They were of the view that she never used these titles as her introduction. But then how did she see herself?

As a part of a team working on archiving her life, I found a Facebook post that may provide a glimpse into how she described what she did:

“I don’t owe anyone any explanations. However, in the interest of my sanity and to avoid responding to banal comments, I hereby state that I am an Experience Junkie. I go to MQM rallies, PTI rallies, PPP rallies, labour union rallies, leftie rallies, meek candle-light vigils, useless, counterproductive Press Club protests, and just about everything else that is available to be experienced. While I like individuals and ideas of several parties, I am not affiliated with and nor do I support any specific party. For those casting aspersions and jumping to conclusions, I suggest that you read about the perils of ‘moral certitude’…”

While she spent eight years trying to help Karachi re-invent itself through her personal actions and entrepreneurial venture, it would be apt to look at what Karachi did for her on the eve of her tenth death anniversary; and how the city has actually delivered on the slogan “her legacy will live on…” over the decade.

The post-Sabeen Karachi is heavily commercialised, corporatised and digitised. The city’s new-found state of stability and security has led to a vibrant art and culture scene that is expanding every year. On social movements’ space, the city has also hosted several successful actions such as the Aurat March, the Climate March, the Karachi Bachao Tehreek and the consistent struggle against housing demolition. On the political landscape, the MQM is no longer the mighty force it used to be. Actors such as the PPP and the PTI have been asserting their space, while most religious parties have lost steam to Karachi’s commercialisation.

The post-Sabeen Karachi has also done its small bit of extending recognition to her by trying to respond to the efforts to revive T2F whenever there was an opportunity; by naming a road after her and by religiously marking her birth and death anniversaries through music, art and collective activities. The post-Sabeen Karachi can also claim to have pressured the authorities enough for them to make an effort to nab her killer and ensure that he does not go unpunished.

However, I think that despite slogans such as “her legacy will live on…” and “we cannot be silenced,” Karachi has changed forever. In fact, these slogans gloss over the loss in the last week of April ten years ago. In its habitual bid to return to normalcy after every violent incident, the city has not undertaken any effort to acknowledge this loss. The violent act extinguished a living, breathing individual in a matter of four seconds and ruthlessly jolted all those associated with her, closely or remotely. Her death deeply changed the sense of safety that is critical for trusting and engaging with fellow citizens. Her death made the city realise the importance of being practical, rather than sentimental. This practicality is reflected in the silence displayed at the opportunity of organising political action. It is reflected in the act of overlooking and disengagement from issues that are bubbling up, making a low cry to be noted and to mobilise around. While T2F, and other community spaces continue to exist, they remain mere built spaces that are unable to extend the generosity to allow an open and safe dialogue on contentious subjects.

There needs to be an acknowledgement that with Sabeen’s death, spirits have been crushed; that an organisation has been orphaned; that a mother has been denied the right to be buried before her only child; that her killing was an extension of a decades-long gun culture that remains unaccountable for it; and that justice has not exactly been served because Sabeen’s killing was not the last target killing of a Karachi citizen.

The author is an independent researcher based in Karachi