Tag: waziristan

Peace March, Political Stunt and Killer Drones

You don’t have to be a PTI worker to see what Imran Khan’s peace march to Waziristan has achieved. Nor can you be so blind, unable to read and recognise the hypocrisy written all over Fazl-ur-Rehman’s and Abdul Ghafoor Haidri’s statements calling Imran Khan an agent of the ‘Jews’ and by personally attacking his ex-wife and children. And guess what! Fazl-ur-Rehman, self-proclaimed Pakistani pseudoliberals and US were all on one side, either due to being Anti-Peace-March or pro-drone or both. Not surprising actually!

Any independent unbiased activist, anti-war and anti-drone humanist would wholeheartedly appreciate this big step that was taken by Imran Khan. I was appalled to hear and read some lame arguments from some ‘senior journalist’ who once shouted Why-Islamabad-and-Why-Not-Waziristan. Now the objection changed to Why-South-and-Why-not-North-Waziristan. Some of them asked why invite Americans to protest in Waziristan and rather not go to USA and protest in front of the White House (which CodePink activists did before coming to Pakistan). A few days before the march, the pseudo-liberal lot claimed TTP and Imran are friends and so they will provide him security which was later denied by the Taliban. Then, the march was stopped near Tank and was denied access to the area. It sounded amusing to some. The critics somehow overlooked that the mission was to highlight the issue with the help of the international activists which was symbolic as well as revealing. Do the noise makers suggest it should have been turned into a violent protest, to get to the area by hook or by crook? Hilarious indeed!

The international media covered the issue for two consecutive days. This same media is used to brainwash people about the effectiveness of War on Terror and ‘accuracy’ of American drone strikes killing ‘militants’ alone. By raising the issue in an extra ordinary way this march has shown the people of these countries, the other side of the story.

Clive Stafford Smith (who came from UK to attend this rally) writes in his article,

“During the day I shook the hand of a 16-year-old kid from Waziristan named Tariq Aziz. One of his cousins had died in a missile strike, and he wanted to know what he could do to bring the truth to the west. At the Reprieve charity, we have a transparency project: importing cameras to the region to try to export the truth back out. Tariq wanted to take part, but I thought him too young.

Then, three days later, the CIA announced that it had eliminated “four militants”. In truth there were only two victims: Tariq had been driving his 12-year-old cousin to their aunt’s house when the Hellfire missile killed them both.”

According to a major study released by Stanford University and New York University named ‘Living Under Drones’ only 2 out of every hundred killed may be militants and the fear is immeasurable.

“Drones hover twenty-four hours a day over communities in northwest Pakistan, striking homes, vehicles, and public spaces without warning. Their presence terrorizes men, women, and children, giving rise to anxiety and psychological trauma among civilian communities. Those living under drones have to face the constant worry that a deadly strike may be fired at any moment, and the knowledge that they are powerless to protect themselves.”

Drones are a familiar phenomenon for Pakistanis, Yemenis and Afghans but not so for the rest of the world. It was effectively highlighted; no sane person can deny the fact. And how many Pakistanis know where they operate from, how illegal they are according to international law and even US constitution and how they CANNOT operate without our government’s permission. ‘We condemn; you carry on’ policy of the Pakistani civil and military authorities is utterly disgusting. And now the whole world knows our leaders have made us a US colony where they are only puppets displayed to deceive us.

Some leaders labelled the march as a ‘political stunt’ risking the lives of people and activists from the world to gain votes? Not so surprisingly, this does happen in Pakistan by the parties who have ruled us again and again so they painted their formula to label the march as a political drama. The silliest argument that really surprised me was ‘Would this march stop the drones?’ If that’s the point then beware: All marches are political stunts, all processions are pointless and all protests are useless as they don’t change anything most of the time.

Let’s leave the intentions to God and not undermine the cause by such unjustified and childish squabble. The issue is national. There is a war imposed on us without declaration and one faction of intellectuals is bent upon legalising what the world holds illegitimate i.e. drones. The biggest ally is the major sufferer with innocent women and children being killed in double tap attacks (targeting the rescuers) or left amputated with post-traumatic stress disorder; Attacks that are carried out on the basis of ‘local intelligence’ gathered by awarding a few thousand dollars and using locals to tag the target with a GPS device, make someone’s fortune and ruin someone’s home and family. The march has brought attention to the forgotten people of Waziristan living under the killer buzzes in fear, avoiding meeting with each other with confidence and trust due to suspicion and terror  created  by the US.

Support whatever is good and let not your personal, political and/or egoistic ‘self’ weaken the cause and make the world laugh at us. We have a problem, we raise voice, the good people from the world come out to help us but we doubt each other’s intentions. Woah! Don’t let the voice go weak. Strengthen it for the sake of the country and humanity. Play your part, positively. You’re answerable for your bit and every word that you contribute for or against the truth.

Of cycles of hate and feet on the pedals..

A life packed away in a few cardboard boxes. The bare room started back coldly. It looked alien already.

“Mom”

A small voice called. She turned to the silhouette in the doorway and wiped the tears, trying to make the motion as inconspicuous as possible but it was too late. The tender 6 year old frame ran in to her arms.

“It’s going to be alright mom”

Her comment lingered on, magnified as the conviction behind them filled the emptiness of the room. Rebecca responded by tightening her arms around the small frame that didn’t seem as dainty as she did a while ago.

“Yes Honey. It will be. Sure it will be”

She stood up and wiped the tears. This time there was no effort to hide them. A car honked outside and she stooped down to pick up Angela, who clasped her hands behind her neck almost as a reflex. Over the next few hours they loaded the cardboards that their worldly possessions seem to have disappeared in to in an old Hyundai that had obviously seen better days. Its owner wrestled one last box in to the trunk and managed to wrestle it closed.

“There now. I’m not that old after all … am I?”

She said trying to stoop down as much as her octogenarian frame would allow as Angela smiled back. For a moment Rebecca focused on Becky’s radiant smile and wondered about its genuineness. She had lost her only son in Afghanistan 3 months ago. The funeral had been a fortnight later. The IED had exploded right under the armoured vehicle almost ripping it in to two. The military repatriated whatever remains they could find. The entire town seemed to have shown at the funeral. Becky had cried in private but refused to mourn her son in public. He had died bringing freedom, democracy and liberation. She had recorded the speech delivered by President Bush on September 20th 2001 and played it many a times:

“Americans are asking “Why do they hate us? ….

They hate what they see right here in this chamber: a democratically elected government. Their leaders are self-appointed. They hate our freedoms: our freedom of religion, our freedom of speech, our freedom to vote and assemble and disagree with each other.

They want to overthrow existing governments in many Muslim countries such as Egypt, Saudi Arabia and Jordan. They want to drive Israel out of the Middle East. They want to drive Christians and Jews out of vast regions of Asia and Africa.”

She had outgrown the fondness of it over the last few years. She also could not reconcile Bush’s words about Egypt with the Arab spring. The people of Egypt had thrown out their government. The week Hosni Mubarak’s government finally caved in, Beck drove down to the nearest Walmart to finally get a world map. She remembered being struck by how far Egypt and Afghanistan had seemed. She wondered: “How many mad men are running out there to leave the world so vulnerable? Why didn’t the Iraqis do the same with Saddam?

The following week she wrote the last letter to Andy telling him how proud she was of him. He never got to read it. For now the three occupants in the old Hyundai pulled up in front of a small house. The need for repairs was obvious.

“Sorry about the mess. I was hoping Andy would …..”

She stopped midsentence. Rebecca rubbed her hands on her back as she recomposed herself. Over the next hours the three generation of ladies moved pulled, dragged and carried things of immediate need. There used to be an abundance of well natured young men willing to help out in this town of 2000 or so. 90% had signed up for the military in recent years and many were deployed in Afghanistan and Iraq. Many had been motivated by patriotism and the willingness to spread the good that they enjoyed within the borders of this great country of theirs. Yet more saw it as a means of a better future. The promise of a college education eclipsed the danger in the odds.

Meanwhile in Karachi,

Zaman woke up with a start. It took him a while to figure out that he was no longer in North Waziristan. The rain pouring fast and heavy on the tin roof of the cramped one bedroom home sounded like the explosion that awful day. He shuffled through the thin sheet in a frenzy to reassure himself. 6 year old Amina was still there, curled up in a ball. The rain had left the floor colder. He lent her his bedsheet and doubled it on her. He was shivering but not all from the cold. His heart was beating so fast, he worried about waking her up. He tried to block it out but couldn’t.

He was shaking uncontrollably now. He slipped outside the room where a clay pot lay in the corner and poured him a glass of water, struggling to keep his hands steady. The drone attack that day had wiped out his son and wife along with 45 other people from the village. Their remains were never found. A few hours later 20 more people perished in an attack on those trying to rescue any survivors, Zaman had spent the next four months recovering in a hospital in Peshawar. He lost his left eye, walked with a limp and had irretrievable shrapnel to blame for constant agonizing pain that he had no money to buy pain medications for. His doctors had told him he was lucky.

Amina on the other hand had not been that lucky. She had lost both her legs in below the knee amputations. A local NGO had found some ill-fitting prosthesis for her.

Zaman remembered as his wife had proudly beckoned him in to the house to show how Amina had started walking at only 8 months of age. It would take her exactly 8 months since the drone attack to take her first strides with crutches. Zaman was grateful to have her. He went back to the door and peaked inside. She seemed more comfortable now. It had stopped raining.

“Alhamdulillah …”

She was his strength. His uncle, Waleed Khan, who had been by his side in Peshawar throughout their recovery, was an old man now. A labourer in Karachi, he was by no means a man with many resources. Mostly, he would spend the day on a footpath near a busy shopping centre in Karachi, praying that one of the many millions of rupee worth cars would stop and ask him to come by for repairs in their house or a contractor would offer a project. He frequented the nearby mosque and prayed for Amina often. He did not quite understand why his once peaceful village had seen so much bloodshed recently or what technology was pitted against those very modest homes of his loved ones. He just knew that his dreams and the lives of his loved ones were bartered away by a handful of people so shameless and greedy that he paused recently when Amina asked him if we can see Satan. He could have sworn he had. Later, that night he watched in disbelief as former President Musharraf between some nervous laughs admitted that he had written in his book that he handed over a 6 month old baby as a terrorist.

He fought back tears and just looked upwards towards the sky. Later that night he made Wudu (Ablution) and began to read:

“And indeed We have created man, and We know what his ownself whispers to him. And We are nearer to him than his jugular vein” Sura #50, Verse 16

Around the same alignment of the stars, moons, planets and everything else in this universe Becky found herself getting sad watching Angela run around the house. It reminded her of the time Andy had been young. He had practically spent all his childhood in the same house. She opened the bible and began to read:

“The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit” – Psalms 34:18

In the background she could vaguely make out someone on TV talking about a clash of civilizations..