I wrote this piece immediately after BB's assassination. Lahore, like other cities, was paralysed with strikes and riots. A three-day mourning period meant that everything was shut. My column was about cities and the environment, but I wanted to pay tribute. This piece was published in The News.
Benazir
Bhutto (1953-2007)
Before Partition, political dissent often
manifested itself in violence towards traffic lights. Apparently, during the halcyon days of the
Pakistan Movement, it was considered routine to attack and destroy traffic
signals at the slightest provocation.
These British introductions represented, it seems, enough of the
Colonial establishment to justify, in the eyes of passionate “freedom
fighters,” such vandalism. Sadly, not
even Partition has spared the fate of the innocent traffic light; they have remained
a constant target and victim whenever the public turns unruly, much to the
chagrin of better minded people. In
today’s day and age, when Pakistan
is supposed to be run by Pakistanis and in the interest of Pakistanis, it’s
considered bad form to take on a defenseless traffic device.
On Friday, before prayers, my wife and I
decided to venture onto the streets of Lahore
anxious to see for ourselves the truth of the television and numerous text
message reports of violence throughout this and other places in the
country. It was midmorning and the city
streets were empty. In the evening
before, the President had announced a three day period of grief.
Lahore was beautiful and unaccompanied by the
everyday noise, traffic, dust and that general sense of congestion that makes
it less and less attractive. Every
undulation of the Mall was uninterrupted and shafts of midmorning light pierced
through the fresh tree line. The fact it
took something so gruesome to bring us a glimpse of its features weighed
heavily on the both of us.
In Gulberg, the ubiquitous green PML-Q bicycle
banners, so amusingly defaced on the Canal when they were put up, had now been
violently torn down. The path was
clear. This evidence of protest began at
the bottom of Guru Mangat road and made its way to Liberty Market. There, of the four large posters (depicting
the Gulberg Town Nazim, the City Nazim, the Chief Minister and his son, Moonis
Elahi, who is contesting for a provincial seat from the area), celebrating the
recent redevelopment of the area only two bore marks of violence: those of the
former Chief Minister and his Prince Ascending.
Clear evidence that they were systematically targeted.
The location of burnt tire marks was very
instructive. They delineated the
political allegiance of each area. On
the Shalimar Link road, towards the Shalimar
Gardens, every 500 or so
meters lay shattered glass and the charred remains of burnt rubber: evidence of
the anger of the mob. The air was
tense. As if something was
happening. Every dozen or so meters
small groups of men huddled at the mouths of the alleys and lanes that feed
into that artery. From the majority of
the election banners, one could tell this was a PPP area; the men on the
streets residents eager to share gossip from the night before.
Near the UET those green PML-Q bicycles banners
stood untouched on street lights. Clearly
visible amid the desolation – we may have been the only car on that road at the
time – they bisected the Grand Trunk Road like a row of artificial green attempting,
tragically, to take the place of a tree-lined median. On top of a nearby building, a 30x60 hoarding
proudly displayed the credentials of that area’s candidate. Yet there was no one on the road to see it. The seat, it was clear, belonged to the
former dispensation.
There were also signs of violence along the
Shalimar Road
and at Laxmi Chowk. But by far the
largest protest demonstration must have occurred in front of the Lahore Press
Club. There, shattered glass lay in
mounds and the mouth of Durand road lay covered in the debris of burnt rubber
and nearby PML-Q hoardings. From the
vandalized posters around the area, angry crowds must have seeped to Simlar Pahari,
collected in large numbers there and then marched up Davis Road, past the PML House, and onto
the Mall. The fact that nothing further
than that point appeared to have been vandalized tells us about the state of
the crowd. By this time, their spontaneous
anger, shock and frustration would have given way to grief and sadness. This would have deadened their vigour.
At the Governor’s House, near Naqi Market
and Hall road large number of police and Rangers milled about. Some were taking in the morning tabloids, all
of which carried front page photos of the carnage of the night before. Driving past, it seemed that they were
holding up Benazir placards. More bored
police, some faces lost on the yet unopened front page, sat about in the
Cantonment and all those other high-end, and, therefore, “high risk” residential
areas. There were no signs of violence
there. In Defence, one could physically
take in the fact that the area has the highest density of automobile ownership
in the city: Because this wasn’t a
typical day off, because there was no visiting or working to be done, every
driveway was full. Each family safely
huddled together.
I remember witnessing Benazir’s return to Pakistan. She landed in this then sleepy metropolis on April
1986. The crowds that greeted her were
unprecedented. It took her all day to
get from the airport, past our residence on the Mall and on towards Minto Park. The fact that she – at that time relatively politically
inexperienced – got the reaction she did, and that too in capital of the civil
and military establishment must have shaken General Zia. Lahoris can spot political potential from
miles. Even the significance of Chief
Justice Chaudhry’s reception in this city over two decades later in May of this
year was measured against Benazir’s welcome.
If only one could have read the features of Lahore’s face that morning. I’m sure its message would be equally
profound for our recently retired General.
This happened on his watch, and try as he may, he won’t be able to spurn
this legacy.
On 14 February 2006 lunatic extremists took vandalism to new
heights by ambushing an otherwise peaceful protest against those silly
cartoons. The resulting looting,
vandalism and arson spree stretched from the Metropolitan Bank on Kashmir Road all
the way to the motorbikes parked at Bank
Square. The
mob – boys in their teens interspersed with the odd extremist – also took on
street lights. All the lights on the
signals on that area of the Mall were ruthlessly attacked. But, as I said, Lahore can spot political talent from
miles. It saw no reason to condone the
protest. On Friday, I didn’t spot a
single broken traffic light.
