It is not as grand and imposing as the Great Wall of China or as menacing and oppressive as the Berlin Wall used to be. But for many citizens of Karachi, this half-a-kilometre-long wall protecting Bilawal House remains one of the greatest banes in their lives.
Although it has not been officially baptised, a large number of ordinary citizens living in nearby apartments and houses, operating shops and businesses in its vicinity or commuting under its shadow, calls this fortification ‘the Bilawal Wall’.
They have seen this wall emerge as a permanent encroachment on the wide two-way Khayaban-e-Saadi during the previous Pakistan People’s Party (PPP)-led government and transform into a protective buffer at the Karachi residence of President Asif Ali Zardari.
Now the narrow service lane running parallel to Khayaban-e-Saadi has become the so-called two-way main road for commuters. The authorities have tried to broaden the service lane at places by merging the parking space and green belt into it, but this ingenuity has created even more issues. Property prices around Bilawal House have taken a beating compared with other localities in the same Clifton neighbourhood. Many shopkeepers in the area have been forced to close down their businesses, while others have witnessed a drop in sales due to the obstructions in traffic here.
When President Zardari visits Karachi, as he did earlier this month, the security shadow of the Bilawal Wall expands and results in the blockade of all key roads and roundabouts within the radius of up to two kilometres by iron containers, trucks and police vehicles.
All the while the president is in the city, the permanent and temporary Bilawal Walls turn reaching one’s own home into an ordeal – and forces businesses and shops to close. These walls even prevent patients from visiting the key hospitals and medical centres that are located nearby including the Ziauddin Hospital, where Zardari once spent a considerable amount of time as a prisoner in a room declared a sub-jail during his multiple trials on corruption and murder charges.
If President Zardari is in a kind mood, he orders the lifting of the temporary Bilawal Wall as he did last week after great media and public uproar. If not, people just suffer and continue to pray for the long life and well-being of their tormentors.
True to overwhelming Pakistani spirit, the permanent Bilawal Wall emerged not as part of any well thought-out plan, but started in bits and pieces. During the initial days of the previous PPP rule, one part of the two-way main road running parallel to Bilawal House used to be cordoned off by innocent-looking traffic barricades. This usually happened when Zardari graced the city with his presence. Soon after, the temporary barricades became a permanent fixture – shutting one part of the two-way road for good.
Real and imagined security concerns then led to the construction of an iron-grill right in the middle of the green belt that divides the Khayaban-e-Saadi. This was followed by the closure of the entire Khayaban on a permanent basis for ordinary Pakistanis as authorities quickly constructed the concrete wall – complete with iron spikes and barbed wires on top. Thus a new eyesore and cause of perpetual public inconvenience was added to Karachi’s already disfigured and mutilated landscape.
The security concerns of the post-9/11 world may be a justifiable reason for Zardari, his security managers and loyalists to build iron grills and walls around Bilawal House – especially when the PPP lost its charismatic leader, Benazir Bhutto, in a grenade and gun attack in Rawalpindi on December 27, 2007. Earlier, on October 18, 2007, Bhutto survived a massive attack on her motorcade when she landed in Karachi, ending a more than eight-year self-imposed exile.
Given the history of tragic incidents the Bhutto family suffered as a price of its politics, the extra-cautious approach toward safety is understandable. Pakistan can now ill-afford any other tragedy such as the killing of a frontline politician, but while making Karachi’s Bilawal House impregnable, perhaps Zardari and Co. have gone overboard.
This very important house is not located right on the main road. Its main building has the necessary ‘depth’ as the service road adjacent to it remains closed for traffic. The place has been further fortified by the tight security at its entry points, but many of the prized neighbourhood properties are now also in the hands of the friends and family of President Zardari or his associates.
The irony in all this remains that the young Bilawal Bhutto Zardari whose name is perhaps unnecessarily being blotted – at least in the metaphorical sense – by such measures might have no say in these affairs at all. The naming of Bilawal Chowrangi, the construction of the Bilawal Wall or the extension of Bilawal House are all being done in his name just as the PPP’s policymaking and politics bears his signboard. Giving Bilawal the benefit of the doubt, this remains a far from ideal situation for the young man, who probably aspires to prove himself as the true heir to the legacy of his illustrious maternal grandfather and mother.
Let alone the hue and cry from residents of the area, even the Supreme Court’s concerns regarding the Bilawal Wall failed to move the provincial authorities, which insist that citizens’ rights are not being violated by blocking one of the key roads of Karachi.
Though Zardari’s term as president ends in September, there appear little chances that the authorities have any plans to tear down the Bilawal Wall. Being the former president and leader of a party that still rules Sindh, Zardari and his Karachi residence appear all set to continue receiving a privileged treatment. After another couple of years, perhaps we will take Bilawal Wall as part of our fate and forget all about the broad two-way road at this unlucky place, which once provided a free and open access to the seafront.
But Zardari and his near and dear ones are not the only ones who hide behind such walls. It is a syndrome that has caught the imagination of all the rich and powerful in this land of the pure. Every high and mighty individual or institution loves to have their very own Bilawal Wall.
Sindh’s octogenarian Chief Minister Qaim Ali Shah has his own wall, which he constructs and removes almost on a daily basis, outside his official residence without any warning to commuters. This wall, made of iron containers, concrete blocks and ordinary traffic barriers keeps the road regularly closed off at night, often for days, because of unspecified security threat without any prior warning or explanation. The official residence of the chief minister is deep inside the compound and surrounded by a huge wall. The noise of the motor rickshaw can hardly disturb Shah’s sleep during the night and even a suicide bomber hardly poses a security threat. The road, however, still remains closed, more often than open, to traffic.
Our paramilitary rangers, the coast guards, the customs, the police...you name it. All have built their own tiny Bilawal Walls that have encroached footpaths, sections of the roads and public places – all in the name of security. The very presence of these mighty individuals and institutions in the heart of the city not just hinders free flow of traffic and movement of pedestrians, but also exposes citizens to danger.
Are we forever fated to have these Bilawal Walls surround us? Is there no escape from them? Is it too cynical to demand that all rulers, the high and mighty and their protectors, move out of city centres and densely populated civilian areas and live where they are away from the evil eye and real or imaginary dangers? Their proximity only brings inconvenience, trouble and distress to the common citizen. The 2013 elections have hardly been a game-changer when it comes to these Bilawal Walls. They seem to be here to stay – at least for the foreseeable future.
Email: amir.zia@thenews.com.pk

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