And now we had another dramatic performance that was played live on our news channels. It held the nation spellbound for hours. It had all the ingredients of a thriller. Besides, it was real and quite chilling in its potential for disaster in stark human terms. A determined individual, with automatic weapons in both hands, had selected the most appropriate stage possible for his improvised presentation – against the backdrop of the citadel of power.
I do not need to go into the details of the Islamabad standoff that totally distracted the attention of the citizens of the country late on Thursday evening – one day after we had ritualistically celebrated the Independence Day. For more than five hours, whatever else may have been happening in the world was set aside. This, however, is not unusual because our popular media has little use for major events around the world, as the coverage of the bloodshed in Cairo has again certified.
In any case, I find it difficult to interpret the hair-raising adventure of Muhammad Sikandar and its somewhat agreeable ending, though it was forced by an unscheduled intervention by a PPP politician. Is it an allegory, reflecting the trauma that the nation is going through? Could it have been imagined by a creative writer wanting to highlight the sickness of the Pakistani mind? There are, of course, many different strands of what may also be described as the theatre of the absurd. Or a black comedy.
For instance, Sikandar was able to acquire his lethal weapons and carry them across a number of security checkpoints in the vicinity of the Red Zone in Islamabad. The supporting role that was played by his wife Kanwal is also to be carefully evaluated. What kind of experiences or indoctrination had shaped his mind and motivated his actions?
It is possible that like our news channels, I am giving an unwarranted importance to one man’s deviant behaviour. A psychiatrist or a social scientist would be in a better position to probe this particular incident. In fact, considering the shocks that we have to suffer on a daily basis, mainly in the context of terrorist violence, Sikandar’s exploits would appear to be insignificant.
At the same time, we know that any specific experience can trigger thoughts about the state of the society and its sense of direction. This week has particularly prompted deep concerns about what we have made of our freedom. August 14 this year was less of a celebration and more of a warning about increasing threats to our survival.
Acts of terrorism and of blatant defiance of the writ of the state have, in recent weeks, reinforced the fear of Pakistan becoming a failed state. Why is the government letting this happen? Why has it been hesitating to forthwith challenge the power of the Taliban and other dark forces of extremism and militancy?
What, for God’s sake, would be the catalyst for a change in the government’s policies if, for instance, the D I Khan jailbreak or the suicide attack on a funeral in Quetta in which 30 police officials were killed did not elicit any immediate response of a strategic nature? The fact is that we have suffered innumerable setbacks of unbearable intensity. On every occasion, the rulers have been unable to take on the terrorists and the religious militants.
As Pakistan slides into chaos, there was some evidence this week that the government is about to make a decision on whether to negotiate with the Taliban or launch an operation against the terrorists. The Taliban have responded by making a similar statement – that they are ready for dialogue as well as full-scale war should the government launch an operation against them. As if the Taliban are as much an entity as the state of Pakistan.
Our national security policies have brought us to this point of ignominy. Also, the Taliban have repeatedly shown that they have an upper hand in this conflict. In that sense, the issue here is not so much the organised power of the terrorists as their ability to find sympathy and support in some segments of the Pakistani society and, perhaps, in the establishment. In essence, the Taliban entrenched in their tribal hideouts are less of a threat to Pakistan’s future than the jihadi ideology that they espouse.
It is in this context that the Sikandar symptom is important. What we have suffered in the name of religion, irrespective of the moral degradation of the entire system, is hard to measure. We are totally under siege by bigotry and barbarism. What hope is there for this country when the assassin of Salmaan Taseer is a hero and when Malala Yousafzai cannot return to her home and her school? The sectarian violence is the betrayal of the very idea of Pakistan. This week, there were two hand grenade attacks on Jamaat Khanas of the Ismaili community in Karachi. Yet, it seemed to be business as usual.
As an aside, let me tell you that I am writing this column in the home of our elder daughter in southern California. My intention of disengaging myself from events in Pakistan has obviously been defeated. It was not tenable from the outset. But this distance has fostered deeper thoughts about our national drift. Whenever you are abroad, you look at how other countries have changed and developed and wonder why we have continued to regress.
I found a reminder of this syndrome in a book I picked up yesterday. It is about Irish author Dervla Murphy’s exploration of Baltistan in the winter of 1974-75. She was accompanied by her six-year-old daughter. Together, they trekked high up in the Karakorum mountains, in the frozen heart of western Himalayas. For three months, they trundled on foot and on pony along the perilous Indus Gorge and into nearby valleys.
The title of the book is: ‘Where the Indus is Young: Walking to Baltistan’. Dervla Murphy, now in her eighties, is an author of adventure travel books. I found her account of the Gilgit-Baltistan region quite fascinating. The point to stress here is that at that time, it was possible for her to make this perilous journey with her little daughter.
Let me quote from her preface, penned on July 17, 1975: “Certainly the visitor is aware of no stifling conservative theocratic presence in Pakistan, which feels considerably less religion-conscious than the officially secular Republic of India…I can also vouch for the fact that even the most powerful Pakistani mullahs have far less influence than the average Irish Catholic bishop.”
What, “no stifling conservative theocratic presence in Pakistan”? Look at the distance we have covered since 1975.
The writer is a staff member.
Email: ghazi_salahuddin@hotmail. com

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