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Resist, resist, resist: ‘The gift of a crisis’

— Photo: AFP

Taking to the streets: Human rights activists protesting against the Emergency during a recent rally in Islamabad.

It may not exactly be a revolution, but the revolutionary zeal is there, particularly amongst the younger lot. Those who came of age during General Zia-ul-Haq’s regime and after may have a sense of déjÀ vu, but among newcomers into the activist field the sense of outrage and betrayal is purer. Something about the present situation has fired them up enough to engage in “subversive” activities such as public demonstrations against the martial law, for which they know they can be arrested, tried for treason, or worse.

“We’ve been gifted with a crisis,” is how Ahsan Jamil, a businessman in Karachi, analyses it. “In countries where things go well, a certain smugness or sense of complacency sets in. In Pakistan, we have not been allowed that luxury.”

The “judicial crisis” that dominated Pakistani politics since March has much to do with the general sense of discontent that began building up among those who otherwise had nothing much to complain about. This includes many among the “Musharraf generation” — well-to-do young urbanites for whom the pre-email, pre-cell phone and pre-independent television channels era is prehistoric — corporate bankers and lawyers, chartered accountants, television journalists (fabulously well-paid compared to their print counterparts), software engineers and business-people. In general, members of the amorphous, consumer-oriented urban middle class that benefited materially from the liberal economic policy of the Musharraf regime.

General Musharraf’s announcement of an “Emergency” on November 3 stunned many among this otherwise complacent generation — enough to finally act upon their convictions. In doing so, many re-grouped through contacts originally formed during times of natural disaster, such as the Kashmir earthquake. They used the tools at their fingertips — the internet, e-mail, chat, blogs and cellphone text messages — to come together, and also to join up with activists who have a long (pre-cell phone) history of political struggle for democracy.

Some landed up at the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan in Lahore the very next day for a public meeting to discuss the martial law — and were rounded up and detained for three days after the police raided the HRCP office.

In Karachi too, the jumble of women’s and human rights activists, journalists, trade union members and workers of small left wing political parties, who used to come together under the banner of the Joint Action Committee (JAC), were joined by those who have never been “activists” before: techies, artists, bankers and accountants. They eventually named this diverse, loose coalition of individuals the People’s Resistance. “This is the beginning of a movement,” someone said at this meeting.

Whether or not that is the case, many are fired up enough to engage in actions they have never done before. Some have gone to visit total strangers at their homes — the deposed judges of the High Courts — taking flowers in appreciation of the stand they have taken. “At first I thought this was all nonsense,” said a seasoned lawyer, who has been helping to get his colleagues released from Karachi Central Jail. “But it has made a huge difference to the morale of these judges. They’ve never engaged with the public before, and now they are proudly telling friends that ‘civil society’ came to visit them.”

Some new activists are using their talents to make and design posters that they distribute at public meetings, or make stencils to spray graffiti in public spaces. Some want to make their presence felt in public with candle-light vigils and demonstrations. Many turn up at short notice for what are called “flash protests” at a given public spot, each armed with his or her banner or placard. They demonstrate for a pre-determined period of time, and disperse before the police arrive.

“I want to collect a million signatures,” said Ali Assad, 26. An unlikely contender for the term “activist,” this mild-looking, clean-cut young investment banker, a graduate of the prestigious Lahore University of Management Sciences, has purchased several notebooks and is working with friends to formulate the text they want to get people to sign, incorporating basic demands such as “Lift the Martial Law, Restore the Judiciary and Media Independence.” His banker colleagues think he is slightly mad.

He is “mad” alright — as in angry. Angry at what is happening to his country. An avid reader, he was already familiar with the works of writers such as Eqbal Ahmad and Noam Chomsky, who reinforced his liberal political views and innate distaste of anti-authoritarianism and religious extremism. But he had never participated even in the anti-Iraq war protests at while a student at the LUMS.

So what changed things for him? “The lawyers’ movement and the media coverage … lawyers being beaten on streets and for what? They were fighting for judiciary; not for power, unlike political parties.”

The bloodshed on May 12 when the Chief Justice was prevented from coming into Karachi made Mr. Assad’s “blood boil with hatred for what was happening in the country.” He was “electrified” by the Islamabad Supreme Court seminar. “People in their speeches were articulating my sentiments, and suddenly my heroes became people like Talat Hussain of Aaj TV, and lawyers like Aitzaz Ahsan and Munir A. Malik.”

Most importantly, after the PCO orders of November 3, he found like-minded people with whom he could connect and coordinate. “I just wanted to make my voice heard. I felt that in a country where the highest judiciary receives no protection, what is my ‘auqaat’ [standing]? It scared me.”

Another unlikely young activist is Adnan Mufti, a chartered accountant, who is spreading the word among his colleagues. Responding to an e-mail from a lawyer in Maine, U.S., he wrote, “These young people are aware of their limitations, but feel that they must protest in whatever way they can.”

“I won’t sit still,” says Mr. Assad. “Maybe 10 years down the line I will be able to do more. But I will continue to do something.” He likes the Dante quote in the advertisement released a few days ago by leading intellectuals and retired bureaucrats in Lahore: “The hottest places in hell are reserved for those who in the time of crisis choose to maintain their neutrality.”

(Beena Sarwar is a freelance journalist and documentary filmmaker based in Karachi.)

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