Are we not ‘Pakistani’ enough for them or are we not ‘Muslim’ enough?
by SANA LOKHANDWALA
Safora massacre death toll rises to 44 as Ismaili community say their last goodbyes PHOTO/AFP
I got to work and checked my phone; there were a dozen missed calls and messages from my friends and family – all in a span of 30 minutes. Being a Karachiite, I instantly knew something was wrong. As soon as I read my father’s message, I froze. I was stunned at the words before me.
An attack had taken place and this time it was our community. 45 of our people.
We were no longer the silent observers.
We were the victims.
When I reached my cubicle, I could hear news of the attack blaring from multiple TV screens.
I sat and watched news after news on the incident. I couldn’t believe it. It was people of my community on that bus – fathers, mothers, sisters, daughters, sons, humans. And they had been turned to mere numbers – 30, 41, 43, 47, 50, 56 – different channels were reporting different figures of the death toll. I didn’t know which one to believe. I was hoping I didn’t have to believe any of them. I didn’t know how many of them survived. I didn’t know if I knew anyone on that bus.
Everyone at work was talking about it. Everyone wanted to watch the live coverage of the aftermath. Ambulance sirens, reporters describing the scene of the incident, footages of the blood-filled bus – they wanted to see it all. But it made me sick. I didn’t know how to concentrate on work anymore. I just wanted to go home, get into bed, curl up and weep myself to sleep. I wanted it to be a bad nightmare I hadn’t woken up from yet. I wanted it be over by the time I woke up.
Every channel had its own perspective on what happened, how it happened and why it happened. Political leaders got their precious airtime and every Tom, Dick and Harry was busy passing absurd and insensitive statements. It was nauseating. There wasn’t a speck of empathy in their voices. Not an iota of compassion.
The respected Chief Minister of Sindh, Qaim Ali Shah, who was “terribly sorry” about the attack, informed the media personnel present that the SHO and DSP of the area had been suspended. He also proudly announced a compensation of Rs0.5 million to each of the deceased’s family and Rs0.2 million to each injured victim.
But do enlighten me, my dear chief minister will this money bring my people back, Sir? And do you think we need your money? Because one of the channels shamelessly labelled us as the “rich community of Pakistan” – as if that was the only identity we possess.
Our information minister, Sharjeel Memon, condemned the attack and said,
“It wasn’t a particular community that was attacked, but the whole nation.”
I am sorry Mr Memon but no, the whole nation was not attacked. It was just one community. My community. It has always been people from minority communities who are brutally killed for no reason other than their faith.
The Chief of Army Staff, General Raheel Sharif, cancelled his visit to Sri Lanka and the Sindh government announced ‘a day of mourning’. Our beloved prime minister was busy indulging in his lunch when the attack took place and is now planning to visit the survivors and the families of the deceased.
Mr prime minister, if you want to help them don’t visit them unless you can confidently say that you have the perpetrators behind bars. They are not in a condition to face the media or ‘cooperate’ with your security protocol or your meaningless sympathies. We don’t care.
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Four ways to condemn violence against minorities in Pakistan that are all wrong!
by SABA FATIMA
2) “This is so shocking. The Agha Khanis are such a peaceful community…”
After the May 13th attack that killed 45 Ismaili Shias, the prime minister, Nawaz Sharif, said:
“Ismailis are a very patriotic and peaceful people who have always worked for the well-being of Pakistan.”
This sort of distinction that the Hindu, Christian, Bohri Shia, or Agha Khani Shia communities are apolitical and peaceful, while appears to make sense (why harm a community that only does good for the country), ultimately serves to justify the killings of Ithna?Asheri Shias. Hazara Shias, and by proxy all Shias considered ‘unpatriotic’, or with ‘split loyalties’. Apparently, according some people’s incomprehensible logic, Iran’s crumbling and unstable economy miraculously supports Shias worldwide. Labelling Shias as proxies of Iran offers a convenient way to rob the community of any political legitimacy when they rise up to assert their fundamental rights within their own country (also, take the example of Bahrain’s Arab spring).
So it is true that Hindu, Christian, Bohri Shia, or Agha Khani Shia communities are, to a large extent, apolitical (and it possible that they are such due to fear of repercussions), but being political is their right. If Shias are political, or sit outside with their deceased loved ones to demand justice, they are not being unpatriotic, or acting in the interest of Iran; rather they are taking ownership of their country.
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