By B. R. Gowani

Tariq Mahmood/Agence France-Presse — Getty Images

“In Pakistan’s Buner district on Thursday, a barber looked at the “Shave is strictly forbidden” warning that the Taliban wrote on the window of his shop. The Taliban now control the region.” NY Times

“This concession represents a serious development and reflects both the growing strength of the Pakistani Taliban and the inability of the Pakistani army to conduct successful counterinsurgency operations.”
Senator Jack Reed, a Rhode Island Democrat on the Armed Services Committee, commenting after his fifth visit to Pakistan.

“Pakistan is 173 million people, 100 nuclear weapons, an army bigger than the U.S. Army, and al-Qaeda headquarters sitting right there in the two-thirds of the country that the government doesn’t control. The Pakistani military and police and intelligence service don’t follow the civilian government; they are essentially a rogue state within a state. We’re now reaching the point where within one to six months we could see the collapse of the Pakistani state, also because of the global financial crisis, which just exacerbates all these problems. . . . The collapse of Pakistan, al-Qaeda acquiring nuclear weapons, an extremist takeover — that would dwarf everything we’ve seen in the war on terror today.”
Counterinsurgency expert David Kilcullen to Carlos Lozada.

“I think that the Pakistani government is basically abdicating to the Taliban and to the extremists.”
US Secretary of State Hillary Clinton to the House Committee.

“I have absolutely no confidence in the ability of the existing Pakistani government to do one blessed thing.”
Representative David R. Obey, a Wisconsin Democrat and the leader of the House Appropriations Committee.

What is the difference between a suicide bomber and a suicidal government?

A suicide bomber is a person who thinks, or has been indoctrinated to think, that he (mostly it is men) has a higher goal to accomplish and so he does not care for his own life and, of course, for other lives. And when he embarks on a mission he destroys a particular target (place, people, or thing) and in the process gets killed.

On the other hand, a suicidal government is a body of people corrupted by the system who think only of embellishing their and their near ones’ lives and riches. And when it embarks on this mission it destroys the whole country. Unlike the suicide bombers, the leaders do not get killed—they flee to other countries.

Pakistani leaders are on one such fatal mission. Those from the elite class (the politicians, bureaucrats, defense personnel, business people, and others) who haven’t yet been influenced by the Taleban-Islam must have a plan to head off to England, the US, and the UAE. Those enamored with the Mumbai film industry and its actresses will head toward India.

Just within a span of two weeks Adm. Mike Mullen, US Joint Chiefs of Staff, has visited Islamabad twice to discuss the current crisis with Pakistan’s top military and intelligence commanders. Whether the United States — who to quite an extent is responsible for putting Pakistan in such a straitjacket situation — is serious about saving Pakistan or is simply pretending that it is concerned, but in fact is interested in seeing that country disintegrate, is really difficult to discern.

The two things United States could have done, or can do, are: End the military adventure in Afghanistan and the drone-bombing of Pakistan, and invest billions of dollars in educational, health, and social services in Pakistan. This would cause a substantial reduction in the Taliban influence there and make Pakistan a more livable place.

The latest news is that Taliban have established their control in the Banur district which is merely 70 miles from Islamabad and is strategically an important place. There are reports of Taliban being seen in two other areas near the capital.

On the other hand, Karachi, the biggest and the most cosmopolitan city in Pakistan, has also started to feel the Taliban threat more personally. Ardeshir Cowasjee reports in Dawn that the Taliban have visited the co-ed schools in Clifton, Defence, and Saddar and have issued threats against the residents there to comply with the strict ideals of the Taliban. Others have received similar threats too. (Defence and Clifton are the most posh areas in Karachi.)

Only the Pakistani government and the military can put a stop to this; and if they do not halt this immediately, it will be too late. Eventually if nothing is done by the government, a segment of the society will take up this task and there may be civil war, refugees, more problems, and more misery.

Some of the Pakistanis I talk to complain that Pakistan is always in the news and they feel uncomfortable. There is more bad news for them; Pakistan will remain in the public eye for the foreseeable future.

B. R. Gowani can be reached at brgowani@hotmail.com

By Zubeida Mustafa

Much has been said about the shameful performance of our parliament on April 13 when it approved the controversial Nizam-i-Adl Regulation without much of a murmur.
The two members who protested, MQM’s Farooq Sattar and the PML-N MNA from Chakwal, Ayaz Amir, have received much-deserved accolades — albeit given grudgingly to the MQM. But why did the others lose their voice? What happened to the women?
Why could not there be a full-fledged debate on an issue that promises to have a profound impact on the future of Pakistan? Its devastating implications for women have already started manifesting themselves, as demonstrated by reports from Karachi of men walking up to women demanding that they cover themselves ‘properly’. A woman even complained of having been threatened with a gun. These incidents vindicate the fears that have been expressed in women’s circles about the tidal wave of Talibanisation sweeping the country.
It was the failure — or helplessness — of our parliamentarians that was disturbing. It is now clear that military rule and pseudo democracy under the patronage of the army have wrought untold ravages on Pakistan’s political institutions over the years, undermining democratic structures so badly that even the restoration of democracy has not revived their working fully.
The failure of their representatives to articulate public concern on that fateful day has upset women all over the country. It has prompted an angry email from Lila Thadani of the Sindh Adyoon Tehrik, Sukkur, charging Bushra Gohar and Nafisa Shah (MNAs from the ANP and the PPP respectively) of acting for the sake of party ‘loyalty and transitory power.’

She says, ‘Remember dear sisters, your parliamentary slots will not remain for life. You will have to climb down and be with the rest of us. How will you be able to face us and the true reality after selling your soul to power? … Speak up or ship out, now. You are better outside than inside that pointless white cube of a parliament on Constitution Ave.’

It was, therefore, seen as a weak and belated rescue attempt when a female voice was raised in the house the next day. Sherry Rehman, the PPP MNA who recently bowed out as the information minister, made a spirited speech on a point of order expressing strong reservations about the implementation of the Nizam-i-Adl Regulation 2009 in Swat. Conceding that this system had been in force in the valley in the 1990s, she pointed out that circumstances were different then.

The state had executive control over the land unlike today when the writ of the ANP government doesn’t run there. She had a point when she said angrily, ‘I ask the ANP, which pressured the government to pass the regulation in the National Assembly, to tell us who will protect the rights of women in Swat now.’
Sherry also asked for a debate on the flogging incident, saying this act had been in clear violation of the laws of the land and pointed to the danger of people being subjected to Taliban vigilantism and public brutality. Yes Sherry’s fear is spot on — for this is exactly what worries people, mainly women, today, but not the parliamentarians who have yet to debate the flogging incident. Why the delay?
This question is to an extent answered by Aurat Foundation’s report, Performance of Women Parliamentarians in the 12th National Assembly, launched recently. It sheds some light on the attitudes of our lawmakers and confirms the non-role of the National Assembly in Pakistan’s system of governance. Sifting through a mountain of National Assembly records to collect data and statistics, Naeem Mirza and Wasim Wagha, the authors of the report, have made a monumental contribution to the recording of parliamentary history.

No analysis is needed to show the shoddy performance of the Assembly that functioned in 2002-2007. Figures speak louder than words. Here is some striking statistical information taken from the report: The assembly held a total of only 43 sessions in five years and met on 608 working days. It failed to fulfill the minimum requirement of 130 days in the final year when it met on 83 days.

This information does not reveal the entire truth for each day’s session on an average lasted for less than an hour in the first year and two hours in the following years. Sixty-eight times the quorum was not complete and only 50 bills were passed in five years (mostly without a debate) of which 38 became acts. The 12th assembly may have operated under the shadows of a military dictatorship but this does not exonerate parliamentarians for their indifferent performance.
The report focuses on women and their efforts to preserve the public space they have created for themselves in politics. It sheds light on the grit of a handful of women parliamentarians (60 on reserved seats and 13 on general seats) in a house of 342 who took bold initiatives and struggled against heavy odds to make their presence felt. The assessment of women parliamentarians is purely in quantitative terms.
They emerge as an active lot who spoke prolifically (3,698 interventions), questioned sensibly (2,724 questions) and took their responsibilities seriously. But who were these women? The report grades the first 25. And is it surprising that of these 22 were from the opposition parties? Now that the boot is on the other foot their parliamentary activism has been muted. The MMA women who continue to sit on the opposition benches admit that they do not believe in challenging the male public space.

What is needed is an analysis of the role of women parliamentarians in the context of the freedom allowed to them. Evidently at the root of the problem is the flawed mode of election of women legislators on reserved seats. Appointed from party lists, they are denied a constituency while their fate is in the hands of the party leadership, predominantly male. Since women parliamentarians are unwilling to join hands across party lines on issues concerning women there is no hope that their problems will be resolved through political processes.

Email: zubeidam@gmail.com
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From Associated Press of Pakistan:

ISLAMABAD, Apr 21 (APP): Subcontinent’s great and Pride of Performance ghazal, thumri and classical singer Iqbal Bano died in Lahore in local hospital after brief illness. She was 74, a private TV channel reported. Bano was born in Delhi in 1935. She won the Tamgha-e-Imtiaz (Pride of Performance) medal in 1974 for her contributions to the world of Pakistani music. She was musically talented, with a sweet and appealing voice. From a young age, Bano developed a love for music.

In Delhi, she studied under Ustad Chaand Khan of the Delhi Gharana, an expert in all kinds of pure classical and light classical forms of vocal music. He instructed her in pure classical music and light classical music within the framework of classical forms of thumri and dadra. She was duly initiated Gaandaabandh shagird of her Ustad. He forwarded her to All India Radio, Delhi, where she sang on the radio. Iqbal Bano was invited by Radio Pakistan for performances, she being an accomplished artist. Her debut public concert was in 1957, at Lahore Arts Council, before an elite crowd. Music lovers feted her beyond imagination. With each recital, she generated more and more public appeal. She was considered a specialist in singing the works of Faiz Ahmed Faiz. She has given such musical relevance to the ghazals of Faiz, that Bano and Faiz are apparently inseparable in popular imagination. Because of Faiz’s imprisonment and hatred of the Pakistani Government towards him, Bano roused a strong crowd of 50,000 people in Lahore by singing his passionate Urdu nazm, “Hum Dekhenge.”

Iqbal Bano sings Faiz’s poem Ham Dekhenge

(Both videos submitted by Asad Zaidi)

The city of Peshawar is on high alert. The Taliban are closing in, regularly attacking police convoys, kidnapping diplomats, and shooting foreigners. The fighting across this volatile region has driven thousands of families from their homes and many have found shelter in Peshawar.

Correspondent Sharmeen Obaid-Chinoy is traveling across her fractured homeland to investigate the rising popularity of a new Pakistani branch of the Taliban, now threatening the major cities, blowing up girls’ schools and declaring war on the Pakistani state.

Her journey begins at a rehabilitation center in Peshawar, where she talks with many young victims caught in the crossfire of this war.

“We saw the dead body of a policeman tied to a pole,” an articulate young girl named Qainat tells the reporter quietly. “His head had been chopped off. It was hanging between his legs. There was a note saying that if anyone moved the dead body, they would share its fate.”

Before the Taliban took control of Qainat’s village, the women in her family attended university and worked. But now the Taliban has banned girls from going to school.

Qainat is from Swat, a 100-mile-long valley in the north of Pakistan, three hours drive from Peshawar. Until recently, Swat was known as the Switzerland of the east, and had a thriving tourist industry.
…

The Taliban often use radio broadcasts to drive home their message.

In one typical address, a preacher proclaims:
“Sharia Law is our right, and we will exercise this right whatever happens. We will make ourselves suicide bombers! I swear to God if our leader orders me, I will sacrifice myself… and blow myself up in the middle of our enemies.“
The Taliban have destroyed more than 200 government schools in Swat since they took control of the region. Walking through the rubble of a school that once taught 400 girls, the reporter comes across two nine-year-old girls who used to study there.

“Why did you like school?” she asks one of them.

“Because education is like a ray of light and I want that light,” she replies.

When the sound of mortar fire cuts the conversation short, the film crew leaves quickly, passing through the main square. Locals have renamed it “Khooni Chowk” (“bloody square”) for all the public beheadings the Taliban now carry out there.

…
One Swat teenager explains how he joined the Taliban a year ago, when he was 13. First it was the sermons at the mosque, then being recruited to a madrassa, and finally spending months in military training.
“They teach us to use a machine gun, Kalashnikov…Then they teach us how to do a suicide attack,” he tells our reporter.
…
Wasifullah and Abdurrahman are best friends, but they have different ideas of who is to blame for this war. Both boys fled their village when the Pakistani Army began bombing. Their district was also targeted by American missile strikes. In one of those strikes, Wasifullah’s 12-year-old cousin was killed.
“We brought his remains home in bags,” he explains with little expression. “We could only find his legs so we buried them in our village.”
There have been more than 30 U.S. missile strikes in the tribal areas in the last year. They target Taliban and Al Qaeda leaders, but civilians are often killed as well. It’s an easy recruiting tool for the Taliban, and Wasifullah is eager to sign up.
But his best friend Abdurrahman blames Al Qaeda for the destruction of their village. He would prefer to become a captain in the Pakistan Army. The two friends sadly represent the fault lines in this unstable nation.
…

In a village 6 hours from Peshawar, it is the first time that the new deputy leader of the Pakistani Taliban, Hakimullah Mehsud, has been filmed.
Arriving in an American Humvee his men have just captured in an attack on a NATO convoy, he tells the cameraman, “If America continues bombing the tribal areas… and martyrs innocent people…then we are compelled to attack them.” He also sends a message to Islamabad: “If the Pakistani leaders and army maintain their stance… then we will take control of Peshawar and other cities.”
This is no empty threat. The war has already arrived in the capital and Pakistan’s largest city, Karachi.
Back in Karachi, Obaid-Chinoy finds that her native city has become a new safe haven for the Taliban. She visits one of the city’s poorest neighborhoods, which local police concede has become heavily infiltrated by the Taliban. Most of the children here already study at small madrassas.
After their lessons, some of the boys play cricket on a strip of wasteland close to school. One of them is Shaheed, which means “martyr.” He is 14 and one of 200 pupils at the school, most of whom come from extremely poor families.
The state education system in Pakistan has virtually collapsed, leaving more than 1.5 million children studying at schools like this one. Sitting down to be interviewed, Shaheed explains what Sharia Law has taught him about women.

“The government should forbid women and girls from wandering around outside,” he says calmly. “Just like the government banned plastic bags — no one uses them any more — we should do the same with women.”
Shaheed’s teacher defends the school, saying it promotes only peace and harmony, not terrorism, but away from the camera, he tells another story.
When asked who he thinks will win this war, his response is chilling:
“No matter how many Muslims die, we will never run out of sacrificial lambs.”
…
After lengthy negotiations, she meets with Qari Abdullah, who makes no attempt to hide his face.
“We never used to fight against Pakistan, because we thought the Army were Muslims,” he tells her. “But when they started bombing us, we had to do jihad against them.”
When she asks him about using young children to carry out such attacks, he replies:

“Children are tools to achieve God’s will. And whatever comes your way, you sacrifice it.” He then reveals that he recruits children as young as 5, 6, and 7 years old.

Coming to the end of her bleak journey, Obaid-Chinoy reminds us that there are 80 million children in Pakistan, many of them living in poverty. If the militants continue to expand their war and to recruit children freely, as they do now, then Pakistan may soon belong to them.
To watch video, click here

The Indian Film Festival of Los Angeles (IFFLA) is a nonprofit organization devoted to a greater appreciation of Indian cinema and culture by showcasing films, honoring entertainment industry performers and business executives, and promoting the diverse perspectives of the Indian diaspora.

Tel: (310) 364-4403 | Fax: (323) 571-8746
E-mail: info@indianfilmfestival.org
Website: www.indianfilmfestival.org

By Andrea Ford

UC Berkeley biologist Marian Diamond, a legendary lecturer.

“Do you know what the most complex mass of protoplasm on earth is?” Marian Diamond asks her students on the first day of anatomy class as she casually opens a flowery hatbox and lifts out a preserved human brain. “This mass only weighs 3 lb., and yet it has the capacity to conceive of a universe a billion light-years across. Isn’t that phenomenal?”

Diamond is an esteemed neuroanatomist and one of the most admired professors at the University of California, Berkeley. It would be a privilege for anyone to sit in on her lectures. And, in fact, anyone can. Videos of her popular course are available free online, part of a growing movement by academic institutions worldwide to open their once exclusive halls to all who want to peek inside. Whether you’d like to learn algebra from a mathematician at MIT, watch how to make crawfish étouffée from an instructor at the Culinary Institute of America or study blues guitar with a professor at Berklee College of Music, you can do it all in front of your computer, courtesy of other people’s money. In March, YouTube launched an education hub called YouTube Edu, dedicated exclusively to videos from the more than 100 schools–ranging from Grand Rapids Community College to Harvard Business School–that have set up official channels on the site. Liberated from the viral stew of pop-culture vlogs and silly cat videos, the collection highlights how much free education is out there. (See TIME’s special report on paying for college.)

Why is YouTube going high-brow? The answer involves revenue (the Edu hub has room for one or two ads on its home page), social relevance and perhaps a bit of rivalry. More than 170 schools offer content free to the public on Apple’s iTunes U, which originated in 2004 as a way for colleges to distribute content privately to their own students. The partnership has been a win-win: universities get a cost-cutting distribution tool, and Apple’s products become must-haves on campus.

The bigger question is, Why have colleges started posting all this stuff at no charge? “Schools have always wanted to have their own area where they could be among their peer institutions and help with the discovery of their content,” says Obadiah Greenberg, who leads the project at YouTube.
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