Dear ET, Try keeping it confidential !

Media in Pakistan has played a great role in bringing out issues that otherwise would have remained hidden to the public eye. Many a poor and disadvantaged have found donors to help them out just because of reports published and broadcasted by our media. 

 

That being said, an important consideration that is often overlooked is, confidentiality.

Should I put this person’s name in my report who is suffering from illness which might cause him embarrassment in his public life? Should I identify this person in my article which might make him vulnerable to slurs? These are the questions which any responsible journalist must ask before publishing reports on issues relating to gender, sexuality, health and abuse. In Pakistan specifically, it is essential for a journalist to guard a victim/patient/gender’s identity due to the fact that we as a society still live in the seventh century when it comes to recognizing LGBT rights, stigmatizing rape victims and gossiping about a person’s illness. Can a person with a sexual disease ever come out without being judged and comments passed on him/her because of imagined sexual indulgences? Can a rape victim come out in the open without being told that the DNA evidence in her/his case is unacceptable according to Council of Islamic Ideology? In a country where 60% of the people surveyed, would not like to be friends with a transgender, a journalist must make his/her top priority not to reveal names when doing reports on these kind of stories. The 5-year old girl raped in Lahore should never have been named in the first place, but ratings and sensationalism continue to have a vice like grip on our media. 

 

Recently I came across a story published on ET regarding a girl in Abbottabad diagnosed with “ambiguous genitalia”- a birth defect which effects sexual growth in a person. Although it is not a disease but due to the birth defect it is hard to ascertain the sex of a person based on outside appearance of genitalia.  The girl’s father is poor and cannot afford to pay for the surgery (costing RS.200, 000) and five medical tests (costing Rs. 35,000) that would be required to fully transform her into a girl. 

 

It would be a good thing if, due to the report, that girl’s father gets the donations so that the she can receive proper medical attention. That’s the good part. But, what about the behavior of the society after her identity has been revealed? Who can guarantee that she wouldn’t be a victim to slurs because of her medical condition? Wouldn’t this report make her vulnerable to ridicule by her class mates? Neighbors? Did the reporter who filed the story think about the impact of this story?

Industrialist and social activist Majyd Aziz remarked:

 

“Pragmatic way would have been to identify the kid with an initial, request well known person to spearhead collections. People tend to remember negative aspects. Moreover, child would be ridiculed by class-fellows. Family may be mocked too”.

 

Writer and poet Sarah B Gillani called this “absolutely wrong”. 

 

Hence I call upon the concerned editorial staff at ET to remove the child’s name from the story and kindly enable the practice of protecting the confidentiality of such cases in the future. While let us all hope that in the future that no Pakistani is judged based on gender, sexual orientation and religious beliefs.

How A Terrorist Is Made- A Comic

The Syrian Bear Trap Part 2.

“He has proven instead only his contempt for the United Nations and for all his pledges. By breaking every pledge, by his deceptions and by his cruelties….”

You might be thinking that this is an excerpt from an Obama press conference citing the reasons for a strike against Bashar al Assad’s Syria. Yet, these words were spoken by George W Bush at the United Nations on 13 September 2002, and the above quote ends with…,

“Saddam Hussein has made the case against himself.”

Some things never change.
With the UN weapons inspectors pulling out of Syria with the “possible” evidence of chemical attacks, it seems that the US is hell bent on attacking Syria and “punishing the country for using chemical weapons”. It must be noted that the weapons inspectors would only have evidence concerning the occurrence of chemical attack and not who did it. This leaves the field open for the US to assert its “moral authority” to attack Syria based on its own “reliable” intelligence. The possible US attack on Syria would again throw the region into geopolitical turmoil the likes of which can only be matched by the Iraq invasion disaster.
But the US is not alone. France –fresh and confident from its adventures in Mali and Libya- is ready to assist the US in “punishing” Syria for using chemical weapons. The UK’s parliament has thankfully voted against any intervention.
The American public, in a latest poll, has voted against any intervention in Syria. 53% say that they are against US military intervention in Syria, though it must be acknowledged that the numbers were higher in the previous week (60%).  Even the officers in the US military have doubts regarding the wisdom of attacking Syria when they are already coping with the economic and military battering that the US has received from both Iraq and Afghanistan. The Iranian and Hezbollah threat is always present. Thus, the case against any intervention in Syria is strong.
So why is the American administration hell-bent on engaging in another military adventure which nearly everyone thinks will probably end like another Afghanistan?
The answer can be sought in the preparations that the jihadis in Syria are making for the coming American strike. Many jihadist organisations are shifting bases, evacuating headquarters, moving equipment and even finding safe hiding places in the mountainous terrains. They think that the coming US attack would also be aimed at jihadist organisations that control vast swathes of land in the northern and eastern provinces of Syria. In a statement, the jihadi outfit Fatehul Islam has said that,

“For every US missile that hits a regime target, another will strike a jihadi base.”

The bread and butter of any standard jihadi outfit depends on how well it fights and speaks against US hegemony. This might be a heaven sent opportunity for the jihadis to entangle the US in another war.
It must be asked that who will benefit if the US destroys President Assad’s military strike capability.
The only winner in that case would be Jabahat-al-Nusra and other jihadi outfits who have travelled all across the world to take part in the war. Indeed, it is now becoming increasingly evident that if President Assad falls and when the Syrian civil war is over and done with, Jabahat al Nusra would eventually fall out with Free Syria Army (FSA) (endorsed by the US and NATO and is the official rebel army in Syria) and with seasoned fighters coming from Iraq and other neighbouring battlefields, it would eventually succeed in stopping the FSA from gaining further power and quite possibly open the way for bringing the Syrian war into Iraq against the Shiite government over there, led by Nouri Al Maliki. The Syrian war would spill all over the middle-east and the chemical weapons that Assad allegedly possesses might fall into very wrong hands.
This might be reason as to why the US wants to have a presence in Syria; to stop the jihadists from gaining any further control and chemical attacks were only an excuse. Other than that, we only have the “USA has a moral duty” explanations, and no one in the post-World War II history has ever bought that.
The US might find itself caught in a bear trap that it laid for the Soviets.

This blog of mine was  published on Express Tribune on August 31, 2013. http://blogs.tribune.com.pk/story/18694/the-us-war-on-afghanistan-is-over-syria-is-the-new-project/

The Cuckoo's Calling : Book Review

The Cuckoo’s Calling, by Robert Galbraith was doing an OK business (1500 copies sold since April) until it was leaked that the crime novel was actually written by none other than JK. Rowling herself !

The leak propelled the novel to number 1 and reprints were ordered. Her fans (including me) went into ecstasy found only in the seventh heaven and did all that we could to get our hands on The Cuckoo’s Calling.

As it turned out, the book didn’t disappoint at all. Although JK Rowling has expressed her anger because she didn’t want her false-identity as RobertGalbraith to be leaked to the media. According to her she enjoyed the liberating experience of writing under a pseudonym without any hype and expectations.

The Cuckoo’s Calling is crime-detective novel featuring Cormoran Strike as a private detective who has been hired to investigate the apparent suicide of super model Lula Landry. Together with his newly hired secretary Robin, Cormoran has to navigate through the dazzling world of fashion, paparazzi and waddle across the murky marshes of destitution, drugs, alcoholism, and racism. This is a novel that brings surprises at every turning, but not without some diligent detective work by Cormoran Strike, which to some readers might get a bit tedious to read.

The chemistry between Cormoran and Robin develops wonderfully but leaves a lot to be desired. Good news is that Robert Galbraith (JKR) already has completed the second book, in what appears to be a series.

Essentially, the book is a continuation of JK Rowling’s crusade against media hacks, paparazzi, and the snobbish elites of the society. Exploitation of individuals who are misunderstood by the society is a major theme in the novel. For example, Evan Duffield who is Lula Landry’s boyfriend is believed by nearly all characters in the novel to be a spoilt, drug addled human being but later he is revealed to be complex character who is as much susceptible to human fallibilities as any other person and who is misunderstood by majority of the people around him.

One thing that is becoming the hallmark of her novels is her embracing of the populist theme. That is something to which the reader from the lower classes of the society can easily relate to, no matter which country he/she may belong to. The depiction of the mutual disgust which both the rich and the poor have for each other is well written. The novel’s strongest moments in my view come when detective Cormoran Strike interacts with an impecunious mother who has to give up her child for adoption in a rich family so that the child can have a better future. JK Rowling it seems has a well-entrenched revulsion against the apathetic hereditary rich and those who get rich on the corpses of others. This loathing has been there in all the seven Harry Potter novels (Malfoys) and TheCasual Vacancy (the Mollisons) and now has spilled into her 9^th novel has well. 

But aside from politics and directing the odium against the useless waste of human intelligence which we normally call celebrity journalism, JK Rowling’s novel is a fantastic read. Despite the information overload in some parts of the novel, the plot development is well paced and you feel that the curtain on the villain will be lifted at the very end of the novel in a dramatic fashion and all mysteries will be resolved.

Though there is nothing spectacular about the novel, as the crime genre has been well trodden before, the book will find its way to your bookshelf but probably not on your favorite books list.

The Missionaries- second installment

7:30 AM

PECHS, Karachi, Pakistan

The alarm of a Samsung mobile phone was buzzing and playing an AC/DC song on the bedside table. It kept on playing for 5 minutes when finally a hand reached out from under the sheets on the bed and killed the alarm.

Arif Hasan got off bed and looked at the time.

“Fuck me!” He swore out loud. For the 4^th day running he was late for work. He had recently got a job at a market research company, thanks to a friend of his dad’s. He loved the job but he always got in late. He rushed to the bathroom had a quick shower, brushed his teeth, dashed back, blindly picked a pair of pants, a shirt and a tie, dressed up, got into his worn out shoes, grabbed his wallet and phone and rushed into the adjoining living room, which served as both a TV lounge and a drawing room.

“Arif, you are late again!! His mother shouted out from the kitchen

“And let me warn you, if you get fired, I will personally fire you from the house and your dad won’t be able to do anything about it!”

She came out of the kitchen sweating. She had a kind looking face which was now contorted with rage. Arif said, “mom, ok, don’t worry. Promise it won’t happen again.ok…” and he kissed her on the cheeks. He took the milkshake mug from her hands gulped it down in one go.

He turned to the television and switched it open and flicked to Geo News.

“You are seeing live visuals from Washington DC, it is extraordinary.  The President of the United States has been murdered. I repeat. The President of America Joseph Reid has been killed. He has been beheaded and his head is missing. The security agencies have been unable to locate the head and security all around USA and its bases have been put on red alert. The American nation is stunned and answers are being sought. The CIA has attributed the murder to a terrorist strike but no finger prints or any weapons have been recovered from crime scene….To further discuss the situation we have invited the host of Capital….”

Arif was looking at the TV too stunned to speak anything. The President of United States, killed in the most secure building on the planet, he thought. Like something from a Roland Emmerich disaster movie.

“Mom, I know I will be late today, but can you stop frying eggs and come out to see this”, he called out.

His mother came out of the kitchen asked what was happening. Arif pointed to the TV screen which now showed a well-known talk show host who, as Arif noticed, couldn’t suppress a smirk. Arif’s mom read the ticker running on the screen and looked at Arif.

“Is this really happening? I am telling you, expect America to attack Pakistan within the next few hours”, she said darkly. And then she went back to the kitchen to fry eggs which left Arif in no doubt that to his mother beheading of the most powerful man in the world was not a big deal.

His phone was buzzing, he looked and saw 35 twitter and 20 Facebook notifications. Of course the social media would be buzzing, but Arif had long since come to the conclusion that chatter on social media was about as productive as the chatter of crows on trees. Meaning. It was just annoying. So much righteous outrage, so many laptop activists, so many news analysts. He just got bored with it and never used it much. That being said, he had made some very good friends on these websites and talked with them only on SMS or voice calls.

Right he was fighting an urge to stay and watch the incredible news or head to the office, to which by this time he was already 40 minutes late. Therefore he wrenched his eyes away from the TV and said good bye to his mother ran to the bus stop. Fortunately, he spotted the bus coming and climbed on it. As soon as he sat on the seat, a text message came on his phone, he opened it and saw that it was from his friend Kaleemullah, an aspiring Jihadi and a Database Administrator working at Humanity Plus, a US government funded NGO. Kaleemullah had assured Arif on numerous occasions that his concern was to manage the company databases and not spread the ‘kufr’ of Satan America, hence was doing nothing wrong. When Arif pointed out that his work kept the databases of the ‘Kufar’ running, Kaleem said, “Hey, even Ali had to work in the garden of a Jew. Bro, you have to. Bad financial times you know...Anyways…did you check out Mathira’s pics?” Arif had always wondered, how Kaleem ever became a Hafiz.

The message from Kaleem read

“Allah be praised, the great American Satan is dead. Allah u Akbar”

Arif smiled. In his mind’s eye he saw Kaleem doing a Gangnam in the mosque.

“Halal Gangnam”, he spoke to himself smiling, which was heard by an old man in a white kurta, sitting beside him. The old man gave him an annoyed partly patronizing look and turned his face back to the window.

Another text message appeared on Arif’s phone, this was from his friend Shahnawaz, who was the son of an industrialist and was his former class fellow. The message,

“Dude, USA president is now Prezi-dead. Fuck!! Whoever dunnit was a daddy cool”.

Arif replied, “Hi Five J “

To pass time, Arif started reading older messages, and saw Sophia’s name on the list. Ah, Sophie, he thought ….when suddenly his thoughts were interrupted by blaring sirens of a dozen police vans speeding past the bus.

Must be another suicide attack, he thought. He inwardly prayed that it was a grenade attack rather than suicide one. Suicide attacks had the potential to cause hour long traffic jams , while grenade blasts caused jams lasting up to 15 minutes, firing, none. “Karachi” he said to himself. When you are a Karachiite you don’t wish for killings to not happen, instead you prayed for killings to happen less.

The bus conductor came to his eat and asked for the fare,

’10 rupees brother, he said.

Arif took out his wallet and pulled out 10 rupees from it, realizing that now his wallet was empty.

‘Brother, brother, brother’, sighed the conductor while looking at the Arif empty wallet. Arif didn’t want a bus conductor to pity him so he stowed back his wallet quickly in his pocket.

Suddenly he heard loud sounds coming from outside the bus, the old man sitting next to Arif looked out of the window and saw 5 helicopters in the sky going straight in the same directions as the bus. And they were flying very low.

Arif had never seen 5 helicopters flying together on the Karachi skies before and somehow the rushing police vans and the helicopters seemed connected to Arif. He looked at the helicopters and saw that they were 2 Aerospatiale SA 330 Pumas and 3 Mil-MI 7 helicopters, all with Pak Army insignia on them.  

‘Wow’ said Arif, looking at the helicopters.

Then suddenly the bus drivers swerved the bus to the left to make room for Army’s Armored Vehicles which went rushing Past followed by ambulances.

“Whatever is happening, doesn’t look good” the old man told Arif.

“Baba, the Chief Minister’s house is straight ahead right? “

“Yes son, but if some blast had taken place, we would have heard it because we are just 5 minutes away from the minister’s residence.

Arif sent a sms to both Sophia, Kaleem and Shah, asking if something had happened in Karachi. Then his phone started ringing, the caller ID showed that it was a call coming from his home.

“Yes mom” Arif answered the phone.

“Son, come home quick, your dad is already home and your brother is coming back from school too.” his mom told in a tone that suggested panic and worry.

“Mom, what happened??” Arif asked.

“Son, it just came on the news, although they are not confirming it. The President, Prime Ministers, and the Chief Ministers of all the provinces have been found headless in their respective homes!”

"What??"

"Yes son, just come home because angry mobs of the ruling party are setting on fire anything that they come across, already 15 people have died within 10 minutes.....son come home please"

"Ok mom, don't worry, I am coming back, give the phone to dad"

“Your dad has went out to fetch Imran, he seems to stuck in a traffic jam".

"OK mom I am coming back."

Arif got up from his seat and banged his hands on the bus door. The driver stopped the bus and he got out.

‘Fucking Hell’

Arif knew that if the CM was killed, it would be a weeks’ worth of indiscriminate killings and economic shutdown.

‘Bitches can’t even die without killings 20, 30 folks’ he thought angrily, now crossing the road. ‘But fuck man, 4 CMs and a President. Insane!!!... That would be months’ worth of strikes and carnage…and no work’ Arif bitterly thought. Arif still remembered the events after Benazir Bhutto’s assassination.

Suddenly he heard gunshots behind him and saw that a gang of young men were forcing the shopkeepers to shutdown shops. Aerial shots were being fired. He saw two policemen running for cover. This, Arif saw as a signal that the area was now under gang control and the civilians were on their own.

Ahead he saw a taxi in which the driver was about to get in.

“Hey!!! Hey!” Arif shouted to the driver as he ran toward the taxi.

The taxi was about to drive away when Arif reached it.

“Hey, brother,…PECHS…please”

The taxi driver looked at him and said, “You are lucky I was going in that direction, get in before we both get shot”

“Fucking thanks man” and Arif got into the taxi and they both drove away.

They reached Arif’s home, and Arif saw his dad standing at the gate waiting.

“Dad I don’t have money, the fare was 150 rupees”, said Arif as he came out of the taxi.

His dad took out 200 from his wallet, and gave it to the taxi driver thanking him profusely.

“Sir it was nothing” and he gave back the remaining 50 rupees.

Arif’s dad Mr. Hasan, insisted that driver take the 50 rupees, but the driver only wanted the fare and ignoring Mr. Hasan’s requests, he drove away.

“Good guy” Arif said while looking at the taxi.

“May God keep him safe “said Mr. Hasan.

“ God..yeah whatever..” Arif mumbled and went inside the house, his dad followed him inside.

The Missionaries- Novel by Einsjam

21:00 Hrs.

Washington DC.  White House: The Rose Garden,

Agent Bryan McNamara was patrolling the Rose Garden in the White House. It was a pleasant evening. Mid November. Cold, but that’s the way he liked Washington DC. The cold reminded him of his hometown of Talkeetna, Alaska. It was a simple town, whose ceremonial mayor was a cat named Stubbs.

 The chilly wind felt good on his freshly shaved face. He paced around the garden listening to any noise, keeping a look out for anything out of the ordinary. He had an 8 hour shift today. Larry Schwartzman was supposed to patrol the premises and he Bryan would have been watching the Red Wings game with his beloved Katie. 

He walked further reaching a lamppost bathing him in an orange light. The White House building behind him. Suddenly he heard a whooshing noise, behind him. He turned to look around quickly, his eyes scanning for the source of the noise. 

The leaves of the trees were gently rustling, ahead he saw the shadow of a man walking with his dog. ‘Jose Rivera’, he thought, recognizing the figure. Everything looked normal. ‘Must be a gust of wind' he thought. He checked his watch’. 21:01 Hrs. 

He turned back and started walking when suddenly a panicked voice crackled on his earpiece. “Code Red, Code Red, The Devil is gone. I repeat the…… The Devil is gone’. McNamara felt the ground beneath his boots slip. The Devil was not in the house. A second later his sense started to trickle in. The Devil must be in any of the House’s 132 rooms. But they wouldn’t have put it out if they weren’t completely sure if the Devil was not there. It just couldn’t be.

He ran towards the building, reaching the famous columns he met Agent Jackson who was about to dash inside. ‘Hey Jack, what’s happening?’ 

‘They say The Devil is missing’, Jackson replied panting, it seemed that he had run a distance.

‘Has anybody run a thorough check?’ McNamara inquired.

‘Yeah they have’ and Agent Jackson sprinted away into the House.

His earpiece crackled again,’ The Devil has been found. His head is missing’.

Now, McNamara really felt his the ground underneath him tremble and shake. He ran into the House following another agent whom he recognized as Eric Smithfield. 

‘Hey Eric, You sure it’s not some freak exercise bullshit by the command? Cause’ if it aint, we are fucked’. McNamara said to Smithfield while running.

‘ No, this is happening, a shit tsunami is about to kick in’ said Smithfield in dread laced tones, while running towards the White House Movie Theatre, where the voice inside Smithfield’s earpiece was directing him towards. 

McNamara followed Smithfield and entered the movie theatre and a horrific sight greeted him. On the roof there was perfect circular hole through which the night sky was visible and directly underneath it was the headless of body a well-built tall man in red striped pajamas. The body lay spread eagled, while stump of the neck oozed out blood.  

5 other agents were busy scanning the whole place while 2 stood guard over the body.

The murder had happened just now, the terrorist must be here somewhere, McNamara thought, while still grasping the fact that The Devil was lying in front of him, dead. While Smithfield looked at the body horrorstruck. 

McNamara could now hear the alarms howling around him, hundreds of feet thumping the floors, dog barks, shouts, and a lone scream. 

Agents and security guards were fanning around the White House, helicopters were circling the building shining powerful beams on the House and its surroundings. 

McNamara looked at the body. The Devil was a good man, he thought. He cared for his family, went to the church, and always appeared humble. Managing a laugh even if his approval ratings were down. These days it was going slowly back up because of his intervention in Pakistan, where he had decided to carpet bomb a whole city, whose name McNamara couldn’t even pronounce, but it started with a P. He was a witty fellow who had played so dirty tricks on his opponents, that when the time to give him a codename came, he was named as The Devil. It was a no-brainer as far as McNamara was concerned.

And now, The Devil lay lifeless and headless in front of him. He thought about the mysterious whooshing sound he heard. He looked at the enigmatic hole in the roof that had been precisely cut in a circular shape. 

One thing, however was crushingly clear to Bryan McNamara. Joseph Reid codenamed The Devil, President of the United States of America had just been brutally murdered.