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Pakistanis and Mongolians: A Comparison

Posted by aka in History on March 30th, 2012

A comparison of two cultures the Mongols and the Pakistanis

 
In the following paper, I will be comparing the five institutions between the Mongols and the Pakistanis, discussing the unique qualities that distinguish these cultures from one another. These five institutions include topics such as religion, economics, education, politics, and family.

Religion

The Mongols religious beliefs and practices come into the category that is usually called Shamanism. I find that a shaman can be best described as being a tribal witch doctor. Shamanism involves a solitary practitioner that uses the aids of psychotropic herbs and hypnotic drumming in order for him to travel to the “spirit world.” Once there, he is able to retrieve the help and spiritual guidance that the tribal society needs. Shamanism seems to have originated from ancestor worship. Images of the ancestors, called ongghot, were kept in the family’s tents, and were thought to provide protection if satisfied. The shaman had an elevated position in the society, wore white and rode a white horse, and carried as insignia as staff and a drum. His function were intercession with the spirits, various kinds of exorcism, the recital of blessings over herds, hunters, children and had the gift of prophecy. Prophecies were carried out by burning the shoulder blades of sheep and examining the cracks that resulted. Among the shamanist devotee’s rituals was the worship of high places, since from there was an uninterrupted access to heaven (tengri.) the devotee would kneel nine times on top of the chosen hill, with his head uncovered and his belt around his neck. A necessary supplement in understanding Mongolian shamanism is the large number of orally transmitted hymns and prayers. The Mongol’s lack of religious ethnocentricity is demonstrated in one of their most praised characteristics, their strict policy of religious tolerance. Toleration is achieved through indifference, by a feeling that any religion might be right, and also by the fact that nomadic society was accustomed to the practice of many religions.

Today, one sixth of the world and 95 percent of the people of Pakistan are Muslim. Most Muslims in Pakistan take religion much more seriously than Americans or Europeans do. There are much fewer agnostics or freethinkers in Pakistan than there are in the West. For most Pakistanis, religion is not so much a matter of individual belief as it is a matter of revealed truth and a lifetime duty. A quarter of all Pakistanis pray five times a day. Many more pray at least once a day. The times a day when a crier, or an amplified taped recording of a crier, gives the azan, or prayer call, are just before dawn, after noon, an hour before sunset, about an hour after sunset, and about two and a half hours after sunset. Before entering a mosque (a Muslim temple) men take their sandals off at the entrance. (Women usually do not go to mosques.) Then they wash their hands and feet at an outdoor basin before and imam (priest) leads them on prayer. A rural imam is usually a poorly educated man who teaches children to read the Qur’an (religious book), delivers sermons on Fridays, deeps up the grounds of the mosque, and presides at weddings and funerals, like his father and grandfather did before him. Villagers commonly call their imam a “mullah,” but in cities this is considered to be a disrespectful term to use. In an urban mosque, the imam who leads prayers is more likely to be a maulvi, someone who is educated in the scripture and doctrines of Islam, or a maulana, a maulvi who has studied at the highest lever. Imams, Maulvis, and maulvanas together are known as the ulems, or clergy, even though there is no organized faction of clerics in Islam, except among members of the Siha sect. Prayers are in Arabic (learned from memory) and usually last about 15 minutes. One of an imam’s most common sayings during prayer is “Allahu Akbar!” (“God is Great”). Worshippers face west by southwest, which from Pakistan, is the direction of Mecca. Twice during each prayer, Muslims prostrate themselves, with hands, knees, and foreheads touching the ground. Many elderly men have prayed so much that their foreheads have shiny dents in them.

Family

As a nomad nation, the Mongols have thousands of years of experience raising livestock. The life of the Mongol is almost totally dependent on those animals. They eat the meat and milk, distill wine from the sour cream, and make clothes from the skin. Their transportation method was of the larger animals like the hoarse, camel, and ox. The Mongols are very fond of those livestock and they can distinctively recognize one species from another. The Mongols raise only five kinds of livestock. Except the following animals, other animals are never considered as livestock ( ‘mal’ in Mongol language) by the Mongols. The five kind of livestock (the Mongols call them ‘tavun hushuu mal’) are: horse, Sheep, Ox, Camel and Goat.

The horse is a symbol of the Mongol nation. The sheep is a symbol of submissiveness and weakness due to its quietness during death. The ox is the symbol of sturdiness and sometimes, stubbornness. The camel is a symbol of aristocracy. The goat is the symbol of something or somebody who is not serious in manner. Donkeys and pigs are not welcome among the Mongols. The donkey is considered a stupid animal and pig is considered as an animal full of dirtiness and greed. Cats are not very welcome because they are not as loyal as dogs. The Mongols also happen to be practitioners of polygamy, the allowance of multiple wives, for the purpose of preserving the culture during times of war.

Seventy percent of Pakistan’s people live in villages. Most villages have between 100 to 300 families, each wit around six to ten people. A typical day in the village consists of mostly farming. Almost everyone in Pakistan wears a pair of leather sandals and a shalwar quameez, a pair of baggy cotton trousers with a pajama-like shirt that goes past the knees. This kind of dress allows there to be a lack of class distinction. Pakistani families are usually very close, love and sex generally take place within the confines of marriage, that which are arranged by the parents. Divorce is rare in Pakistan, and a divorced woman is usually disgraced. The Qur’an allows a man up to four wives with the consent of his first wife. Unless they are neighbors or relatives, men and women spend little time together. Young adults do not date, and the majority of the nighttime public consists of men. Pre-marital sex or conversation is unusual among the sexes. 

Education

Seeing that the majority of Mongolian culture was nomadic, most forms of education were orally transmitted. Any kind of literary documentation could not be found. 

However, in the case of Pakistan, its people continue to have one of the lowest literacy rates in the world. About 15% of Pakistani men and women can read and write. Most villages and urban neiborhoods have free elementary schools, but classrooms are crowded and unequipped. For boys, the primary reason for leaving school is the lack of them beyond the fifth grade. Transportation from one village to another is very difficult, and most poor families cannot afford the supplies needed for a middle school child. Girls seem to leave because they are needed to help at home with the chores and attendance of siblings. Elementary schools in Pakistan have little or no privacy, and when a girl reaches puberty, it becomes impossible for most girls to continue. Schools are segregated by sex from the fourth grade onward, and most girls are pulled out due to the presence of an all-male teaching staff. At age 14, students are required to take a matriculation exam. If passed they are allowed into high school. Less than three percent of Pakistani men and less that one percent of Pakistani women receive a university education. 

Politics
Inner Mongolia, as a part of the Great Mongol Empire, was never a part 
China. From the day Genghis khan founded the Great Mongol Empire in 1206 to the death of the last Grand Khan of the Mongols—Ligdan Khan in 1634, the Mongol nation had been an independent state for more than 400 years. During the Ming Dynasty of China, there were many wars between the Mongols and the Chinese trying to rule over each other, but China’s dominance had never reached beyond the Great Wall. During the Ming dynasty, fearing the Mongol’s invasion, China took great efforts to rebuild the Chinese ancient fortification —the ” Ten thousand miles of Great Wall.” The Mongol Empire lasted outside of the Great Wall until the Jorchid (later known as Manchu) people took over Inner Mongolia in 1634. During the Manchu rule, the Mongols never gave up their efforts to get rid of the Manchu domination in order to reestablish an independent Mongolia. Galdan Boshogtu (1645-1697) of Dzungar Mongol once succeeded to unite all the Dzungar Mongols (or western Mongols) and the Khalkha Mongols (Outer Mongols) and almost seized Peking, the Capital of the Manchu Empire. In 1644, the Manchu people succeeded in controlling China and Emperor Shuen-chih (or Shun-Zhi) proclaimed the Great Ching Empire (Tai Ching). The Chinese didn’t have their own state or government, and China, just like Mongolia, was a part of the Empire established by the Manchu people. In 1911, following the collapse of the Manchu Empire, there was a great
chance for Mongols to be a united independent state once again. However, the Chinese warlords, who took the advantage of the Mongol nation’s weakness at that time, tried to take the Mongols under their rule. After 10 years of strife, Outer Mongolia proclaimed their independence in 1921 as the People’s Republic of Mongolia. But Inner Mongolia, a major part of the Mongol land, was under the Chinese warlords’ tight control. Since China’s takeover of Inner Mongolia, millions of peasants were settled to Inner Mongolia. Excessive cultivation backed by the warlords turned the great grassland into vast desert. The Mongols, totally depended on the grassland to survive, were forced to abandon their homeland and move to remote places. Meanwhile, those people who held courage to fight for the freedom of their homeland eventually fell down under the guns of the invaders. Demchegdongrov (or De Wang, Teh Wang), however, almost succeeded in establishing an independent Inner Mongolia. Born as a direct descendent of Genghis Khan, he dedicated his whole life to establish a self-ruling, even an independent Inner Mongolia. On July 26,1933, De Wang held his first Conference on Inner Mongolian Self-rule, declared the Inner Mongolian government as a highly self-ruling government. This self -ruling government lasted until 1945. By the end of WWII, to force the Japanese to end the War, the Soviet-Mongolian joint army entered into Inner Mongolia The central government has settled a large number of Chinese people into Inner Mongolia and the Mongols have became absolute minorities in their homeland. Wanton agrarian practices by the Chinese settlers had caused severe desertification in Inner Mongolia and the region’s ecological balance was totally destroyed. The central government had emptied the abundant natural resources of Inner Mongolia without any compensation to the Mongols. The Chinese government totally destroyed the rich cultural heritages of the Mongols under the name of clearing feudalism. As a long-term policy of sinicization, the Chinese government had been forcing the Mongols to learn Chinese language and culture. Also as a policy of limiting the Mongol population, the Chinese government had been imposing a birth control policy to the Mongols. Fearing of the Mongols’ opposition to their rule, the Chinese government had been cracking down on any tiny signs of the “separatist” activities. They put thousands of Mongols into jail simply charging them of being “counterrevolutionaries” or “separatists”, a crime exclusively designed for the minorities. Under the Chinese government’s slogan of ” Political stability is the top priority”.

Civilian authority is weak in Pakistan. Generals ruled the nation for 24 or the 30 years between 1958 and 1988. The knowledge that Pakistan’s top officers can return to power whenever they want has kept Prime ministers from challenging the military on major defense issues. Pakistanis civilian leaders today only control half of the total budget due to an overpowering military. Pakistan does not have a system of income taxation, making the governments influence very small. Voters choose landlords and local businessmen to represent them in legislatures, hoping that the rich will supply them with better resources. 

Economics

The Mongolian steppe was ideal for the pasturing of flocks and herds. The nomads relied on mostly sheep and horses. Sheep provided skins for clothing, wool for tents that were the nomad’s homes, mutton, milk and cheese for food, and dung for fuel. Horses were the primary means for transport, both of men and goods, and were important for hunting, which was a major source of food and their method of military training. Potent alcohol was made from their fermented milk, which caused many deaths among the Mongolian people. Camels and oxen were used to pull carts. The Mongols migrated seasonally, trading with settled societies for goods other than those which could be grown. 

Over 50% of Pakistani’s are farmers. The average farmer and his family own 13 acres. They grow two crops and earn about 50,000 rupees a year. Pakistan has several steel mills, including one giant government plant that was built with Soviet assistance in the 1960’s. These mills enable Pakistan to produce almost all the steel it needs. Six percent of its people are employed in chemical factories that make the nation nearly self reliant in items such as paint, dye, varnish, insecticides and soap. Pakistan saves much foreign currency by not having to import more steel and chemicals that it already does. Less than three percent of the nations labor force works in large factories, but these workers are the elite of pakistani labor, often belonging to labor unions allied with specific political parties and enjoy the benefits of longer vacations and higher wages. Much of the heroin in the U.S. and Europe come from Pakistan. The illegal manufacture of these drugs is one of the largest industries in Pakistan, enabling them to deposit money throughout banks in the nation.

As a conclusion, I’ve learned that though these two nations are separated by thousands of miles, their cultures and ways seem to be similarly characteristic of economically unbalanced third world countries. But on a positive note, I find that loving families and hard-working people are a continuous product of both societies, ensuring a stable incline towards a more confident society devoid of any corruption.
 
Bibliography:
1. Weston, James Mark The Land and People of Pakistan Harper Collins Publishers, 1992 2. Morgan, David The Mongols Blackwell Publishers 1991

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Lessons in history: Pakistan’s bright future

Posted by Dr. Manzer Durrani in History on March 12th, 2012

To value the progress of Pakistani Muslims, we should look at the demographics of pre-1947. – Photo courtesy Citizens Archive of Pakistan

Come August 14, Pakistan’s Independence Day, there is nothing but doom and gloom all around, or at least that’s what the media would have us believe. One e-mail heading reads “Division of Pakistan is about to start by 14th August 2011.” Such pessimism is absolutely uncalled for and the news of Pakistan’s demise is totally immature.

Pakistan has been in an enormous mess for a long time and no one knows how to get out of this morass. Shortages, socio-political anarchy, sickening economy, the war on terror and urban terrorism are all prevalent in the country. And, yet every Pakistani dreams that by now the country should have been like Europe, America or at least at the level of India and China. Alas, Pakistan is not there but is in a position that its present citizens could not have imagined to be in before 1947. To appreciate a substantial progress of Pakistan, we need a historical perspective.

To value the progress of Pakistani Muslims, we should look at the demographics of pre-1947. Without burdening the reader with too many statistics and numbers, it can be said that 99 per cent of the Muslims of present Pakistan were peasants, artisans, labourers or attached to lowly professions. Yes, of course there were Muslim feudals all around, but they did not represent the vast majority. Other than the army and police, Muslims were almost negligible in business, services, professional classes, bureaucracy or education. All the non-agricultural sectors were completely monopolised by Hindus. This was not from the British era, rather, it was the pattern for the entire Muslim era as well.

Lahore was the main city in the areas now included in Pakistan and is now the second most populous city. One should imagine the Muslims of Lahore of that that era and compare it with the present one. Back then, every economic sector, from banking to education, was owned and run by Hindus only. Muslims had only couple of shops in Anarkali and Mall Road and only two families of note, headed by Ch. Muhammad Shafi and Nawab Muzaffar Qazalbash. In Jhutha Sach (The False Truth, 1958–1960), novelist Yashpal encapsules the status of Muslims in a dialogue between two Hindu ladies talking to each other about seeing a Muslim vegetable vendor in the inner city, one says, “these are the people who will rule us in Pakistan?”

The division of Punjab was very tragic and probably unfair to non-Muslims who had built the city with blood and sweat but watched the downtrodden become the masters of the city in this historical twist.  Furthermore, despite all daunting challenges for Pakistan, the most fertile part of north India if not the entire subcontinent became part of Pakistan. With huge surplus production in agriculture it could provide capital for industries. It was not fair to the peasantry to transfer their surplus to budding industrial class but this is how it happened.

Now, not only does Lahore enjoy a rich and midlde class of Muslims along with the poor, but the industrial areas are stretched in every direction up to Sheikhupura, Kasoor and Bhai Phairo to the south. If the textile industry of Faisalabad, along with other industries in entire Pakistan is included, poor peasants, artisans and laboring classes of pre-1947 era have done a marvelous job just in 60 some years. Pakistan-Punjab, as compared to its eastern part in India, has much more industry on a per capita basis. Furthermore, Punjab has still remained the bread basket of Pakistan and Sindh has progressed in fruit production. Other provinces have done their own share in the economic sectors in which they have comparative advantage.

India and China have certainly done better than Pakistan in most areas. However examined in a historical perspective, both countries had inherent advantages over Pakistan. China had been the world leader in industrial production for 1800 years, except the last five to six hundred years.

Furthermore, the Indian bourgeoisie industrial/entrepreneurial classes were far more mature than the peasantry and feudals of Pakistan. Though urban Hindu migrants to India were a burden for that country for some time, but they were still skilled and intellectually advanced.  And, if human capital is extremely important in socio-economic growth then Indian gained at the expense of Pakistan because of this devastating migration. Despite all the advantages India had, if one looks at living conditions in the entire northern region of the subcontinent, its Pakistani counter-part has done equally well if not better.

As far as the breaking up of Pakistan is concerned, one can cynically repeat what Faiz Ahmed Faid had once said “My fear is that this country will go on like this.” On a serious note, the disintegration of Pakistan does not seem to be on the agenda of history. Basically, most ethnicities have developed huge stakes in united Pakistan. Pashtuns from KP and Balochistan have developed economic interest in every big city of the country. They even monopolize certain sectors of the economy in Punjab and Sindh. Why would they wish Pakistan broken to leave them to struggle where they cannot find jobs and markets in which to sell their products? Sindhis, despite the protestations, are much better off within Pakistan rather than being a small country.  This is why no nationalist Sindhi political party has ever won the elections.

It is true that at present Pakistan seems to be in a very fragile situation as we all know. It is also true that Pakistan has great potential, if it was governed properly. But this is a big “IF” because history cannot be explained with “if this had happened then that would happen.” Instead history is a series of interconnected events where we say that “A led to B.” Pakistan was a peasant country in 1947 and it had to go through all these phases of socio-economic evolution. I feel realistically optimistimistic about Pakistan’s future: the actions of independent judiciary are one indicator to be followed by other institutions. The demise of present ruling parties and elite is inevitably giving birth to new forces. Sit tight and just watch the horizon of the next 10 to 20 years, not just from this election to next election.

Dr. Manzur Ejaz is a poet, author, a political commentator and a cultural activist. He is a Doctor of Economics and currently lives in Washington DC.

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Are we wrong about Pakistan?

Posted by Dr. Manzer Durrani in History on February 29th, 2012

Are we wrong about Pakistan?

Published: Monday, Feb 27, 2012, 9:00 IST 
Place: Pakistan | Agency: Daily Telegraph

When Peter Oborne first arrived in Pakistan, he expected a ‘savage’ backwater scarred by terrorism. 
Years later, he describes the Pakistan that is barely documented – and that he came to fall in love with

It was my first evening in Pakistan. My hosts, a Lahore banker and his charming wife, wanted to show me the sights, so they took me to a restaurant on the roof of a town house in the Old City.

My food was delicious, the conversation sparky – and from our vantage point we enjoyed a perfect view of the Badshahi Mosque, which was commissioned by the emperor Aurangzeb in 1671.

It was my first inkling of a problem. I had been dispatched to write a report reflecting the common perception that Pakistan is one of the most backward and savage countries in the world. This attitude has been hard-wired into Western reporting for years and is best summed up by the writing of the iconic journalist Christopher Hitchens. Shortly before he died last December, Hitchens wrote a piece in Vanity Fair that bordered on racism.

Pakistan, he said, was “humourless, paranoid, insecure, eager to take offence and suffering from self-righteousness, self-pity and self-hatred”. In summary, asserted Hitchens, Pakistan was one of the “vilest and most dangerous regions on Earth”.

Since my first night in that Lahore restaurant I have travelled through most of Pakistan, got to know its cities, its remote rural regions and even parts of the lawless north. Of course there is some truth in Hitchens’s brash assertions. Since 2006 alone, more than 14,000 Pakistani civilians have been killed in terrorist attacks. The Pakistan political elite is corrupt, self-serving, hypocritical and cowardly – as Pakistanis themselves are well aware. And a cruel intolerance is entering public discourse, as the appalling murder last year of minorities minister Shahbaz Bhatti after he spoke out for Christians so graphically proves. Parts of the country have become impassable except at risk of kidnap or attack.

Yet the reality is far more complex. Indeed, the Pakistan that is barely documented in the West – and that I have come to know and love – is a wonderful, warm and fabulously hospitable country. And every writer who (unlike Hitchens), has ventured out of the prism of received opinion and the suffocating five-star hotels, has ended up celebrating rather than denigrating Pakistan.

A paradox is at work. Pakistan regularly experiences unspeakable tragedy. The most recent suicide bombing, in a busy market in northwestern Pakistan, claimed 32 lives and came only a month after another bomb blast killed at least 35 people in the Khyber tribal district on January 10. But suffering can also release something inside the human spirit. During my extensive travels through this country, I have met people of truly amazing moral stature.

Take Seema Aziz, 59, whom I met at another Lahore dinner party, and who refuses to conform to the Western stereotype of the downtrodden Pakistani female. Like so many Pakistanis, she married young: her husband worked as a manager at an ICI chemical plant. When her three children reached school age, she found herself with lots of time on her hands. And then something struck her.

It was the mid-Eighties, a time when Pakistan seemed captivated by Western fashion. All middle-class young people seemed to be playing pop music, drinking Pepsi and wearing jeans. So together with her family,Seema decided to set up a shop selling only locally manufactured fabrics and clothes.

The business, named Bareeze, did well. Then, in 1988, parts of Pakistan were struck by devastating floods, causing widespread damage and loss of life, including in the village where many of the fabrics sold by Bareeze were made. Seema set out to the flood damaged area to help. Upon arrival, she reached an unexpected conclusion. “We saw that the victims would be able to rebuild their homes quite easily but we noticed that there was no school. Without education, we believed that there would be no chance for the villagers, that they would have no future and no hope.”

So Seema set about collecting donations to build a village school. This was the beginning of the Care Foundation, which today educates 155,000 underprivileged children a year in and around Lahore, within 225 schools.

I have visited some of these establishments and they have superb discipline and wonderful teaching – all of them are co-educational. The contrast with the schools provided by the government, with poorly-motivated teachers and lousy equipment, is stark. One mullah did take exception to the mixed education at one of the local schools, claiming it was contrary to Islamic law.Seema responded by announcing that she would close down the school. The following day, she found herself petitioned by hundreds of parents, pleading with her to keep it open. She complied. Already Care has provided opportunities for millions of girls and boys from poor backgrounds, who have reached adulthood as surgeons, teachers and business people.

I got the sense that her project, though already huge, was just in its infancy.Seema told me: “Our systems are now in place so that we can educate up to one million children a year.” With a population of over 170 million, even one million makes a relatively small difference in Pakistan. Nevertheless, the work of Care suggests how easy it would be to transform Pakistan from a relatively backward nation into a south-east Asian powerhouse.

Certainly, it is a country scarred by cynicism and corruption, where rich men do not hesitate to steal from the poor, and where natural events such as earthquakes and floods can bring about limitless human suffering. But the people show a resilience that is utterly humbling in the face of these disasters.

In the wake of the floods of 2009 I travelled deep into the Punjab to the village of Bhangar to gauge the extent of the tragedy. Just a few weeks earlier everything had been washed away by eight-feet deep waters. Walking into this ruined village I saw a well-built man, naked to the waist, stirring a gigantic pot. He told me that his name was Khalifa and that he was preparing a rice dinner for the hundred or more survivors of the floods.

The following morning I came across Khalifa, once again naked to the waist and sweating heavily. Pools of stagnant water lay around. This time he was hard at work with a shovel, hacking out a new path into the village to replace the one that had been washed away.

A little later that morning I went to the cemetery to witness the burial of a baby girl who had died of a gastric complaint during the night. And there was Khalifa at work, this time as a grave digger.

Khalifa was a day labourer who was lucky to earn $2 (pounds 1.26) a day at the best of times. To prejudiced Western commentators, he may have appeared a symbol of poverty, bigotry and oppression. In reality, like the courageous volunteers I met working at an ambulance centre in Karachi last year, a city notorious for its gangland violence, he represents the indomitable spirit of the Pakistani people, even when confronted with a scale of adversity that would overpower most people in the West.

As I’ve discovered, this endurance expresses itself in almost every part of life. Consider the Pakistan cricket team which was humiliated beyond endurance after the News of the World revelations about “spot-fixing” during the England tour of 2010. Yet, with the culprits punished, a new captain,Misbah-ul-Haq has engineered a revival. In January I flew to Dubai to witness his team humiliate England in a three-match series that marked a fairy-tale triumph.

Beyond that there is the sheer beauty of the country. Contrary to popular opinion, much of Pakistan is perfectly safe to visit so long as elementary precautions are taken, and, where necessary, a reliable local guide secured. I have made many friends here, and they live normal, fulfilled family lives. Indeed there is no reason at all why foreigners should not holiday in some of Pakistan’s amazing holiday locations, made all the better by the almost complete absence of Western tourists.

Take Gilgit-Baltistan in the north, where three of the world’s greatest mountain ranges – the Hindu Kush, the Himalayas and the Karakorams – meet. This area, easily accessible by plane from the Pakistani capital of Islamabad, is a paradise for climbers, hikers, fishermen and botanists. K2 – the world’s second-highest mountain – is in Gilgit, as are some of the largest glaciers outside the polar regions.

Go to Shandur, 12,000ft above sea level, which every year hosts a grand polo tournament between the Gilgit and Chitral polo teams in a windswept ground flanked by massive mountain ranges. Or travel south to Mohenjo-Daro and Harappa, cradle of the Indus Valley civilisation which generated the world’s first urban culture, parallel with Egypt and ancient Sumer, approximately 5,000 years ago.

Of course, some areas of Pakistan are dangerous. A profile of Karachi – Pakistan’s largest city and commercial capital – in Time magazine earlier this year revealed that more than 1,000 people died in 2011 in street battles fought between heavily armed supporters of the city’s main political parties. Karachi is plagued by armed robbery, kidnapping and murder and, in November last year, was ranked 216 out of 221 cities in a personal-safety survey carried out by the financial services firm Mercer.

But isn’t it time we acknowledged our own responsibility for some of this chaos? In recent years, the Nato occupation of Afghanistan has dragged Pakistan towards civil war. Consider this: suicide bombings were unknown in Pakistan before Osama bin Laden’s attack on the Twin Towers in September 2001. Immediately afterwards, President Bush rang PresidentMusharraf and threatened to “bomb Pakistan into the stone age” if Musharrafrefused to co-operate in the so-called War on Terror.

The Pakistani leader complied, but at a terrible cost. Effectively the United States president was asking him to condemn his country to civil war by authorising attacks on Pashtun tribes who were sympathetic to the AfghanTaliban. The consequences did not take long, with the first suicide strike just six weeks later, on October 28.

Many write of how dangerous Pakistan has become. More remarkable, by far, is how safe it remains, thanks to the strength and good humour of its people. The image of the average Pakistani citizen as a religious fanatic or a terrorist is simply a libel, the result of ignorance and prejudice.

The prejudice against Pakistan dates back to before 9/11. It is summed up best by the England cricketer Ian Botham’s notorious comment that “Pakistan is the sort of place every man should send his mother-in-law to, for a month, all expenses paid”. Some years after Botham’s outburst, the Daily Mirror had the inspired idea of sending Botham’s mother-in-law Jan Wallerto Pakistan – all expenses paid – to see what she made of the country.

Unlike her son-in-law, Mrs Waller had the evidence of her eyes before her: “The country and its people have absolutely blown me away,” said the 68-year-old grandmother.

After a trip round Lahore’s old town she said: “I could not have imagined seeing some of the sights I have seen today. They were indefinable and left me feeling totally humbled and totally privileged.” She concluded: “All I would say is: ‘Mothers-in-law of the world, unite and go to Pakistan. Because you’ll love it’. Honestly!”

Mrs Waller is telling the truth. And if you don’t believe me, please visit and find out for yourself.

 

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Pakistan: Fifty Years Later

Posted by Dr. Manzer Durrani in History on February 23rd, 2012

Leslie Noyes Mass’s Back to Pakistan

Like yours truly, Leslie Noyes Mass was a Peace Corps Volunteer fifty years ago, recently returned to the country of her assignment: Pakistan.  But unlike what I observed during my recent return to Africa, Mass discovered a significantly different country: more education for young children, an exploding population, and a country not nearly as friendly to the United States as it was when she was there years ago.  I wouldn’t call any of these changes a great surprise, yet I found Back to Pakistan totally engaging for the contrasts I have already mentioned—plus the mirroring of some of the experiences I encountered as a volunteer in Nigeria.

Mass was dumped in Dhamke, twenty or so miles from Lahore, with few guidelines as to what she was expected to do.  Ostensibly, community development, but it was expected that she would generate her own project(s) unlike some of the other volunteers who as teachers had clearly defined tasks.  Her living facilities were basic, exacerbated by her gender as an unmarried
woman is a Muslim community.  Initially, she was frustrated and angry: “Now what?  I had no idea.  And I was mad at the Peace Corps for botching up my assignment.  But I was determined to figure out a way to work in this village.”

Drawing on her letters to friends back home, Mass is able to provide vivid details and feelings about her initial impressions of Pakistan (and her assignment) all those years ago.  Here’s a paragraph from a letter to her boyfriend (later to be her husband), dated October 19, 1962: “The Volunteers here seem to be living pretty well and though some are equally disgusted with the lack of job definition, I am the orphan of the group.  No other woman is alone in a village; everyone else has, at least, a place to live and a real job.  The teachers have already started teaching and the men assigned to agricultural extension and engineering projects all have co-workers.  But we Community Development workers are on our own.  No one really knows what we are supposed to do.”  She’s upset that her attempts to reach out to women in the community are largely unsuccessful.  This is no huge surprise, given the restrictions on women’s lives (and their mobility) at the time and the country’s literacy rate of 12%.  But when she is transferred to Sheikhupura months later, Mass realizes that she had made significant inroads into the lives of the Dhamke women.

Shift to 2009.  Mass returns to Pakistan with several others, including people who were in the Peace Corps all those years ago.  She’s been teaching for decades, earned a doctorate in early and middle school education, and retired from her job as director of an educational program at Ohio Wesleyan University.  She’s a pro, accustomed to training teachers, which she and her friends will do in Pakistan for several months.  They have been successful with making arrangements with The Citizens Foundation (TCF), a private organization that has set up several hundred schools across the country since the government-sponsored schools are sadly lacking.  TCF has had major successes in the country, largely because of its curriculum and the dedication of its teachers who are women only.

Mass, thus, in 2009 is part volunteer, part educational expert, part tourist, keenly attuned to all the differences in the country from the first time she worked there.  The activities with TCF are totally professional, and instantly rewarding.  But it is an incident related to her by Ateed Riaz, one of the organization’s founding directors, that is most revealing to Mass (and to this reader), providing the context for the country’s education and development: “A friend of mine went to the city of Medina and went to a woman squatting on the floor selling something.  He negotiated with her, but she would not sell to him.  She said, ‘If you like it, buy it from that other tradeswoman.  I will not sell it to you.’  So he got a local to come and talk to her in her own language.  She talked to the local and explained that she had already sold enough that day and that other woman had not yet sold any, so I should buy from her.  The message is clear: We need to help each other.”

The beauty of Back to Pakistan: A Fifty-Year Journey is Leslie Noyes Mass’s hindsight, combined with her insight.  The book intermixes the two times instead of following a linear narrative and abounds in Mass’s first-hand reports from all those years earlier, sent as missives to her friends.  Yes, I was predisposed to enjoy this book because of my own educational journey, and I confess that some of the passages describing her activities with TCF (administrators, teachers and pupils) may seem too pedantic to the average reader.  But there are wonderful moments throughout the entire book, such as this one, just as Mass and her friends are going to depart from Lahore: “The schoolmaster said, in a mish-mash of English, Urdu, and Punjabi that he and all the village were happy that I had come back because it shows that not all Americans view Pakistan as a dangerous place where everyone is a terrorist.”

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LEST WE FORGET: Indian Army Brutes Killing of Pakistan POWS in 1971

Posted by Dr. Manzer Durrani in History on January 31st, 2012

During India’s Invasion of East Pakistan in 1971, the Indian Army committed cowardly, genocidal crimes of killing captured prisoners of war.  The few who survived tried to escape from the medieval POW camps. Pakistanis will never forget, nor forgive. We will get even with India! Rest assured!

In those dreadful dungeons, the only ray of kindness was a Hindu Duty Havaldar who would throw in a toffee, a candy or some such thing through the window and mutter softly a few words of sympathy and solace

By January 1972, our plan to escape from the Agra Central Jail that was refitted as PoW (prisoner of war) Camp 44 had been finalised. To escape from the PoW camp is the duty of every captured soldier and to stop him the right of the captor. What happens in that little battle of wits and guts is a given accepted by both parties to the conflict, which includes blood and gore. By April we were quite advanced in digging a tunnel that was to pass under the huge inner and outer walls, surfacing a few yards beyond but for a catastrophic accident. Just after the first wall, water began to slowly dribble into the tunnel from its ceiling and before we knew it the tunnel on the other side of the wall collapsed as the soil was unfortunately terribly sandy. We were later told that there was a small used water pond overground on the other side that seeped down and killed the plan. It took them very little time and a lot of anxiety to single out our barrack that conceived and executed the escape plot.
We became kind of instant celebrities and objects of curiosity simultaneously. Here was a real life escape attempt by the prisoners of war; therefore, officers, families and children began to visit and chatted excitedly about the adventure. Although we may have been despised a bit at that time, there quietly walked in a soothing whiff of sanity and a lurking longing about our own folks. Except a stealthy, hesitant waving of hands here and there to an irresistibly lovely child, we were careful not to spoil their fun. We were locked up in any case. Misery is not always physical; it can be infinitely more painful when emotional. Hatred like any other ecstasy does not normally last long, its scars do.
Shortly, the entire barrack — about 30 of us — were marched out to death row cells in a different compound and sentenced to solitary confinement for three months. This was a unique experience: ugly, terribly oppressive, and extremely taxing. The incubators were a regulation eight feet long, about as much high and four feet wide. The door was a block of heavy iron plate with a small sliding window, both bolted from outside. A hole with metal grill near the ceiling was, I guess, a ventilator. A water pitcher and an open native bed pan at the end of the cemented bed served as a toilet. Summers were at their peak in Agra, temperatures raging anything up to 110 to120 degrees Fahrenheit.
Sizzling heat, incessant sweating and huge swarms of mosquitoes soon turned us into walking dummies full of all kinds of sores, bites and scars. I had never seen prickly heat the size of a pea before. Our responses to smell, pain, hunger and sleep withered away beyond a certain point some weeks into the confinement. We were let out for 10 minutes each in the morning and evening to go to the community toilets where all pretensions of privacy got effectively dismantled.
In those dreadful dungeons, the only ray of kindness was a Hindu Duty Havaldar who would throw in a toffee, a candy or some such thing through the window and mutter softly a few words of sympathy and solace. May that noble man’s goodness be rewarded and his bliss increased manifold.
We kept steaming in that swelter in filth and privation and knew it was part of the package, therefore no complaints were made. Then one day it was announced that we had been declared the ‘Most Dangerous PoWs’ and were to be shifted by rail to Camp 95 Ranchi in Bihar. Ranchi was a British-era Cantonment located among lush green tea gardens. The journey was to take three days and three nights. Major Naseebullah was from the seniors barrack; he made a great effort and succeeded in getting himself included in the transfer list. A Kashmiri and Special Services Group (SSG) officer, he just had a handbag and a small pocketbook with a photograph of his wife and lovely children. He was very fond of them and talked about them with deep affection. Basically, he was a very cheerful and restless man. Shortly before departure he had started to offer prayers regularly as it seemed to make him at peace with himself in an imperceptible way. Sadly, he was not to reach Ranchi alive.
The day we were to leave for Ranchi, a row erupted. We refused to be handcuffed and shackled before departure to the railway station. Finally, we agreed to be handcuffed two together and that could be hidden easily while walking out of trucks to the railway compartment. We hid our prized possession: a broken steel cutting file carelessly discarded by some workman while the jail was being refitted for the PoWs. Captain Shujaat Latif and I were handcuffed together; we were also course mates. This man Shujaat was made of pure mercury, fearless, eruptive and utterly restless but awfully accident-prone. During the insurgency he surprised a Mukti position across a small river when he suddenly charged with his LMG blazing over the bridge and straight into their strong point that was holding up his unit’s advance. The moment we stepped into the train, we began to figure out an escape plan and soon finalised it. It was simple but workable.
My sheered handcuff and the dangling chain was enough evidence to show my complicity. I was promptly handcuffed afresh to the iron leg of the seat, hunched up like a pet on the floor
Ours was a third class compartment with barred windows normally meant for female passengers in the subcontinent, and had a washroom at one end, with passenger doors opening on either side of the passage. The guards had planted themselves in that passage. It looked like a Sikh Para Battalion Guard and their compartment was right next door. We had decided to file our handcuff chains, turn by turn, with the broken iron saw and in the next step to saw off an end each of the two lower bars of the window farthest from the guard so that one could slide through the gap easily. We had found out the first night that the guard would do the last head count by about 10 pm and then huddle in the passage for the night till the morning roll call. That meant we could have six to seven hours of darkness available for the escape. Everyone wanted to leave first, therefore, lists had to be drawn. Shujaat turned out to be the first to go and I had to be the next to jump. Major Naseebullah was handcuffed alone and his turn was somewhere in the middle. We decided that the escape attempt would be made the third night as most of the handcuff chains would be sheered by then and we would be somewhere in Bihar where one could possibly merge in the mixed population reasonably, we guessed.
By the third night we were still short of Banaras (Varanasi). Just as the nightly headcount ended the train began to slow down as if on cue. Quickly we flexed the weakened link and pulled the window bars inwards. Shujaat slid out and soon was gone into the night. As I prepared to slide out, the train began to pick up speed and for the next two hours or so made it at a fast pace. Suddenly the Guard Commander appeared in the passageway walking up towards us, possibly on a hunch. We sank into our seats feigning sleep. Major Naseebullah moved closer to me to show that we were handcuffed together. It turned out to be a snap count as he switched on the bogey lights. He counted once, then again and the third time by touching each head physically. There was one less, he could not believe. Quickly he went to the guard passage. The guard stood to, their weapons pointed at us. Recount began; again there was one missing. The train was stopped at the next station. The Train Adjutant and the Subedar Major came in to count for themselves. By then they were sure that a prisoner of war (PoW) had escaped but the question was how? They thought that the one handcuffed alone must have been the one who got away. Every place under the seats, in the toilet, along the walls of the compartment and its floor was checked looking for the escape hatch but in vain.
It was full daylight and the train was parked at a deserted platform when a Sikh Para Soldier walked up to our window and said, “You people do not let an opportunity go, now why do you not tell us how he escaped?” We kept quiet and prayed hard as he had placed his hand on a bar just above the ones that we had sheered and pushed back in place. Disappointed he turned to go when his hand brushed over the loosened bar. Instantly he turned and pulled the suspect bar, which gave way easily. Soon an officer arrived. Myself and Major Naseebullah were asked to stand up. My sheered handcuff and the dangling chain was enough evidence to show my complicity. I was promptly handcuffed afresh to the iron leg of the seat, hunched up like a pet on the floor. We could see a sort of Para Guard War Council in session at the other end of the platform but could not make out what was being discussed so heatedly.
By the evening the train began to chug out of the platform on its way to Ranchi. This time the sentries were not taking any chances. A few hours into the night a sentry walked up to me and asked if I wanted to go to the washroom. I did want to, more for the very uncomfortable position that I was chained in. Major Naseebullah intervened and insisted to go first. After an unusual haggling the guard agreed. As Major Naseeb turned right in the far end of the passage towards the toilet, we heard a distinct weapon cocking sound followed by Major Naseeb shouting: “What are you doing?” The guard fired a burst from his automatic weapon. Whistles were blown, the train slowly came to a halt and then began to reverse. After some time Major Naseebullah’s dead body was brought in. He had received nine bullets in his chest from a very close range and the impact must have thrown him out of the door, possibly, kept open for just such a thing. That is perhaps what the Council of War was about.
By morning the next day we reached Ranchi Camp. After a few days Shujaat joined us in a terribly bashed up shape but unbroken in spirit. His nose fractured, a few front teeth gone, a foot in plaster and awful bruises all over the body. As he jumped out, his big toe tangled in the low running signal cable, his head hit the rail track and he passed out. Locals found him and handed him over to the police. The story in the newspapers said two Pakistani PoWs attempted to escape from the train, one was captured and the other got killed. Quite understandable. Since the start of the war this was the fourth time I survived purely by chance. I carried his bag and pocketbook to Pakistan.

The writer is a retired brigadier of the Pakistan Army. He can be reached at [email protected]

 

 

 

 

COMMENT: The train escape that could have been — II —Mehboob Qadir

My sheered handcuff and the dangling chain was enough evidence to show my complicity. I was promptly handcuffed afresh to the iron leg of the seat, hunched up like a pet on the floor

Ours was a third class compartment with barred windows normally meant for female passengers in the subcontinent, and had a washroom at one end, with passenger doors opening on either side of the passage. The guards had planted themselves in that passage. It looked like a Sikh Para Battalion Guard and their compartment was right next door. We had decided to file our handcuff chains, turn by turn, with the broken iron saw and in the next step to saw off an end each of the two lower bars of the window farthest from the guard so that one could slide through the gap easily. We had found out the first night that the guard would do the last head count by about 10 pm and then huddle in the passage for the night till the morning roll call. That meant we could have six to seven hours of darkness available for the escape. Everyone wanted to leave first, therefore, lists had to be drawn. Shujaat turned out to be the first to go and I had to be the next to jump. Major Naseebullah was handcuffed alone and his turn was somewhere in the middle. We decided that the escape attempt would be made the third night as most of the handcuff chains would be sheered by then and we would be somewhere in Bihar where one could possibly merge in the mixed population reasonably, we guessed.

By the third night we were still short of Banaras (Varanasi). Just as the nightly headcount ended the train began to slow down as if on cue. Quickly we flexed the weakened link and pulled the window bars inwards. Shujaat slid out and soon was gone into the night. As I prepared to slide out, the train began to pick up speed and for the next two hours or so made it at a fast pace. Suddenly the Guard Commander appeared in the passageway walking up towards us, possibly on a hunch. We sank into our seats feigning sleep. Major Naseebullah moved closer to me to show that we were handcuffed together. It turned out to be a snap count as he switched on the bogey lights. He counted once, then again and the third time by touching each head physically. There was one less, he could not believe. Quickly he went to the guard passage. The guard stood to, their weapons pointed at us. Recount began; again there was one missing. The train was stopped at the next station. The Train Adjutant and the Subedar Major came in to count for themselves. By then they were sure that a prisoner of war (PoW) had escaped but the question was how? They thought that the one handcuffed alone must have been the one who got away. Every place under the seats, in the toilet, along the walls of the compartment and its floor was checked looking for the escape hatch but in vain.

It was full daylight and the train was parked at a deserted platform when a Sikh Para Soldier walked up to our window and said, “You people do not let an opportunity go, now why do you not tell us how he escaped?” We kept quiet and prayed hard as he had placed his hand on a bar just above the ones that we had sheered and pushed back in place. Disappointed he turned to go when his hand brushed over the loosened bar. Instantly he turned and pulled the suspect bar, which gave way easily. Soon an officer arrived. Myself and Major Naseebullah were asked to stand up. My sheered handcuff and the dangling chain was enough evidence to show my complicity. I was promptly handcuffed afresh to the iron leg of the seat, hunched up like a pet on the floor. We could see a sort of Para Guard War Council in session at the other end of the platform but could not make out what was being discussed so heatedly.

By the evening the train began to chug out of the platform on its way to Ranchi. This time the sentries were not taking any chances. A few hours into the night a sentry walked up to me and asked if I wanted to go to the washroom. I did want to, more for the very uncomfortable position that I was chained in. Major Naseebullah intervened and insisted to go first. After an unusual haggling the guard agreed. As Major Naseeb turned right in the far end of the passage towards the toilet, we heard a distinct weapon cocking sound followed by Major Naseeb shouting: “What are you doing?” The guard fired a burst from his automatic weapon. Whistles were blown, the train slowly came to a halt and then began to reverse. After some time Major Naseebullah’s dead body was brought in. He had received nine bullets in his chest from a very close range and the impact must have thrown him out of the door, possibly, kept open for just such a thing. That is perhaps what the Council of War was about.

By morning the next day we reached Ranchi Camp. After a few days Shujaat joined us in a terribly bashed up shape but unbroken in spirit. His nose fractured, a few front teeth gone, a foot in plaster and awful bruises all over the body. As he jumped out, his big toe tangled in the low running signal cable, his head hit the rail track and he passed out. Locals found him and handed him over to the police. The story in the newspapers said two Pakistani PoWs attempted to escape from the train, one was captured and the other got killed. Quite understandable. Since the start of the war this was the fourth time I survived purely by chance. I carried his bag and pocketbook to Pakistan.

The writer is a retired brigadier of the Pakistan Army. He can be reached at [email protected]

 

 

 

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