“I want justice for all that I’ve been through. The proof is in the tape.”
One of the men laid a piece of paper and a pen in front of me. I stared at them. Not one of them said a word. I was alone, with no one to defend me.
“Just sign the paper in front of you,” one of them demanded.
They all watched me. All these well-dressed men, going to such lengths to maintain their power and to cover each other’s weaknesses. So this is the Islamic Republic of Pakistan these men are so proud of, where the innocent are punished for the corruption of others.
“Dr. Raana, as a good Muslim you must sign the document. You promised to resign; keep your word.”
The paper in front of me was blank. A pen lay across it. Someone forced my hand to take up the pen and write, “I, Dr. Raana, am resigning because of the corruption of Dr. Sheela and Captain Arif.” Then I signed my name at the bottom.
When I completed my signature, I put my head down on the table. I must have passed out because everything after that is hazy. I don’t know how long I sat hunched over like that before someone roused me.
I went to the elevator in a trance. The next thing I knew, I was on the doorstep of my father’s house. He took me in, and I laid in my childhood bed for several days, hardly speaking. I don’t remember eating, or drinking, or washing. I was in the middle of a nervous breakdown.
My father asked me why I wasn’t going to my job. All I remember saying was, “What job?” I lost track of time, surrounded by a deep silence. I’d been cut off from the world around me, and I gradually sunk down into my soul.
I don’t remember when, but a letter came for me from the company. It confirmed my resignation and termination of my job, with a payout of three lac rupees. My father was surprised that I had resigned, and that after ten years of service, they would pay me so little.
“Why did you resign such a good job?”
I said nothing.
He asked again. “Baby, why did you resign?”
“I didn’t.”
“You’re playing with your life. You need to take this seriously.”
I rose and went to my room. I slept in the same dress for the next week, hardly moving from the bed. The maid brought food to the room, but I told her I wasn’t hungry. One day my father came to my room, took me by the hand and led me to the dining room table where I took a seat. He gently encouraged me to eat.
“Tell me, what happened?”
I looked at him, his earnest eyes pleading with me to speak. The only words that came out of my mouth were, “Is this the Islamic Republic of Pakistan?”
He said with sympathy, “What has happened to you?”
He left me alone, only to come and tell me my colleagues from work were calling and wanted to speak to me. I refused to come to the phone.
One day my father answered the phone, and the person insisted on talking to me. My father made me come to the phone. He put it on speaker. A man was laughing. “Dr. Raana is dead. She is no more,” he said in a taunting voice.
That roused me. I shouted, “No, I am still alive. Dr. Raana is not dead.”
CHAPTER 16
A New Direction
WITH TAIMOOR AT PETARO CADET College, I stayed at my father’s house for several months. I spent my days in a disoriented funk. Some days I couldn’t remember why I was at my father’s, and not at my own home. Then I would have flashbacks to the horrible moment in the conference room, the details of the meeting melting into a foggy cacophony of angry voices. I remember the blank piece of paper in front of me, and the men shouting at me to sign it. A nerve-wracking weakness came over me every time I thought about working, seeing patients, dealing with overbearing men intent on only getting what they wanted. This went on until I blacked out. When I tried to imagine the outside world, I could only see darkness.
Perhaps that was a blessing. I needed to decompress from the years of emotional abuse I’d experienced. It isn’t unusual for trauma patients to lose their memories of the events surrounding their injury. The details of my ordeal faded in and out. When I tried to remember facts and names, I came down with a debilitating headache. I had to lay down and sleep, or just close my eyes. I found I didn’t have any strength to read a book, to learn new facts, or to explore ideas, which had been the driving passions of my life.
I spent many hours watching fashion shows on TV, one after the other, all day if I could find them. The pretty women seemed so content in their new dresses, slacks, blouses, coats, and sweaters. The beauty of the pageantry was a palliative to my brain. I thought of buying a new dress, but I couldn’t figure out how I would do that, where I would go, or how I would pay for it.
One day my father came to me. “Baby, why don’t you find something useful to do? You can still help people. You could work at a hospital or do social work. There are so many things you could be doing.”
Of course, he was right. After he left for his office, I went to the front door, opened it, and looked out onto the stoop, the same steps that I had played on as a child. The familiar street, one I knew well since I was a child, seemed odd to me. I could not bring myself to put my foot across the threshold and stand under the morning sky, alone. A fear possessed me that I could never go outside. I didn’t know how to communicate with whatever existed out there, beyond the gate. It was too strange, too mysterious, and I didn’t know why. I slammed the door and went back inside.
On a bright summer morning, my father knocked on my bedroom door and asked me to dress for work. He wanted to take me with him to his office. That would be exciting. I had happy memories of doing that as a child, strolling with my father down the street, him in his snappy business suit, and me in a colorful new frock and shoes.
At the door of the house, I hesitated to follow him outside. Halfway down the walk, he turned to me. He returned, and with his convincing smile, he held out his hand. “Let’s go, Baby.” I took his warm firm palm, and he led me down the stoop, through the gate, and to his car on the street. It was noisy, with cars flashing by and people on the go. It all gave me a shot of adrenaline. But the feelings didn’t overwhelm me.
I spent all day at his office. He had me greeting clients, retrieving client files, filing papers. I felt stronger as the day went on. I chatted with his clients after they came out of his office, or talked with them while they waited. I felt again what it was like for me as a little girl, to be my father’s daughter, talking with his friends, and conversing on important issues of the day.
At lunchtime, I strolled outside in the sunshine, my father beside me.
“Baby, do you see any enemies?”
“No, I don’t.” I felt comfortable.
We walked on that day to a favorite restaurant. I didn’t see any enemies, only longtime friends of my father who greeted us both with great respect. After that day, at home, laying on my bed, I realized there were good people around, men like my father, his friends, and there must be others. And most of all there was hope in the world.
On the days I didn’t go with him to his office, he began bringing me sweet Jalebi from a sweet shop near his office.
“Do you remember what your friends used to call you?”
“Baby Jalebi.” I laughed. He laughed with me. Those days were such happy times. Such a simple thing, Jalebi candy. Tasting that candy while laughing was a magic tonic. It was as if I awoke from a deep sleep.
One night soon after, at the dining table, I said, “I need a job.”
“It shouldn’t be hard for you to find one.” My father smiled, and we talked like old times. I could suddenly see better days ahead. I began to laugh, read, and take an interest in my appearance. After my father left for his office each morning, I sat at the dining room table thinking about the next step. I needed a job, but where could I begin? I would spend the day reading and looking through the newspaper.
At dinner, my father said to me, “Your money won’t last forever. You have to be strong to face the world, Baby.”
I had
the severance from Sui Gas, three lac rupees (about USD $5,000). But that wouldn’t last long with Taimoor’s schooling and his future needs for college. When my father saw my hesitation to get started, he nudged me forward.
“I would start my search with the hospitals,” he said. I don’t know why that hadn’t occurred to me. I decided that the next day I would begin my search. I called several hospitals, and it was easy to get appointments to meet. I went for interviews, but I was told they could never hire me. They all agreed I had a fantastic resume, but I didn’t receive any offers of employment. I didn’t understand why.
Finally, an honest hiring officer told me about calls he had received from Sui Gas suggesting I would not be a good employee. For some reason, it wasn’t enough that Captain Arif ruined my career at Sui Gas, now he wanted to put a permanent blot on my reputation. Sui Gas was an influential company with rich resources, and it referred many patients to local hospitals. None of them wanted to get on Sui Gas’s bad side.
After two months, I received a call from Sui Gas in Karachi. The person on the phone told me about an opening for a doctor in Sui Balochistan. It was a sister firm to Sui Gas. Dr. Sheela had served there before transferring to Karachi. The hiring officer offered me the job and said that I would be very well paid, and I’d be pleased with the many perks. I could fly back and forth from Balochistan to Karachi in a company plane. It also came with special housing privileges, including a spacious home, and recreational facilities with a swimming pool.
After thinking it over, I turned it down. I knew they had tried to entice me with the salary and the benefits of the job, but that had never been my motivation for taking a particular job. I didn’t have a good feeling about the offer. Why would they call me and make it so attractive?
The position was given to Dr. Shazia Khalid. Her husband also worked for Sui Gas as a petroleum engineer. He had been sent to Libya to oversee the construction of oil facilities. Dr. Khalid went to Balochistan by herself, with the understanding that her husband would join her within the year.
Not too many months after she took the position, I read in the newspapers that she’d had been attacked in her home late one night, brutally raped, and beaten. She claimed she had been attacked by an influential army officer. The more adamant she was that it was a certain officer, the more her mental and emotional state was questioned—the military regime would not betray one of their own. Under orders from the government, she was confined to a psychiatric hospital as a mental patient. As part of her agreement for release, she and her husband were both forced to flee the country. They received asylum in England.
There is little justice for women in my country.
I kept up my job search, and I went to the Aga Khan Hospital and met Dr. Riaz Qureshi, the head of the family medicine department. When he checked my resume, a look of surprise came over his face: “Oh, you are Dr. Raana.”
I immediately feared another rejection. “Yes, I am Dr. Raana.”
“We’ve been hearing stories about what’s taking place over at Sui Gas.” He explained that his practice received many referrals from Sui Gas for specialist treatment. One patient had recently told him about a doctor who was going through terrible struggles over there until she finally quit.
“So it’s you!”
“I didn’t quit. They forced me to resign.”
He retrieved a box of tissues and handed it to me. Just mentioning my ordeal had brought a stream of tears down my face. He was a very kind man, who allowed me to talk about what I had been through, and how I was doing since my termination.
“Dr. Raana, you must leave your suffering to God. He watches over you, and someday He will give you justice. He knows everything. You will have a big reward someday. You must now work on recuperating.”
Besides being a medical doctor, Dr. Riaz was also a renowned psychologist. He treated me for my nervous breakdown, and gave me a prescription that would help with my depression, stress, and anxiety.
“Please rest and take the medication. When you feel ready, you can begin working here anytime. We would enjoy having you on staff, Dr. Raana.”
Leaving his office, I realized that not all men were weak managers and out for themselves. Dr. Riaz was a kind man and so supportive. He knew about my struggles at Sui Gas and admired me for taking a stand. I felt better already. Each day from then on, my strength returned, my fears of going outside diminished, and I could walk alone again.
My new life had begun.
After I started feeling better, I called Mr. Zia Awan, president of the human rights organization Lawyers for Human Rights and Legal Aid (LHRLA). I volunteered to work with children in juvenile jail. I enjoyed the work so much, I asked Mr. Awan about joining his organization full-time. He asked about my previous work experience, and I told him everything.
He was surprised I hadn’t come to him earlier. He informed me that he would have filed a human rights case. He was confident he would have gotten my job back, or at least better compensation. I didn’t want to work at Sui Gas again, but I did want justice.
Real justice would be to change the way women were treated in the workplace. I didn’t want to force changes through a media campaign. The best way to effect change would be to work to transform the permissive culture that allowed such abuse to persist. I believed the best place to begin was through laws that protected all women in the workplace. Effective workplace laws could one day even transform the broader culture outside the workplace.
That’s why I eventually decided to join Action Aid (a London-based NGO) as a volunteer. The organization worked to raise awareness of sexual harassment in the workplace. Through their efforts, we were able to get the attention of influential legislators. We proposed laws that would prohibit sexual harassment, procedures for investigating claims, and for punishing harassers. These laws were quite controversial in the beginning and received a lot of media attention.
As stories about my struggle became more widely known, friends still at Sui Gas began to contact me. Evidently, company management was taking my story and the legislation winding its way through the government channels seriously, and they had begun implementing new rules.
As the bill came closer to becoming a reality, one by one, executives started leaving the company, including Captain Arif and Managing Director Moien. By that time, Dr. Sheela had successfully pushed the weak Dr. Iqbal out of the company and took over as CMO. She also gave my former position to her sister-in-law, which had always been her plan. Many of Dr. Sheela’s family and friends were given jobs within the company, and all gynecology cases were referred to her sister, who practiced at a nearby hospital. She got everything she wanted. Despite her nefarious methods, she was a very determined and competent person.
In addition to volunteering, I began working at Aga Khan Hospital with Dr. Riaz in family medicine. I worked there for six months, regaining my strength and confidence. While I enjoyed the work, I wanted to do more to help the poor and powerless in our country. It was something I’d dreamed of doing since I first began thinking about becoming a doctor as a child. As my confidence grew working with Dr. Riaz, I realized this was the time to act on that dream.
Back in the year 2001, soon after I resigned from Sui Gas, I began looking into different organizations that served the poor and needy. I noticed that the many different NGOs served specific segments of the population, but not one of them helped the elderly. An NGO to serve the growing elderly population in Pakistan was urgently needed because of the changing demographics of the country. Couples were having fewer children, and their children were becoming educated, thus seeking better economic opportunities and moving away from traditional family structures, which included the responsibility of caring for their elderly parents. Increasingly, the elderly were neglected and impoverished, with no retirement benefits and no family to care for them. There was a great need for an NGO that met this burgeoning need.
During my time at Agha Khan Hospital, I felt it was time to put my desires t
o help the elderly into action. I left my position with the hospital and founded my own NGO, focused on aiding the elderly. I called it the Geriatric Care Foundation. Using my severance money, I hired an advocate to draft the bylaws and legal documents and to process the government registration with the Sindh Social Welfare Department.
I created a whole structure, including a board of directors. I invited Mr. Qutubuddin Aziz, former ambassador to the UK, to be a chief patron. I also invited Dr. Riaz Qureshi, Head of Family Medicine at Agha Khan Hospital; Dr. Rashid, an eye specialist; Hamadan Ali, a journalist; and Dr. Javari, Director of Fon Hospital. All of them accepted my invitation to become the board of directors for the Geriatric Care Foundation. Later, others joined the board: Mr. Abrar Hussain, a successful and influential high-court advocate; and my eldest brother Rashid’s wife, Iffat, a school principal.
I also invited my father, but he didn’t want to be involved. His objections were difficult for me to understand. He would have been an excellent role model for my organization, and as much as he didn’t want to accept it, he had just turned seventy-one, meaning that he would understand many of the NGO’s needs. I knew that a person’s age was not always relative to his physical condition. He was very active and he looked much younger than his years. He was also very disciplined, rising early to pray; he always walked and exercised regularly, and ate a simple diet. He still worked every day in his office as a patent and trademark attorney. I believed he would be an inspiration to so many older people on how to age gracefully. When I insisted that he would be a great asset to my organization, he finally agreed to join the board.
I rented an office on Tariq Road, Karachi, where I set up a clinic and day care center for senior citizens. It was a small beginning, but I had grand ambitions. I had a lot of work ahead of me to make this project successful.
On Parents’ Day at Cadet College, I spent the day with Taimoor. I met his friends and viewed his progress. His success in school gave me a great sense of relief and joy. With the Eid celebration coming soon, I made arrangements for him to visit in Karachi.
Courage to Say No Page 19