Reporting Pakistan

by Meena Menon

  In case the US authorities did not comply with the UN resolution, whether passed by the Security Council or by the General Assembly, the Government of Pakistan was to sever all ties with the US, and as a mark of protest, deny all logistic and other facilities to the US within Pakistan, the court ruled.

  Drone strikes, even if marginally effective, cannot end terrorism. There is a great cost to civilian life, a collateral damage which cannot be brushed aside lightly. That the US has been reduced to this tactic in collaboration with Pakistan to kill the terrorists speaks volumes for the kind of lawlessness that has been set in action by these groups, some of which were armed and trained by both countries. The death of Hakimullah splintered the TTP, and the secret death of Mullah Omar in 2013 and his successor in 2016 has created leadership issues in the Taliban, though the Haqqanis remain powerful. The talks with the Afghan government are not going anywhere and statements by President Ghani indicate the widening gap between his country and Pakistan.

  5

  Shooting the Messenger

  These are words cast in stone—on a marble plaque at the entrance of the Hyderabad Press Club in Sindh, and they seem even more significant now. On freedom of speech and the press, Jinnah had said, ‘I do not wish for a single moment that any culprit who is guilty of sedition, who is guilty of using disaffection, who is guilty of causing race hatred should escape but at the same time I say protect the innocent, protect those journalists who are doing their duty and who are serving both the public and the Government by criticising the Government freely, independently, honestly which is an education for any Government.’1

  Far from protection, criticism can often end in death, and during the time of Zia-ul-Haq those who crossed the line were whipped. Jinnah was vociferous against the gagging of the press and avowedly against any man’s liberty being taken away without judicial trial. Even before Partition, he was against muzzling the press. He was highly critical of the Press Act of 1910 and his speech quoted above was in response to that law.2

  Journalists were flogged for protests, and in 1978 under Zia’s regime, four of them were ordered by military courts to be whipped, leading to public outrage and many journalists courting arrest.3 General Musharraf, not one for obedience to law, wrote about the press curbs in Bhutto’s time. ‘Zulfikar Ali Bhutto masqueraded as a democrat but ruled like an autocrat. During his time the press was suppressed more than ever before or since. Many journalists and editors were arrested for dissent and newspapers and journals were closed down.’4 He was critical too of Nawaz Sharif who told him to take over the Friday Times editor Najam Sethi’s case and keep him in ISI custody. He told Musharraf that it was legal since it was a case of treason. Musharraf said he refused to do this and finally Sethi was let off.5 Sethi had been arrested in May 1999 and tortured. Amnesty International called him a ‘prisoner of conscience’ and he was released a month later after the charges were withdrawn.

  The press in Pakistan has been suppressed, with publications shut down and arbitrary actions taken against it, but its journalists remain a fearless and outspoken bunch. On the flip side, the press has been used by rulers with great effect, and as Niazi points out, even during the anti-Ahmadi riots of 1953, inciting articles were carried in the papers with government patronage.6 There is a long history of censorship as well, and not even the Quaid’s sister, Fatima Jinnah, who was critical of Prime Minister Liaquat Ali’s government was spared when the critical lines in her speech were faded out on the radio.7 Later it was Begum Raana Liaquat Ali’s turn; her political statement in 1983 demanding to know the truth about her husband’s killers, was reduced to insignificance by the press. The notorious press advice system which came into being during the 1965 war with India continued—to the horror of journalists who lived in dread of phone calls telling them what to print and what not to. During the 1971 war, the government-controlled media was reporting that everything was under control and that armed forces had crushed the ‘subversive and disgruntled elements in the East’.8

  Over a year after I returned in 2014, I heard about the resignation of Rashed Rahman, editor of the Daily Times founded by Salman Taseer which was a fairly liberal voice in the press pantheon in Pakistan. Rahman was known for his left-of-centre views and used to carry a lot of the stories from The Hindu, mainly the op-ed pieces, in his paper, and also ran sharp satirical pieces by Ayaz Amir, journalist and columnist, who was particularly funny. Some of my op-ed articles were featured there, along with those of other Indian writers. I met Rehman once, at the Islamabad Literature Festival, but we never did have that cup of coffee he had invited me to. At the end of 2015, there was pressure to stop two columnists, one of whom was outspokenly vociferous against the army, and Rashed quit, though he did deny that it had anything to do with pressure from the army or security agencies. The Pakistan media is proud of its fearless and free tradition, but journalists are victims of a murky system which can only be exposed at their own peril. The most famous in that line of those who knew too much, investigative journalist Syed Saleem Shahzad, was mysteriously killed, and his murderers are still at large. His book remains one of the best on the deep connections between the various sections of the security establishment and the terror outfits—which he knew well—as well as on the spidery penetration of the al-Qaeda. It is not as if the nexus between the military, the ISI and the terror groups is a secret. In the spirit of a free and vibrant media, there are open discussions about it. If someone is killed, this immediately sparks off rather good guesses on the agency behind it. As Amnesty International found in its report of 2014, the ISI is the most dreaded outfit for the journalists in Pakistan. Though the Amnesty report spoke of a chilling effect, the media, by and large, has stuck its neck out.

  It is not uncommon for journalists to be summoned by the ISI officers and asked to explain some story or the other, or sometimes they are invited merely for a chat. There were very strange journalists who hung out outside the Islamabad Press Club, and some were very helpful—they offered to escort you to Peshawar and Quetta, or even to Muzaffarabad. Even a month in advance, they knew my visa would not be renewed. The surprising thing was everyone knew who they were and there was little pretence. I had been warned of such people, but even then, I did almost fall for some of their ploys, which turned out to be quite harmless in the end. Latif Ijaz, the secretary of the club, was friendly and put me on the mailing list, although much of it was in Urdu. Ijaz, with his trademark deerstalker hat, volunteered to teach me the language. I did actually start learning Urdu from my neighbour in Mumbai many years ago and we had got around to reading words, but then, regretfully, I found little time to continue. As a result, I couldn’t read a line and had to watch PTV, the only channel in English.

  The Islamabad Press Club was so different from the Karachi one. No non-journalists are allowed inside its Victorian facade—the space is fiercely protected. In fact, many Pakistani journalists told me that theirs was a more critical media than India’s. The Karachi Press Club (which I visited in 2011), the first such institution in Pakistan, is housed in a stone building with white windows. People had thronged the entrance to welcome us. The large Hussain painting in the club’s hall and pictures of Jinnah, along with lace-covered chairs, give the club a quaint, old-world charm. In its proud fifty-year history, no military or police officer has been allowed entry. The Karachi Press Club was held ‘to be an island of dissent and a symbol of defiance’, and on its silver jubilee in 1985, Justice (retd) Dorab Patel of the Supreme Court congratulated it for holding elections every year for twenty-five years. ‘You working journalists have succeeded creditably where politicians and the like have failed miserably,’ Patel said.9

  But the walls outside had a different story. There was a brazen show of support for Mumtaz Qadri emblazoned in graffiti outside the liberal press club: ‘We are proud of Mumtaz Qadri [who shot the Punjab governor, Salman Taseer]. We don’t like cowards.’ This endorsement of a killer who shot Taseer because he spoke up against the countr
y’s blasphemy laws and defended Aasia Bibi who was sentenced to death, showed a cold-bloodedness and lack of remorse that was at the very least monstrous. It is not only liberals but newspapers too which have to be on guard.

  The Dawn office is fortified with high walls, heavy metal doors and CCTVs, an indication that journalism in Pakistan can be life-threatening. An attack had changed the face of a lackadaisical newspaper office. The giant steel door was pushed open for us to spend half a day chatting with the staffers who didn’t seem to mind an Indian invasion of curious journalists. Later, the Express group was to come under a series of attacks which led to the paper asking its staff and columnists to go easy on criticizing the Taliban. Yet the press in Pakistan soldiers on, dodging bullets admirably, with a healthy contempt for the establishment and the security agencies.

  The Pakistani establishment often points out that the Indian media is the more ‘patriotic’ one and didn’t criticize the government much. Pakistan accuses the Indian media of overreaction, and sadly most of the time it is true. There is a belief that the Indian media is not only ‘over-patriotic’, but also always overreacts, though I tend to think that’s not always the case. For instance, during a TV show in Islamabad, the host asked me if the Indian media had not overreacted during the terror strike of 26 November 2008. I asked him if ten heavily armed men holding an entire city to ransom, never mind where they came from, and shooting randomly, killing at will, was not a good reason to ‘overreact’. I later realized that ‘overreaction’ simply meant that Pakistan was being blamed! I did see enough instances of similar ‘overreaction’ in Pakistan, when almost every terror attack—apart from the Balochistan insurgency—was blamed on India or the RAW. Every time 26/11 was mentioned, the Pakistan government would bring in the Samjhauta Express case and how details were not shared on the matter despite the statements of Swami Aseemanand who confessed to masterminding the bombing. It is this mutual accusation, lack of empathy and trust which is making any dialogue impossible, but the media alone cannot be blamed for stymieing any progress. It is the lack of political will on the part of both governments and the blame game which is stultifying the process. There is a wariness regarding the Indian journalists—they are capable of doing anything is what I heard after one reportedly tried to sneak into an army bunker in Muzaffarabad. That said, the media in both countries has a certain limitation in covering LoC firing or defence-related matters; it has to perforce rely on government handouts or versions, unless publications are willing to invest time and money for proper investigation. Since these almost always involve the army and going into areas which are restricted, the matter is rarely followed up on an independent level. For instance, while I was in Islamabad, a group of journalists (I was not included) were taken to the LoC villages which had been shelled by the Indian Army—it would be impossible to go there on one’s own or without proper escort. Similarly, during the Kargil war, in India while many journalists made it on their own and covered the war on a daily basis in extremely demanding circumstances, there was a point when the coverage was stopped. Later, the army bussed in the media to show how it was winning the war.

  Pakistani bureaucrats who lived in India said that they came back as hawks after putting up with a belligerent and jingoistic Indian press. While the Indian media is growing more uncritical by the day of the government and shows its ‘patriotic’ colours in believing almost everything put out by the army and the government, especially when there is firing on the LoC (same goes for the other side too), in Pakistan and, to some extent, in India, there are other sinister pressures to rein in those who think and write defying establishment curbs. There is little independent investigation or reporting on critical issues involving both countries. In Pakistan, between the terror groups and the security establishment, political parties and religious outfits, the media walks a tightrope. You can always offend someone but not with impunity. Somehow I don’t see balanced coverage on either side of the border, despite the few rational voices. As long as there is the peril of 24x7 television, jingoism will rule, and facts will take a beating. The print media is also not blameless in both countries. When the aim is to blame and not understand, recrimination can be the only result.

  The press in Pakistan is literally under fire. In December 2013 for the second time since August that year, Express News was attacked in Karachi. Armed men fired at the office and threw hand grenades which exploded outside the main gate. It was so simple as terror attacks often are—two men came on motorbikes and started firing, shattering car windows, and hurling grenades. I called up a friend in the office and learnt that there were two groups—one lot was firing from the lane outside the office, while the others covered them from a flyover opposite. The armed men rained bullets which pierced the glass windows of the office. There were reports that the police mobile van was not stationed on the flyover that day. Not entirely a coincidence. Four months earlier, on 16 August, unidentified men had opened fire at the same office, injuring two persons, including a security guard; the CCTV footage showed two blasts outside the office before the firing. The police arrived late, a common drawback in our countries. After this, armed men on motorcycles shot a technician, a security guard and a driver who were sitting in a stationary digital satellite news-gathering van.

  The spurt of attacks on the Express News group, the worst of which resulted in three staffers being killed, did have a chilling effect. In other cities, too, staff were targeted and soon the editors decided that they would have to ease up for a while on criticizing the Taliban. There was nothing else that could be done, lives were being lost, one editor frankly admitted to me. So, criticism of the TTP was muzzled for a while, to the chagrin of some outspoken columnists. In Balochistan, the situation was worse, with a number of journalists being killed every year. Security agencies keep a close watch on who is writing what and know exactly which story is being done and by whom, sometimes even before it’s published. Mama Qadeer Baloch was given repeated warnings when he launched his epic march from Quetta to Islamabad in 2013 to protest the missing young people of Balochistan, and was allegedly even offered money not to go ahead with his plans. A journalist confirmed that the media was asked to go slow on the coverage. Reporting from Balochistan can be very dangerous for local journalists.

  An Amnesty report said that journalists in Pakistan confronted a range of ‘red lines’, a general term used by media workers to describe the invisible boundaries of public discussion accepted by state and non-state actors in the country’s media landscape. During its investigations, it received credible allegations of harassment, abduction, torture and killing of journalists which were perpetrated by a range of state and non-state actors. These included, but were not limited to, the Directorate General for Inter-Services Intelligence, the Muttahida Qaumi Movement, the Lashkar-e-Jhangvi and its associated group, the Ahle Sunnat Wal Jamaat, the TTP, groups with al-Qaeda links, and ethnic Baloch armed outfits, both pro and anti-state.

  The report also stated that as much as journalists sought to discharge their professional duties with impartiality, these abuses inevitably had a chilling effect on freedom of expression, pushing the journalists to resort to self-censorship in order to protect themselves. But these allegations against the ISI were refuted, and Colonel Zulfiqar Bhatty told Amnesty International that members of the public could write to the adjutant general of the armed forces regarding any complaints about the ISI or other military institutions. It would be interesting to know how many times action was taken.

  Journalists can be shot, kidnapped, threatened and abused. Often, no questions were asked, no one was held responsible. I knew of at least one Pakistani journalist who had been beaten and locked up for twenty-four hours for interacting with Indians. He gave us all a wide berth after that, though he was quite charming. Pakistan counts as one of the most dangerous places to report from.

  Biting the bullet

  A day before he was shot at in Lahore, journalist Raza Rumi had contacted Amnesty Internatio
nal to say that his name was on a Pakistani Taliban hit list. He said he was not sure if the threat was real or if it was just an attempt at silencing him, and he was very concerned. He came to know the next day, 28 March 2014, that it had not been an idle threat. While he escaped, his driver Mustafa was killed and his guard was paralysed after being shot. Rumi now lives abroad and is a contributing editor to Friday Times. Soon after this incident, Geo TV celebrity anchor Hamid Mir was attacked and severely wounded. Reporting these two assaults left me quite shaken. I knew both of them, even if it was for a few months, and while shock didn’t register initially due to the frenzy to file the stories, the numbness crept in later and I woke up to the underbelly of reporting Pakistan. Raza was a good host and his Urdu programme on Express TV, Khabar Se Aage, targeted the Taliban, the state and its attitude to minorities. We have appeared together on TV talk shows and he was always friendly. He knew it was coming for whatever reason. Crouching behind the car seat after he was fired at in the Raja Market, he tweeted, ‘I was dreading this day.’

  It was after Rumi was shot at that Amnesty International came out with its report, ‘A bullet has been chosen for you’, with interviews of 100 journalists, in April 2014. Thirty-four journalists may have been killed as a direct consequence of their work since the restoration of a democratically elected government in Pakistan in March 2008. After Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif formed the government on 5 June 2013, at least eight journalists lost their lives across the country as a direct result of their work, and this included five killed in 2014. Of the thirty-four killings since 2008, nine took place in north-western Pakistan (the Federally Administered Tribal Areas, or Khyber Pakhtunkhwa), thirteen took place in the Balochistan province, and of these, six happened in the province’s second town, Khuzdar (Amnesty report, 2014).