Zia-ul-Haq
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Zia-ul-Haq
The legacy gets bloodier
By Mushir Anwar
The telephones were abuzz with excited whispers spreading the sensational news as the electronic media suddenly, without warning, shifted to the tilawat after a short confusing closure. A hush, mixed with a sense of disbelief and deliverance, descended upon the victims of the tyrant and dazed confusion set in amongst the ranks of those who had rejoiced at Bhutto’s end. Ghulam Ishaq Khan announcing the shocking end of the dictator in a plane crash 19 years back didn’t allow matters to drift longer than a few hours. An elaborate mourning programme was charted to go with the general’s memorable, though controversial, funeral outside the Faisal Mosque. Good old Azhar Lodhi’s lament rent the skies: “O people, look, he is going!”
Mind goes back to the Lal Masjid that he helped promote into a unique place of worship. One fine Friday he came here to offer the Juma’a prayers. Word got around, plain-clothed security men took their places within the premises and skull-capped herds, who thought praying with the ameer would double the sawab, gathered to join the jamaat. After Maulvi Abdullah’s eulogy the general rose to deliver his harangue. One old devotee in the back rows who probably thought the days of righteous caliphate had returned caused the general great annoyance when he stood up and called him by his name, “ Zia sahib!.” The general, more used to silent salutes, got furious. “Use proper language, learn some decorum. Say president sahib!” was his sharp rebuff. But hardly had the lesson sunk in when the men in civvies fell upon the poor old fool and threw him out of the mosque. Some people still talk of the general’s modesty.
Residents of Bhabra Bazaar may still recall the walk General Zia surprised them with one morning. An old lady, a corner of whose house her septuagenarian tenant was refusing to vacate, intercepted the ameer and raised hue and cry about the situation. What was the general’s response? “Go inside, send some male, we don’t talk to women!” Typical! as Eric Sykes, the British comedian would have said.
Zia knew the nation stood divided and could not be united again at least under him or his religious pretensions. So he set about dividing it further along ethnic, sectarian and biradri lines.
Addressing a gathering of Pakistanis in Zimbabwe, the general advised his countrymen not to go by the natives’ black colour. “They are good at heart!” he assured them. Then this gem that is hard to forget. Returning from a state funeral in Moscow he told the BBC, “The new leader seems to be quite intelligent.”
In a man seemingly so artless, cunning and callousness of the kind associated with him can only be understood in the context of human nature’s ability to design composite personalities from layered contrasts. Yet though the Soviet action came handy with its grave consequences — drugs, arms, extremism and the rest, it cannot be said it was his scheming, just as September 11 wasn’t Musharraf’s; though it did change his course to mire him in his present predicament.
Now the bursting of the Lal Masjid boil is seen as the symbolic culmination of Zia’s policies, but if you knew the CMLA better you would admit he would not have allowed the Ghazi brothers to pose the slightest challenge to his authority. The agencies, the jihadis and the extremists et al remained all under his control as long as he lived. They went berserk only in the following years when governments, one weaker than the other, came to power. The weakest of them all has been so weak it has made them its partners in power.
Looking at it in historical perspective it would appear the die had already been cast when the turbulent legacy of General Ziaul Haq’s bloody years began. Bhutto’s tactical surrender before the mullahs to puncture the inflating balloon of ‘Nizam-i-Mustafa’ not only gave a sense of power to the obscurantists but gave ideas to usurpers waiting in the wings.
They figured the Trojan horse of religion could be used to seize the reigns of power and ensure the perpetuation of their rule by fooling the masses into believing the era of caliphate had returned. Raising the terminological totems of Shura, Zakat, Ushr, Hudood, Qasas, Diyat etc., an illusory façade was created that did keep the naïve believer enthralled for some time. Government babus and ministers alike would not utter a word without reciting Bismillah first and the general’s own prelude to his sermons would always be more elaborate. Listening to the eulogies of his civilian attendants he would often gaze beyond, wondering if he really was the genuine piece. Power does that to people. One becomes the mask one wears.
The malaise however had roots in a past older than Bhutto’s. The field marshal used to court the Mashaikh who have always enjoyed a larger following because of their stress on love and gastronomy than the dry, puritanical Deobandees. His fall and that of Yahya Khan’s had much to do with the country’s breakup in which the religious mindset of the western wing had played an invidious role which is not generally recognised. Bengalis were regarded as lesser Muslims and were thought to be closer to Hindus culturally — the women wore saris and the language had the Deonagri script. So Al Shams and Al Badr fought the lesser Muslims alongside the western mujahids.
The Dacca surrender desecularised the defence machine. It became an ideological entity. Under its wings jihadi outfits started cropping up.
The cry for Nizam-i-Mustafa metamorphosed into human form and appeared in the shape of General Zia. Bhutto who personified his nemesis had to disappear physically. But his judicial dispatch to eternity created a strange disquiet, a disconcerting silence that needed to be broken.
Zia knew the nation stood divided and could not be united again at least under him or his religious pretensions. So he set about dividing it further on ethnic, sectarian and biradri lines by holding non-political polls and in the meanwhile enlarging his own constituency by creating a civilian arm of mosques, madressahs and mujahids whose shift from their traditional penury to undreamt of plenitude — dinners at five-star hotels, foreign trips, Pajeros and Corollas and the rest — depended on the funds he was getting from abroad to fight the Soviet Union in Afghanistan.
It was an open account that facilitated the entry of many mujahids into contraband commerce of drugs and arms and others into rolling real estate businesses. Here was jihad that promised you both the worlds. Now it is instant, like fast food. You blow yourself up and there you are!
Zia-ul-Haq II
August 19, 2007
ARTICLES: The dark night
By Zubeida Mustafa
As former dictator Gen Ziaul Haq’s reign came to an abrupt end on August 17, 1988, literature and the literati too began to breathe again. The following three articles are a tribute to that restored freedom
WHEN Ziaul Haq imposed pre-censorship on the mass media, which include newspapers, magazines and books, in October 1979, this was not exactly a new experience for Pakistan. Since the country emerged as an independent entity in 1947, some form of controls had always been exercised by the powers that be. These were further tightened by Zia by requiring newspapers and magazines to submit their contents to censor officers before they were sent in for printing. This measure was said to be necessary because, as the General said in his speech announcing pre-censorship, the newspapers were ‘working against the interest of the country’ and ‘were poisoning the minds of the people’.
Weekly magazines were also affected. But for journals, especially literary journals, and books the martial law order made little difference. They had all along been controlled through different mechanisms. One was by forcing them to resort to self-censorship if they wished to escape the harsh penalties prescribed by draconian laws. The other was to ban books and journals after they had been published and were found to be ‘distasteful’ by those in power. There was yet another tool available to keep authors and poets in line: hounding them or throwing them into jail. Under Ziaul Haq, all these instruments of control were freely used. Since he had brought in an extra factor — Islamisation — in his state policy, morality and obscenity also became a pretext to crack the whip on literary writings.
The worst aspect of this issue was the self-censorship these practices induced. Writing in Zamir Niazi’s The Web of Censorship, Zohra Yusuf, the editor of the weekend magazine of Star in the 1980s, says, “In the final analysis I found self-censorship to be more insidious and corrupting than direct censorship by the government. It gave me the feeling of collaborating with the official censors, or trying to appease the internal powers — both of which are equally dehumanising experiences.”
We all know how self censorship destroys the self-esteem of a writer. We also know of the few brave souls who refused to submit to the demands of an authoritarian government calling for conformism. Who can forget what happened to Faiz, Josh Malihabadi, Fahmida Riaz, Sibtay Hasan, Habib Jalib, Shaikh Ayaz and others. Their voices were either silenced or they had to go into exile to escape the wrath of the mighty who thought they could control the pen and the thoughts of great minds.
Ziaul Haq imposed censorship in its ugliest form. He introduced religion as a key controlling force in public life. Describing Islam as a ‘complete way of life’, he ensured that anything could be deleted from the public domain by declaring it to be anti-Islam. Literature — both prose and poetry — which encourages creativity and social and cultural non-conformism has been most badly affected by this approach in Pakistan.
Thus we were taken five centuries back in time. Censorship was first introduced in history in the 16th century by the Church in the name of religion and morals at the time of the Reformation. Now the job of banning books on social, political, religious and moral grounds is exercised by governments. It is interesting to note that some books that are today considered great classics were banned in their days. Such books include James Joyce’s Ulysses, Mark Twain’s Huckleberry Finn and Harriet Beecher Stowe’s Uncle Tom’s Cabin.
Societies that care for their intellectual freedom have devised ways and means to counter censorship. In America some publishers observe the Banned Books Week every September to remind Americans not to take their freedom to choose the book they wish to read or the freedom to express their opinion for granted.
Zia-ul-Haq III
August 19, 2007
ARTICLES: In the howling wilderness
By Kishwar Naheed
I was the director of publications in the ministry information in Lahore when martial law was imposed in 1977. The very next morning I was that the coffee table book based on the portraits of Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto by the artist Guljee, which had just arrived from the press, had been sent to get pulped in the oven. Some journalists told me that a few copies were being sold in Urdu Bazaar, I immediately rushed there and found them being sold for Rs100 each. I bought a copy and still have it in my library today. The next day another truck piled high with speeches and books related to ZAB was sent to the same pulping oven.
Censorship was imposed immediately; all matter printed in newspapers, books, periodicals and pamphlets was censored by section officers of the Punjab information department. Even the verses in the Quran related to zulm and barbariat were censored and deleted. The government was sensitive about poets and writers, especially Habib Jalib, Abbas Athar, Faiz Ahmed Faiz, Fehmida Riaz and Ahmad Faraz. Post-publication censorship and banning of books began in full force. Ikramullah’s novel published almost four years ago was banned, Abbas Athar’s collection of poetry related all to Bhutto was banned and he was put in jail. Saleem Shahid’s anthology written on the execution of ZAB was banned and he too was put in jail. Hasan Abbas Raza’s collection of resistance literature titled Khyaban was banned and he was jailed. My translation of Simone de Beauvoir’s book The second sex was not only banned but three cases were registered against me as the translation was considered pornographic. Interestingly, the English version of the book continued to be sold without impediment.
Newspapers had empty (read censored) spaces even in the space meant for editorials, at certain times full pages were censored. Interesting discussions were held in the ministry of information both whether women like Madam Noorjehan should be allowed to wear saris, and if so should the blouse be with half sleeves or full sleeves. After a 90 minute discussion it was decided sleeveless blouses were absolutely prohibited, while half and full sleeves were allowed only for singers but not for any one else appearing on television.
Floggings and long jail sentences were awarded to journalists, writers and political activists. The decision and action on it was so swift that when flogging for any victim was announced, with in half an hour, the punishment was granted. A loudspeaker was placed in front of the victim as that the whole jail population could listen to his screams and get scared. Almost 40, 000 people, including boys as young as 13, were flogged. When it was announced that journalists like Nasir Zaidi and Masoodullah Khan were to be flogged all writers and journalists protested. Masoodullah Khan was saved by the argument that he was more than 45 years old at the time, but Nasir Zaidi was punished for writing stories about brutality in jails and speedy trial courts.
The Jamaat-i-Islami aligned itself with the regime for two years. The minister of information was Maulana Mehmood Azam Faruqi. The moment he saw my file he ordered ‘send her home’. I was placed ‘on leave’ without proper orders. Ejaz Batalvi filed my case and after two years, when the Jamaat also washed its hands of the alliance, I was restored on the job.
From 1977 to 1986, several women executives were made to sit on the back burner, even women ambassadors were given secondary positions. Orders were passed that women working in office would have to wear a chadar. Most of us resisted these orders and never wore the chadars. The orders were not repeated.
Later orders were passed that every head of department shall lead the ritual prayers in the office and to ensure this practice a report had to be sent. Amused, I told my male staff that they would have to offer prayers under my imamat. They all asked to be excused: ‘we will offer prayers ourselves and not report against you’.
When Dr Anwar Sajjad was arrested he asked me to save his documents. Our conversation was recorded and thereafter I was placed under police surveillance for three years. Interestingly, although I was working as director in a government ministry, a jeep and a motorcycle followed me everywhere. Many friends excused themselves from meeting me due to the fear that their license plate number would be noted. They said they needed to protect their children. I laughed because I had told my children the reasons for my surveillance. Not only my children, but indeed the whole neighbourhood of Krishan Nagar expressed their pride in me.
Stories of night-time surveillances during those days were much more horrible. Policemen would smell the mouths of all those who came outdoors after 10 pm. The majority were arrested and taken to the thana for urine test. Every third day bail was sought from district courts for Habib Jalib, Saleem Shahid or Javed Shaheen. The doctors at the thanas were usually sympathetic to artists and writers; every time Mehdi Hasan or Munir Niazi were taken for a urine test, the doctor would give them water to so that the test showed clean results.
Early in Zia’s era official letter pads were printed with the headline Bismillah. When excessive complaints of forgery and bribery on the same pads were reported, no further stationary with the inscription was printed. So many people went into exile. There was a case against Fehmida Riaz and she was to be sent to jail for 14 years. She had no money but somehow managed to leave the country and took refuge in India. Faraz went to London, Faiz Sahib went to Lebanon. Shadows of the Zia regime’s activities are reflected in actions of Jamia Hafsa and in Waziristan. Everyone, it seems, wants to go to heaven by way of suicide bombings.
