Divorce, still a social stigma!

It was a hot summer in the year 2003, Fatima*, 40, was waiting for her soon-to-be ex-husband, who was one of the most powerful lawyers in the district of Sheikhupura. He had filed for divorce when she refused to give her consent for a second marriage and demanded answers about his many affairs. She had filed for child support but the reach of the court was found to be limited against a strong and well-connected man. The only thing in her possession was her house which her husband was belligerently trying to take possession of and telling her to take the kids and leave the city. She took a long sigh and steeled herself to fight him no matter what the price she may have to pay. This was not an isolated case. There are thousands of such stories where women undergoing divorce face monumental societal pressure. Many are forced to return to abusive husbands, with instructions to compromise and sacrifice. In 2009, the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan (HRCP) reported that “up to 90% women in Pakistan face some degree of domestic violence in their families, from husband or in-laws”. Such domestic violence is not just confined to the rural poor; the US Department of State quotes a 2008 report that states that “nearly 50 per cent of wives in developed urban areas admitted that their husbands beat them”. Often women trying to find a way out are targeted by the abusive husbands as many consider any form of dissolution of marriage proceeding initiated by the victim to be an insult and it is also documented that women who have attempted to divorce their violent husbands have been killed, often to satisfy their bruised ego and injured pride. The family, which should act as the shield and as a protection, create extreme pressure on such women to back down and if she refuses then many either condemn her to isolation or display violent behaviour often resulting in cases of honour killing as if they have committed an unmentionable sin irrespective of whether they are from rural homes or urban areas. Our society operates in a bubble where they believe that proceeding with a divorce is a devastating act against the society itself and women should make sure to never take this path. If the divorce is initiated by a woman’s husband then she faces a severe character assassination where society, in a display of patriarchy belittles the woman or defends the husband. Or even worse where the police and judge both see the issue as a family matter that should be solved between the unhappy couple and the law should not interfere. In many cases of domestic violence, the police have been found discouraging the wife from taking any legal action and often telling her that it may lead to a divorce which would see her becoming nothing short of a stigma. The courts stand no better where the judges often pressurise the wife into taking her case back and resolving the issue at home. The most mainstream concept found in our courts and amongst our lawyers is that divorce is a sin and anybody that helps a husband and wife resolve their issue, has earned great rewards for the hereafter. This creates an insurmountable pressure on the wife as the judge, the opposing counsel, and her counsel, all advise her to take the case back, compromise and go back to her husband. This monumental pressure cannot be understated. I have seen many women simply giving up and caving into the pressure and returning to their lives. Their eyes dead and demoralised, they simply, through unsaid words, declare that they cannot fight against an entire system that is made for the sole purpose of protecting a marriage no matter how destructive or abusive it may be. They return to their abusive husbands and suffer through a life of violence and are under even more pressure from society to remain in that marriage. The lives of the women divorced by their husbands are no better. Often given the societal position of a ‘lesser women’, she is deemed to have loose morals and is told to marry quickly to any proposal that now comes her way. She faces constant hostile advances from other males and is spurned by the women of our society who believe that her presence would bring negative energy causing divorces in their households. This is especially true during wedding ceremonies, where divorced women are seen as a bad omen for the new bride. More often than not, these women are the financially weaker party of a divorce proceeding and are often deprived of custody on a financial basis. For their survival and to keep their children, these women are often forced to seek employment, many of whom do not have proper qualifications since their parents, in their eternal wisdom, thought it was prudent to marry her as soon as possible. Her search for work does not earn her any sympathy and is often used as evidence for her supposedly loose morals. If the ex-husband is around then he will also probably use this as a vindication of his decision for divorce. This is especially true for rural women. If the woman does not own any private property then she will find most landlords refusing to rent her any apartments, often using reasons such as her living alone would ruin the environment and that they are looking for families and not women with ‘loose morals’. Banks have often refused to open accounts for divorced women, citing lack of financial stability and proper income, often demanding verification from a male member of their family. Those that do earn money undergo vigorous investigations to make sure that they are not involved in any clandestine activities. The state has no programmes to help such women and any attempt faces severe backlash and is presented as giving support to a sinful act. Islamic law contains two major financial aspects for the aid of divorce women which are mata’aul talaaq (maintenance provided after the period of iddat expires, often lasting till a woman’s remarriage or death) and ujratul misl (compensation for household chores). Yet both these Islamic concepts are absent in the Islamic Republic. These are some of the common problems that women going through a divorce face, regardless of who has initiated the process and the reaction of our society can be observed from this simple fact that our analysts and clergy openly propagate how divorce is a social sin and its rise in numbers is due to loose morals of women, freedom of thought and education. Our politicians stand no different as our prime minister, the choice of the ‘educated’ Pakistanis, recently demonised divorce as a social evil whose roots are found in vulgarity and obscenity. This concept is the symptom of our patriarchal bubble in which the Pakistani male lives in. The problems faced by women undergoing divorce are real and should not be made light of. Their struggle should not be declared as vulgar and the cruelty that they face should be condemned and opposed rather than protected under concepts of ‘rewards’.    I have seen these women in courts, I have seen them in Union Councils and I have seen them struggle and fight and I can testify that there exists no vulgarity, nor obscenity in their struggle. Their struggles are genuine and they are the true victims of the process. It is time we stand by these oppressed women and give them the support they deserve so that they know that they do not face this world alone. The sanctity of marriage is not found in abusive marriages or forced marriages. It is found in a society that treats women as equals.

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What’s the significance of the Kyrgyz-Tajik clashes?

Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan, fellow members of the Russian-led Collective Security Treaty Organisation (CSTO) mutual defence pact and the Shanghai Cooperation Organisation (SCO), clashed with one another last week over their disputed frontier that has yet to be fully delineated since they achieved independence from the Soviet Union in 1991. The violence unexpectedly exploded over a contested water distribution facility and quickly spiralled out of control to the point where over 40 people were killed, hundreds injured, and a few thousand evacuated within the first twenty-four hours. Both countries agreed to a full ceasefire on Saturday but the underlying causes of their clashes remain unresolved. Both countries feel very strongly about their territorial integrity, the contours of which were shaped by the Stalin-era national delimitation of these diverse clan societies into several sub-state republics during the 1930s. Prior concerns over the fairness of the borders that Moscow drew for them were smoothed over for decades by the fact that both nations belonged to the same country, the Soviet Union, and could therefore freely move between them as needed. It was only after independence that this became an issue. Their post-Soviet leaderships were compelled to promote nation-building projects to maintain their legitimacy and facilitate their incorporation into the international community of nations, a concept that’s historically foreign to them. In other words, although they’ve since adapted comparatively well to this system, it can be argued that it was nevertheless forced upon them by circumstances similar in a sense to many of the post-colonial states of the Global South whose borders were determined by external powers. The Western-centric nation-state system that successfully swept the world over the past few centuries naturally exacerbates local conflicts where externally imposed borders don’t always align with the demographics on the ground and/or are contested for historical reasons between the vying state parties. The Central Asian nations, especially Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan, and intensely influenced by these dynamics. The secondary cause of their clashes is concern over regional water shortages, which isn’t unique to Central Asia but is expected to become especially acute there in the coming future. So-called “water wars” are predicted to become more frequent, and seeing as how these latest clashes were most immediately triggered by control over a disputed water distribution facility, they can therefore be described as part of this trend. The prevailing perception of unfair borders imposed by a foreign power upon a local population, not to mention that these same borders have yet to be fully delineated despite three decades’ worth of negotiations, combined with growing concerns over water shortages to catalyse the clashes. The reason why they were so violent can be explained by the third cause, which is closely related to the first. Each of those two nations is comprised of very patriotic people, whose love for their respective country is intensified by the fact that they’re both newfound members of the Western-centric international system that’s historically foreign to their traditions and also in the midst of an unresolved border dispute with their neighbour. On top of that, they’re also pretty impoverished, and many have shared the empirical observation that nationalism is a potent unifying force in poor countries which also serves to distract their people from more immediate economic concerns that might eventually manifest themselves in anti-government protests. Speaking of which, Kyrgyzstan is the least stable of the Central Asian states owing to its three sudden regime changes this century so far (2005, 2010, 2020), while Tajikistan is presumably preparing for a so-called “phased leadership transition” upon the inevitable end of long-serving President Rahmon’s tenure whenever that comes to pass. There are concerns among some observers that the latter scenario might lead to violence considering the fact that Tajikistan previously suffered a very bloody civil war during the 1990s and abuts Afghanistan from where ISIS-like threats might spread throughout the region in the worst-case scenario. Both governments are therefore very sensitive to any expressions of popular unrest, especially nationalist ones. In the face of last week’s unexpected but not entirely unpredictable clashes, neither government could realistically back down and risk being seen as weak in the eyes of their people. Any perceived concessions on such emotive issues as their territorial integrity, water security, and the deaths of their citizens by foreign forces could have resulted in redirecting popular unrest away from their neighbour and towards those same governments instead. This explains why the clashes so quickly spiralled out of control to the shock of many observers who either weren’t aware of the previously examined causes or downplayed their significance. The end result is that both populations are extremely distrustful despite the military situation stabilising. This combustible combination of unresolved border disputes, regional water shortages, endemic poverty, and rising nationalism makes both of their people highly vulnerable to external manipulation, be it of a nationalist, anti-government, and/or religiously extremist nature. The latter is especially worrisome considering the possibility of ISIS-like threats spreading from Afghanistan throughout the region, especially into Tajikistan. Physical ones such as terrorist fighters are less likely than ideological ones due to Russia’s support of that country’s border security services, though it’s precisely the promulgation of terrorist propaganda that concerns the Central Asian Republics the most. The Kyrgyz and Tajik people might be more susceptible to externally supported radical narratives than ever before, whether of a nationalist, anti-government, and/or religiously extremist nature. This means that their security services must closely monitor them in partnership with their Russian ally. Under no circumstances must such narratives be allowed to spread through their societies, especially not in the aftermath of their latest border clashes when the situation still remains very volatile between them. The best-case scenario is that last week’s sudden outbreak of violence almost counter-intuitively brings Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan closer as a result of the Russian security services’ efforts, both in the physical sense of border de-escalation and also ideological. It’s difficult to predict what the future has in store for the Central Asian Republics, but the recent clashes don’t bode well for the region. They prove that local conflicts can quickly spiral out of control in extremely violent ways, with the end result potentially radicalising certain members of their societies and also predisposing the rest of their compatriots to this as well with time. Russia is the only neutral mediator with equally close connections with both that’s capable of ensuring that the situation remains as manageable as possible in pursuit of their collective interests. Moscow will therefore continue working very hard behind the scenes to ensure that Saturday’s ceasefire evolves into a lasting peace and that worst-case scenarios never materialise.

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Why the China-Iran Strategic Partnership Deal benefits Pakistan

Pakistan is the third party that stands to gain the most from the Chinese-Iranian Strategic Partnership deal that was just clinched this weekend. According to reports, Beijing plans to invest upwards of $400 billion into the Islamic Republic’s economy over a 25-year period, with a specific emphasis on energy and infrastructure. Without any exaggeration, one can rightly describe this as a much-needed lifeline that will likely ensure the West Asian country’s long-term stability in the face of crushing American sanctions and increased US-led regional military pressure from its GCC and “Israeli” rivals. It’s in Islamabad’s interests not only to see to it that the larger neighbourhood remains stable, but also to enhance its regional connectivity with all interested countries through the state’s new grand strategy of economic diplomacy that was unveiled earlier this month during the inaugural Islamabad Security Dialogue. Considering the fact that Pakistan hosts the Belt & Road Initiative’s (BRI) flagship of the China-Pakistan Economic Corridor (CPEC), it’s only natural that this megaproject expands westward into Iran as a result of China’s reportedly promised investments there. This would advance the regional integration vision that I’ve previously described as W-CPEC+, with the “W” referring to CPEC’s western expansion, in this case overland through Iran en route to Azerbaijan, Turkey, and eventually further afield to Russia and the EU via those two pivotal transit states respectively. While Chinese-Iranian economic relations will continue to be dominated by the energy sphere, their inevitable diversification into other domains will lead to more bilateral trade being conducted across CPEC. Pakistani entrepreneurs can easily take advantage of this to enhance their own trade ties with both countries. Keeping the ambitious W-CPEC+ vision in mind, one can also begin to talk about its long-term geopolitical dimensions. Azerbaijan, Pakistan, and Turkey have greatly strengthened their trilateral coordination with one another since Baku’s glorious victory in last year’s Patriotic War. It would immensely benefit their relevant interests if their relations with Iran improved as well considering the fact that the Islamic Republic provides the most logical means for more closely integrating the western (Azerbaijan, Turkey) and eastern (Pakistan) halves of this emerging bloc. W-CPEC+ is the best opportunity for bringing this about, which could eventually result in the emergence of a broader regional integration network comprised of all four countries that could tentatively be described as TIPA after their initials. The Chinese-facilitated rise of TIPA via W-CPEC+ could profoundly impact transregional geopolitics by creating a belt of powerful and economically stable Muslim-majority states straddling the frontier of West and Central Asia. The Economic Cooperation Organisation (ECO) that those four Muslim-majority states participate in could also become more significant, especially if China is bestowed the honour of observer status. Taken together, the economic and geopolitical dimensions of the Chinese-Iranian Strategic Partnership stand to be nothing short of game-changing, though it’ll of course take time for these expected benefits to unfold. The four complementary factors influencing these scenarios are CPEC, W-CPEC+, the recently improved trilateral coordination between Azerbaijan-Pakistan-Turkey, and Iran’s inevitable incorporation into the former in order to create the TIPA regional integration network. All of these are poised to combine in mutually beneficial ways that will unleash the power of the Eurasian Century and consequently improve Pakistan’s pivotal role within it.

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The menace of child labour in Sindh

Child labour is any form of labour which exploits minors, interferes with their education, and deprives them of child-like activities while causing them physical or mental harm. It can also lead to physical and verbal abuse. Child labour in Pakistan started as a social evil, but eventually transformed into a major national issue. Child labour has its grassroots in poverty and it is an attempt of parents to make children contribute to the family finances. Every category of work performed by children is not child labour.  If the health, education and lifestyle of a child remain unaffected then it is not child labour.  They can assist their parents with their business or undertake short term jobs during their vacations from school. The acceptance of children being hired as domestic help has led to this evil becoming deeply rooted in our society. It is so ironic that we pamper our own children, but a child of almost the same age performing adult chores in our household gets zero tolerance for any incompetence. In some cases underage maids have been tortured and murdered. In Pakistan, 13 million children are involved in child labour. In Sindh alone, four million children work as labourers in different sectors and at least 1.8 million children work as labour in the agriculture sector.  The growing number of child labour in Hyderabad, especially in the agriculture sector for the past three decades, is due to the lack of proper planning by the local government. Uneducated parents that are financially weak, force their children to work to increase finances.   According to UNICEF, children in Sindh between the ages of four to 14 constitute a major portion of the carpet industry’s workforce. Workshop owners looking for cheap labour convince parents to take their children out of school and into the workforce. As children are cheaper to hire since they are paid less, this helps increase profit margins. Children can sometimes work up to 20 hours a day, seven days a week and are often deprived of sleep and food. These children eventually have health issues like weakened eyesight and breathing problems.   In a country where protecting children against sexual abuse is already a challenge, these kids employed, often after parents are given meagre sums of money, do not stand a chance. Sexual exploitation for those involved in child labour is so commonplace that many children just end up complying, thinking this is a norm. Sexual abuse coupled with the harsh life these kids see, often leads to depression and more often than not drug addictions.   A law was passed in Sindh on January 26th, 2017, that made child labour illegal. The Sindh Prohibition of Employment of Children Bill banned children under the age of 14 from working while also setting a three hour per day rule for those children that may be required to work despite the ban. The law also prohibits adolescents from working between the hours of 7pm to 8am. The minimum age for a child to undertake hazardous labour was set at 18. This kind of labour can include anything that may directly impact the safety, health or morals of children and adolescents, such as mining for example.   In July 2019, Sindh Chief Minister Syed Murad Ali Shah said that the provincial government in collaboration with UNICEF is conducting a survey to ascertain the number of children engaged in child labour so that they could be provided education and skilled training for formal employment when they are of age. But the project never kicked off despite it still being posted under the Bureau of Statistics, on Government of Sindh’s website.   Recently the Directorate of the Labour Project Management Unit, Child Labour Survey Government of Sindh announced that they will be hiring 282 people on a four to six month contract for the survey, however its scope seems to be limited to Karachi.   Many laws have been passed but the implementation remains a major challenge. Without the implementation of these laws, no real changes can take place and the only way to end the suffering of these children is to ensure stringent checks on business and industries while heavy penalties need to be levied to ensure compliance with the law. The children are the future of this country and if we cannot save them, we may not be able to save the country.    

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Why Haseena Moin’s women will live forever

I was probably too young to understand the nuance of Pakistan Television’s (PTV) Tanhayian when I first watched it. My mother would have the episodes playing in the background as she completed chores around the house or helped us with our homework. It’s a wonder, then, that I retain so much affection and appreciation for a drama I first watched when I was 12 years-old. Years later, at 24, I rewatched the series wondering if my nostalgia had given me too rosy an impression of the serial. Surely the characters couldn’t actually be that relatable or well-developed? The story both emotionally and intellectually rewarding? From the minute that first episode, with that opening scene between the incomparable Shahnaz Sheikh and her father played by Subhani ba Yunus, started playing, I was pulled right back in. As a young Pakistani woman, with a shiny new journalism degree and oodles of ambition, the women of Tanhaiyan embodied the actual women around me: unapologetically driven, passionate, flawed, funny, fierce and supportive. In 1986, the late, wonderfully gifted writer Haseena Moin created characters that had depth and nuance that so-called “modern” dramas have been unable to revive. I speak specifically of the women even though Haseena Moin also wrote male characters with grace, depth and, dare I say, humanity. She was able to write people like they were people, and that is the beauty of her dramas: how they speak to the resilience and beauty of our everyday lives – the tragedy, loss, romance, dreams and mistakes of ordinary men and women that make them extraordinary. But I keep coming back to her female characters. From Sultana Zafar’s brief appearance as Zara and Sanya’s elegant mother to Shahnaz Sheikh and the delightful Marina Khan as the lead sisters, to Badar Khalil’s tour de force Aani, to the hilarious Durdana Butt as Bibi and even Vida, played by a magnetic Yasmeen Ismail. These women were trailblazers and unfortunately, they still have to be; because we didn’t get better than them in the last 36 years. Certainly, there have been roles after them that introduced strong, passionate women in Pakistani dramas. I do not intend to criticise the hard work and tight rope many of our female writers, actresses and producers have to deal with in the modern television industry. But surely we can ask for better? We can ask for women who deal with their tragedies the way most Pakistani women actually do? Who see beyond hardship and pain and are allowed to feel joy and reward? Who have their motivations questioned by means other than torture or in some cases, death? Who are not divided into “good girl” and “bad girl” distinguished by the color of their lipsticks? Who have more to worry about than their relationships with men? Zara and Sanya’s characters were not written to be perfect – and that is the elegant simplicity of Haseena Moin’s writing. People are meant to grow and change and learn from their mistakes. The women of Tanhaiyan, Dhoop Kinaray, Ankahi, and several other of Haseena Moin’s dramas, all embodied that concept and did so without coming across as preachy. The question of whether or not a woman was an “achi larki”, “achi biwi” or “achi beti” never had to be broken down over 22 sensational episodes because even back in 1985, Haseena Moin knew that was more than we deserved. In her own words: “I decided I will never write about feeble, defenseless women who spend their time self-pitying rather than propelling change through their actions or intellect.” Haseena Moin’s passing has left a huge void not just in the feminist discourse in this country, but in the creative zeitgeist as well. The one thing that gives me hope is that she already gave us the blueprint for excellence in the 1970s and 1980s. We were lucky to have her and we will be luckier still if we learn from her body of work.

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How to give female athletes in Pakistan a level playing field

Karishma Ali, a football player from Chitral, is listed as one of the disruptors of society in 30 Under 30 in Asia in Forbes Magazine. 15-year-old Azha, a badminton player from a small town in Punjab, has not read this report but she has her own athletic aspirations. Azha knows firsthand that athletic goals for young women in Pakistan are rarely fulfilled and she is aware that athletes like Karishma are trailblazers. Like many desires that go against cultural expectations, athletic dreams are killed before they are born. Azha also knows why Karishma talks of “secrecy” and “security” for women who pursue sports in Pakistan. “We really need to raise our voices for women’s rights'' says Azha when I ask her about gender equity in sports. “Leagues like PSL are given more value than any of the leagues played by women,” she complains. She is adamant about gender equity on all levels of life. A badminton player for the past three years, Azha wants to pursue her passion for the game and join a competitive league. Her parents are supportive, but sports facilities are not available in her town, at least not for women. This is just the beginning of the challenges she faces. She is aware that by not pursuing her passion, she, and her community, has much to lose. Studies show that by participating in competitive sports, Azha’s academic scores are likely to be greater than that of her non-athlete peers. She will have a higher level of confidence and self-esteem and lower levels of depression. Even after she graduates from university, she is more likely to get a full-time job. She is likely to outperform her non-athletic female and male colleagues. Why would she hold her back from such academic, emotional, and professional gains? Her fear, however, supersedes her loss. “I don’t think that I would be brave enough,” she says. She elaborates on this fear, “We would not be accepted by society anymore.” Studies and news reports on female athletes in Pakistan reveal that Azha is not alone in her fear. Track and field athlete, Shazia Hidayat, who qualified for the 2000 Sydney Olympics, received death threats and was attacked physically and verbally until she decided to leave the country. This level of fear is astounding. Please let that sink in. A teenager says she is not brave enough to compete in a game that she loves playing. What kind of society would allow this level of intimidation? Azha is probably not aware of the legislation that should ensure her safety in public spaces. As she reminds me, her family is very supportive, but there is an insidious fear when she continues discussing her passion. She worries she’ll be “attacked” by any action she might take. This is not surprising. Take the case of the female football players in Karachi a few years back. When Hina Javed, a football coach from Sydney, Australia, held a football camp, the young athletes were inundated with an onslaught of insults in person and online. Considering the vile comments, these athletes reacted with humor and maturity beyond their years. But there is hope, just last week, the Pakistan Olympic Association “pledged to create a conducive environment for female athletes”. It will be interesting to see how far these efforts impact those who feel emboldened to impinge on the freedoms of their fellow citizens. Why do these young women face such a high level of discrimination on the “basis of sex alone”, to use terminology from Article 25 of the Constitution of Islamic Republic of Pakistan? In addition, “Articles 25(3) and 26(2) allow the state to make special provisions for the protection of women and children.” And then “Article 26 & 27 provide for equal access to public places”. Is more legislation needed to ensure security and equity for female athletes? An analysis of women in athletics over the past few decades will reveal the impact (or lack) of this legislation and might suggest that more is needed. Despite her own aspirations, Azha is not aware of her mother’s experiences as a teenager. Like most young people her age, Azha cannot imagine her at fifteen. She can’t say whether her mother had wanted to be an athlete. I, on the other hand, grew up in Pakistan around that time, in the 70s and 80s, and I have firsthand experience of young girls and competitive sports of that time. Like Azha, my parents were on my side. My mother played field hockey and tennis in school. She encouraged me and my three sisters to stay physically active through sports. She introduced us to tennis and rounders. Later, I played badminton, netball, and then I learned to swim. When I began my career as an English teacher in Faisalabad, I took on the responsibility to teach my female students how to swim. The school where I taught had a swimming pool. Before that, as a student, first at Government College for Women, Faisalabad, and then as a graduate student at Lahore College for Women, I did not participate in competitive sports offered at that time, basketball, tennis, and badminton. Neither of the institutions had a swimming pool. I might have considered participating if the facility had been available. But another unnecessary restriction I placed on myself was the assumption that participating in competitive sports would have a negative impact on my studies. This perception prevails restricting parents from encouraging participation in athletics. If only I had known how the benefits of participating in such activities would far outweigh my concern around grades. That investment in my physical well-being would have reduced my risk of Cardiovascular diseases, Diabetes, Osteoporosis, and Breast cancer. According to a WHO report, lack of opportunities for physical activity for women in developing countries is the main cause of the above mentioned diseases. Returning to Article 25 and equal gender opportunities in public spaces, gender disaggregated reports on government funding for sports facilities will highlight the gender inequity existing in competitive sports in Pakistan. Data-informed planning can begin to rectify the problem and build more equitable athletic programmes. Eliminating harassment and threats, however, will take a multigenerational restructuring of education and society. It will require an understanding of the policies and practices that ensure safety for women. Scandinavian countries, even countries like Malaysia, have increased safety for women and are worth studying. Some might argue that sports are not a priority at this time. But the reality is that gender inequity in athletics programmes, like in all spheres of life in Pakistan, is enormous. The public is continually made aware of this inequity by female athletes: Karishma tweets, “Javeria is an 8-year-old girl who plays football in the Chitral women’s sports club. This is her first-time playing football. Imagine what she would do if she was provided with better facilities. Earlier this year, tennis player Oreen Jasia complained that “Pakistan Tennis Federation (PTF) does not support the local players if they want to train at the facilities in Islamabad.” Granted schools and colleges of either gender do not have the kind of support needed for comprehensive athletics programmes. However, since their inception, government subsidized public schools for boys have provided sport facilities unequaled to what is given to girl’s schools. To demonstrate full compliance with Article 25, data-analysis can highlight these inequities. Localised studies can inform how to ensure they are eliminated. If students like Azha are aware of their rights as citizens of Pakistan, they will be empowered to ensure those rights are met. My own understanding of the support and facilities required for student athletes became clear when I returned to the world of athletics as Dean of Athletics at a college in California. The importance of legislation ensuring decision making became clear during my tenure. It is not easy to balance all decisions in such matters; however, the intentionality of decision making based on legal expectation can ensure equitable decisions. In the case of the programme under my supervision, Title IX, an Educational Amendment ensured equity in athletics. The college was legally required to follow through on this expectation. All aspects of the programme were considered: facilities, recruitment, personnel, instruction, and academic support, to name a few. Like other educational endeavors, fulfilling these requirements was a challenge, but the intentionality makes those responsible aware of their charge. Athletic programmes, whether for men or women, have unique needs: designating space, maintaining fields, providing locker space, purchasing equipment, funding travel, all elements necessary for successful athletic programmes. For female athletes in Pakistan, however, safety is paramount to ensure Azha can fulfill her dream to pick her racket and “to be fearless...confident enough to stand in front of thousands of people playing my favourite sport.”

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Power dynamics between men and women

All relationships between men and women have certain dynamics of power, or in other words the ability to influence and to a certain extent control the other person. In healthy, balanced relationships power is generally equal or close to equal between partners. Power maybe balanced by one partner being responsible for finances while the other may have more say in how the children are parented but the influence is reciprocal.  The decisions that are taken are based on mutual respect and consideration of each other's preferences. However, more often than not, relationships between men and women are marred by power imbalances due to a combination of gender, social and cultural factors as well as individual childhood wounding. Maheen and Ahmed* are such a couple, with a power struggle that has gone on for as long as their marriage has, ten years. Maheen, 34, a software engineer, grew up around constant conflict between her parents and in a very tight financial situation. She had to be self-reliant to cope. While she was growing up, she felt powerless in her environment and now as an adult she has an intense need to control her situation to feel safe. She feels more in control with she highlights her spouse’s inadequacies and this feels far safer than connecting with him as an equal. Ahmed, on the other hand, is emotionally very needy as he grew up in a very authoritative environment where he was never good enough and was constantly shamed. He also has fears of abandonment. Maheen, being self-reliant emotionally and financially, has more power in the relationship. She usually doesn’t appreciate Ahmed or his efforts to make her happy, to maintain a one up stance so to speak and in doing so she keeps herself safe. Ahmed tries to not let her work so that she remains financially dependent and he too can gain some power in the relationship. In addition, he thinks this dependency will ensure that Maheen does not leave him. This results in fights between the two which have reached a stage where Ahmed has pushed her during an argument and Maheen has been engaging in emotional infidelity. They have both started therapy for the sake of their kids. Both need individual counselling where Ahmed can work on his sense of self so he can validate and love his own self instead of looking for validation outside and can also process his fears of abandonment. Maheen needs to heal from past trauma so that she can feel safe enough without criticising her partner, while learning to be vulnerable and connecting instead. Healthy relationships entail a sharing of power but this can only happen when there is a healthy sense of self-worth as well as autonomy, only then will both partners feel comfortable to directly express their desires and needs, while taking responsibility for themselves and for the relationship. People who grow up experiencing neglect and abuse come to believe that love and power cannot co-exist. To feel accepted and safe they learn to give up their own needs, please others and seek validation from outside, alternatively some of the kids growing up in an environment of abuse and neglect decide the best way to feel safe and get their needs met is by exercising power over others. This also breeds fear and resentment. Nisha*, 20, is stuck in an abusive relationship. Growing up with an emotionally volatile and abusive mother she learned early on that in order to survive she needs to suppress her needs and feelings. She was the caretaker of her family and was constantly trying to maintain peace. A part of her realises that her boyfriend is toxic and that he regularly lies and disappears on her but she finds herself unable to leave him. She has a strong desire to be needed owing to her low self-worth and even though her boyfriend can meet none of her emotional needs, just the fact that he needs her is enough to make her feel power. If the boyfriend withdraws suddenly, owing to his own mental health issues, and doesn’t seek her help, she suddenly feels powerless and like she doesn’t matter. Apart from individual patterns that originate from childhood wounding, cultural and gender dynamics also influence the power balance between men and women. Nasreen* from a small village near Multan has been in an abusive marriage for the past 15 years. Her husband is jailed every now and then for theft and fraud. She on the other hand works in the fields all day and takes care of her daughters and in-laws. Her husband beats her up if she asks him to mend his ways and earn for their daughters. She doesn’t leave this marriage because she is scared she will be labelled characterless while it will be alleged that she is having an affair if she asks for a divorce. But what is perhaps an even bigger deterrent is the fear of the effects that her character assassination will have on her daughters’ marriage prospects. Her parents also ask her to stay with the husband and bear the abuse for her daughters’ sake and to avoid a divorce. Ironically, her husband will have extramarital affairs whenever he has some money in hand but, “nobody calls out men,” says Nasreen with a sense of resignation. In this case, unfortunately, the culture and social structure is heavily biased in favour of the male gender and Nasreen’s husband is getting away with physical abuse and adultery.  Traditional gender roles, where males are financially more superior and women financially dependent are also sometimes used to create a power imbalance and control a woman by treating her as a second-class citizen. But power dynamics between men and women go beyond adhering to traditional gender roles or letting go of them, they also largely depend on the felt quality of the interpersonal relationship in question.  Couples can choose to conform to traditional gender roles or take up more contemporary approaches, what matters more is the balance between the two people and not what role they chose to fulfil. It is important to be sensitive, respectful and concerned about our spouses’ needs as well as our own to ensure a healthy relationship. Couples that maybe feeling like their balance is off or that they may have unhealthy ways of relating to each other can opt for individual as well as couples counselling and navigate their conflicts in a safe non-judgemental and objective way. *Names and details have been changed to protect privacy

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The story behind why Gilgit-Baltistan allows trophy hunting

In 1989, Syed Yahya Shah Al-Hussaini – a local political and religious leader from the Bar Valley in Gilgit-Baltistan, northern Pakistan – came up with a rather unusual conservation trade-off: helping the Siberian ibex (Capra sibirica) in the valley thrive by allowing it to be hunted for its horns. Trophy hunting had been banned in Pakistan in the early 20th century after the excesses of organised hunting expeditions (shikars) during the British rule had wrought havoc on the endemic big-game animal population, driving them to the brink of extinction. This was unfortunate because ungulates have great significance for local communities. They provide income along with meat and hide to withstand the winter cold. Ungulates are associated with fairies in folklore – a symbol of majesty – and the markhor is Pakistan’s national animal. Community hunting used to be for subsistence; hunters performed special rituals before embarking on expeditions. Syed Yahya Shah could see that a prolonged, complete ban on hunting would have deep, unseen impacts on livelihoods and traditions. The ban was also spilling over into increased illegal poaching. So, he proposed that the Bar community should receive special government dispensation to open their valley to commercial trophy hunting – if they used the proceeds towards wildlife conservation and community development. Foreigners would pay a premium price to hunt a limited number of Siberian ibex each year in designated zones. The hunters would take the trophy (the majestic head with spiral horns), while the community would keep the meat. The notion was that the incentive could help curb excessive poaching and strike a balance between the sustainable use of wildlife resources and economic gains. There is of course much debate about the morality, economics, and efficacy of trophy hunting for conservation. Critics have derided the practice as a bygone colonial relic (fueled by masculinity and oppression) that does little to help wildlife conservation. They point to examples of how big-game hunting zones in Africa are being abandoned because big-game has been hunted out of these areas. They claim that the money intended for communities and conservation efforts ends up lining the pockets of a few individuals. There is also the complex issue of the ethics of hunting animals for sport: Do the ends really justify the means? Yet, it cannot be entirely dismissed as a conservation tool either. The success of a community-based trophy hunting programme could very well depend on the ecological circumstances and management model in place. Even major conservation organisations such as the International Union for Conservation of Nature and the World Wide Fund for Nature (WWF) argue that properly managed and science-based trophy hunting can benefit wildlife. A complete ban on this type of conservation can also be considered a form of neo-colonialism, with Western environmentalists dictating their agenda and models of conservation without considering the historical devastation of wildlife by colonial extraction, without heeding the needs of local communities, and without examining unique circumstances of certain habitats and wildlife populations. Syed Yahya Shah broached the possibility of starting a community-based trophy hunting programme because he saw its utility for his people. He drafted a proposal after seeking the counsel of Ghulam Rasool, Divisional Forest Officer of the Gilgit-Baltistan Forest and Wildlife Department, and Shoaib Sultan Khan of the Aga Khan Rural Support Programme (AKRSP) – the only organisation back then engaged in social mobilisation efforts for rural development in Gilgit-Baltistan. The AKRSP forwarded his proposal to the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN), and then to WWF-Pakistan. This group of conservation organisations approached Ashiq Ahmed Khan, an eminent conservationist then affiliated with the Pakistan Forest Institute, Peshawar, to conduct a situational analysis of the proposal and review its benefits for the Bar community and the ungulate populations. Although there was a complete ban on hunting and export of mammals in the country, there were two precedents for trophy hunting: in the North-West Frontier Province (now Khyber Pakhtunkhwa) and in Torghar, a tribal area in Balochistan. In Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, Chitral Gol National Park authorities hunted a Kashmir markhor (Capra falconeri cashmiriensis) in a buffer zone. Fifty percent of the revenue from the hunt was supposed to be invested in the development of the community living within the buffer zone. This never happened. The story was the same in Balochistan. Tribal leaders tasked with protecting the Sulaiman markhor (Capra falconeri jerdoni) through a strong watch-and-ward system in the Torghar area of Qila Saifullah were involved in trophy hunting. The tribal leaders kept the revenue for themselves. They did commit a part of the revenue to the government if it legalised trophy hunting, but they did not follow through with this pledge when the federal cabinet finally lifted the ban. The programme in Gilgit-Baltistan needed to set a different example. Studying the proposed programme’s suitability for the Bar Valley In 1989, Ashiq Ahmed Khan visited the Bar Valley with representatives of the Gilgit-Baltistan Forest and Wildlife Department, WWF, and AKRSP to understand whether Syed Yahya Shah’s proposal would have its intended impact. Khan surveyed nearby catchments where trophy-sized animals were sighted close to human settlements. Studying the ibex population, he decided that for an ungulate to be considered for trophy hunting, it should be over nine years old, with horns larger than 40 inches. (The estimation is done by counting rings on the horn by professional hunters using binoculars.) He expected that hunting old bucks would do the least harm to the species (although this has been challenged on various grounds and could potentially be influenced by various other factors). Based on the sightings of ibex, Khan discussed hunting-related matters with the local community, covering (among other things) the nature and scale of community hunting; reasons for hunting; numbers, type, age, and sex of ibex and markhor usually hunted; quantity of meat obtained per animal; alternatives to meat; and local meat prices. The experts focused on how increasing the prey population through trophy hunting-based conservation could reduce human–wildlife conflict (loss of livestock by predators and retaliatory killing by the community) by reducing poaching, increasing natural prey numbers for predators, and increasing community tolerance for predators. Khan concluded that through government-regulated trophy hunting, the community could reap more equitable benefits and assume greater ownership in wildlife conservation efforts. Based on years of interactions with the community, he knew that communities were hunting mostly to secure meat for their families and the gains from a regulated programme would benefit every family, whether they were involved in hunting or not. This would also deter illegal hunting. The trophy hunting revenue would be spent on biodiversity conservation and community development projects. Ashiq Ahmed Khan shared his report with the conservation organisations involved, and this formed the basis of the first community-based trophy hunting programme in Gilgit-Baltistan. Representatives from WWF-Pakistan and AKRSP meeting the Bar community for the community-based trophy hunting programme in the early 1990s. (Photo: Nasir Azam/WWF-Pakistan) Getting the programme started As the federal cabinet had imposed a ban on the hunting of mammals, the programme could only be operationalised once the ban was lifted. Shakeel Ahmad Durrani, the then Chief Commissioner of Northern Areas (now Gilgit-Baltistan), sought approval of Ashiq Ahmed Khan’s proposed programme from the federal government. The proposal recommended a 75%/25% split of the revenue between the community and the government, respectively. The summary was approved in 1992 by the then Prime Minister Muhammad Nawaz Sharif. An amendment signed in 1995 by the then Prime Minister Benazir Bhutto, increased the community share of the revenue to 80%. WWF-Pakistan finally implemented the community-based trophy hunting programme in 1991. During a formal gathering in Gilgit-Baltistan, the Bar community received a loan as a conservation trade-off to stop hunting and buy meat for their families to tide over the long harsh winters. In return, the community pledged to stop hunting markhor and ibex for two years, so that numbers of these ungulates could cross the threshold (of 4%) for trophy hunting. The local community returned the money after the first hunt, and this sum was donated towards the construction of a health facility in the Bar Valley. The IUCN and AKRSP organised a comprehensive survey in Gilgit-Baltistan in 1992 to identify various sites that could become the target of future conservation interventions with a focus on trophy hunting. On the basis of that assessment, the Government of Gilgit-Baltistan approved the trophy hunting of Siberian ibex in 1993 and the IUCN launched a biodiversity conservation project in Gilgit-Baltistan in 1994, which laid the foundation for the community-based trophy hunting programme. Such efforts led the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species of Wild Fauna and Flora (CITES) to approve trophy hunting of 12 markhor each year in Pakistan (four permits each for Astore markhor in Gilgit-Baltistan, Kashmir markhor in Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa, and Sulaiman markhor in Balochistan) during the 10th meeting of the Conference of Parties in Harare,1997. Staff from the Mountain Area Conservancy Project – a GEF/UNDP-funded project implemented by IUCN and WWF (1999–2006) – meeting local communities in Gojal Conservancy, Gilgit-Baltistan, for replication of the community-based trophy hunting model in their area. Hunza, June 2000. (Photo: M Zafar Khan/WWF-Pakistan) A successful model for Gilgit-Baltistan Pakistan’s model of community-based trophy hunting programme is purely an incentive-based conservation approach carefully designed to strike a balance between the conservation needs of mountain ecosystems and the livelihood needs of marginalised communities that have been coexisting with wildlife for centuries. The ecological impacts of the trophy hunting initiative, especially on the species of markhor and ibex in the programme area, have been significant. There are now more than 50 designated community conservation areas, covering more than 30% (around 21,750 sq km) of the total land area of Gilgit-Baltistan. Since the trophy hunting scheme has been operational, the poaching of wild animals has decreased significantly, which has contributed to a significant increase in markhor and ibex populations across the mountainous region of Pakistan. The population of Astore markhor (Capra falconeri) in Gilgit-Baltistan increased from 1,900 in 2012 to 2,800 in 2016. The population of Kashmir markhor in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa increased from 2,493 in 2009-10 to 4,878 in 2016-17. In Balochistan, the population of Sulaiman markhor increased from 1,742 in 2000 to 3,518 in 2011. There is also anecdotal evidence to suggest that trophy hunting has been beneficial for endangered species such as the snow leopard since their natural prey populations have increased. This has meant that the incidences of such predators encroaching on farmlands and killing livestock has decreased. Source: Provincial governments of Balochistan, Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa, and Gilgit-Baltistan (2018) The programme has also led to better community programmes, infrastructure, and services for communities and the initiation of conservation efforts. Under the programme, foreigners can acquire a trophy hunting license for Siberian ibex for only USD 3,600, with the markhor commanding USD 100,000. With the local communities receiving 80% of the revenue, the economic benefits of the trophy hunting programme are naturally substantial. From 1995 to 2020, the programme has generated USD 4.86 million for Pakistan from the sale of trophy hunting permits for only markhor, out of which USD 4.3 million has been invested in the social, economic, and environmental development of the local communities. Using about 30% of the revenue, local communities grow fodder and raise plantations on wastelands for habitat improvement, organise livestock vaccination campaigns to prevent disease transmission from domestic to wild animals, conduct cattle breeding campaigns, maintain joint watch-and-ward systems for wildlife protection against poaching, and improve the design of corrals in pastures to make these predator proof. Around 70% of the revenue is spent on a range of social and economic development activities, from repairing irrigation channels to community school buildings, basic health units, educational stipends and scholarships, soft loans to women for micro businesses, and improving farm-to-market infrastructural connectivity. Given the nature of the conservation model, there has naturally been an outcry over the trophy hunting programme’s very existence in Pakistan, both regionally and internationally. There have been criticisms of poor management and misappropriation of the funds generated. However, Pakistan’s Ministry of Climate Change has hailed the programme as a “success story” in terms of conservation. CITES has welcomed the programme’s success in Pakistan, but it has also noted some gaps, including the lack of accurate information to understand the effect of trophy hunting on herd structure and size, weak policy implementation, lack of transparency, and corruption. CITES officials have signalled that they could consider the Government of Pakistan’s request to increase markhor hunting permits if the CITES Animals Committee evaluates the status of Kashmir markhor in the country and recommends the increase. The Government of Pakistan’s announcement to conduct an audit of trophy hunting revenues is a welcome move which will help ensure transparency. This is where the private sector can contribute to the efficacy of the trophy hunting programme as well as community-led conservation initiatives, by ensuring scientific understanding of the trophy hunting programme and improving transparency, accountability, benefit sharing, and environmental stewardship. There is much to admire and learn from the success of the community-based trophy hunting programme in Gilgit-Baltistan. However, before it is promoted as a conservation panacea for the entire Hindu Kush Himalayan region, or indeed the world, we should remember how much thought, examination, and scrutiny Syed Yahya Shah’s proposal went under before it finally came to fruition – and how much there is left to be desired.

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America’s increased control over the Indian Ocean will benefit India

US Navy Secretary Kenneth Braithwaite announced last week that his country plans to establish a new numbered fleet. He revealed that,

“We want to put that numbered fleet in the crossroads between the Indian and the Pacific Oceans, and we’re really going to have an Indo-Pacom footprint. We have to look to our other allies and partners like Singapore, like India, and actually put a numbered fleet where it would be extremely relevant if, God forbid, we were to ever get in any kind of a dust-up. More importantly, it can provide a much more formidable deterrence. So we’re going to create the First Fleet.”

This development shouldn’t be surprising for anyone who’s even casually observed the US’ moves in the Indian Ocean over the past four years. The earlier rebranding a few years back of the Pacific Command to the Indo-Pacific Command confirmed that the Pentagon would be placing extra attention on what it regards as India’s “natural” sphere of influence in its epnoymous body of water. The purpose in doing so is obvious enough, and it’s that this ocean is indispensable to the Chinese economy since so much of its trade traverses through it. Establishing control over the Indian Ocean would thus enable the US to more effectively “contain” China.

It’s only natural then that the US would eventually designate a new fleet exclusively focused on this task. The question on everyone’s mind is where it’ll be based, but that’s yet to be decided according to Braithwaite though he interestingly suggested that India might host it. That also shouldn’t be surprising either since the recent signing of the three so-called “foundational pacts” between their militaries over the past few years makes this legally, logistically, and technically feasible, especially with respect to their 2016 “Logistics Exchange Memorandum Of Agreement” (LEMOA).

It’s too early to say whether this will definitely come to pass or not, but the answer itself is arguably moot since the First Fleet would have de-facto basing rights there regardless through LEMOA or an expanded version thereof. For the fleet’s foundational purpose, it would make more sense to base it in Singapore, but doing so in India’s Andaman and Nicobar Islands for example might be a suitable backup plan in the event that the city-state balks at becoming the US’ vanguard state for “containing” China in this larger region. However everything ultimately ends up, it’s certain that India will obviously play a huge role in supporting the First Fleet.

The reason for this prediction is that it serves both American and Indian interests for this to happen. India is seeking to expand its naval footprint across the Indian Ocean, but it’s seriously struggling to do so on its own. New Delhi needs a party with the experience to help it proverbially spread its wings, ergo the importance of Washington, which wields the world’s most powerful navy by far. It'll still take a lot of time for India to actualise its vision of becoming a naval power in its eponymous ocean, but it’ll be comparatively easier for it to do so under the US’ tutelage.

From the American perspective, Trump’s vision of “burden-sharing” will likely outlive his presidency even if he loses his ongoing legal challenges to this month’s election results. The Pentagon has already made the appropriate bureaucratic changes to pursue this strategy across the coming years, and it therefore won’t be easily changed even if Biden decided to do so, which is unlikely in any case. There’s also bipartisan support for the US’ de-facto military alliance with India, so whether a Democrat or Republican is in office, one can be assured that America will continuing supporting one of its most important proxy states in the world.

Overall, the establishment of the First Fleet might seem like little more than a bureaucratic change, but in reality it’ll optimise the US’ naval operations in the region. This development would also facilitate further interoperability between the American and Indian navies, which will unleash their joint capabilities in pursue of their shared goal to “contain” China. Faced with this ever more prominent challenge, China might in turn be compelled to reciprocally strengthen its own naval relations with relevant regional partners such as Pakistan, Myanmar, and the East African coastal states most closely connected to its Belt and Road Initiative (BRI).

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How Khadim Rizvi exposed and exploited a nation

The controversial firebrand chief of the Tehreek-e-Labbaik Pakistan (TLP), Khadim Hussain Rizvi, died on November 19, 2020. Rizvi rose to prominence out of ‘nowhere’ in a short period of time, and in the process left a profound mark on Pakistani society, particularly with respect to religious extremism and militancy. While religious extremism is nothing new in Pakistan, what made Rizvi unique was the fact that he inspired a very different kind of extremism within a group which, at least in the popular imagination, is not militant. As rightly pointed out by Nadeem Farooq Paracha, our imagination about Sufism is shaped by pop culture and a generally accepted narrative, according to which followers of Sufism are essentially mild people who sing qawaalis, engage in dhamals, and preach tolerance; whereas in reality Sufism is not monolithic and is a contested domain, and some strains can espouse violence. TLP belongs to the more violent strain of Sufism.

Unlike religious outfits like the Taliban, the TLP is less violent but, in some ways, more dangerous. While it is true that the TLP has never indulged in extreme acts like suicide attacks and bombings, their brand of violence has the potential of becoming far more pervasive and far-reaching as it is something which an ordinary citizen can relate to, appreciate and even espouse. Just recall what happened when Aasia Bibi was acquitted of the blasphemy charges levied against her. For several days, tens of thousands of hardliners indulged in violent protests, bringing large swathes of Pakistan to a standstill. Eventually the government had to strike a deal with them in order to get some respite. Even just before Rizvi’s demise, the TLP again forced the government to strike a deal on its own terms.  Compared to the Taliban, whose extremism is not an intrinsic part of the character of our society, Barelvi extremism as practiced by the TLP is increasingly becoming rooted in our cultural ethos and collective mindset. To quote a friend of mine, who also happens to be a writer, 

“No such thing as a ‘Taliban mind-set’ exists in mainland Pakistan. It has never existed. Never will. It simply does not go well with the local cultural ethos. The term is a misguided liberal belief. However, there does exist a thing known as ‘Aashiq-e-Rasool’: politicise it a little, provoke it to even a small degree and you will have a burning country on your hands.” 

Looking at the pictures and video clips of Rizvi’s funeral at the Minar-e-Pakistan, I can safely say that it was one of the biggest funerals I have seen in my lifetime, rivalling that of Mumtaz Qadri, who ironically was the foremost reason behind Rizvi’s meteoric rise.

It is astounding that literally tens of thousands thronged to the funeral of a person who openly incited violence and hatred against the minorities, weaponised the issue of the finality of Prophet-hood to an extremely violent and dangerous extent, regularly pressurised the state to strike deals on his terms, and used profanities in his speeches. But then again, should we really be surprised? He was popular exactly for the aforementioned reasons, and he connected with a substantial segment of our society on a visceral level.

However, as a political opportunist, Rizvi was simply saying what many wanted to hear. Rizvi did not create the hate, he merely exploited it and, in the process, made it even more virulent, stripped off the political niceties. His ‘contribution’ was to merely articulate it in a cruder and blunter manner, in line with the baser level of sentiments already prevailing in Pakistani society. The rot did not start with him, it was already there. Rizvi was just a logical progression of what had already been happening in this country.

The reality is that ours is an extremist society and almost all the political stakeholders have contributed towards this extremism and exploited it whenever the opportunity arose. One of the weakest arguments I have heard against this sentiment is that Pakistanis do not vote for religious parties and are therefore ‘moderate’. This is a completely baseless claim. Religious parties do not get a major chunk of the votes mainly because other parties also use the religion card while offering other incentives too, thereby leaving religious parties with not much to sell. The so-called ‘moderate’ mainstream parties, namely the PPP, PTI and PML-N, as well as Pakistan’s establishment, have, to varying degrees, weaponised religion whenever it has suited them. In fact, during the electoral campaign in 2018, it seemed at times that there was very little difference between the rhetoric and sloganeering of the TLP and the other two mainstream right-wing parties, PML-N and PTI.

Not only is ours an extremist society, it is also a thoroughly hypocritical one, which cries about Islamophobia in the West while mistreating religious minorities and women in Pakistan. In the global gender gap ranking we are third last, and in the minority rights index we are ninth from the bottom, and yet we have the audacity to cry about Islamophobia in the West. Our prime minister constantly tweets about Islamophobia, and yet he does not have a single word to say when it comes to the way our own minorities are treated.

Rizvi, before his death, was agitating for the expulsion of the French ambassador from Pakistan and for a complete boycott of French products, a demand which an overwhelming number of Pakistanis are also making in light of the French cartoons controversy. However, if the rationale behind boycotting France is religious discrimination and bigotry, then perhaps Pakistan should start by boycotting itself first.

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