The PTI’s Dr Shireen Mazari blasted Rana Sanaullah on Saturday for being responsible for the carnage in Faisalabad and demanded his immediate arrest. Rana Sanaullah responded by flatly denying all charges and flinging accusations back at the PTI.
Now there is a problem. There always is, when things are not what they seem; and when people say what they don’t mean. We saw it in Faisalabad — again.
Enraged crowd collided that day like ancient armies on a vast battlefield. Sticks were swung like battle axes and fists thrown like spiked hammers. Men and boys spat rage and venom as the air reverberated with the sound of war.
Then somewhere in the middle of the mayhem, someone raised his gun-wielding hand, and pressed the trigger. The spring mechanism inside the gun hammered a firing pin into the back end of the bullet, igniting a small explosive charge. The bullet spun through the spiraling grooves inside the barrel, emerging at a muzzle velocity of more than 2,000 km/hour. It sliced angrily through the air and slammed into the body of Haq Nawaz, puncturing flesh, splintering bone and shattering organs. Haq Nawaz had no chance.
It happened in front of the cameras. There was no hiding and no shielding. The shooter walked about without a care in the world, firing away as if practising on a range. He did not belong to any law-enforcement agency, and yet he strutted around brandishing his weapon with complete abandon. Who was he? And why was he shooting to kill in a crowd?
Herein lies the problem. The last few months have vomited some weird characters on to the national stage: Gullu, Pomi, Chainee and an assortment of ruffians who breed inside the armpits of governments. These thugs thrive on crumbs from the official table, and do their dirty business under the protective shadows of the police. They represent the dark side of our political system — vermin and maggots growing fat on official largesse.
But no one speaks of them and all that they do. All know about them, but no one dare admit it in public. Fear is a powerful emotion, and fear can elicit total silence. These villains are merchants of pain; they kill, maim, extort, kidnap and do all such things that are, well… unpleasant. They are the qabza mafia, and all other mafias. They lurk in the shadows, but hide in plain sight. But they are ultimately nothing more than enforcers — henchmen for the real dons.
And who are these real dons? Well, now here is where politics blends into criminality and vice versa. Over the decades, this country of ours has developed a strong tolerance for the culture of violence. In many ways, strong-arm tactics have acquired certain legitimacy within political activities. So it is now acceptable — perhaps even desirable — for successful politicians to wield influence through a bit of force. This force is meant not just to browbeat opponents and people at large, but to generate economic activity. Huh?
Yes, in the brutal world of Pakistan, where the State joins other predators in hunting its own citizens, millions and billions are made through qabzas of one kind or the other. These qabzasare done through force. Then they are legalised through influence. And while all this is being done, the law shrivels up like a terrorised victim and hides under the table.
This is the worst kept secret in the country. But no one does anything to put an end to this. The problem is the man in power. He is the one who sanctions this criminality because he himself is the product of the system that reeks of such unsaid thuggery. This culture of the Gullus and Pomis and Chainees is weaved inside the fabric of our political system — legitimised over the decades by those who birthed it, nourished it and clothed it in State apparel.
The Faisalabad shooter has still not been identified and apprehended. His face is plastered all over the media, and yet the police and other law-enforcement agencies appear helpless. Or is there some other explanation? Is he deliberately not being nabbed and produced before the public for fear of exposing some other people? Is the Pakistani system going into overdrive to protect the powerful?
These questions and fears have no place in a true modern, democratic and transparent system where rule of law reigns supreme. Yet it is the irony of all our ironies that many among us defend this rotten state of affairs in the name of continuity. In no self-respecting country would a government and its police be so shamelessly incompetent that it would not be able to identify a man whose face is on every TV screen and every newspaper front page. In no self-respecting country would the law let this absolute travesty go by without the most severe of consequences.
Here then is the problem: we know what the problem is, we even know what the solution is, yet we do nothing. Yes, we do nothing because those who can do something are not interested in doing anything, and those who are aghast at the situation appear powerless to shout out aloud that the emperor indeed has no clothes.
If there is no official sanction to such cover-ups, no one dare indulge in them. But when power-wielders themselves manipulate the law to suit their agendas, there is little that a common citizen can do. There is no need to smash this system. It needs reform. This reform can only take place if the man at the top decides in all sincerity that it must be reform. There’s no rocket science. There’s no complication. This hypocrisy can be cleansed. This criminal duality can be quashed. This abhorring manipulation can be ended.
Yet it prevails — and shall continue to do so unless the men and women who run this system indulge in ruthless honesty to cleanse this filth. The shooter in Faisalabad is a reminder of all that is wrong with our system. He also provides us an opportunity to set this rot right. But will we?
The PTI’s Dr Shireen Mazari blasted Rana Sanaullah on Saturday for being responsible for the carnage in Faisalabad and demanded his immediate arrest. Rana Sanaullah responded by flatly denying all charges and flinging accusations back at the PTI.
Now there is a problem. There always is, when things are not what they seem; and when people say what they don’t mean. We saw it in Faisalabad — again.
Enraged crowd collided that day like ancient armies on a vast battlefield. Sticks were swung like battle axes and fists thrown like spiked hammers. Men and boys spat rage and venom as the air reverberated with the sound of war.
Then somewhere in the middle of the mayhem, someone raised his gun-wielding hand, and pressed the trigger. The spring mechanism inside the gun hammered a firing pin into the back end of the bullet, igniting a small explosive charge. The bullet spun through the spiraling grooves inside the barrel, emerging at a muzzle velocity of more than 2,000 km/hour. It sliced angrily through the air and slammed into the body of Haq Nawaz, puncturing flesh, splintering bone and shattering organs. Haq Nawaz had no chance.
It happened in front of the cameras. There was no hiding and no shielding. The shooter walked about without a care in the world, firing away as if practising on a range. He did not belong to any law-enforcement agency, and yet he strutted around brandishing his weapon with complete abandon. Who was he? And why was he shooting to kill in a crowd?
Herein lies the problem. The last few months have vomited some weird characters on to the national stage: Gullu, Pomi, Chainee and an assortment of ruffians who breed inside the armpits of governments. These thugs thrive on crumbs from the official table, and do their dirty business under the protective shadows of the police. They represent the dark side of our political system — vermin and maggots growing fat on official largesse.
But no one speaks of them and all that they do. All know about them, but no one dare admit it in public. Fear is a powerful emotion, and fear can elicit total silence. These villains are merchants of pain; they kill, maim, extort, kidnap and do all such things that are, well… unpleasant. They are the qabza mafia, and all other mafias. They lurk in the shadows, but hide in plain sight. But they are ultimately nothing more than enforcers — henchmen for the real dons.
And who are these real dons? Well, now here is where politics blends into criminality and vice versa. Over the decades, this country of ours has developed a strong tolerance for the culture of violence. In many ways, strong-arm tactics have acquired certain legitimacy within political activities. So it is now acceptable — perhaps even desirable — for successful politicians to wield influence through a bit of force. This force is meant not just to browbeat opponents and people at large, but to generate economic activity. Huh?
Yes, in the brutal world of Pakistan, where the State joins other predators in hunting its own citizens, millions and billions are made through qabzas of one kind or the other. These qabzasare done through force. Then they are legalised through influence. And while all this is being done, the law shrivels up like a terrorised victim and hides under the table.
This is the worst kept secret in the country. But no one does anything to put an end to this. The problem is the man in power. He is the one who sanctions this criminality because he himself is the product of the system that reeks of such unsaid thuggery. This culture of the Gullus and Pomis and Chainees is weaved inside the fabric of our political system — legitimised over the decades by those who birthed it, nourished it and clothed it in State apparel.
The Faisalabad shooter has still not been identified and apprehended. His face is plastered all over the media, and yet the police and other law-enforcement agencies appear helpless. Or is there some other explanation? Is he deliberately not being nabbed and produced before the public for fear of exposing some other people? Is the Pakistani system going into overdrive to protect the powerful?
These questions and fears have no place in a true modern, democratic and transparent system where rule of law reigns supreme. Yet it is the irony of all our ironies that many among us defend this rotten state of affairs in the name of continuity. In no self-respecting country would a government and its police be so shamelessly incompetent that it would not be able to identify a man whose face is on every TV screen and every newspaper front page. In no self-respecting country would the law let this absolute travesty go by without the most severe of consequences.
Here then is the problem: we know what the problem is, we even know what the solution is, yet we do nothing. Yes, we do nothing because those who can do something are not interested in doing anything, and those who are aghast at the situation appear powerless to shout out aloud that the emperor indeed has no clothes.
If there is no official sanction to such cover-ups, no one dare indulge in them. But when power-wielders themselves manipulate the law to suit their agendas, there is little that a common citizen can do. There is no need to smash this system. It needs reform. This reform can only take place if the man at the top decides in all sincerity that it must be reform. There’s no rocket science. There’s no complication. This hypocrisy can be cleansed. This criminal duality can be quashed. This abhorring manipulation can be ended.
Yet it prevails — and shall continue to do so unless the men and women who run this system indulge in ruthless honesty to cleanse this filth. The shooter in Faisalabad is a reminder of all that is wrong with our system. He also provides us an opportunity to set this rot right. But will we?
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