I have just returned from Lahore, where I attended the Asma Jahangir Conference, an annual human rights conference since she left us on 11th February 2018. A very important and appropriate stock-taking opportunity about what is happening in Pakistan and elsewhere regarding human rights.
Frankly, what happens in Pakistan is what concerns me personally.
It is an opportunity for those unheard, shunned, blocked, ignored, and silenced to be heard and present their point of view to Pakistan (and others).
The organisers of the conference undoubtedly face enormous pressure from the state managers to manage what is said and heard. The raison d’être is exactly this.
We live in a country where human rights are eroding every day; the law is used to oppress and suppress citizens, instead of protecting them. The recent series of laws passed by an unelected parliament is a testament to this. Whether it is the draconian PECA laws, which have been used to incarcerate human rights lawyer Imaan Mazari Hazir and her husband Hadi Ali Chatta for 17 years’ imprisonment over a tweet, a clear message to human rights defenders to shut up or else.
Or the continued incarceration of Ali Wazir without trial or charges for speaking truth to power under draconian laws criminalising criticism against arms of the state, meant to protect borders. The most recent unconstitutional 26th and 27th amendments further erode the rights of citizens to access equitable justice or critique those who are in office to safeguard borders, not exercise unaccountable immunity. The state of Pakistan is perpetually protecting itself from its people, at the expense of the welfare of millions of Pakistanis. Pakistan has become a comical caricature of a banana republic.
We are in an age of legal persecution and prosecution of citizens. What Pakistanis say, how they say it, and who they say it to is subject to draconian consequences. Foundational fundamental rights, clear in the 1973 Constitution Articles 8–28, give citizens equality before the law, dignity of man (Article 14), security of person (Article 9), freedom of speech (Article 19), right to information (Article 19A), clean and healthy environment (Article 9A), freedom to assemble (Article 16), association (Article 17) and movement (Article 15).
It would not be inaccurate to describe Pakistan as an overly legalised state protecting criminals. We have used and abused the law to justify the unjustifiable against the welfare of the citizen. The spirit of why we have a constitution or a legal framework has been ignored. A jungle of warlords instead of a modern state operating in a modern world.
Pakistan has many conferences which address the lack of rights of many Pakistanis, and all these conferences and organisations are funded by non-Pakistani multilateral and bilateral institutions
The Asma Jahangir Conference is co-hosted by the bar councils and the Supreme Court Bar Association. Sadly, the group which leads the SCBA is known as the Asma Jahangir Independent Group, led by Haroun Rashid; Mohammad Ahsan Boon, a former SCBA president, was closely associated with Asma Jahangir when she was the first woman. SCBA president. Boon has supported the 26th and 27th amendments and every anti-democratic and draconian policy of the unelected parliament.
Similarly, Azam Tarar, a former law minister in the PMLN government, once an associate of Asma Jahangir, has supported a regime which has gone out of its way to threaten Pakistani citizens’ welfare: Prevention of Electronic Crime Act (PECA), 26th and 27th amendments. Inviting these men with a track record of anti-democratic support undermines the spirit of the conference and, worse, gives a nod to their unacceptable behaviour.
I believe it is important to keep one’s democratic credentials crystal clear if the next generation of lawmakers (law students and associated professionals) who are keenly watching and observing the messages coming out of such platforms are to learn the right lessons.
When we talk about the human rights situation in Pakistan, and there is a lot to talk about, we confer. The human rights violations have piled up so much since 1947; we talk about them in safe, secure enclaves.
Then some are actually battling the forces of evil on the ground, away from the gaze of the numbed public, in faraway districts, too far from Islamabad, Lahore and Karachi. But in the age of Twitter, TikTok and many other communication platforms I do not know about, it is difficult to maintain these blackouts absolutely; however, many tools to ban, block and bust are imposed by the state.
When it comes to the myriad human rights violations in Balochistan, it has become impossible to ignore. The Baloch women marched to Islamabad and sat under open skies for months; completely ignored, bullied and threatened, they waited for the powers that be to engage. Many of us empathised, spoke, wrote, but did we join them in the sit-ins or show our support physically? Instead, most of us chose to confer. It is difficult, scary and dangerous to do otherwise. But it must be acknowledged — the limitations of our support and the limitations of our courage.
Pakistan has many conferences which address the lack of rights of many Pakistanis, and all these conferences and organisations are funded by non-Pakistani multilateral and bilateral institutions. In fact, we have many professionals who spend the entire year preparing and attending these forums on topics all related to human rights. Pakistan has many experts in this field. And when I mean field, I do not necessarily mean in the field but on conference panels, which also remain a closed-knit circuit of talking heads.
Let us take the climate change panel at the AJC in Lahore — ‘Living with Floods in a Climate Change Present’ is a good example. This had the federal climate change minister, who has very little interest in climate change or environmental issues. I do not say this flippantly, but it is based on his absence in almost all parliamentary committees on the environment (which I attended) and judging him by his public addresses, which focus on many important topics, but not the environment. His interests lie elsewhere.
The rest of the panellists live outside Pakistan or are academics. What was absent were the activists on the ground actually waging pushback against the government’s anti-environment policies. Not taking away from the panellists’ expertise in various environmental fields, it is a perfect example of all talk and little action. Pakistan needs to move from this expertise to supporting individuals and movements who are battling for collective human rights on the ground.
Sardar Mengal made it crystal clear that his politics was finished; his people have no trust in his repeated position of engaging with Pindi
The strategy to remain engaged with policymakers who are complicit in our collective demise is becoming distracting and destructive. I think I can say with confidence that the relationship has become too friendly, appeasing, co-opted, and almost familial.
I was curious how the 26th and 27th amendment panel would unfold. The moderator, Reema Omar eloquent and diplomatic spoke to Justice Ali Baqir Najafi of the newly (illegally) formed constitutional court; Zahoor Ahmed Shahwani, former judge of the Shariat Court; Irfan Qadir, a former Attorney General of Pakistan in a PMLN government; Kamran Murtaza, member of the Senate (JUIF); and Dr Maryam Shahid Khan, a research fellow at IDEA.
The panel was called ‘Contextualising the 26th and 27th Amendments’. How do you contextualise an illegal act? Pakistanis saw on live television the bullying and violence against members of parliament to pass an amendment which would destroy the legal system and the basic structure of accountability and independence between the three pillars of governance (judiciary, executive and parliament).
I have to admit, even on this panel, the two members from Balochistan, Shahwani and Murtaza, were the only ones who shared details of how these amendments were passed and the duress and arm-twisting that went into ensuring their passage. Aside from putting the general public in the full picture of these draconian illegal laws passed, I am perplexed at the purpose of this panel. If it had been ‘How to Reverse the 26th and 27th Amendments’, which are illegal to begin with, it would have been understandable.
But to invite a member of the constitutional court — which should be boycotted since it has undermined the existing Supreme Court and created a puppet, supra and parallel legal entity in an already top-heavy judicial system — is beyond my comprehension. What messaging is this legal conference giving to the legal fraternity across the country? Law students, lawyers in the making and young legal minds are watching. What is this telling them?
Who they invite, how they conduct the dialogue and discussion, and what topics are debated is a clear indication of what is being sanctioned and supported.
The reports and conference resolutions just are not enough, and Asma Jahangir herself would have expected more than talk.
Nothing is perfect and, as an activist, my expectations are lensed from my own experiences.
The panel on Balochistan at this conference was another example, which asked the question: Is there the political will to solve the crisis in Balochistan? This was always going to be tense or tricky, whether it was in Quetta, Islamabad or in the heart of Punjab. The panellists included two Baloch (male) leaders, Sardar Akhtar Mengal (Balochistan National Party), former Chief Minister Dr Abdul Malik Baloch (National Party), and a government spokesperson, Senator Rana Sanaullah, with Mujahid Barelvi moderating.
The absence of women was an oversight, in my opinion, given the leadership of the social movement in Balochistan, which has been the Balochistan Yakjehti Committee led by Mahrang Baloch and many other women (including Simi Baloch). Another serious oversight was the exclusion of Pashtun voices in this question.
There is no doubt that violence against resistance to the state’s overreach has primarily affected the Baloch people, but the political will to solve the crisis in Balochistan does involve the Pashtun communities and districts. This is not a topic conferencing can resolve, but it should have thought through the do-no-harm principle, or at least not hurt an already festering wound for millions living in Balochistan.
The need to have a federal government official present on this panel can be understood insofar as they were there to listen and provide answers to issues raised by the Baloch. I understand that the organisers also needed to protect themselves from the wrath of the state, but they needed to weigh the cost-benefit, keeping in mind the Baloch people’s sentiments. The manner in which Rana Sanaullah arrived 20 minutes late, surrounded by bodyguards and hangers-on, was in itself telling. Public representatives on taxpayers’ funds are protecting themselves against the public, while those most vulnerable remain without an iota of protection.
Sardar Mengal made it crystal clear that his politics was finished; his people have no trust in his repeated position of engaging with Pindi. In his own words, there is no future for Balochistan with Pakistan, and the breach of trust has been broken too many times. Pakistan has reached the same moment, in the words of former Prime Minister ZAB in 1970: ‘Idhar hum, udhar tum’.
We are lectured that there are always two points of view, but this is also the argument of the coward or the fence-sitter, who will not take a position on human rights equitably for all
Dr Malik was less pessimistic and suggested that if the establishment reversed all its current policies in Balochistan, there might be an opportunity for the federation to remain intact. Nevertheless, having heard these two articulate the painful, violent experiences of too many Baloch, Rana Sanaullah decided to throw salt on open wounds.
He began by dividing the Baloch into good and bad Baloch. I could not resist and said “shame” out loud. I was asked to remain quiet and advised that this is a dialogue, not a space to respond to one’s disquiet publicly. I realised this is not Asma Jahangir’s Conference, but a whitewash in her name.
I was sitting behind Sheema Kirmani and Simi Baloch, and also next to Ken Roth and his interpreter, when it became impossible to sit and listen to Rana Sanaullah lecture the Baloch and justify the mass disappearances of citizens because they were “bad” Baloch, unlike the two men on the podium, who were examples of “good” Baloch he deeply respected. The condescension and disrespect were unbearable. The insensitivity he displayed to those in the audience who had lost loved ones violently without cause or information was unbearable. Listening to this in the heart of Punjab was also not lost on all of us.
When Sheema Kirmani turned around and asked me if we should walk out, I was grateful I had an ally and stood up instantly. Simi Baloch thanked us outside and was visibly upset that she had to sit and listen to Rana justify the absence of her father, along with the many thousands who have no clue where their loved ones are.
As we walked out, we encouraged the audience to join us if they disapproved or felt the same way. The organising ushers were aggressive, followed us too closely, and locked the doors behind us to ensure no one else left the hall or went inside to disrupt Rana Sanaullah’s lecturing on the Baloch.
Personally, I am disappointed the two men on the podium stayed behind and continued to listen to Rana pour salt on their wounds. Perhaps a case of Stockholm syndrome on display? Either way, it is the behaviour of too many existing Baloch male leaders who have become accustomed to being insulted and humiliated by the state managers of Pakistan. Sadly, they exemplified why the movement to restore dignity and rights for the Baloch and the province has shifted from them to the younger and female residents of Balochistan.
I have to give credit to the students’ union members who also showed solidarity and have no patience with platitudes and appeasers. Disappearances of real citizens of Pakistan, human beings with families, are not mere conference subjects to be heard, discussed and written up in reports.
These matters are real, affect people, and are the cause of deep suffering and extreme loss, which is becoming unbearable. They require serious, active change in public policy and active redress now. Listening quietly to complicit members in government was no longer acceptable. Shaming them and helping them understand and comprehend the public's feelings is necessary.
We are lectured that there are always two points of view, but this is also the argument of the coward or the fence-sitter, who will not take a position on human rights equitably for all. The Balochistan matter, the Kashmir rights issue and the Gaza genocide are such examples. There is an alternative point of view, of course — but that is not the one human rights defenders hold.
This is crystal clear.
Another instance which the organisers of AJC need to reflect upon is the invitation to the German envoy to speak on disabilities. Many in the audience were uncomfortable with the German position on the Gaza genocide. The active, unequivocal position the Germans have taken in supporting Israel by providing arms which have killed and maimed thousands of Palestinian men, women and children is horrific.
The organisers should have realised this, since this is not the first time the German envoy has faced the wrath of Pakistani public sentiment regarding their foreign policy positions.
This is an example of how disconnected the conferencing world is from the general public's sentiments. The depoliticisation of Pakistan’s mainstream cities and centres has given a false sense of what is brewing in other parts.
With so many draconian laws in place which have disconnected Pakistan from its own people, perhaps it is understandable. We remain in so many silos simultaneously; perhaps all of us are bipolar emotionally. This weekend was definitely one such example. We were celebrating Basant in Lahore after 20 years. Sadly, a day before, a suicide bomber decided to kill worshippers in an imambargah. The value of life on display, from any perspective, was clear. This was preceded by female suicide bombers in Balochistan just a few days earlier.
Those of us in Lahore did not know what to do or feel. Should we allow ourselves to be happy and celebrate the coming of spring and all that it connotes, or should we mourn the death of our fellow Pakistanis caught in wars not of our making? Guilt, guilt, guilt. Can we allow ourselves to smile even for a minute, or should we remain in solidarity with those grieving unimaginable pain and suffering — again and again?
What is genuine empathy in Pakistan today? The truth of the matter is, we need more active empathy if it is to be genuine.