If you drive regularly on the roads of Lahore, chances are that you have experienced the infuriating moment when a racing ‘VIP’ motorcade of SUVs, accompanied by their personal security brigade aboard Toyota Hilux pickup trucks, cruises by, with gun-toting, armed men waving the barrels of their weapons at other vehicles on the road, signalling them to make way to allow swift passage to their exempted carcade.
A brazen display of limitless power and privilege, the disposition of the armed escorts positioned atop the pickup trucks is defined by as much hubris as that of the highly entitled riders they are assigned to protect. Those employed by the powerful are powerful too, is the message they seem to be sending through their condescending gaze, while the imposing pickup trucks sadistically symbolise Pakistan's escalating power gulf.
One dare not, however, show one’s indignation at this discomforting and intrusive signalling on the road, as the motorcades speed through traffic that compliantly splits up to make way, let alone display behaviour that is remotely reactionary or suggestive of road rage. The commanding vehicles close in behind cars and other vehicles that dare lie in their path, flashing their lights and demanding that drivers instantly move aside.
Imran, the trader from Lahore who was beaten and shot at by armed security guards escorting the luxury vehicle, had committed the grave ‘insolence’ of retaliating to those all-too-familiar, dismissive gun gestures of the guards
Once having passed you by, armed guards with faces half-wrapped in scarves can be seen positioned in firing posture, clutching AK-47s, compactly packed into the backs of pickup trucks or perched on their beds. While cars inch forward in bumper-to-bumper traffic, these VIP vehicles seamlessly carve through jams and traffic snarls, their windows blacked out, more so to shut their worthy occupants out of the crass commonness defining the lives of those on the roads.
The rude sideward jerk of the security men’s positioned weapons, while staring you down, is like a threatening command, an encroachment of your space on the road that tells you to give way or bear the consequences. The road does belong to them, and not slowing down or moving your vehicle aside to make way is enough to trigger a reaction from them; one that can go in any direction. If your vehicle gets close to theirs, the armed men try to steer, or rather stare, you away.
The Dharampura Underpass shooting incident in Lahore last week is an apt example of how this reaction from the armed men can go in the worst direction. The incident did not exemplify road rage, as was described by media reports and public commentary, but was an exhibit of roaring, redoubtable road royalty; that sense of esteemed regality that puts the privileged apart from the public everywhere and, hence, on the roads. These motorcades are referred to as VIP movement for a reason.
Imran, the trader from Lahore, who was beaten and shot at by armed security guards escorting the luxury vehicle, had committed the grave ‘insolence’ of retaliating to those all-too-familiar, dismissive gun gestures of the guards, and, hence, paid the price in the form of violence that was unleashed on him for his ‘effrontery’.
The simplest explanation for what happened at the Dharampura underpass in Lahore that day is that those ordering around people’s vehicles on the roads, while spreading fear and causing inconvenience, are not wrong, but those questioning their illicit acts of thuggery and goondaism are. And though Imran is being lauded for standing up against this culture of thuggery, it is difficult to say whether Imran’s act of confronting the gunman who shot at his car was an act of bravery or recklessness, since the confrontation could have easily cost him his life.
Imran has done what most can only aspire to do, since not many among us can be as daring or incautious as to retaliate against armed men. In fact, Imran is going viral on social media not only for defying VIP protocol but also because he has acted on behalf of all of us; he’s done what all of us have always wanted to do: take action to stop this VIP culture.
And for those of us who can’t take such an action, do we get to live with this threat and ensuing intimidation all of our lives? I’ve heard of women drivers freezing at the sight of these gun goons nastily navigating through congested traffic; of elderly drivers wondering why the roads have to be cleared to make way for these entitled entourages; do they have the same rights as ambulances or fire brigades or other emergency services? Why does the whole thoroughfare ecosystem have to readjust to accommodate these ‘Dalas’?
Dala, the colloquial term for Hilux pickup trucks manned with armed personnel, has become a token of power, affluence, influence, and intimidation; a status symbol to project an image of authority and security. The Dala culture is also a euphemism to silence dissenting voices, besides penalising non-compliant, insubordinate vehicles on the country’s highways.
The fact that the armed security guards escorting these luxury vehicles blatantly violate the law by displaying weapons is not of much relevance or concern to authorities, since their own VIP motorcades are the ones most glaringly audacious in displays of such crass and corrupted power play. In our country, lawmakers are the primary lawbreakers.
Politicians and those in power using Dalas want to be omnipotent, setting negative precedents that are replicated, while speeding through traffic with no regard for speed limits and traffic rules. They wouldn’t slow down or stop to spare a life or limb, as witnessed many times in the past. Their behaviour on the road is a display defined by inexhaustible power, their impunity led by defiance and smugness.
Unmarked and without licence plates, Dalas with plainclothes men are extensively licensed by authorities to round up opposition leaders, journalists, activists, and dissidents during crackdowns, something that reinforces the vehicle's notorious claim to fame.
Traffic police and law-enforcement officials don’t usually meddle with Dalas out of fear for their jobs and lives. Whether hiring guards from security companies or flaunting personal security guards, the impunity of those ‘above the law’ masters is glaringly obvious.
The most disappointing part of the Dharampura underpass incident, however, is that there are very high chances that no action will be taken against the guards or the concerned security company, and the arrested culprits will be out on bail sooner than we know. While the brave, defiant acts of the few and far between in our society, like Imran, will all go in vain. A cognisant, responsible citizen will end up feeling that he risked his life for nothing and to no avail, and that setting the course for positive change in Pakistan is more futile than he had ever thought.