This is going to be read by an awful lot of people who are hearing your name for the first time ever. What’s your story, mate?
Other people’s stories, mostly. My journalism career started in Ireland, where I wrote for a small Sunday paper about homeless kids and failing companies. After a year or so I moved to Kenya, covering sub-Saharan Africa for five year, then another nine in Pakistan and Afghanistan. I’ve been in London since May 2013 – a strange perch for covering Pakistan, admittedly, but there you have it.
You mention Charles Burman in your essay ‘Jihad Redux’ as having forayed into British India for “a lick of adventure and the fresh air life”. He found an “uncomfortable abundance of both” – what did you find?
At first, not much. I landed in Islamabad in mid-August 2004, at the height of the Musharraf era, so sweaty and soporific are the words that come to mind. But then I got out and about, did a few stories and met a few people. And Pakistan, to my eyes, became this kaleidoscope of surprises – by turn charming, confounding and horrifying, but never less than completely absorbing. For a journalist, that’s about as good as it gets.
Mubasher Lucman, who refers to you charmingly as “Delcan Wash” on Baaghi TV, feels most strongly that you have painted Pakistan consistently as a “non-civilized entity”. As someone who has lived in this “non-civilized entity” for nine years, what are the best things you remember about that time? And what are the most maddening?
Ah, Moobasher Luckman. A paragon of integrity and a man of considerable charm.
So, the best is easy: the friends who welcomed me into their homes with open arms, entertained me, educated me and stuck by my side when the angels came knocking. What bothered? Pleather car seats (in a country of roasting summers, why oh why?), repetitive conspiracy theories (I strongly feel that innovation is central to the art) and foreigners who harped on about all the lovely cups of tea they enjoyed, as if Pakistan was a giant chai shop run by smiling natives.
What might you consider (a) the most ‘important’ story and (b) the most bizarre story you have ever broken while stationed in Pakistan?
I wrote a long piece on human rights abuses in Balochistan in 2011 because I felt the story was badly under-reported. It didn’t get a huge amount of attention then, but certainly seems to have a struck a nerve, given how much some people have seized on it recently to demonstrate my ‘anti-Pakistan’ intent, whatever that means. On the bizarre side, who can forget the water car?
The Fashion Week brigade recollects that you were nominated the ‘best-kept man’ around. We are simply going to have to ask you to explain this one.
Everyone knows about lifafa journalism. Less well known is how the sartorially inept can purchase instant fashion cred with a few thousand rupees. Alas, I didn’t have enough to pay for a spread in Good Times. Any chance of a discount?
Evidently, the protocol you received when escorted from the proverbial building in May 2013 didn’t quite cut the mustard. Or did it? What are you prepared to tell us about that day?
I had a very pleasant stay at the Avari hotel on the night of the election, during which time a rather taciturn chap stood outside my door, blocking all those pesky visitors and checking their identity cards and phones. Another of his friends waited at the end of the corridor and a few more down the lobby. Then, at 4 a.m., a flashing-lights escort to Lahore airport, with motorcycle outriders and all. What could be better?
Game of cricket anyone? Apparently the Irish have some sort of team too. Let’s have it. Who are you going to be rooting for in 2019?
Look, it’s less about who to back than who to beat. After all, 2019 will take place on the hallowed turf of our shared colonial masters. So a green on green, Pakistan v. Ireland final at Lord’s is the dream scenario, obviously. I’ll choose my colours then.
Entirely reliable sources have let it be known that you are poised to take over Bol TV. What five things or more are at the top of the list the day you trundle into your new environs?
I feel genuinely sad that Bol has upended the careers of several good journalists – not just the big names – and created so much turmoil in the industry. Ego-driven recrimination and tribal bloodletting are no good to anyone, in the end.
What are some of the things that, even after this long a stint, you haven’t quite figured out about Pakistan?
I’m not sure where to start with that. So much.
There is this horribly common, so to speak, misperception that Western journalists glean their news and opinions largely from the well heeled of Lahore, Islamabad and Karachi. We’d like some names and stories please.
I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve touched the pulse of the nation so many times at the Aam Admi coffee shop at the Serena in Islamabad. You’re trying to tell me that wasn’t valid?
What sort of company did you keep in Islamabad, on the bold assumption that there was much company to keep in a city you describe – and quite rightly too – as ‘reliably dull’?
Scoundrels, alcoholics and insomniacs, as much was possible. Once, after a trying night of socializing, I fell asleep on someone’s lawn. In the spirit of hospitality, my host sent out a blanket to keep me warm. That’s Islamabad for you. But I may have been harsh about the city. After all, who in Pakistan doesn’t yearn for a little “reliably dull” these days?
Look. We’ve all seen Spooks. Is there any chance you might cough up for our readers who it is you are really working for?
I’m disappointed that I’ve never faced accusations of working for Irish intelligence. Why not? Sources tell me there’s a hidden agenda at work here.
Other people’s stories, mostly. My journalism career started in Ireland, where I wrote for a small Sunday paper about homeless kids and failing companies. After a year or so I moved to Kenya, covering sub-Saharan Africa for five year, then another nine in Pakistan and Afghanistan. I’ve been in London since May 2013 – a strange perch for covering Pakistan, admittedly, but there you have it.
You mention Charles Burman in your essay ‘Jihad Redux’ as having forayed into British India for “a lick of adventure and the fresh air life”. He found an “uncomfortable abundance of both” – what did you find?
At first, not much. I landed in Islamabad in mid-August 2004, at the height of the Musharraf era, so sweaty and soporific are the words that come to mind. But then I got out and about, did a few stories and met a few people. And Pakistan, to my eyes, became this kaleidoscope of surprises – by turn charming, confounding and horrifying, but never less than completely absorbing. For a journalist, that’s about as good as it gets.
Mubasher Lucman, who refers to you charmingly as “Delcan Wash” on Baaghi TV, feels most strongly that you have painted Pakistan consistently as a “non-civilized entity”. As someone who has lived in this “non-civilized entity” for nine years, what are the best things you remember about that time? And what are the most maddening?
Ah, Moobasher Luckman. A paragon of integrity and a man of considerable charm.
So, the best is easy: the friends who welcomed me into their homes with open arms, entertained me, educated me and stuck by my side when the angels came knocking. What bothered? Pleather car seats (in a country of roasting summers, why oh why?), repetitive conspiracy theories (I strongly feel that innovation is central to the art) and foreigners who harped on about all the lovely cups of tea they enjoyed, as if Pakistan was a giant chai shop run by smiling natives.
What might you consider (a) the most ‘important’ story and (b) the most bizarre story you have ever broken while stationed in Pakistan?
I wrote a long piece on human rights abuses in Balochistan in 2011 because I felt the story was badly under-reported. It didn’t get a huge amount of attention then, but certainly seems to have a struck a nerve, given how much some people have seized on it recently to demonstrate my ‘anti-Pakistan’ intent, whatever that means. On the bizarre side, who can forget the water car?
The Fashion Week brigade recollects that you were nominated the ‘best-kept man’ around. We are simply going to have to ask you to explain this one.
"I'm disappointed that I've never faced accusations of working for Irish intelligence"
Everyone knows about lifafa journalism. Less well known is how the sartorially inept can purchase instant fashion cred with a few thousand rupees. Alas, I didn’t have enough to pay for a spread in Good Times. Any chance of a discount?
Evidently, the protocol you received when escorted from the proverbial building in May 2013 didn’t quite cut the mustard. Or did it? What are you prepared to tell us about that day?
I had a very pleasant stay at the Avari hotel on the night of the election, during which time a rather taciturn chap stood outside my door, blocking all those pesky visitors and checking their identity cards and phones. Another of his friends waited at the end of the corridor and a few more down the lobby. Then, at 4 a.m., a flashing-lights escort to Lahore airport, with motorcycle outriders and all. What could be better?
Game of cricket anyone? Apparently the Irish have some sort of team too. Let’s have it. Who are you going to be rooting for in 2019?
Look, it’s less about who to back than who to beat. After all, 2019 will take place on the hallowed turf of our shared colonial masters. So a green on green, Pakistan v. Ireland final at Lord’s is the dream scenario, obviously. I’ll choose my colours then.
Entirely reliable sources have let it be known that you are poised to take over Bol TV. What five things or more are at the top of the list the day you trundle into your new environs?
I feel genuinely sad that Bol has upended the careers of several good journalists – not just the big names – and created so much turmoil in the industry. Ego-driven recrimination and tribal bloodletting are no good to anyone, in the end.
What are some of the things that, even after this long a stint, you haven’t quite figured out about Pakistan?
I’m not sure where to start with that. So much.
There is this horribly common, so to speak, misperception that Western journalists glean their news and opinions largely from the well heeled of Lahore, Islamabad and Karachi. We’d like some names and stories please.
I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve touched the pulse of the nation so many times at the Aam Admi coffee shop at the Serena in Islamabad. You’re trying to tell me that wasn’t valid?
What sort of company did you keep in Islamabad, on the bold assumption that there was much company to keep in a city you describe – and quite rightly too – as ‘reliably dull’?
Scoundrels, alcoholics and insomniacs, as much was possible. Once, after a trying night of socializing, I fell asleep on someone’s lawn. In the spirit of hospitality, my host sent out a blanket to keep me warm. That’s Islamabad for you. But I may have been harsh about the city. After all, who in Pakistan doesn’t yearn for a little “reliably dull” these days?
Look. We’ve all seen Spooks. Is there any chance you might cough up for our readers who it is you are really working for?
I’m disappointed that I’ve never faced accusations of working for Irish intelligence. Why not? Sources tell me there’s a hidden agenda at work here.