Join us to Seek Justice for Mir Murtaza Bhutto

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Program Schedule for Ubud Festival 7-11 Oct

Main Program

9.00 – 10.00 am Festival Opening

Thursday 8 October

2.30 – 3.30
In Conversation:
Fatima Bhutto
Bejan Matur
Chair Stephen McCarty


Friday 9 October

2.15 – 3.30
Writing in the new world: Obama and dissent:
Fatima Bhutto
Antony Loewenstein
Jamal Mahjoub
Chair Michael Vatikiotis

Saturday 10 October

12.30 – 2.00
Writing the Subcontinent:
Fatima Bhutto
Mohammad Hanif
Sushma
Joshi Vikas Swarup
Chair Richard McGill Murphy


SPECIAL EVENTS

fatima

SUNDAY 11 October
12.30 – 15.00
Literary Lunch with Fatima Bhutto and Desi Anwar
Chedi Club

Described as “the bright new star of a revered political dynasty”, Fatima Bhutto is the niece of the assassinated former Prime Minister, Benazir Bhutto, who came to fame after the appearance of her first book, a collection of poems, Whispers of the Desert, written when she was just 15 years old. Fatima Bhutto will discuss her colourful life as a writer, journalist, politician in training and heir apparent to Benazir’s throne with Desi Anwar.

Tuesday 13 October (Outside Bali)
Global voices in Borobudur
The readings and spoken word performances
Fatima Bhutto

Source http://www.ubudwritersfestival.com/
http://www.ubudwritersfestival.com/bhutto-fatima/

Thursday, September 24, 2009

Shanghai Trip of Fatima Bhutto

3:00pm | Full House Glamour Bar is a full house of international accents as people settle into the seats, couches and even hop onto stools by the bar (grab a mid-afternoon drink) prepare to listen to the conversation between Fatima Bhutto and Geoff Dyer.

3:18pm | Welcome Geoff Dyer of the Financial Times introduces journalist Fatima Bhutto, who will discuss the current situation in Pakistan.

3:25 | Disappearing Bhutto states that "disappearing" has risen, much as it occurred in various countries in South America in the 70s, 80s and 90s. The term disappeared, developed in South America in relation to forced kidnappings and murders literally means "to cease to exist." She discusses several cases and shares one recent story in particular. "In November of 2007 I was in Baluchistan, and I went to visit a family whose son had disappeared. Babusa Milani, 28-year-old university graduate in sociology. He became active with the Baloch National Party. He was disappeared when he set out for the park at 3pm in the afternoon. The family did some amazing things. They held vigils, his nieces held street marches in their neighborhood. Finally after all this posturing, they found that he had been located in one of the prisons." Bhutto says that, because of the women who came out in protest, because of the media clubs, because of the public movement, she received word as she boarded the plane to come to Hong Kong and Shanghai, that Milani had been released.

3:35 | U.S. Realizations Bhutto says that "we have to remind people that we are a young state." Pakistan has only been independent for a little over 60 years. Having just recently broken free from the yolk of colonialism, they're not about to willfully allow another foreign power to take over. "America needs to understand this," says Bhutto.

3:37 | It Comes from the People People have been reappeared, but not through the government, through the people. Babusa Milani's 8-year-old niece was part of mobilizing the children. But, she says, Musharraf has to be given some credit for opening the media. "Before Musharraf you just had state TV. And anyone who's had state TV knows that that doesn't make for great viewing," she says. "That's been amazing. Now, when the government wants to silence the press, they can. But you find that almost instantly they'll start broadcasting on the internet. You can't stop people from gaining access to the internet (and YouTube). The media is an incredibly hopeful attitude."

3:40 | Women with Beards Says Bhutto, "I know people think that women in Pakistan all have beards and are not very political but the women in Pakistan are some of the most politically active and courageous." Bhutto relates the story of Mukhtar Mai, a divorced woman (something taboo in Pakistani society), who was gang raped by a group of feudal lords. When she complained they told her that her family would be threatened. But she said, "shove it" and she filed a police report. In a country where violence against women is something you don't really talk about, she said "No" and she fought this. She went to the media, internationally, and across Pakistan. Does she end violence against women? No, but she's changing a culture. And other women are coming out now and speaking out.

3:45 | Is it Hard to be a Bhutto? "A name is just a name," says Bhutto. "If it changes, it doesn’t change who I am … when I wake up, I don’t say, 'oh, I’m a Bhutto – it’s going to be a good morning.'" "Apparently you can change them [your name] now too," Bhutto quips.

3:46 | The Dynasty As Dryer continues the questions about her family, Bhutto explains that, “we have different political beliefs and to be perfectly honest, having lived in a dynasty and seeing what dynasty can do with a country, I think it’s an unsophisticated and it’s a bit like monarchy." Bhutto continues that, "Dynasties can be stifling and I don’t think their productive. If we’re serious about the democratic process, it has to be opened up and advancement has to be done on merit ... I can’t pack my bags and move out of dynasty land but I can make a choice and I won’t support a process I don’t believe in."

3:48 | On Violence "If anything Pakistani people are survivors, they have the most resilient spirit I've ever seen. When it gets violent we keep going, just more carefully," says Bhutto, whose own family has seen a fair amount of violence over the years. On the rash of suicide bombings in the last while, Bhutto says, "It's important to remember we don't have a history with this. It's only since the War on Terrorism that we've started to see this." Some violence will be done, people will die, and that's all. There's no declaration by the bombers presented, so people are wary of who this person is, is the threat really gone.

3:51 | Islam and Democracy Asks Dyer, "Is Islam incompatible with democracy?" No, says Bhutto. "In Pakistan, Islam is not the problem. Poverty is the problem. Corruption is the problem, incompetence is the problem. There's an over-simplicity in media, it's easier to say it's Islam. In Egypt, Islam is not the problem, corrupt government is the problem."

3:54 | Women and Islam She says, as a Muslim woman, "if you're aware of your rights, it's hard for someone to put you down." Bhutto says that there are many rights for women afforded in Islam, whether they are granted is a different story. Drawing on a symbol usually rallied around in the West as a sign of oppression, she says that the only time she says she properly used the traditional Islamic hair covering was on the subway on her way to the festival, because it was cold.

3:57 | Pakistan and China Bhutto explains that Pakistan and China historically have had a god relationship. Bhutto cites the earthquake in 2005 when, "we relied very heavily on foreign aid and expertise." Although many countries, she says, donated doctors and aid money, the "two countries that were serious and that stayed for more than a month were China and Cuba." With respect to her trip to Shanghai, Bhutto says that, "Coming here to China, I see we [in Pakistan] don’t have the slightest clue about China though … it’s an enormous country … we need to have more interaction between the Pakistani and Chinese people for a better understanding of each other."

4:00 | Pakistan and India In response to a question about why India's development has excelled more quickly than Pakistan, Bhutto reminds the audience that they are two separate sovereign countries and that Pakistan has, unlike India, been under military rule for a long time and India has not been although the people view each other as siblings." Democracy is due but, "Pakistan wants democracy that's theirs, not Indian or American," she says. "We had it in the past and we can do it again."

4:11 | Freedom of Speech Former City Weekend intern, Cameron Willard, pops the question about what Bhutto thinks about the publication of Danish cartoons that are openly racist towards Islam and the conflict between freedom of the press and racism. Says Bhutto, "Freedom of speech is very different than hate speech."
Says Bhutto in response to a question about the American point of view given the border situation with Afghanistan, "Pakistan and Afghanistan got along well with each other. The problem is not the porous border between the two nations, the problem is the American involvement." Bhutto also notes that this isn't the first time that Pakistan has been asked by the U.S. to act as a conduit for their military incursions into the Middle East. Clearly, Bhutto feels that military incursions are largely responsible for the destabilization and problems of the region.

4:12 | Take to the Streets An audience member asks, "You say that hope will come from the people and the media … why don’t people take to the street? When will people fight back and do something?" Bhutto responds, "Pakistani people are hungry and dispossessed." Bhutto relates a story of when she was helping to run a medical camp in a city where, "there’s only one government hospital and government is reluctant to provide for the people. If you need medical care, you have to pay for private care, which is exorbitant for most people ... Since the government hospital is so far, most of the children have scabies since they cannot afford the treatment ... At the camp all the doctors were volunteers and all medicine was donated." After treating a woman at the camp, she woman came back an hour later with her son. Bhutto said it was clear the child had polio, but the woman had no idea, only that her son was sick and had been that way since he was a child. Bhutto used the story to explain that, "You have a population without basic access to services. People have no strength to fight theses mammoth fight. It's not a coincidence that there are no government hospitals … in one province the price of bread went up 900 percent in one month, when you have to think about that, it’s difficult to fight the machine."

4:15 | Static Stopper Problems with the sound system ... Michelle looks a bit frustrated with technology as she converses with a few of the M staff on how to quickly fix the problem. A few moments later, problem solved.

4:22 | Why Radical Islam? "The answer is simple and frightening," says Bhutto. "There are parts of the country where the government is not visible at all. And what happens is that Islamic parties or organizations will come in and set up a madrassa. And when your choice is to either send your son to a madrassa where he can get a meal and learn or remain illiterate, which do you choose?" Another example Bhutto explains is that of Pakistan after the last earthquake. She says after the earthquake the government had no clue what to do, "but the Islamic party was there within house and set up a tent village to help people. The village has food, doctors and a mosque ... [fundamentalist movements] also do things like provide education for girls ... the government doesn’t do that." Bhutto explains that, "[radical Islam] can be avoided, it can exists as option, but here [in Pakistan] there are no options. This religious movement has been growing in Pakistan for a very long time; this is 20 years of their services and social programs."

4:25 | Princess Fatima Asks M on the Bund's Rob, "As you're a journalist, has anyone ever referred to you as the Princess Diana of Pakistan?" [Fatima laughs]. "No," she replies lightly, "I don't do charity work as such ..." As a humorous afterthought she adds, "I've been called other things but not a princess." Michelle Garnaut breaks off the session saying, "I think it's great to end on a light note."

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Sunday, September 20, 2009

Justice For Mir Murtaza Bhutto

Milan Kundera has said ‘The struggle of man against power is the struggle of memory against forgetting’

It has been 13 years today that Mir Murtaza Bhutto, an elected member of the parliament was murdered along Ashiq Jatoi, Sattar Rajpar, Shajad Haider Ghakro, Rahim Brohi, Yar Mohammad Baloch, and Wajahat Jokhio as they were returning home from a public meeting on the outskirts of Karachi. And yet their killers still live freely.

All these men, all complicit in the murder Shoaib Suddle, Wajid Durrani,RaiTahir,Shahid Hayat,Agha Jamil,Shakaib Qureshi,Masood Sharif were absolutely absolved of their role and in fact were given promotions in their various posts and departments by the then ruling PPP government. Facts and records in this assassination point out to a hand in the highest level of the government. Nothing however has been done about it in spite of the truth being known.

Where is the justice to all those seven families that have lost their loved ones while their killers fearlessly continue to live in Pakistan and abroad? Fatima Bhutto has constantly and relentlessly tried to keep the issue alive and in the spotlight through the power of her pen. She continues to seek justice for her father and for those that do not have the power to voice an opinion.

Please let your voice be heard no matter which part of the world you belong to.

Martin Luther King has said ‘Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly.’ The guilty have to be punished and let us all come together to fight for justice, not only for Mir Murtaza Bhutto but all those six families, that lost their loved one on that fateful night 13 years ago. We must not allow ourselves to become like the system we oppose.

Let us as free citizens of this world contribute in our own way to demand justice from the current government of Pakistan and get the case on fast track to make the murderers accountable for what they have done. Sign this petition demanding justice immediately for Mir Murtaza Bhutto and his friends killed on 20th September 1996.

  • Petition Justice for Mir Murtaza Bhutto



  • Go sign it and forward it to everyone you know

    By Members of FatimaBhuttoFanClub

    Saturday, September 19, 2009

    Murtaza Bhutto's Murder

    By Fatima Bhutto
    News International


    On September 20, 11 years ago, Mir Murtaza Bhutto, my father and an elected member of the parliament, was returning home from a public meeting on the outskirts of Karachi. He was accompanied by Ashiq Jatoi, Sattar Rajpar, Shajad Haider Ghakro, Rahim Brohi, Yar Mohammad Baloch, and Wajahat Jokhio.

    My family and I were not the only ones waiting for my father. There were 70 to 100 police officers placed yards away from our 70 Clifton residence, including several high-level police officials. Some of the officers were in sniper positions in the nearby trees. The streetlights had been shut, the roads cordoned off, and the guards of the nearby embassies were told to leave their posts and retreat within their premises.

    As the car carrying my father approached our house, they were stopped by a police contingent. When my father exited the car, the police opened fire. All of the seven men were fatally wounded. My father was shot several times, but the shot that killed him was fired execution style on his neck. Ashiq Jatoi was also shot at point blank range at the back of his head. The victims were left to bleed without any medical attention – the aim was murder, after all– under the eyes and ears of the police officers for half-an-hour to 45 minutes. All of the seven men were then taken to different locations, none to emergency hospitals.
    My father was taken to Mideast, a dispensary. I lost my father at midnight that night.

    Benazir Zardari was the prime minister at the time. Her government did not arrest any of the police officers. Her government chose to arrest all the survivors and witnesses, two of whom died mysteriously in police custody. The police remained free.

    In time, they were honorably reinstated to their positions and duly and doubly promoted. The tribunal set up to investigate my father’s murder concluded that the assassination could not have taken place ‘without approval from the highest level of government’. We know what the highest level of government was then and where the highest level of government is today but on this, the eleventh anniversary of my father’s assassination, I want to talk about the senior-most police officers responsible for the murder and the various ways in which they were rewarded for their role in the elimination of Mir Murtaza Bhutto.

    All these men placed themselves at the scene of the murder. All of these men claimed there was an encounter; the tribunal concluded forensically that there was no such thing. It was an assassination. Here are the facts.

    Shoaib Suddle was the deputy inspector-general (DIG) of Karachi at the time of the killing; he was one of the most senior officers at the scene of the crime. In the run-up to the American invasion of Afghanistan, he was promoted to inspector-general (IG) and shifted to Balochistan where he could facilitate Operation Enduring Freedom. Mr Suddle was on the fast track for promotion and after he had secured the Wild West for the Americans, he was made director-general of the National Police Academy (NPA) where he chaired the Police Reforms Committee. Shoaib Suddle, a man charged with murder, handled the police reforms. He is currently heading the committee of the NPA that deals with crimes against women.

    Wajid Durrani, alleged to be the coordinator of the assassination, was the senior superintendent of police (SSP) District South, Karachi, at the time of the killing. Mr Durrani, another upstanding member of the police force, was promoted to additional deputy inspector-general (ADIG). You may remember him from recent news headlines; he is now the DIG Traffic of Karachi and is being taken to task over some recent traffic jams. How just.

    Rai Tahir, who stopped the car and allegedly gave the signal to fire once my father exited the vehicle, was the assistant superintendent of police (ASP) in Clifton in 1996. He was promoted to district police officer (DPO) and moved to the Punjab, where he remains today.

    Shahid Hayat was another ASP from the Saddar district. He was promoted to ADIG, then DPO Thatta, and is now prowling Jinnah airport as the Deputy Director of Federal Investigation Agency (FIA). He handles immigration and passport control.

    Agha Jamil was the station house officer (SHO) of the Napier police station in Karachi and was later promoted to work under his old comrade at the traffic department as a deputy superintendent (DSP).

    If this reads like a laundry list of police corruption, that’s because it is.

    Shakaib Qureshi was the Superintendent of the Police in Saddar. Mr. Qureshi absconded from the country illegally and now lives in London. He is alleged to have been involved in the killing of Ashiq Jatoi, who died with a point blank shot to the back of his head. He is currently working as a lawyer in the offices of Clifford Chance, a firm which calls itself a ‘truly global’ law firm and counts as its values ‘ambition, commitment, quality, and community’. Shakaib Qureshi has never returned to Pakistan to face the charges against him; not everyone is fortunate enough to have deals crafted in their honor.

    Masood Sharif was the director-general of the Intelligence Bureau, which reported directly to the office of the prime minister. In Pakistan, ‘police intelligence’ and ‘law and order’ are uniquely ironic oxymoron. Mr Sharif, once he was honorably absolved of any guilt by the police department in an internal review, retired from his post. He was not promoted as such, but Mr Sharif was absolutely rewarded. He was given a position on the Central Committee of Benazir Zardari’s PPP. Only the chairperson of the party, in this case Mrs Zardari, can induct people into the hallowed and honorable Central Committee.

    These are not the only men complicit in the murder; they’re just the big guns (no pun).

    These facts are all a matter of public record.

    Curiosity impels people to ask about the not-so hidden hand, the highest level of government, so I will answer. Asif Zardari, lifelong senator and current PPP poster boy, now lives in New York City in the Trump Towers apartment complex on Fifth Avenue with his dog Maximillian. In a somewhat magical move, he has been given a position on the board of the Oxonian Society, Oxford University’s networking organization. The president of the Oxonian society, a gentleman named Joe Pascal (joe@oxoniansociety.com), introduced Mr Zardari, who joins CEOs, captains of industry, and Rhodes scholars, as a ‘Pakistani political prisoner’. Someone ought to write to Mr Pascal (joe@oxoniansociety.com) and tell him that murder cases, narcotics cases, and corruption cases worth billions of dollars do not make a Nelson Mandela. I know I will (joe@oxoniansociety.com). Mrs Zardari resides between London and Dubai. She plans to return to Pakistan in one month’s time and be hailed as your next prime minister and Gen Musharraf’s new best friend. Mrs. Zardari is currently being tried in a Swiss court for corruption. There is also a case in Spain’s courts against her for corruption – the evidence was unearthed after the Spanish police were following paper trails after the 2004 Madrid bombings and came across some suspicious looking accounts belonging to Mrs Zardari. Mrs Zardari has numerous corruption cases lodged against her in her own country. There have been allegations that she and her partner stole $1.5 to 2 billion from the Pakistani treasury. She’s on her way back for round three.

    Eleven years later and none of the above police officers were removed from their posts of duty. None of the above police officers upheld their sworn duty, which is to safeguard and protect the citizens of this country from harm.

    Eleven years later they have all been rewarded for their role in the murder.

    Eleven years later we have a court case in which the defense shows no interest because they have no fear that they’ll ever face punishment for their crimes – how many men and women were murdered in extra-judicial killings in Karachi from 1993-1996? Thousands. Check the records.

    My father is only one of those victims. They have killed many more and gotten away with it and they will kill many more so long as violence is politically rewarded and injustice is tolerated by the highest levels of the government.

    Friday, September 18, 2009

    Birthday of Shaheed Mir Murtaza Bhutto





    Contributed by Maple Leaf

    Thursday, September 17, 2009

    Chapati, chutney -- and literature!

    by Venkatesan Vembu
    DnaIndia
    Wednesday, March 5, 2008


    Food was again on the conversational menu when I met journalist and poet Fatima Bhutto ahead of a talk she gave at the stately Foreign Correspondent's Club at the Man Hong Kong International Literary Festival

    Twenty-five-year-old Fatima, who is Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto's grand-daughter (and the niece of assassinated former Prime Minister Benazir Bhutto), is a columnist for the Jang group of newspapers, and is a trenchant critic of the "Diet Pepsi dictatorship" of Perves Musharraf, the dynastic politics of the Pakistan People's Party and of Nawaz Sharif.

    I asked Fatima if she had savoured Hong Kong's street food. She confessed to being a vegetarian, but said she had tried some street food the previous night: "It was the spiciest thing I've ever eaten -- and I'm from Karachi!"

    Fatima graciously promised me an interview after the talk, but given the rush of things -- and the fact that she was late for another event -- I was at risk of being crowded out.

    But yet more graciously, she agreed to talk to me in the cab on the way to her hotel. And so, as we raced through Hong Kong's skyscraper-lined roads in a taxi, we spoke of cabbages and kings...

    No-one has lived to die of natural causes

    What's it like to be part of a political dynasty struck by tragedy so often? Fatima Bhutto gives her first British newspaper interview to NATASHA MANN and talks about Benazir's murder, her changed attitude towards her aunt, and why she will never follow the same political path.
    FATIMA Bhutto is only 25, but already the glamorous, sharp-talking girl from Karachi knows how violence stalks the Bhutto dynasty. She is reminded of it every time she leaves "70 Clifton", the famous Bhutto residence in the posh, palm-studded sea-front Karachi Suburb

    Two hundred yards or so from her front gate is a small children's park. It was here – in front of this park – that her father, Murtaza – Benazir's brother – was gunned down in a shoot-out between the police and his bodyguards in 1996. Benazir was prime minister at the time and feuding bitterly with her brother.

    That death has shaped Fatima's life. She was at home that night, and still remembers the sounds of gun shots. She and Murtaza's Lebanese wife, Ghinwa, famously questioned the role of Benazir's government in his death. When Benazir arrived back in Pakistan last December, her niece lambasted her in the papers, and a clip appeared on YouTube with Fatima talking about her aunt cosying up with Musharraf. Then came the news of Benazir's assassination.

    "It just felt overwhelmingly familiar – that we've done this too many times before," says Fatima. "It is every 11 years that we bury someone in this family, from violence, not from natural causes. And it's too much. It really is too much."

    On 27 December she, like much of the world, watched television as details of her aunt's assassination filtered through. Sitting in family seat of Larkana in the dusty province of Sindh, she was grimly struck by the similarities between her aunt's and her father's death: the disputed "shot" to the neck, and the way the scene was hosed down so quickly after the killing.

    "I remember after my father's murder we asked: 'Why did you wash the scene up after 45 minutes?' Obviously it's to cover the tracks. And the government were like: 'Oh well.' No answers were given."

    There is an air of tragedy overhanging 70 Clifton like the black flags waving above it. From the outside, there is little to mark it out from the other high-walled Clifton villas, except for a lorry-load of police and an overblown colour poster of Murtaza – a lone figure among the flapping PPP banners that adorn the neighbourhood. Since Murtaza's death, Ghinwa has carried on his splinter group of the PPP.

    Inside, history seeps into the atmosphere. There is a huge painting of Fatima's grandfather, Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto, greeting the masses on the wall. Another black-and-white photo of him rests on a coffee table. This is the house Benazir was married from, to Asif Zardari, the feudal landowner who is overseeing the PPP while his son, 19-year-old Bilawal, finishes his studies at Oxford University. But, for all the luxury, this is a dynasty that has been ripped with feuds and violence. Benazir is the fourth Bhutto to die a short, sharp, premature death. Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto was overthrown in a military coup by General Zia ul-Haq and later hung. And Fatima's other uncle, Shah Nawaz, was mysteriously poisoned on holiday in the South of France, aged only 26.

    Perched on the sofa, with her feet tucked under her, Fatima is clearly stamped with the Bhutto features, despite being only about 5ft tall. Much has been made of her resemblance to her aunt. She has the same fine, aristocratic looks, the long nose, pale skin, defined cheekbones. And she has the same mix of East and West – dressed traditionally in shalwar kameez and shawl, but speaking in that slight American accent most young upper-class Pakistanis have. Fatima was educated in America and the UK. But now it is Fatima that some are whispering is the natural heir of the PPP. Murtaza was Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto's first son, and Fatima is his eldest child, born to his first wife, Fauzia, an Afghan he married while leading a resistance movement in Afghanistan in the late 1970s early 1980s. Afterwards Murtaza fled to Syria where he met the Lebanese Ghinwa, who was teaching ballet classes. It is Ghinwa – who Benazir famously disparaged as a "belly dancer" – that Fatima refers to as "my mother".

    In recent weeks a trail of journalists have been making their way to Fatima's front door to see whether she is being persuaded to stand against her cousin.

    "I always hope the journalists are coming for the right reasons," she says, arching her eyebrows, knowing they are not. "For my writing. They have a picture of Pakistan in their minds. That we are interested in dynasty over democracy, family over principles, and have a hard time understanding when I tell them I am not. I don't believe in birthright politics. I don't believe in dynasty, because I think it's dangerous for the country. I don't think it empowers the people. I don't think it strengthens democracy."

    Fatima's writing includes two books and columns in two Pakistani newspapers: the Jang and The News. She writes on social justice issues and has earned a reputation for frank views and a sharp turn of phrase.

    Despite the feud with Benazir's side of the family, she is keen to show respect for her aunt as a family member. She calls her aunt a shaheed at one point – a martyr. But Fatima doesn't want to erase history.

    "I was very critical about her government's role in my father's death. I was very vocal against the corruption, of her government and her personally. I was very vocal about the human rights abuses practiced flagrantly under her government about the excesses of the police force, about her politics of compromise with Musharraf. And I don't mean in any way to distance myself from those criticisms, or to hide from them. I don't regret them. Had she lived I would have continued.

    "But, after she has been killed, and in such a violent cold manner, there has to be a way of letting her go, and now the questions are larger. Now there is the question of this murder. On December 27, she stopped being a political opponent, a political other, and became just the fourth member of this family that we buried."

    She says she has fond memories of a young Benazir, who used to read her stories, and who she called affectionately Wadi-Bua – which is Sindhi for brother's older sister. "When she died I realised that I knew two Benazirs. There was the Benazir I knew as a child, who was young, who was out of power. She was struggling, fighting, she suffered a lot. She was not much older than I am now. She was a very different person.

    "And then there was the Benazir after power: the Benazir who caused suffering for so many people. And that's how I've known her for so long, through my adult life. She didn't remind me in any way of that young woman. Seeing her die in this way reminded me of that young Benazir, who was brave, and who was different. I certainly want to remember her as that young Benazir who was human and who made mistakes. And who had been through a tremendous amount."

    In fact, it was only when a family friend rang up and said "Wadi-Bua's gone" that Benazir's death really hit Fatima: "Wadi-Bua was someone I knew. I didn't know Benazir."

    Known for her sharp talking, today Fatima is a little diplomatic. She won't be drawn into too much talk on the PPP. She wishes her cousin, Bilawel, well, and says she feels sorry for him and the "vicious" treatment he has had at the hands of the British press. But she is clear about the state of democracy in Pakistan. "Power doesn't change hands in Pakistan. The faces change. It doesn't matter who it is at the top. They work ultimately towards the same cause, which is to protect the establishment, to protect their own prestiges of power. It's the landed, the feudals, the wealthy industrialists, and themselves, the hierarchy that keeps them at the top."

    It is this political make-up that Fatima says is the reason she won't stand. She says she prefers to be politically active through her writing, and grass-roots campaigns. But her criticisms of the feudal system seem a little ironic given she comes from one of the largest feudal families in Pakistan.

    The Bhuttos and their vast wealth are a theme I come across repeatedly in Karachi. One wide-eyed Karachite tells me that if you travel by train from Lahore, you will stop at four stations that fall within Bhutto land. But despite this wealth and luxury, today it is the shadow of violence that seems to mark the Bhuttos out. "It is frightening to know they have died so young. On a mundane level, there's many times I've asked my mother, does anyone have a history of such and such an illness, and we sit there and we just don't know. No-one has lived to tell. No-one has lived to die of natural causes."

    Not least, Fatima's own father, whose death she is still seeking answers for. "She never fully explained her government's role in my father's murder," says Fatima of Benazir. "I did ask her one or two things, like why the witnesses were all arrested and the police were all free. The police were not arrested until after her government fell. The police were all cleared honourably and then reinstated to their positions. That was under her. But it's hard to talk about it now because she's gone."

    She adds: "When violence is all you've known, it does shape your personality in the sense that I am very conscious of the violence. And you become committed to change, committed to live differently."

    For now, though, Fatima says that commitment to change does not involve parliamentary politics. She is, however, refreshingly – for Pakistan – optimistic for the future, believing change may well come from the youth of Pakistan who form the vast majority of the population. "It is not," she says, "that we as Pakistanis have some genetic immunity to democracy; we are ready for it."

    Three days later, as I am passing 70 Clifton again, I happen to see Fatima Bhutto outside the house surrounded by photographers and security guards. She is standing, dressed all in black, beneath the large blown-up poster of her father Murtaza. It is a strong visual image.

    Fatima can say she what she likes about not following in aunt Benazir's footsteps, but this is a young woman born into the glare of politic life, who is clearly consummate in the ways of publicity.

    Apney Aap Sey


    Source Jung

    Fatima Bhutto

    Obama Bi Is

    Source: Jung

    Requiem For A Nation


    There’s never a let-up in Pakistan’s stalemate with violence — all that changes year to year are the victims. Benazir Bhutto’s niece FATIMA BHUTTO traces a blood-drenched history

    IT IS said the Bhuttos die young. This past month, Benazir Bhutto became the fourth young Bhutto to be killed violently and senselessly. In Garhi Khuda Bux, the Bhuttos’ ancestral graveyard, Benazir lies alongside her father, Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto, and her two brothers, Shahnawaz and my father, Murtaza. All four martyred, all before their time and all offered as sacrifices to the state of Pakistan.

    Pakistan today is faced with an extraordinary crisis, one that is cyclical and all too familiar. Power in Pakistan never actually changes hands — it is only the victims that change.

    Pakistan was born into a legacy of political violence. Benazir Bhutto was a victim, one of the many, of a State set-up that has knotted Pakistan’s political future into a noose. Once politicians have ceased to serve their purpose, some are dismissed, others are deported, but by far the preferred mode of dealing with them is to have them killed.

    Five years after Partition, Liaqat Ali Khan — the country’s first appointed prime minister — was shot and killed. No one was ever charged with his murder. In 1979, Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto, the first democratically-elected leader of Pakistan, was executed by the military dictatorship of General Zia ul Haq. His youngest son, Shahnawaz, was killed in France five years later. His eldest son, Murtaza, my father, a member of Parliament, was assassinated in 1996 outside our home in Karachi. In 2006, Akbar Bugti, a renowned Baloch politician, was killed in Balochistan. And now we mourn the murder of Benazir Bhutto, another politician struck down in an attack on the people of this country.

    Benazir Bhutto returned to Pakistan this year amidst growing criticism over her pro- American inclinations. A veteran politician, albeit one often flawed in her approach, Ms Bhutto began to adjust her leanings upon her return home. She began to speak to people, to travel the country (as she once did as a young woman starting out on her political career), and it became increasingly clear that Pakistan would never accept the satellite position the Bush White House has designated for it. Ms Bhutto would not be the conduit — she had decided that before her death, and she began to distance herself from the political appeasement of Musharraf and his foreign interests.

    There is no certainty regarding Benazir Bhutto’s killer, it could have been anyone. Her security, usually very strict, had a serious lapse that day. The killer, a young man, climbed onto her car and was able to fire his weapon straight into his target. Nothing was left to chance. Benazir Bhutto was dead by the time she reached hospital. The people of Pakistan, those who favoured her and those who did not, have been dazed by the cold violence that claimed her young life. Some have blamed Al Qaeda, some have blamed the government, others have made more sinister accusations.

    This is the footing on which we in Pakistan must survive politically. Asif Zardari, Ms Bhutto’s husband and now head of her party, met the news that the elections would be postponed till February 18 with great indignation. Crude as it is to say so, if ever there were a time to cash in on a sympathy vote, especially for an unpopular figure such as Zardari who was named Mr Ten Percent during his wife’s first government and upgraded to Mr Fifty Percent in her second, this is it. However, Pakistan is reeling from a spate of incredible violence. Ms Bhutto’s tragic assassination is certainly a dangerous signal for the country’s future. In the days after her murder, people on the streets of Karachi were attacked, businesses set aflame, and transportation all but shut down. Weeks later, the law and order situation continues to deteriorate. Recently, the ordinarily calm Punjab province was hit by a suicide bomber who exploded himself in front of the Lahore High Court, killing 22 — mostly lawyers and policemen — and wounding over 60.

    As time has passed, the writ of the government has continued to weaken and the stranglehold of the establishment in Pakistan has tightened around the people. It is becoming increasingly difficult for the established power hierarchy to safely govern Pakistan. Where then do we go from here? On what balance does the future of Pakistan hang? On the people, that’s where. While we as a nation have suffered countless political tribulations, our salvation ultimately lies in the empowerment
    of the people.

    This past year, Pakistan witnessed several important portents of democratisation and democratic reform, but these changes did not occur at the top. Rather, they are part of a rising grassroots movement that has been earnestly and courageously raising a voice of dissatisfaction and a demand for change. First came the lawyers’ movement, a heralding of civil disobedience and political protest. Lawyers across the country bravely took to the streets to call for the establishment of an independent judiciary. As fall dawned on the country and Pakistan was once again faced with a less-than-democratic declaration of Emergency, the lawyers were buoyed by another contingent of civil society — the media.

    Pakistan has entered a profound media age where access to information and the freedom to disseminate facts has lifted the lid on debate, political discourse, and social commentary. More than 20 private channels now broadcast the news in various languages from Sindhi to Seraiki to Punjabi in a 24-hour format. Television channels are buzzing with political talk shows, politicians are called on air and directly questioned about their agendas, and the youth has been given a space in which to bring forward the demands of a new generation. The media in Pakistan has proved phenomenally resilient in the face of political turmoil and has slowly but genuinely cemented their role as part of a budding movement to foment democratic reform.

    WOMEN, ORDINARY women, have begun publicly questioning the role of the State over their bodies and the violence towards their gender that is easily condoned by an archaic and oppressive Zia-era legislation, namely the Hudood Ordinance. Mukhtar Mai, an illiterate young woman from Northern Pakistan, made waves around the world when she openly spoke about her rape at the hands of powerful village elders and demanded that they be punished for their crimes against women like her. In Pakistan, Mukhtar Mai did more than make waves; she changed a culture. In a society where sexual violence is spoken about in hushed tones and brushed aside by the law, she refused to be a quiet victim. Her vocal insistence for justice opened the door for many other women to come forward and press the apparatus of the law, namely the police and the courts, to take crimes against women seriously. Certainly, the problem of sexual violence and rape has not been quelled here — and I can’t think of a single country in the world where it has — but the silence and shame that comes with being a women violated has been seriously dented. That is no small achievement. Mukhtar Mai is not a member of Parliament, nor is she from a wealthy family, she is an ordinary citizen, and it is through her and others like her that we as a nation hope to battle the social and political inequities that continue to plague our country.

    Ultimately, this is where we must concentrate our efforts. Once the people of Pakistan are empowered and are entrusted with the agency to collect their own taxes, be part of the dispensation of justice, control the arm of the law through a police system that is centered at a Union Council and not at a federal or provincial level, and are able to hold their representatives accountable through a system of guaranteed elections, then and only then will Pakistan’s future be secure. If elections are held on February 18 as scheduled, then we Pakistanis (or at least us lucky few with ID cards, a minute percentage of our population) will take to the polls. If they are not free and if they are not fair, then we will continue to fight to make them so. The road ahead is a difficult one, but it is ours and we will struggle to make sure we build the Pakistan that we deserve.

    From Tehelka Magazine, Vol 5, Issue 3, Dated Jan 26, 2008


    Forty-eight hours in Balochistan: the unknown Part II

    A hundred beats
    Sunday, November 18, 2007


    Fatima Bhutto

    Babu Sumalani is twenty-eight years old. On September 22 he left his house in Quetta to go for a walk in a nearby park. He is a university graduate who studied sociology and politics in college and who dreamt of returning to school to do a Masters in English. Like many of the young men of his generation Babu was disturbed by the politics of his country. The troika of violence, injustice and poverty troubled him deeply but he saw opportunities for change and felt that if he invested himself in the politics of his community he would be fulfilling his role as a concerned and responsible citizen. Babu does not belong to one of the big Baloch tribes; he is an ordinary man, but a proud one , strongly connected to his Baloch identity. He joined the Baloch National Party (BNP) and was a committed political activist. On September 22 at approximately 3:30 pm, Babu Sumalani was disappeared.

    He was forcibly picked up and bundled into a car. When Babu failed to return home, his family went to the neighborhood police station. There was no record of his arrest. His family has not seen him since.

    In Urdu we now have a word for men like Babu, we call them 'la pata' or the unknown. Our language has made space to acknowledge the disappeared. It had to, there are too many cases to ignore. Human Rights Commission Pakistan estimates that more than 3,000 men have been disappeared by security and intelligence agencies from Balochistan alone. Their figures are conservative – some argue that the number is closer to 8,000. The men who are picked up and made unknown are activists belonging to the BNP, the Baloch Student Organization (BSO); they are labour leaders, writers, journalists, tribals, and political activists.

    The grisly use of disappearances, never before known in Pakistan, started with the War on Terror. It started when the state began to see its citizens as dangerous, too dangerous to deserve fairness before the law. Disappearances are favoured by authoritarian states for two reasons: first, they silence those who dare to speak out and secondly; the fear that disappearances generate permeates the community at large. It terrorizes citizens with the possibility that they too may be made unknown. It grips men with the uncertainty of risk -- should they continue to resist? Is their protest worthwhile? -- So that they begin to self regulate, to self-censor in the fear that their voices may be heard.

    Too many people in Balochistan have relatives who have been disappeared. The very term 'disappeared' comes from Argentina where in the late 1970s an estimated 30,000 people were disappeared by the military junta that lorded over the country. The de facto President from 1976-81, General Jorge Rafael Videla, defending the junta against claims that it had kidnapped thousands of Argentine citizens, smirked in a press conference 'They are neither dead nor alive, they disappeared'.

    In Balochistan, I hear too many things that remind me of Argentina. I hear rumours that men have been taken over the mountains in helicopters and thrown out so that their bodies may never be found. They may just be rumours, but the very suggestion is unsettling. In Argentina they used to do the same, but over water. They called the flights 'vuelos de la muerte' or death flights.

    Disappearances do not happen in countries where citizens have access to the state, they do not happen in places where the government is accountable to the people, no. They happen in states of secret terror, states where the government's narrative runs counter to that of its citizens. With invisible prisoners, the state is able to claim a façade of normalcy. The victims have been vanished; there is no evidence that anything is wrong! Everything is normal, business carries on as usual and parties both domestic and international feel comfortable in interacting with a state that would otherwise seem very scary.

    Babu's family are like ghosts. They are living in two worlds, that of the living and that of the dead. How do you accept a loss but refrain from mourning it, choosing firmly to believe in life in the overwhelming presence of nothing? Babu's mother, an elderly woman who only speaks Balochi, is still crying for her son. She says he didn't do anything, she says in between her tears that Babu is an innocent man. But she raises her head and stiffens herself, 'If he did something, why didn't they charge him? Take him to court and put him on trial? Why didn't they do that?' I have no answers for Babu's mother, but she's not speaking to me -- she's speaking to those who took him 'But not this, they shouldn't have done this. It's illegal, it's unjust'.

    The family of an unknown bears multiple losses. They lose a loved one, they lose the hope of his mission or his activism, they lose their calm and sense of peace, they lose financial stability when a breadwinner is taken from them, and they lose good standing. They lose their reputation because in order to cover their tracks the establishment insists that the disappeared man ran away to join some nefarious organization like Al Qaeda or is on the run from the law because he is a perverse or deranged criminal. Torture is not only physical; it is psychic and emotional too.

    But the one thing people confronted with disappearances don't lose is social solidarity. Babu's brother tells me that they are not a political family, they don't even vote, but nowadays the children of the house -- Babu's nieces and nephews -- come running to ask their uncle when they can next go to the Press Club to hold a vigil, they ask when they can protest and they show him placards they've made with their uncle's photograph on them.

    On Eid day, the women of Quetta held a protest for the disappeared. Mothers, sisters, wives, and children of the unknown took to the streets with photographs of the men that were unlawfully taken from them and they spoke loudly for their release and safe return. These women didn't spend Eid they way the rest of us did, stuffing our faces and buying new clothes, they spent it in the bravest way possible -- by demanding an end to injustice. They reminded me of the Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo in Argentina. This is a good memory. The Mothers, a diverse organization of Argentine women related to the disappeared, wear white scarves to symbolize peace and they go every Thursday afternoon, as they have done for over thirty years, to the Plaza de Mayo in central Buenos Aires for a half hour walk around the plaza. They hold photographs of the children that were abducted and hold signs demanding their return. In 1999 the Mothers were awarded a United Nations Prize for Peace Education. Though they do not consider the current Argentine government hostile, the Mothers continue to gather and protest the disappearances of the past and remember those who have never returned.

    Hebe de Bonafini, one of the founders of the group explained her ability to overcome her fear and take part in such public protests against the violent junta. She said when she thought of her children who had been disappeared she felt 'tigers growing inside me.'

    Now there are tigers growing in Balochistan too.

    Balochistan is a land of many secrets, of much untold suffering. Babu's family continues to pray for his return and persists in asking why he has been deprived of justice, even in the event of any wrongdoing, he should have been granted access to justice.

    Tuesday, September 15, 2009

    Police, Fatima Bhutto, and LUMS

    November 13th, 2007

    Fatima Bhutto, niece of PPP leader Benazir Bhutto and the grand daughter of PPP founder Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto, has commended the efforts put together by the students and staff at the Lahore University of Management Sciences. The University, popularly known as LUMS, is the premier institute of higher education in Pakistan.

    LUMS has been at the forefront of news for initiating and supporting political activism within the student body all over Pakistan, ever since Musharraf declared an emergency on Nov 03, 2007. In a message sent to the students at LUMS, Fatima Bhutto mentioned:

    “Having read that the police surrounded LUMS this past week on blogs online, I am very pleased to receive your email - our thoughts have been with you and your fellow students at this horrific time. Your bravery, in pursuing action against this injustice, is very noble and inspires all the rest of us Pakistanis watching this circus unfold at a distance.”

    Fatima Bhutto further said:

    I have always believed that the first step to enacting change, positive change, is to raise our voices. Only by speaking out, by writing, demonstrating, signing petitions, organizing can we truly speak truth to power. The current situation poses a great danger to this country and to our future. But of certain things we must be clear - demanding a return to the Constitution is not enough. We must call for the restoration of the 1973 constitution. The time for short term solutions is over, they have always betrayed us at the end. We need to restore the 1973 Constitution because its amended versions only propagate the powers of the state over the people. Power must not rest with the President, it must not be handed to the Prime Minister - they have the same interests at the end. It must be handed back to the rightful rulers of this country - the people.

    Secondly, we know today that elections have been called. The time frame, being extremely short, is intended to benefit the government and their allies - they are after all the only forces with enough funds (and a distinct lack of moral grounding) to manipulate the time table to their own ends. They will bus people in to vote for their corrupt and disingenuous candidates because they can afford to, they will bribe polling agents and presiding officers with political favours, they will use illegal and invalid ID cards to push the vote to their favour.

    This we must fight. We do that by voting. By using our votes we deprive this government and their cronies of stealing the election. We do fight by volunteering, by organizing students to campaign or to work as polling agents or to keep records or to write and tell the world what we are facing. This is crucial. We cannot give them this election, they do not deserve our complacency any longer.

    Lastly, please let me know what I can do to help you - this is my request. If there is any information you’d like to get out please forward it on to me. I will forward you now an account from a lawyer in Karachi who has written about living under this emergency, information is key to our survival.

    Keep your morale high, the fight is going to be a long one. We’ve got to get rid of the old guard and they’ll be stubborn about surrendering. But time is on our side. We’re the youth of this country, our future is in our hands, not theirs.

    In solidarity,Fatima Bhutto


    People intrested in views the comments & Fatima's response can view the original post at
    http://www.naitazi.com/2007/11/13/police-fatima-bhutto-and-lums/

    In My Place

    An interview with Fatima Bhutto
    Pakistan’s dynasty-bashing heir apparent discusses how Obama and corruption legitimize the Taliban, her work to include women in Pakistani politics, and why she will never run for office (it’s not why you think).

    The story of Pakistani politics for the last four decades can be told through one family: the Bhuttos. Two Bhuttos have been heads of state, but four have been slain in the violence that riddles modern Pakistan. Fatima, the twenty-seven year old poet, stands in the wake of this carnage and is its heir. Her grandfather, Pakistan’s first democratically elected head of state and founder of the Pakistan People’s Party (PPP), Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, was executed three years before Fatima was born by General Zia-ul-Haq (who overthrew him in a military coup). Fatima’s Aunt Benazir was shot in her car on December 27, 2007, while campaigning. Her uncle was poisoned in exile. And when Fatima was just fourteen, outside her home in Karachi, her father was shot by dozens of police in one of Pakistan’s famous “encounters.” From that same home, Fatima insists that this violence points back to the family; she believes not only that her aunt was morally responsible, but that she played a direct role.

    Fatima’s father, Murtaza Bhutto, had been campaigning one night in September 1996. Fatima, her brother (then six), and stepmother had been waiting for him. They thought he might come home only to be arrested; he’d been criticizing Benazir over her government’s corruption and challenging her to return the PPP to their father’s original manifesto. He’d also been critical of her Operation Cleanup against the Mohajir ethnic group, which allegedly claimed three thousand Mohajir in two years of extrajudicial killings. On this night, police and armored vehicles surrounded the house. But instead of the arrest the family was told to prepare for, Murtaza and several of his men were shot from the street and from treetops in an Operation Cleanup-style barrage of gunfire. Murtaza himself was shot point-blank in the jaw and dumped bleeding to death in a clinic known not to treat gunshot wounds. Young Fatima watched her father die, insisting today that given better treatment, he could have lived. For his death, she unequivocally blames her Aunt Benazir; she certainly has her reasons, which she discusses below.

    But Fatima’s is not just a story of Pakistan’s past. Benazir’s husband, Asif Ali Zardari, is Pakistan’s current president. He is also a recipient of what Fatima describes as “millions and billions and scrillions” of American aid dollars. Fatima’s grudge against him is both seething and personal. But she makes a strong case that President Obama’s new Af/Pak strategy not only fuels Zardari’s murderous corruption, but also helps him bumblingly legitimize the Taliban. Pakistan (and Zardari’s) corruption is palpable to Pakistanis. Imagine a country where none of the schools gets its money; hospitals can’t reach their polio eradication goals because, despite having nuclear weapons, Pakistan can’t keep its electricity flowing to keep vaccines refrigerated. When the Taliban come, says Fatima, “people forget that they flog women” because they also bring schools, teach children to read, mobilize disaster recovery, and fill the vacuum left by government corruption. It is a story of heartbreak Fatima has told in two newspaper columns in Pakistan, which discontinued with Zardari’s government, but that she continues to tell in The Daily Beast and The New Statesman.

    A graduate of Barnard College and the London School of Economics, Bhutto is the author of a book of poems, Whispers of the Desert, published when she was just fifteen, and an oral history of the earthquake that rocked the north of Pakistan, titled 8:50 a.m. October 8, 2005. Like a Kennedy, like Hamlet (dad killed by uncle), catastrophe and politics have been her birthright. Rejecting dynastic politics, however, she insists that Pakistan is far better off with her as pundit than politico. But given that she still lives yards from where her dad was killed, it’s hard not to wonder, is she better off under this arrangement? I spoke with her by Skype from her home in Karachi, where she is at work on a book about the Bhutto family.
    —Joel Whitney for Guernica

    Guernica: You were inducted into adulthood in a rather violent way. Tell me about the death of your father.

    Fatima Bhutto: My father at the time of his murder was an elected official. He had returned to Pakistan after some sixteen years of exile and had run for a provincial seat in the assembly, and won. He had not yet formed his own party, a reform movement actually, meant to bring the Pakistan People’s Party more in line with its original manifesto. His sister, Benazir, was prime minister at the time and chairperson for life, as it were, of their father’s PPP. And my father was very vocal about the corruption practiced by her government, and by herself personally and her husband [current President Asif Ali Zardari]. He was very vocal about compromises she had made coming into power, [and argued] that she did not represent the mantle of the PPP. [He was critical of] her crackdown, carried out by her security agencies, on the Mohajir ethnic groups in Karachi, and the MQM [Muttahida Quami Movement], a quasi-fascist ethnic movement. The operation Benazir initiated was called Operation Cleanup; it targeted members of the party but also ethnic Mohajirs, who she believed were terrorists, attacking her regime. They were not arrested, taken to court, or tried for these crimes she claimed they were committing. They were instead killed in these very dubious police encounters, where the police or the elite security group would turn up in an area; there would be several dozen of them; and they would kill the offending Mohajir member; usually, he would be shot in the back, and they would say, “We were trying to arrest him.” They never had warrants to back up their claim.

    Guernica: But your father spoke out.

    Fatima Bhutto: [My father] was very vocal about these extrajudicial murders being carried out by police. So when he was killed in September of 1996, he was by no means the first person to be killed in this way. He was returning home from a political rally in the outskirts of Karachi and came to the road in front of our house, Clifton Road. The streetlights had been closed. There were anywhere between seventy and a hundred policemen on the street in trees, in sniper position. All the embassies on our road had their security told to withdraw into their premises. The roads were blocked so when my father was stopped, a police officer was charged with confirming that it was him in the car, a signal was given, and then a barrage of fire followed.

    Guernica: I understand you were nearby.

    Fatima Bhutto: What is important about that night is several things. The seven men who were killed all died of shots to the head or chest; my father and one other man were killed with point-blank shots. The shot that killed [my father] was fired into his jaw at close range, the autopsy showed. After the shooting, the men were left to bleed for about forty-five minutes on the road. Just feet away from where this was all happening, we were not let out of our house; we were told by the police that there had been a robbery and to stay indoors. By the time we realized something was wrong, they moved the men. The men were not moved to emergency hospitals; they were moved to different locations. [When] we left the house forty-five minutes after the shooting, the roads had been cleaned. So there was no blood on the streets, no glass, nothing, all evidence washed away. Benazir was prime minister and did all kinds of strange things, like not allowing us to file a police report. Benazir’s government set up a tribunal that was to have no legal authority to pass sentence, designed, I imagine, as some sort of stalling technique. Eventually the tribunal ruled in several important ways. They concluded that it was in fact a shootout; using state ballistics and forensics, they saw that the only ammunition spent came from police.

    Guernica: Is this an attempt to whitewash, in your view?

    Fatima Bhutto: It may well have been. The tribunal was put in place by her government, but the ruling came after her government. Perhaps that afforded them a degree of freedom. The government always insisted it was a shootout even though there were no injuries on the police side (except one officer shot in the foot, later proved to be self-inflicted). The tribunal also ruled that the police had used an excessive amount of force and that they did not offer medical assistance in a timely manner. Most importantly, they concluded that the very public assassination of an elected member of Parliament could not have been carried out by police without approval from the highest levels of government. Of course, they stopped short of naming Benazir. But at that time, there was no one higher than the prime minister.

    Guernica: You must have been filled with intense feelings like anger and fear and grief; you were just fourteen.

    Fatima Bhutto: At the time, we lived in a city that was on fire. You know, weeks would go by when I couldn’t go to school because of riots. Gunfire was something we heard fairly frequently. So when I first heard the shots, I didn’t immediately think it had anything to do with me or my family. It was not an unusual noise to hear.

    Guernica: Was there a moment when you realized what had happened?

    Fatima Bhutto: We had seen police cars and these armored vehicles around our house. We were expecting something. But we expected that they would cook up some charge and simply put him in jail. He was expecting that, too, and had packed a briefcase with books and magazines. We didn’t have cell phones in Karachi; they’d been banned. So we had no way of reaching him. After the shooting ended, I started to get nervous. When we left our house, we looked and found him in a clinic called Mideast, quite close to where we lived. They don’t take gunshot cases. I watched my father die essentially because he hadn’t been taken to a medical facility that could treat his wounds. I was fourteen, but there were things immediately that began to seem so wrong that it was almost like your fear had to be pushed aside to understand these other things. For example, all the witnesses and the survivors were arrested and were held in jail (until Benazir’s government fell, actually). But all the police officers were honorably cleared in an internal review and reinstated to their posts.

    Guernica: You said you pushed aside the fear. What about the grief?

    Fatima Bhutto: It was impossible to push aside the grief. I was very, very close to my father. Every time I left our house, I would pass the spot where he was shot. Six other families lost people. We knew their children, we knew these men’s wives, we knew their mothers. So the grief was impossible to push aside. That was everywhere. And because he was a public figure and lived publicly, his death was also public. It meant we were grieving but also had to comfort a lot of other people who were grieving for him. And our grief was everywhere: in newspapers, the funeral was very public. But it’s sort of funny how these things happen; the fear is pushed aside because of the anger I felt in knowing all those survivors had been jailed. That sort of anger and confusion pushed aside the fear. The fact also that it was my aunt in charge of the government at that time…

    Guernica: You told the London Times: “I rang my aunt several times to ask why none of those who did the shooting had been arrested… She just said, ‘Fati, you don’t understand how this works.’” What do you think she meant?

    Fatima Bhutto: You know, I think there were many Benazirs. When people in the West see Benazir, they see her in that sort of almost hagiographic light. Then there is the Benazir we lived with in Pakistan, a two-time woman prime minister who didn’t remove the Hudood Ordinance; these are the most violent laws against women. So you had a very opportunistic Benazir, [who was] entitled to power and behaved like it. And Benazir the personal one I knew. She was not someone who liked to be criticized, very domineering. When I had that conversation with her, my brother was six and I was fourteen. There was a lot of talk saying, “Well, this is an attack to finish the Bhutto line, and they’re gonna deal with the children, as well.”

    So one week after our father was killed, we left. We went to Damascus where we had grown up and my mother’s parents, my grandparents who are Lebanese, came to stay with us. I was without my mother at the time; I was frightened. But I was hearing these facts in Pakistan, and when I called her up, she said, “Oh, you don’t understand; this is not how these things are done. This is not the movies.” I remember saying to her, “Well, look. How is it done?” And she gave these very Benazir answers: “Well, look, we’ve got to speak to the police officers first; we’ve got to find out who they’re allied to, what their political leanings are.” By no stretch was I a lawyer. But I just knew that’s not how you deal with police brutality. You didn’t take them aside and ask them who they voted for in the last election. I said to her as well that the scene of the crime was washed up… I said to her, “How is that allowed?” And she said, “Look, this is how it’s done in Pakistan.” Years later, after she was killed, the scene of her murder was also washed up. That’s what was so dangerous about Benazir; the power that she had as a two-time prime minister was enormous; had she used her office for something other than personal gain—for example, to rectify the system, to look into how police crimes are investigated—these things would not have continued happening, even to her.

    Guernica: Did that conversation convince you she played a role in his death?

    Fatima Bhutto: Yes, I think there are several roles. The first role is a moral role. She absolutely bears moral responsibility in that she presided over a state that was empowering the police and other security agencies to kill. Operation Cleanup was genocidal. Three thousand people in two years is no joke. And a lot of the police officers who were quite senior on Operation Cleanup were brought that night to kill my father. I mean, they were known for these extrajudicial murders. So on the one hand, yes, absolutely she’s responsible. And the more direct role that she played as prime minister, in terms of the investigation, suppressing facts from coming out, stopping us from filing a police case. She did a lot of things. One of the officials present that night on the road was Masood Sharif; he was the director general of the intelligence bureau, the office that reports directly to the prime minister. After the murder, Benazir awarded him a seat on the central committee of the People’s Party. Now for someone who’s accused in your brother’s murder, that sounds like a pretty strange thing to do. I think it speaks volumes to how Benazir and people in her party viewed power as a right.

    Guernica: Looking ahead, what are Pakistan’s greatest challenges?

    Fatima Bhutto: Corruption. [Pakistan has] a government universally known for graft, with the state treasury at its disposal. What that means is if you go to a state hospital just about anywhere in Pakistan, you are more likely to die than to receive treatment; they don’t have electricity, they don’t have sanitary conditions. If you are a child of school-going age in just about any rural area in Pakistan and your only option for an education is a government school, you’re going to end up illiterate. There are no teachers, no books, nothing. We’re an incredibly rich country in terms of our resources; we’ve got oil, gas, natural resources, we grow our own fruit. So forget the foreign aid for a moment. What that [corruption] means is that you create a vacuum; that vacuum has been and is still being filled by militant Islamic groups that come into these rural areas and bring schools. Everyone will naturally think that a madrasa is a jihadi training ground; that’s true in a lot of cases. But if your child is either going to be illiterate or is going to learn how to read and how to read the Koran at that madrasa, parents are going to take that option. It would be crazy to ask them not to. In 2005, we had a devastating earthquake in the northern part of the country. I went to a lot of the affected areas about a month after. We didn’t see any evidence of the state of Pakistan in these towns. But what we did see were a lot of Islamic charities, groups that had set up a mobile hospital unit, tent villages. If you want to look at the Taliban’s presence in Pakistan today, you can directly tie that to the corruption. If you want to look at the illiteracy rate in Pakistan today, you can tie that to the corruption. If you want to talk about the lack of democracy, that can again be tied to the corruption.

    Guernica: The U.S. obviously plays a role here. And our new President Barack Obama rode into office on a platform for change. He did say he’d move troops from Iraq into Afghanistan, and now we’re seeing a military buildup, with drones and enormous amounts of aid, in Pakistan.

    Fatima Bhutto: I haven’t met President Obama. And I have to say that when he was running, like almost everyone in the universe, I was incredibly excited by the prospect of him and found him incredibly inspiring. But as you said, unfortunately, not only has President Obama continued Bush’s policies in the region, he’s stepped them up a bit. What’s so frustrating is that he’s a man who understands nuance. I mean, for that man to call the entire region “Af/Pak” is mortifying to us because we’re two distinct countries. And to be lumped together in this Af/Pak sort of bundle is so Bush-like it breaks my, it breaks my heart.
    I think the problem that Obama has made in Pakistan is an enormous one. Empowering Pakistan’s military and empowering this incredibly criminal and corrupt government with drone access and all the rest of it, and with billions and billions of dollars of aid, he’s just repeating the cycle. We’re seeing on a much larger scale a repeat of the earthquake. Pakistan took in, I think, $6.7 billion to deal with the earthquake. Four years later, we still have people in camps; that money has gone to some very high-up officials’ bank accounts and nowhere else. Except in this case, the Pakistan Army has entered into a guerrilla war and what Obama has proved to people in the region is that American democracy is always going to come down against the people. I mean, American democracy means we’ll drone your village, it means we’ll bomb your schools, and it means you live in refugee camps. The idea then of reaching out to the Muslim world, reaching out to places like Pakistan to explain to them that we share a common battle in fighting extremism, has been entirely lost. If I were going to meet President Obama, I would have so many things to say to him…

    Guernica: I can hear that.

    Fatima Bhutto: But [laughs] I think I would want to make clear to him that he’s opened a third front in my country. By allying America with this government, he has furthered the cause of the Pakistani Taliban so immensely, so immensely. Because when you’ve got these guys fighting the seventh largest army in the world and the first largest army in the world, and they’re fighting and they’re losing their homes, people forget that they flog women. People forget that they are in favor of an incredibly repressive Sharia system. Because what they see is that [the Taliban] are fighting a corrupt system, a corrupt government, a violent army.

    Guernica: In addition to this militarism that the U.S. enables, there is the aid question.

    Fatima Bhutto: Absolutely. All the Lugar Pak [the Kerry-Lugar Pakistan aid bill] money is not going to schools. One of the most extraordinary things that should be known about Pakistan is that we missed our Millennium Goals to eradicate polio because we cannot refrigerate the vaccines long enough to administer them because of the lack of electricity. This is a nuclear country that cannot run a refrigerator. When you’re giving Pakistan billions and trillions and scrillions of dollars, you’ve got to be aware of where that money is going. Obama is lucky because he’s dealing with someone with a record, he’s dealing with a government that has a history of corruption. Before Zardari became president, he was fighting corruption cases in Switzerland, Spain, and England.

    Guernica: You’ve implicated Zardari in at least the cover-up of your father’s murder.

    Fatima Bhutto: Not just mine. Before he became president, Zardari was standing trial in four murder cases; it’s eleven people, I believe, killed in these four cases. The man can barely string a sentence together in Urdu; forget about English. This is a man whose entire mandate rests on the fact that his dead wife named him heir apparent in a letter. He was elected by Parliament in the same way that General Pervez Musharraf was elected by Parliament. So it’s very difficult to say Musharraf was not democratically elected but Zardari was. Both of them were elected by their own parliaments. I think this is part of the great doublespeak you get when you talk about Pakistan. Zardari has not entered into a popular vote, and he’s got no mandate of the people. In my book, that’s not democratic. And I think that Obama has given the man a lifeline that he very desperately needed to stay in power.

    Guernica: Other American politicians, you’ve pointed out, have given the sheen of legitimacy to corrupt Pakistani elections.

    Fatima Bhutto: In 2007, John Kerry came. As per our election law, a woman wearing a burqa does not have to show her face in her ID photograph. And she does not have to show it when she votes. And you have people like John Kerry coming in and going to one station in Islamabad and saying, “Oh, yes, everything’s perfect; there are no problems here.”

    Guernica: Tell me about the National Reconciliation Ordinance. The U.S. also helped push this through, you’ve complained, noting that it essentially wrote impunity into law.

    Fatima Bhutto: This is the deal that Benazir orchestrated with General Musharraf before her death. Essentially, it clears some twenty years’ worth of corruption cases against politicians, bureaucrats, and bankers. It also contains a clause that will make it virtually impossible to file charges against a sitting member of government in the future. What is so phenomenally dangerous about the National Reconciliation Ordinance is it places people in power above the law. It essentially says there is one law for Pakistanis and another law for politicians.

    Guernica: And the U.S. was very much in favor of this?

    Fatima Bhutto: [Shouting] Yes, yes! [Calmer] The U.S., and—not just to be nasty to the U.S. —but also England. I gave a briefing at a political magazine in London a couple months ago and had a baroness explain to me how, actually, the National Reconciliation Ordinance was a great leap in political trust; it was going to make Pakistan a more stable place. The National Reconciliation Ordinance was initially put into place to excuse corruption and graft. But it’s been widened to excuse just about anything. When Zardari was cleared of his four murder cases, in the middle—mind you—of his ongoing trial, the National Reconciliation Ordinance was used. The PPP, putting this forward, said, “This is modeled on South Africa’s own Truth and Reconciliation Trials.” The joke is that, yes, it is. Except they forgot the “truth.” It’s a very, very dangerous precedent for our country.

    Guernica: And you’ve butted up against some of the blowback from this?

    Fatima Bhutto: I did a bit of campaigning in 2007, mainly door-to-door work particularly to get women to vote. I went into a lot of people’s homes. Sindh is really quite ethnically and religiously diverse, not at all known for any kind of extremism or anything like that. I noticed a lot of very strange Islamic political poster art hanging in people’s homes, posters of Khomeini and other scary things. In one house, I said, “Look, you’ve got a very big picture of Khomeini up there. Why is that?” The man of the house said, “He’s my ideal political figure.” I said, “Why is that?” He said, “If we had a government like Khomeini, that was Islamic and honorable, we would never have the corruption we have today.” Obviously, that’s not the case in Iran. Certainly there is corruption. Religious government doesn’t remove that at all. But this is what people think.

    Guernica: In addition to campaigning in 2007, you do work for women in other spheres.

    Fatima Bhutto: I did door-to-door work to get women to vote, and did some work with women prisoners. We’ve got a lot of women in jail in Sindh and across the country under the Hadood Laws, and you also have a lot of children in jail with their mothers, as well, and very little interest from legal groups in providing pro bono help to women in jail. So I’ve worked on that, as well.

    Guernica: And now the inevitable question every interviewer asks you: will you run for office, too?

    Fatima Bhutto: My favorite. I really won’t. There are so many reasons not to enter politics that I can think of.

    Guernica: When I read, watch, or hear you say in interviews that you don’t believe in dynastic politics, I always think, “Maybe that, paradoxically, is exactly who Pakistan needs.”

    Fatima Bhutto: I don’t think so. Because at the end of the day, that would be saying, okay, dynasty is bad. But she’s quite clever and so she’s going to be the exception to the rule. That’s what they all say.

    Guernica: Not just that you’re quite clever…

    Fatima Bhutto: Well, but you know what I mean, quite brave or quite intelligent or has a good handle on economics or whatever it is. We’re already hearing from dynastic quarters in Pakistan: Yes, yes, I know it’s a dynasty. But actually, I’ve got great experience from my parents or… Yes, yes, I know dynasty is bad, but my uncle takes me along to all of his meetings and therefore I get to… Whatever. I think there are many other ways to push for change or be political, and I think that at the moment doing what I do, writing and speaking, I’m unfettered, I’m not obliged to anyone or anything, and I’m free to speak my mind. That’s not the case when you’re in politics.

    Guernica: Another question you get a lot: As a Bhutto, your grandfather, uncle, father, and aunt have all been killed. Doesn’t that already put you in a risky and precarious situation? To add to that danger by staying in Pakistan and then announcing yourself as one of the most eloquent, clever, and persistent critics of the government, when does it get too dangerous for you?

    Fatima Bhutto: I think the situation there is unsafe as it is. Technically…

    Guernica: I don’t mean to cut you off. It’s just that I’ve heard this answer from you before. But isn’t that a dodge? I don’t mean the safety of Pakistan, which we’ve discussed. I think it’s admirable that you conflate the two. I mean, your own safety.

    Fatima Bhutto: Obviously, I think, you know, my safety… You’re right, I was dodging. It’s not the same as saying everyone else is safe. But I do think at times either you give them an open field and allow [politicians] to do what they do without questioning or pointing out the obvious failings (and in that case you aid corrupt and criminal government), or you don’t. Actually, [one of my Columbia professors, Hamid Dabashi] would say you don’t need tanks rolling down the streets anymore because they’re already rolling in our mind. If I’m going to self-censor, then I’m going to be doing Zardari’s job for him. I’m not inclined to help him out in that way.

    Guernica: People wonder why you stay in Pakistan. I would never speak for you, but in one conversation, I said, “that’s her home.” Yet making these critiques against corruption, these charges that the current government was involved in covering up, and was morally responsible for your father’s murder, wouldn’t you be safer outside Pakistan?

    Fatima Bhutto: I don’t think so. Because any protection you have comes from being in your home country with other people who think like you do. I think your answer for me is exactly right, actually. When I speak about these things in Pakistan, and I wouldn’t ever claim to speak for anyone either, or claim that my views are indicative of anyone else’s, I do feel I’m amongst others like me, sitting with other people without electricity for ten hours a day, listening to the gunfire outside our roads and I think—and maybe this is a figment of my imagination—it makes me feel safer.

    Guernica: This magazine recently cosponsored an event honoring Ken Saro-Wiwa, who was killed for his activism in Nigeria. His son was asked whether the loss of his father was too great a sacrifice, and he said, “All of us have a choice, to make our children safe in the world or to make the world safe for our children.” I guess I can understand that kind of safety, safety among one’s own people and making the world safe for them…

    Fatima Bhutto: To be with people who understand. I’m always shocked when people don’t agree with this. But when I say stop giving us money, stop giving Pakistan money, it’s not going to the places it should go, these billions of American taxpayers’ dollars are only perpetuating the problem, people always say it would be madness to pull out. And I always think to [tell] them, my god, if you would just come there, if you would just see where your money is going, you know… Whenever I say this abroad, I’m always met with this, “Don’t be crazy, we can’t pull out.” But when I say it in Pakistan, people agree because they don’t see any of that money. When I’m talking about things, it means a lot to be in Pakistan and to be able say, “Look, this is what happened yesterday down the road, this is what this person said, and if you want to come and see them and hear them, they’re here.” Maybe that’s just in my head, and it makes me incredibly naïve, but it makes me feel safer—at least, I think.

    Guernica: But not physically safer.

    Fatima Bhutto: Yeah, probably not. But it’s home. And if I said okay, you’re right, I am unsafe, I’ll just leave now, [then] I leave behind my mother and my brothers. And then you get into the argument that, if it’s not safe for me, then it’s not safe for anyone I care about and love in the country. And maybe we should just all move out for a while and take 180 million of us and we can all come and live in… I don’t know… Miami has nice weather, doesn’t it?

    Taken from: http://www.guernicamag.com/interviews/1110/in_my_place/