Emergency: the Impact on North Pakistan
0 votes
Melanie Poole, November 2007
Emergency in Pakistan: the Impact in the North
As troops stormed the Pakistan Supreme Court early in the evening on November 3rd, taking Chief Justice Iftikhar Chaudhry and the seven other Supreme Court justices into custody, ‘PTV’, the national television channel, aired footage of grinning men performing local dances, while Bollywood tunes flooded the radio waves.
The Constitution was suspended; police surrounded the houses of judges and lawyers; journalists, human rights workers and political leaders, such as former cricketer Imran Khan, mysteriously ‘vanished’. Meanwhile, the military kept firm control over both national and private broadcasting. City-dwellers wondered why SMS services, phonelines and the internet were jammed; and why petrol pumps were not working.
In Pakistan’s capital, Islamabad, one group of bewildered citizens entered a military blockade and began protesting against President Musharraf; unaware that near-martial law had been imposed and they were therefore risking an on-site shooting.
Ironically, people in rural centres were among the first in the country to be informed. Cable television, popular in Islamabad, Lahore and Karachi, is expensive in rural areas: instead, people use satellite dishes. In Gilgit, a semi-urban town in the north, groups gathered in hotels and teahouses to watch the drama unfold – staying tuned until late for President Musharraf’s ‘State of Emergency’ address (the broadcast of which interrupted hours of dancing and old soap opera episodes on regular channels.)
Following intensified terrorist activity, especially in the north-west, President Musharraf claims that the emergency declaration was necessary to prevent Pakistan’s destabilisation. According to Musharraf, the courts have impeded government and military efforts to control the situation, resulting in the ‘near-paralysis’ of the government. He stated that, instead of acting separately and with conflicting agendas, the branches of the Executive and the Judiciary must ‘unite’ under his authority.
In Gilgit, this explanation has been greeted with wide scepticism. The educated and the uneducated, the wealthy and the poor, the politically active and inactive – all appear to agree that it is the Supreme Court’s expected ruling that Musharraf could not stand for office in uniform that is behind the emergency declaration. Few seem surprised – the country has a history of military dictators, none of whom have willingly relinquished power.
And yet a number of questions remain. Why was the handing down of the Supreme Court’s verdict delayed at the last minute? Why, when it has been revealed that Benazir Bhutto was informed of the impending situation, did she leave the country, only to return two days later? How long will the judges, lawyers, journalists and political leaders remain detained? What will happen when they are released?
For most Gilgitians, the most important question is how their lives could be affected. The only immediate, visible effects in this rural centre are an overnight increase in police and army patrol vehicles; and, in some people, a heightened reluctance to discuss political views openly – now that the Constitution is no longer in place, public opposition to the government could well land a person in jail.
Local heads nod in agreement when Saud Bano, a local hotel owner, states that events such as this are par for the course in Pakistani politics, that people will simply get on with their lives. Karim Abbas, a taxi driver, adds that he is happy so long as Musharraf ‘finishes the Taliban.’
The citizens of Pakistan’s Northern Areas are disenfranchised, with no parliamentary representation. Perhaps it is for this reason that, while even the poor and illiterate are politically informed, people have long felt that the political situation is out of their control. “What can I say?” says twenty-four year old NGO worker Nighat Hanif, “this is what happens in this country. It’s sad - but not surprising.”
Twenty-five year old school teacher, Mohammed Shah, disagrees. “This is a frightening development,” he says, “Musharraf is usually very strong, but [during his national address on November 3] he was like a desperate child, begging and justifying. The Americans are against this, the army is divided, the terrorists want to kill him, Bhutto also opposes…in fact who supports him? The president is exposing his weaknesses…this endangers everyone in Pakistan.”
Ultimately, the impact on everyday lives in Pakistan will remain to be seen. What is clear is that, in contrast to the jubilation and hope which surrounded the 1999 coup, the atmosphere is one of cynicism at best - and, at worst, patent fear.
Emergency in Pakistan: the Impact in the North
As troops stormed the Pakistan Supreme Court early in the evening on November 3rd, taking Chief Justice Iftikhar Chaudhry and the seven other Supreme Court justices into custody, ‘PTV’, the national television channel, aired footage of grinning men performing local dances, while Bollywood tunes flooded the radio waves.
The Constitution was suspended; police surrounded the houses of judges and lawyers; journalists, human rights workers and political leaders, such as former cricketer Imran Khan, mysteriously ‘vanished’. Meanwhile, the military kept firm control over both national and private broadcasting. City-dwellers wondered why SMS services, phonelines and the internet were jammed; and why petrol pumps were not working.
In Pakistan’s capital, Islamabad, one group of bewildered citizens entered a military blockade and began protesting against President Musharraf; unaware that near-martial law had been imposed and they were therefore risking an on-site shooting.
Ironically, people in rural centres were among the first in the country to be informed. Cable television, popular in Islamabad, Lahore and Karachi, is expensive in rural areas: instead, people use satellite dishes. In Gilgit, a semi-urban town in the north, groups gathered in hotels and teahouses to watch the drama unfold – staying tuned until late for President Musharraf’s ‘State of Emergency’ address (the broadcast of which interrupted hours of dancing and old soap opera episodes on regular channels.)
Following intensified terrorist activity, especially in the north-west, President Musharraf claims that the emergency declaration was necessary to prevent Pakistan’s destabilisation. According to Musharraf, the courts have impeded government and military efforts to control the situation, resulting in the ‘near-paralysis’ of the government. He stated that, instead of acting separately and with conflicting agendas, the branches of the Executive and the Judiciary must ‘unite’ under his authority.
In Gilgit, this explanation has been greeted with wide scepticism. The educated and the uneducated, the wealthy and the poor, the politically active and inactive – all appear to agree that it is the Supreme Court’s expected ruling that Musharraf could not stand for office in uniform that is behind the emergency declaration. Few seem surprised – the country has a history of military dictators, none of whom have willingly relinquished power.
And yet a number of questions remain. Why was the handing down of the Supreme Court’s verdict delayed at the last minute? Why, when it has been revealed that Benazir Bhutto was informed of the impending situation, did she leave the country, only to return two days later? How long will the judges, lawyers, journalists and political leaders remain detained? What will happen when they are released?
For most Gilgitians, the most important question is how their lives could be affected. The only immediate, visible effects in this rural centre are an overnight increase in police and army patrol vehicles; and, in some people, a heightened reluctance to discuss political views openly – now that the Constitution is no longer in place, public opposition to the government could well land a person in jail.
Local heads nod in agreement when Saud Bano, a local hotel owner, states that events such as this are par for the course in Pakistani politics, that people will simply get on with their lives. Karim Abbas, a taxi driver, adds that he is happy so long as Musharraf ‘finishes the Taliban.’
The citizens of Pakistan’s Northern Areas are disenfranchised, with no parliamentary representation. Perhaps it is for this reason that, while even the poor and illiterate are politically informed, people have long felt that the political situation is out of their control. “What can I say?” says twenty-four year old NGO worker Nighat Hanif, “this is what happens in this country. It’s sad - but not surprising.”
Twenty-five year old school teacher, Mohammed Shah, disagrees. “This is a frightening development,” he says, “Musharraf is usually very strong, but [during his national address on November 3] he was like a desperate child, begging and justifying. The Americans are against this, the army is divided, the terrorists want to kill him, Bhutto also opposes…in fact who supports him? The president is exposing his weaknesses…this endangers everyone in Pakistan.”
Ultimately, the impact on everyday lives in Pakistan will remain to be seen. What is clear is that, in contrast to the jubilation and hope which surrounded the 1999 coup, the atmosphere is one of cynicism at best - and, at worst, patent fear.
