Read Online Aboard the Democracy Train by Nafisa Hoodbhoy - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Nafisa Hoodbhoy
Ads: Link
Illahi Baksh Soomro as he called out, “So now journalists are coming from outside to cover the election.”
Little did I know that my first encounter in Jacobabad would be with I. B. Soomro. Soomro’s relatives are known to be near fixtures in army-backed governments: his nephew, Mian Mohammed Soomro served in the Musharraf government while his brother, Iftikhar Soomro was elevated to the level of minister during various interim administrations. In 1991, the silver-haired federal minister, I. B. Soomro had come back to his hometown to back Jam Sadiq Ali’s nominee – Ghulam Ali Buledi.
As Chip, Steve and I went around Jacobabad, some of the local tribal leaders representatives told us that I. B. had forewarned them against letting their people vote for the PPP. Indeed, Jam’s administration had ensured that women – who tended to be more pro-Benazir – did not vote at all. In Jacobabad, Jam had slyly connived with Benazir’s relative and leading feudal from Larkana, Mumtaz Bhutto. Apparently, Mumtaz had thrown his weight behind tribal leaders to stop their women from coming out to vote.
Benazir and Pirzada held a press conference, widely attended by Sindhi journalists, in which they spoke in English for the benefit of my American companions. Benazir told us that Jam Sadiq Ali brought “some 200 dacoits” to Jacobabad on the eve of the by-election. She spoke of the “long-haired men,” armed with machine guns, that had arrested Pirzada’s supporters when they arrived from Balochistan border only a few miles away.
At one polling station, I overheard the government’s polling agents say that we must be stopped from entering the voting area. We later learnt that the government had provided presiding officers with ballot boxes, which were already “stuffed and sealed.”
Every now and then we bumped into Pirzada’s vehicle en route to the polling stations. He stood disheveled in the middle of the road, with his angry face red and perspiring, as he talked about the blatant rigging he had witnessed. Pirzada had taken to calling me the “veteran of Jacobabad.”
After days of witnessing the electoral charade, my American colleagues and I were not surprised when the Election Commission announced that the government’s nominee had won three times the number of votes secured by Pirzada.
An accomplished lawyer, Pirzada refused to give up and instead argued his case vociferously in front of the government’s Election Commission in Karachi. The judge nominated by the government, late Justice Naeemuddin, admonished him for his outbursts and threw out his case.
But by then Benazir had already moved on to seek new ways of returning to power. Even while she was in Jacobabad, she had fretted that her stay in the small town might reduce her image to that of a provincial, rather than national, leader. Once again, her eyes were set to rise to the highest office, no matter what it took.
The Road to Islamabad
The tyrannical Chief Minister of Sindh, Jam Sadiq Ali died of natural causes in March 1992. The army lost their strongman andthe pressure on Benazir and her PPP eased. By then, however, the free hand given by the establishment to dacoits had cost the nation dearly. The ransoms fetched by the kidnappings of Chinese engineers and Japanese tourists made the dacoits more restive. Like wolves baying for more blood, they advanced to the wealthy industrial city of Karachi.
One morning in June 1992, I woke up to learn that our next-door neighbor – industrialist, Ashiq Ali Hussain – had been ambushed and kidnapped a short distance from his home. Hussain’s kidnapping from his chauffer-driven car – which occurred in the presence of his armed guards – sent shockwaves through the top industrialists in Karachi. Even the military establishment realized the dacoits had gone too far.
A few days later, with a heroic flourish, the army launched “Operation Clean-up” in Sindh and began to exterminate dacoits like flies.
Little did I know that my first encounter in Jacobabad would be with I. B. Soomro. Soomro’s relatives are known to be near fixtures in army-backed governments: his nephew, Mian Mohammed Soomro served in the Musharraf government while his brother, Iftikhar Soomro was elevated to the level of minister during various interim administrations. In 1991, the silver-haired federal minister, I. B. Soomro had come back to his hometown to back Jam Sadiq Ali’s nominee – Ghulam Ali Buledi.
As Chip, Steve and I went around Jacobabad, some of the local tribal leaders representatives told us that I. B. had forewarned them against letting their people vote for the PPP. Indeed, Jam’s administration had ensured that women – who tended to be more pro-Benazir – did not vote at all. In Jacobabad, Jam had slyly connived with Benazir’s relative and leading feudal from Larkana, Mumtaz Bhutto. Apparently, Mumtaz had thrown his weight behind tribal leaders to stop their women from coming out to vote.
Benazir and Pirzada held a press conference, widely attended by Sindhi journalists, in which they spoke in English for the benefit of my American companions. Benazir told us that Jam Sadiq Ali brought “some 200 dacoits” to Jacobabad on the eve of the by-election. She spoke of the “long-haired men,” armed with machine guns, that had arrested Pirzada’s supporters when they arrived from Balochistan border only a few miles away.
At one polling station, I overheard the government’s polling agents say that we must be stopped from entering the voting area. We later learnt that the government had provided presiding officers with ballot boxes, which were already “stuffed and sealed.”
Every now and then we bumped into Pirzada’s vehicle en route to the polling stations. He stood disheveled in the middle of the road, with his angry face red and perspiring, as he talked about the blatant rigging he had witnessed. Pirzada had taken to calling me the “veteran of Jacobabad.”
After days of witnessing the electoral charade, my American colleagues and I were not surprised when the Election Commission announced that the government’s nominee had won three times the number of votes secured by Pirzada.
An accomplished lawyer, Pirzada refused to give up and instead argued his case vociferously in front of the government’s Election Commission in Karachi. The judge nominated by the government, late Justice Naeemuddin, admonished him for his outbursts and threw out his case.
But by then Benazir had already moved on to seek new ways of returning to power. Even while she was in Jacobabad, she had fretted that her stay in the small town might reduce her image to that of a provincial, rather than national, leader. Once again, her eyes were set to rise to the highest office, no matter what it took.
The Road to Islamabad
The tyrannical Chief Minister of Sindh, Jam Sadiq Ali died of natural causes in March 1992. The army lost their strongman andthe pressure on Benazir and her PPP eased. By then, however, the free hand given by the establishment to dacoits had cost the nation dearly. The ransoms fetched by the kidnappings of Chinese engineers and Japanese tourists made the dacoits more restive. Like wolves baying for more blood, they advanced to the wealthy industrial city of Karachi.
One morning in June 1992, I woke up to learn that our next-door neighbor – industrialist, Ashiq Ali Hussain – had been ambushed and kidnapped a short distance from his home. Hussain’s kidnapping from his chauffer-driven car – which occurred in the presence of his armed guards – sent shockwaves through the top industrialists in Karachi. Even the military establishment realized the dacoits had gone too far.
A few days later, with a heroic flourish, the army launched “Operation Clean-up” in Sindh and began to exterminate dacoits like flies.