Peshawar PC Bombing

I got an email last night from a friend in Washington: Are you ok?

I thought he was just checking in since I hadn’t responded to his last email.  Then I saw another similar email and a few texts.

The Pearl Continental (PC) Hotel in Peshawar had just been bombed.  I had reservations there 3 weeks ago when a friend and I visited Peshawar, en route Afghanistan.  The Red Cross runs a courtesy flight between Peshawar and Kabul, which our host NGO in Afghanistan arranged for us to take. 

But we were nervous about Peshawar so our plan had been to camp out at the hotel, which is very close to the airport.  An American friend confirmed the plan was fine.  It is totally secure, he assured me, so secure that the U.S. Embassy is planning to buy it.

My uncle in Pakistan, who facilitates everything I do while warning that it’s a bad idea, discouraged staying at the PC.  There is a rumor that the Americans want to use it as a base, he said, and hotels are obvious targets.

I trusted the Americans’ security assessment over my uncle’s paranoia, and made reservations. But we cancelled them once we landed, worried we would get bored at the hotel.

Still, we convinced the family friends hosting us to take us there. I had been told that eating a sandwich at PC cafe was the most exciting thing to do in Peshawar.  But when a car bomb went off at a cinema that evening, we cancelled our tour.

If word gets around that the Peshawar PC was being used as a political and intelligence hub for the U.S., there are people in Pakistan who will feel it was a legitimate target.  Yes, this is the messy web that constitutes the Pakistani Taliban, but it is also the numerous Pakistanis who do not trust American intentions here.  

But the hotel was also being used as a base for UN and international aid organizations for IDPs in the region.  The injury of two UN aid workers in the attack means that desperately needed humanitarian efforts are likely to be curtailed.  If this happens, then the long-term secondary effects of this attack may be broader than the original blast. 

Police Encounter

Late on Friday night, my friends and I were headed to the Sindh Club, but we took a wrong turn, hitting a dead end.  As we turned around in the dark lane, a policeman suddenly came into view, blocking our car, with a huge gun strapped across his chest.  My friend, surprised, swerved a bit before stopping.

I had an immediate flash back.  When I was in fifth grade, my family lived in Karachi.  A policeman stopped my mom, saying that she tried to hit him.  He asked for money and she had to give it to him.  If she didn’t, he would take her license to the police station, where they would demand an even bigger bribe.

But that was during the day, at a major intersection.  It was now very late at night, in an isolated area, my Pakistani-British friend didn’t speak Urdu, and did I mention we had two American white guys in our back seat?

A policeman questioned my friend roughly: “Where are you going?  Why are you here?  Why didn’t you stop?  Show me your license.  Open the trunk.  Get out of the car.”

I immediately started making phone calls for back-up, but couldn't explain where we were.  I knew the cops just wanted money, but with edgy officers in a dark lane, anything could happen.  I didn’t know exactly what, but this is Karachi, and they didn’t need a reason. 

The officers were looking into the car.  “These are my friends,” I tried to explain in Urdu, because western faces are very unusual in Pakistan.  One of them calls himself Plato (to disguise his real name) in Pakistan.  They are both interning in Karachi for the summer. 

The officers ignored me.  “Get out of the car,” they said to the Plato and his friend.

They were searching the guys, asking for IDs, pulling out wallets.  My American instincts were to get out of the car and yell at them, but my Pakistani sensibilities told me to stay quiet.  As a woman, it would be inappropriate for the officers to even talk to me, and it was best not invite interaction.

Then my friend came back to the car, and the police let Plato and his friend back in too.  Suddenly they became friendly, offering directions to the Sheraton.  It was over.  They were letting us go. 

I yelled at them in Urdu, fully within my privileges as an irate, educated woman. “Why were you trying to scare us like that??  These guys are visiting Pakistan, and they are our guests.”

“There are bomb blasts happening in this country, don’t you know?  Bomb blasts,” a senior officer said in the we’re-just-doing-our-jobs tone.

I almost thought there was a fraction of sincerity in what he said.  But as we pulled away, Plato informed us, “They pulled a 1000 rupee note out of my wallet.” 

When I told my family the next day what had happened, they confirmed that things could have gotten much worse.  It’s normal for police to stop people for bribes, but in our circumstances, there are many other ways that they could have made money off us.  The stories they told me are too scary, twisted, and obscene to repeat. 

The incident left me with a lasting sense of insecurity.  It is so easy to get comfortable and have a good time in Karachi.  It’s not until a guy shows up with a gun and you feel a loss of control that you realize how quickly things can change.

The next night, I was eager to get home early.  I had tried to defy the culture and stay out late at night, but I realized how much safer and more comfortable I felt at home.  I suddenly understood why women in Pakistan tend to stay at home, or other private spaces, and always escorted.  It is not so much because of cultural or religious conservatism, which is what I always assumed, but because of the lack of security and protection, and the culture of exploitation, on the streets outside.  

A Visit to Swat and Buner IDP Camps

When disaster hits a country like Pakistan, where nobody trusts the government, private relief becomes the way to get things done. This happened during the 2005 Kashmir earthquake, when the roads going up north were clogged with volunteers and relief supplies, and it is happening again with the ongoing IDP crisis.

This weekend, I visited IDP camps in Swabi, about twenty miles from Swat and Buner. I was with a group of businessmen-philanthropists who had filled a truck full of food, medicine, toys, and sewing machines in Karachi, and sent it on the three-day journey ahead of us.

We were consistently impressed by the UN camps we saw—even more so because they were run by the Government of Pakistan.

The first, called “Chota Lahore,” meaning "Little Lahore," was bustling with market activity. Small, makeshift shops lined the dirt path leading to the camp. People were also lined up to get their national ID cards (in order to receive aid) and medical care. A huge UN World Food Programme tent anchored the camp.

Next, we visited a beautiful government school housing IDPs. We had to confirm several times that it was a government school—the spacious, green campus looked like it should belong to the military or a private institution. One room, covered in colorful bolts of cloth, hummed as about eight women stitched away furiously on sewing machines. And kids were taking lessons in at least two classrooms, while another room was being used as a clinic.

We finally drove deeper—into a sea of white tents in an open field. The sight was incredible, but what we saw next was truly shocking. A black chord was strung across the front of each tent, seeming to connect them in their long rows. Electricity.

We could see large electric fans whirring inside, critical in the intense heat. We were told that officials allowed "loadshedding" (Pakistan's daily electricity outages) in the nearby town, but not in the camp. Even Islamabad doesn't get electricity 24 hours a day.

Clean water was also being delivered to the front of each tent. We passed a two story building under construction, all gray cement, and were told that it had been raised in the past five days. A soccer field was also being developed.

This was all Government of Pakistan. A sign read: Electrified by the Peshawar Development Authority. The man managing the camp was part of the Government of the Frontier, and the business-philanthropists, normally government skeptics, could not stop raving about his sincerity and commitment. (As a woman, I was somehow tricked into waiting in the car so did not meet him.)

Things were not perfect of course, detailed here. The heat, in the open field, meant that many people were getting sick. And only a fraction of the IDPs are in camps. Much more destitute tents were pitched on the side of the highway, and there are certainly much more isolated, scattered IDP populations.

But the camps taught me two things. First, they demonstrate what the Government of Pakistan can do, given the right combination of political will and international pressure. International pressure is powerful currency in Pakistan, but it takes much more than that to overcome to hurdles of capacity, bureaucracy, and perceptions of national interest. To get action to back up words, our demands must make as much sense in Islamabad and Multan as they do in Washington and Cleveland.

Secondly, I learned that governments are not enough. Even at the height of its effectiveness, it was clear that civil society in Pakistan has a critical role to play in filling obvious, and less obvious, gaps. Private citizens, not the government or UN, were providing sewing machines to the IDPs, generating income and clothing for a population that has nothing but what they were wearing the day the bombing started. Similarly, I saw many children excited and jostling for juice boxes, being handed out daily, like cones from an ice cream truck. This was also privately arranged, along with a monitoring and enforcement mechanism to prevent juice box littering.

And it may only be local hospitality that has made this crisis barely manageable.

But the real fears are for the future of the camps. I worry that as international attention drifts, they will become neglected, like the Bajaur camps I saw in Peshawar, or informally settled, like Afghan slums in Kabul and Karachi. There are also serious questions about the rebuilding of Swat and the tribal areas, completely destroyed through war, and the return and rehabilitation of refugees.

Regional stability and international security are tied to these questions. Harnessing Pakistani civil society, through public-private partnerships domestically and internationally, will multiply our capacity to grapple with the challenge.

Fashion as a Social Indicator: Capris and Burkas

I came to Pakistan quite confident in my kameez shalwar from five years ago.  But as I got ready for work on my first day, my cousin assured me, “Don’t worry, everyone will know you are from America.”

Men in Pakistan can wear Western clothes but, for women, kameez shalwar are a staple, if not a must.  It consists of a long shirt (kameez), baggy pants (shalwar, think Jasmine’s harem pants) and a long scarf worn across the shoulders (dupatta).  The three-piece outfits were always a package deal, meticulously coordinated.

Now, however, the kameez shalwar is beginning to look like western clothing.  Tops are stitched to look like dresses, shalwars have been replaced with “trousers,” and dupattas are being discarded.  And tops and bottoms are now sold separately, mix and match, just like jeans and t-shirts.

Hemlines are also being raised, as they were throughout the 20^th century in the United States.  Women are now wearing “capris,” and compensating for it with long, loose shirts.  Capris are a critical victory.  I fought my own battle at home a few years ago.  But now they have been incorporated into the traditional dress in a conservative Muslim country.   

But like everything in Pakistan, the world of fashion is stratified.  There must be at least as many burkas in Karachi as capris, although the two worlds rarely meet.

When I lived in Karachi, in the early 1990s, none of my many aunts covered.  Now, they all wear burkas when they leave the house.  Burkas have become a common sight on the streets of Karachi, among women who must walk or use public transportation, especially in the poorer neighborhoods of town where the upper classes would never venture. 

I assumed that burkas reflect increased religiosity.  For my aunts and many middle class women, it might.  But it has also become a new standard of conservatism—fashion with a function, to avoid harassment and the prying eyes of men.  Harassment has always been a problem in Pakistan.  And in a society with no social protections, burkas offer a way for women to be completely hidden, while completely exposed. 

Both capris and burkas make a strong statement, in defiance of one another.  And inherent in the skin they expose, or their folds, is class, education, international exposure, discrimination, and gender-based violence, as well as religious ideology.  Whether these two worlds come closer together, or continue to define themselves in opposition to one another, reflects the struggle for the future of Pakistan. 

In Search of Defense

Yesterday’s attacks in Peshawar (now seven blasts in Pakistan since I got here last Monday) and the Taliban-issued warnings brought a moment of tension in my family.  So far, the conflict hasn’t reached Karachi, but they fear it is getting closer.

The Taliban’s warning is to civilians: leave the northern cities (Islamabad, Lahore) as we escalate attacks on government and security facilities based there.  Undoubtedly, those who can leave will trickle out—those with foreign passports, visas, education, and means.  The exodus has been going on for years, but war threatens to be the final drain on Pakistan’s human and financial capital.   

My uncle cautiously asked me last night to return with him to New Jersey.  Over the past few years, my relatives who always lived in Pakistan have been setting up a second residence there.  

I was torn.  I have loved every moment of my past two weeks in Pakistan and the only question in my mind has been if I should come back to the States at all when the summer is over.  The idea of things getting so bad here that I have to leave is depressing.  I want to stay. 

And I am not the only one.  So I will do what the rest do: move to Defense.  Defense Housing Authority, like most secure areas of town, is a residential district developed by the military.  It is where most of Karachi’s elite and western classes live and play.  In Defense, people throw lavish parties and spend thousands on dinner, while on the other side of town women wear burkas in the streets, beggars plague cars for 10 rupees (less than a dime), and mobs burn cars.

But it is not all hedonism—it reflects a Western standard of living, and it is as much a part of Pakistan as the mullahs and the madrassas.  It is also how life goes on in a city otherwise full of violence, poverty, and lawlessness.  And as much as the IDP camps and slums, it is a side of Karachi that I want to explore. 

A Day in the Life of Pakistan: Beyond Lahore Blasts

The Lahore bombing has captured the front page of the New York Times.  But violence and terrorism is a daily and diverse experience in Pakistan.  

Here is a look at some of the headlines from this past Saturday's Frontier Post, a paper that was started in Peshawar and Quetta.  These are in addition to the regular stories on military operations in northern Pakistan, U.S. drone attacks, and the IDP crisis.  

Two Officials Kidnapped

French Tourist Kidnapped in Balochistan

Taliban Warn Lady Members of Parliament

Strike Kills 6, Sindh Refuses to Accept IDPs

(Story: City and businesses shut down throughout province, including Karachi, to protest influx of refugees.  Fifteen vehicles torched in addition to death and injury.)

Husbands Chop Off Hands, Burn to Death Wives

Jandola Blast Leaves Four Soldiers & Children Dead

Dir Explosion Kills Soldiers and 4 Rebels

Blast Damages Police Checkpost

School Blown Up in Mohmand

Four Hurt in Grenade Attack

10-Year Old Girl Killed in Aerial Firing During Marriage Ceremony (followed by mob violence)

3 Shot Dead in Firing

These events go under the radar internationally and even Pakistanis are too jaded to pay attention to the specifics of daily terror. But it shapes the national consciousness and core of every Pakistani. Americans will have to somehow tap into this if they are ever to win hearts and minds in Pakistan.

My aunt predicts that the next bombing will be in Karachi or Islamabad, since the last two have been in Lahore (today) and Peshawar (Saturday). 

Pakistan vs. Afghanistan: Developed, Safe, and Liberal

Rory Stewart, now at the Kennedy School, once said that even if we worked in Afghanistan for 30 years, it would only be up to the level of Pakistan.  This was a bit shocking, because I have always considered Pakistan a failed state.  

But after three days in Afghanistan, it feels SO good to be back in Pakistan.  Finally, I don't have to cover my head and wrap myself up in a chador (literally means "blanket").  I can wear jeans and decent shoes without worrying that I look too western.  There are women on the streets, and no blue burkas.  

I can also move freely.  Pakistan can be dangerous, and there are incidents every day, but life is bustling and it goes on.  In Afghanistan, however, people are very conscious of the security situation.  There is security everywhere-- foreign militaries, Afghan, and private-- and we were hardly allowed to walk on the streets.  

Afghans made surprising comments, like "Education in Pakistan is very good."  Pakistan is actually notorious for its failed education system, but the comment reflects that good education is at least available in Pakistan.  And after meeting officials in Afghanistan and seeing the level at which they were struggling, I realize how much more evolved, sophisticated, even effective, the Pakistani government is.   

The experience made me appreciate Pakistan much more, especially Karachi.  Instead of

 complaining about how backwards the country is, we should recognize the positive trends and focus on protecting them.  If we do not value the progress that has been made, we risk losing it to the trends of fundamentalism and violence that are taking hold in other parts of the country.  And once lost, as it was in the 1980s, it will take decades to recover from.

I am told that Kabul before the Soviet invasion was a stunning city.  If Pakistan's economy does not improve and Afghanistan's situation continues to migrate across the border, there is a danger that everything that Pakistan has achieved will be destroyed, as it was in Afghanistan.