How pathetically low can you go
A picture has been doing the rounds on email purporting to show the debauchery of Balochistan Chief Minister Nawab Aslam Raisani. It shows a smiling Raisani with his head on the shoulders of a young, T-shirt clad girl. The picture has actually been culled from the Facebook page of Express News, where it was posted - for what exact news reason we do not know - on October 1. The poster of the photograph (we are not sure whether from within Express News or one of its 'community') claims it was taken at a party in Islamabad, the obvious implication being that Raisani was drunk and coming on to the girl.
As of now there are over 700 comments beneath the photograph which mostly range from downright abusive of Raisani (and generally all "ayyash" [debauched] politicians) to calls to "kill the lech." Most are unprintable. But even worse are the comments reserved for the girl, whose moral character was openly questioned, whose body language was sleazily analyzed and who, thanks to one commenting woman (!), was immediately and conclusively dubbed a "call girl."
We too were forwarded the photograph and link but decided there was no reason to carry such an obviously salacious piece of character assassination. No matter what one might think of Raisani and his political antics, this was clearly, we figured, none of our business... Until we received an anguished email from a friend of the girl, with proof, to set the record straight.
So guess what that poor, poor girl's name is: Aana Hassan Raisani. Yes, she is Aslam Raisani's own teenage daughter, who attends school in Islamabad. And the photograph of a father expressing innocent affection for his daughter was apparently taken at their home. Seeing how such an innocent (and private) moment was twisted and presented as one of alleged depravity by no-doubt the most depraved of people themselves, made me almost sick to my stomach. And I have a fairly strong stomach. Then the outrage took over.
In addition to Aana's friend who emailed us, a bunch of her other friends and classmates are now taking on the commenting sad fucks on the Facebook page itself. According to the friend who emailed us, Aana herself has been so severely traumatised by this event and the venom spewed about her and her father, that she has gone incommunicado. Nevertheless students from three schools in Islamabad plan to protest on Tuesday against this amazingly sleazy episode.
We have consciously decided not to republish the photograph. But if you have the stomach, read the comments under the photograph again to see how sick, perverted and corrupted the minds of the people in this country have become. To heap abuse on and defame someone without a shred of evidence or even a modicum of common decency, to be ready to draw the most perverted of inferences without a second thought, really, what can one say about such sad excuses for human beings? But what it also indicates is how quickly Pakistanis are willing to believe the worst about political figures, a function, I would submit, more of the environment we have all had a hand in creating than of anything the politicians themselves have done or do.
As for Express News, which ultimately bears responsibility for the content on its page, well may be it should just take its onanistic being and go screw itself.
On being a Pakistani man
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Imaduddin Ahmed
Another Independence Day has gone! Yes, we lost our more democratic half and there's quite a bit of turmoil here and there, but we'e here and we can say "Up Yours India!" and that's what counts, right?
Well, besides being here, what do we Pakistanis have to show for ourselves? Two things that spring to mind are a few sporting achievements (a confidence booster for Pakistani male virility) and the Muslim-nuclear bomb, coupled with a few missiles – which means we'e good at erecting phallic tools that cause massive explosions (testimony to the fact that we're not afraid of showing India how large our collective might is).
One wonders what the state might have accomplished had our army-worshipping culture not been so preoccupied by male sexual insecurities. But it sheds a sympathetic light on our predilection for imprisoning our women within four walls; men are also victims of their own chauvinism.
While we're on the topic, let me issue a warning to you, women new to Pakistan: imprison yourselves during Independence Day! Oh, and by the way, welcome.
Don't be tempted by the lure of free open-air concerts; don't be charmed by the thousands of young exuberant men performing wheelies on their motorbikes. No, your foolhardy courage won't prove me wrong and change people's thinking in a night. (Unless you collectively organise with other women to "take back the night.") I also urge my male readers to stay in. Read on and see why.
This is advice that I wish had been dispensed last year to myself, my Turkish friend, Bade, and our Kenyan friend, Jenn. So does Michelle, a former colleague of mine. One Pakistan Independence Day in 2006 was what it took to send her, with her Harvard degree, packing back to the States.
I was excited to participate in the Independence Day festivities – more to celebrate what can be than what has been. I bought Pakistani jhandas to accessorise my car and friends with; our flag, after all, isn't bad as far as flags go: it has symbols of hope and optimism and a white stripe to remind us that we'ree meant to celebrate (what's left of) our pluralistic mix.
So it was that Jenn, Bade and I started our night of the 14th on that note – celebrating Lahore's lesser known diversity in an African bar in downtown Lahore. After liberating a few of the bar's assets in the company of nationals from Kenya, Chad, Tanzania and Nigeria, we made our way to Race Course Park, keen as I was to show off Pakistan's hyped up pop-music industry (which I had to mention was doing better than India's).
Once we arrived, Bade, in her enthusiastic mood to share in the national jubilation, took my Pakistani jhanda, threw it over her shoulders, took hold of Jenn's hand and ran towards the performer's stage, cutting through the audience at a rapid pace. I walked behind, gleaming with pride that my friend had the confidence to run through a crowd of Pakistani men. What follows is Bade's recount in an email she wrote to her friends the following day:
'Though Jenn preferred to watch the concert from the back, I pulled her into the crowd till we ended up in a circle of men. She said, "They are going to touch us," and just then I felt hands all over my body. A man was trying to snatch my bag while another was pulling my kameez under the Pakistan flag covering my shoulders. I fell on the ground with some men on me. Imad hit one of the men, only then did the onlookers take any action: to restrain the two men from harming each other! We started to walk back with a crowd of hundreds of men following us. They all had stupid smiles on their faces. Jenn tried to explain what had happened to the policemen sitting next to the gate of Race Course Park. They had the same stupid smiles on their faces until Imad told them whose grandson he was [and they then they escorted us back to our transportation, warding off the crowd of following men.]
'I spent the night looking at my half torn kameez and crying . . . The next day I was feeling calmer. I told the story to some Pakistani friends. They advised me not to go to public concerts ever again and not to go out alone, especially at night. They told me stories of other women facing harassment every day. I thought I would find humanity and spirituality in Pak-istan, but here I am in this Muslim society where attacking two women in the middle of hundreds of people is considered normal and unpreventable. I refuse to understand the logic that imprisons women indoors, just because men have uncontrollable animal instincts.'
A day that I had so hoped would be one in which I could share my national pride with foreign friends turned out to be the night in which I most loathed my nation.
The journey back home was filled with Jenn's unhelpful venting. She endlessly criticised Pakistani men, as she cited example after example of men on the street propositioning her or masturbating when she was alone on public transportation. However, she apologised for me, explaining that since I had been raised in Britain I was educated, and that her African friends were surprised that I was a Pakistani man because I was 'gentle' and 'respectful'. Rather than rebut her condescending statements, I half-welcomed being disassociated from the label 'Pakistani man'.
When I later visited my friend in her native Istanbul, a shopkeeper advised her to be careful of Pakistani men, having had a bad experience with his sister's husband.We have a bad rep, chaps.
In 59 years not only have we forsaken human development for more macho and irrelevant ambitions, we've nurtured the most beastly tendencies to women. Women leave our country in disgust.
I'm going to join our women indoors this 14th August and rethink masculinity and what it can mean to be a Pakistani man. You're welcome to join us, chaps.