Sociologists and journalists have always made prophecies about the future of various countries. When the Indian Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru’s health was failing in the 1960s, political journalists started asking ‘After Nehru, Who?’. Many friends of India believed Indian democracy may not survive Nehru. Others worried about India’s disintegration or a collapse under the weight of its own population. We know now these fears didn’t come true. In the past two decades, I have read prophecies about the Chinese economy imploding because of its massive debt burden. So far it hasn’t happened. Perhaps China’s economy may never implode but only experience periodic pangs of economic and political shocks. Like most countries, it might trundle on. Pakistan is another country about which pundits have forecast doom since the 1990s. Some have called it a failed state. Others have worried about its nuclear bombs and enriched Uranium falling into the hands of jihadis. Yet others have thought about the state and army turning theocratic and fundamentalist. Pakistan has struggled since the 1980s but has remained a partial democracy with the line of control blurred between the Army, the ISI, the clerics and the elected government. Declan Walsh, the author of this book, spent ten years reporting from Pakistan for the Guardian and the New York Times. He captures Pakistan between 2004 and 2013 through the lives and fate of nine consequential people. Despite the title, Walsh does not look at the crystal ball regarding Pakistan’s future. He leaves it to the reader to make her own conclusions about the country’s future.
I found it curious that all the nine lives deal with people of privilege, affluence and power. I wished there were some ‘Aam aadmi’ (commoner) amongst them to give a fuller picture of Pakistan. The author covers the lives through their political careers in Pakistan. He reports on the military action in the Red Mosque, the army offensive on the Taliban in Swat valley, and the murder of the Punjab governor, Salman Taseer. Other ones are the struggles of Ms. Asma Jehangir, Benazir Bhutto’s assassination, and the Baluchistan uprising under Akbar Bugti and his killing. Those interested in Pakistan in recent decades would be familiar with these events. Walsh covers the history of Pakistan’s birth in some detail and Mohd. Ali Jinnah’s role in it. He attempts to visit the mansion Jinnah owned on the Malabar Hill in Mumbai without success. I found two chapters which showcase Walsh as an investigative journalist. One focuses on the ISI operative ‘Colonel Imam’ (Sultan Amir Tarar) and his eventual execution by the Taliban. I had read about Col. Imam in Carlotta Gall’s book. Walsh probes deeper into Imam’s work for the ISI in Afghanistan and Pakistan. The penultimate chapter is about an exiled Baloch activist who gives Walsh a tantalizing piece of information. He shows Walsh an image on Google Maps of a strange-looking facility in the remote Kirthar mountains in central Baluchistan. It looked like a James Bond-style den to Walsh and he forwards the co-ordinates of this complex to the experts at the Institute for Science and International Security. A few years later, they released their findings that the complex appeared to be a hardened, secure underground facility to store parts of Pakistan’s nuclear arsenal.
Walsh is fond of the Pakistani people, though he finds the nation a riddle. The book gives one the sense that Pakistan’s recent history since 1970 has been turbulent. We get the image of a nation fraught with fraudulent elections, and repeated assassinations of high-profile political, religious and ethnic leaders. The military and the Intelligence dominate the nation’s life in most arenas. It loves and hates the US and is engaged in never-ending skirmishes with its western and eastern neighbor. Nor is it tranquil at home because religion tries to emerge dominant in society. The narrative does not endear Pakistan to the reader. For me, the best parts of the book are the author’s perceptive assessment of many of Pakistan’s political and religious leaders, its cultural contradictions, and its identity issues. His prose in writing about these facets is beautiful, expressive and discerning. For example, he describes the Bhutto family as part Greek tragedy and part ‘The Godfather’, a sweeping story of hope, hubris and tragedy. On Pakistan’s creation, he says the country was a lumpy stew of tribes, tongues and cultures with most of its borders contested. He calls Hamid Mir, the much-vaunted TV journalist, a thin-skinned garrulous man who ran his studio like a ringmaster.
Walsh shows his consummate observational skills in eloquent words while describing cities in Pakistan. He says if the cities were caricatures, Lahore is corpulent and languid, twirling its moustache over a greasy breakfast. Islamabad cuts a clipped figure, holding court in a gilded drawing room, proffering Scotch and political whispers. Peshawar wears a turban or a burka, scuttling among the stalls of an ancient bazaar. Karachi is harder to sketch because it has too many faces. It is the shiny-shod businessman, the hardscrabble laborer and the slinky young socialite bending over a line of cocaine!
Karachi receives special attention from him. He says shootings, bombings, strikes and floods plague the city. Once they pass, Karachi snaps back into shape. Shops, schools, beauty salons, etc re-open for business. Resilience is an integral part of Karachi’s makeup and its residents are proud of it. But Walsh says it is nothing to be proud of. Karachiites are making a virtue of necessity. It helps them to gloss over the realities of their chaotic, cruel city where nobody, not even the police, is in charge. Talking of police, Walsh says hundreds of people get killed every year by extrajudicial police violence in empty alleys and the city’s lonely fringes. Politicians, army generals and criminals use the police to their own ends. A good cop in Karachi knows when to take money and when to give it. He knows when to break the law and when to enforce it. They are the grease of the city machine, lubricating its cogs of mess and infernal corruption.
Walsh says all religious restrictions apply only to the ordinary, poor folk. The rich do as they please. They lavish booze parties with cocaine inside high walls. New Year Eve parties see women in slinky dresses weaving between the tables. Inebriated males trade blows on dance floors. At other times, parties sport showgirls flown in from Eastern Europe kicking heels on stage. The poor have their revenge too. They puff on their joints and fire victorious shots from their guns and celebrate by smoking dope in Sufi shrines.
Two issues related to India interested me in the book. Indian intelligence has insisted for decades that its notorious gangster and terrorist, Dawood Ibrahim, lives in Karachi, protected by the Pakistani Army. Pakistan has always denied it. In return, Pakistan has always accused India of meddling in the unrest in Baluchistan and fanning the flames. India has denied it. Walsh says Dawood Ibrahim lived in low profile under ISI protection in a mansion behind the popular Abdullah Shah Ghazi Sufi shrine in Karachi. On Baluchistan, Walsh says India was indeed stirring the pot, funneling money to separatists as payback for Pakistan’s support to jihadis in Kashmir. It was an open secret that RAW handed over bags of dosh to the Baloch. Later, they sent money via bank accounts in Dubai. However, Walsh concludes that entrenched historical and political grievances, not Indian cash, are driving the fight in Baluchistan.
Towards the end, the author laments like liberals in both India and Pakistan do. It runs as follows: “India and Pakistan have so much in common, like Bollywood movies, cricket, language, etc. The two people gravitate toward one another in peace-keeping missions or otherwise overseas. Countless Pakistanis yearn for peace with India, a country they love albeit in secret.” But we know these are cliches. Peace is unlikely to materialize because of them. Indians think the Pakistani Deep State would not allow it. The Pakistani Deep State feels India cannot expect peace unless it gives them the Kashmir Valley. Still, I thought the author has an insightful observation on Pakistan’s identity crisis. Analysts have called Pakistan a state with a confused identity. Walsh says that the trauma of partition based on faith caused the pathological confusion in identity. Islam offered only an incomplete identity. The negation of India filled the void thus created. Perhaps, this insecurity pushes Pakistan to coddle jihadis and scheme in Afghanistan. Because Pakistan had to be everything India was and was not!
The book is fast-paced and the story-telling is superb. I sure loved reading the book.