Pakistan: “We Routed the Men with Beards!”

February 25, 2008

Pakistan: “We Routed the Men with Beards!”
BY Sharmeen Obaid-Chinoy

Party workers at information booths in Karachi check voter’s registration numbers.

Karachi erupted in celebrations soon after the last votes were cast in Pakistan’s parliamentary elections. Thousands of people took to the streets, gun shots were fired in the air, music blasted through speakers at main roads, young men with painted faces joyously waved their party flags. And as the night grew darker, and the unofficial results poured in, they were joined by others who danced the night away. The 2008 elections in Pakistan, barring a few violent incidents, ended peacefully. Turnout was low — perhaps people feared attacks — but the results were a stunning rebuke to President Pervez Musharraf’s ruling party.

A week later, many voters are still ecstatic. Across the city at a local pool hall in the busy commercial area of Tariq Road, I spoke with a group of young men, all college graduates. One of them, 22-year-old Kashif Jan, had voted for the first time. “We routed the men with beards,” he tells me excitedly. “At least, we are on the road to democracy, and by voting Pakistanis have told the world that we are not extremists and we don’t want Islamic fundamentalists in power.”

“Can you imagine that 25 percent of the 2002 parliament was made up of religious parties and this time they won just a few seats? I think the people are rejecting their violent ways finally.”

His good friend, Ali Nasir, a graduate of Fatima Jinnah Medical College, tells me that the results shocked him. “Can you imagine that 25 percent of the 2002 parliament was made up of religious parties and this time they won just a few seats? I think the people are rejecting their violent ways finally.”

But for others, the joy of an election upset has given way to caution.

Riding on a wave of sympathy for their assassinated leader, Benazir Bhutto, the Pakistan People’s Party emerged as the big winner, followed by the Pakistan Muslim League led by Nawaz Sharif. But Pakistanis watched in awe as the two opposition parties announced their plans to join hands to form a new government. Historically, both political parties have fought each other for power in the country and Benazir Bhutto was known to have disdain for Sharif. In fact, in her book released posthumously last week, Reconciliation: Islam, Democracy, and the West, Ms. Bhutto, amongst other things, blames Sharif for helping to bring the Taliban to power in Afghanistan in the 1990s. So watching Ms. Bhutto’s widower, Asif Ali Zardari, shake hands with Sharif on television during a press conference was a surreal experience for most Pakistanis.

The 2008 election results offered a rebuke of President Musharraf and the growth of Islamic extremism under his rule.

“We had to shake ourselves to believe what we saw,” a Karachi pharmacist, Nabeel Khan, tells me. “Imagine, Asif Ali Zardari sharing power with Sharif. We are doomed. Everyone knows that will fall apart before the year is over.”

Khan campaigned hard for Bhutto’s Pakistan People’s Party and convinced many of his co-workers to vote. What happens in the country affects his family directly. A few months ago they pooled their resources and purchased a piece of land in Nazimabad, a middle class suburb in Karachi. Since then, the assassination of Bhutto, the resulting riots, and all the political insecurity has affected the real estate market and the price of land has plummeted. “People often forget that what happens at the helm of affairs affects minnows like us,” he says. “We were planning to sell the land and make a small profit to help start a small business. And now we just don’t know what will happen.”

Newspapers and TV here agree that these elections have heralded in a new era in the country’s history, but the media are anxious to know what this will mean for them.

What’s Next?

For the past week, all the newspapers and television channels in the country have been discussing Pakistan’s future. They all agree that elections heralded in a new era in the country’s history, but the media are anxious to know what this will mean for them. In the past, when Sharif and Benazir Bhutto served as prime ministers, their governments did not allow the Pakistani media much freedom. This time around, any new government will have to contend with more than 20 TV news channels, plus a dozen or so FM radio stations that blossomed under President Musharraf until recently when he imposed his state of emergency. How will the democratically elected government handle criticism? A senior editor at one of the up-and-coming news channels told me in private that he was worried.

“Look, it’s simple,” the newsman said. “There is no way that the incoming government will tolerate us probing and questioning their every move. Quite honestly, things are going to get very tough for us.”

His news channel has had frantic meetings in the past three days to see how they can best defend against a predicted onslaught by the new government. “I know it’s a bit preemptive, but we need to be prepared. We wanted democracy in this country, now we have to learn to deal with it.”

The Terrorist Threat

The incoming government’s job will not be easy. First, there will be the inevitable political jockeying. Already, Sharif has made it clear that his party would move to impeach Musharraf, although the opposition parties fall short of the two-thirds majority they would need in parliament to remove him. Others are urging the opposition to find a graceful way for Musharraf to step down of his own accord and avoid a bitter showdown.

Sharif also appears to be angling for another chance to become prime minister. A constitutional amendment under Musharraf bars prime ministers from holding office for a third time. But Sharif, who served two previous terms as PM, is now saying his party’s cooperation with the Pakistan People’s Party (PPP) for a national coalition government depends on their willingness to withdraw the ban on third-time premierships.

Above all, there is still the rising threat of terrorism in the country. And today a reminder about just how difficult the task is going to be for any new government. A bomb blast ripped through a busy thoroughfare in Rawalpindi, the city known as the headquarters of the Pakistan Army, killing seven people including a top army medic.

The incoming government will have to tackle terrorism and make it a priority, says Aqueel Khan, who runs a security firm, which provides protection for multinational companies and offices. “Not a day has gone by in the past six months when we haven’t had a bomb blast, or a militant attack somewhere in the country. This civil war is not going to end just because we now have democracy.”

Welcome to Democracy, Pakistan-Style

February 18, 2008

Frontline World

BY Sharmeen Obaid-Chinoy

Election banner on the streets of Karachi.

Editor’s Note: On the eve of tense elections in Pakistan, where more than 50 people were killed in pre-election violence over the weekend, FRONTLINE/World’s Sharmeen Obaid-Chinoy visits the neighborhoods around her home city of Karachi where she reports that ballot rigging, coercion and intimidation are all taking place. Although the government has stressed this election will be free and fair, one smaller-party candidate told Obaid-Chinoy, “In this illiterate country of ours, fear, intimidation, and harassment get you votes. Until that culture is destroyed, Pakistan will never have democracy.”

Even before the first vote has been cast, there are fears of massive rigging. Leaders of the two major opposition parties, the Pakistan People’s Party and the Pakistan Muslim League, have already warned that the elections will not be free and fair. To average Pakistanis, the February 18th election is merely a game played out at the behest of the Americans.

After reporting for several months on the run-up to this violence-scarred election, I’ve spent the past two days in Karachi, Pakistan’s largest city, and I find that the mood here is somber. Most people are staying indoors and avoiding political rallies. There are few signs that Monday’s elections can change the country’s course. If it weren’t for the party flags and banners, you wouldn’t even know elections were about to take place.

“I’m taking a holiday from work because the local representative of a political party has offered me $15 and a bag of rice if my family votes for his party. How can I say no?”

At a bus stand in Saddar, a commercial area in the heart of the city, a number of people told me that they were voting because they were being enticed to. Azizah Khan, who makes $30 a month working as a domestic cleaner, told me that she had been given an offer she couldn’t refuse, “I’m taking a holiday from work because the local representative of a political party has offered me $15 and a bag of rice if my family votes for his party. How can I say no?”

At first she was hesitant to say which party, but finally she admitted that it was the Pakistan People’s Party, now led by the husband of the late Benazir Bhutto, who was assassinated at a campaign rally on December 27.

Naik Ahmed, who owns a hardware store in the industrial neighborhood of Korangi, told me that some members of the political party known as Muttahida Qaumi Movement (MQM) had paid his family a visit last week and demanded that they vote for them. The MQM has dominated politics in Karachi since the mid-1980s, often engaging in violent exchanges with rival parties such as the Pakistan People’s Party (PPP), or the religious party the Jamaat-e-Islami, and various ethnic groups in the city.

A 2008 election sign encourages passers-by to vote for the Muttahida Qaumi Movement (MQM).

“We told them that we weren’t even registered voters, but they told us that didn’t matter. All we needed was to show up at the polling booth and they would help us stamp the right vote,” Ahmed recalled. “Welcome to Pakistan style democracy,” he said as he boarded the bus.

In the run up to the elections, a number of smaller political parties have registered complaints with the election commission. They claim their party workers are being harassed and intimidated by the larger political parties. One of those threatened is the Pakistan Muslim Alliance, a secular, regional party which was formed in 2002. Its members are mostly lower-middle-class shopkeepers, mechanics, electricians and carpenters.

A number of smaller political parties have registered complaints with the election commission. They claim their party workers are being harassed and intimidated by the larger political parties.

In a true democracy everyone is allowed to contest the election, every voice and vote is counted,” says Dr. Saud Hussein, an adviser to the party. “But not in this country. Here unless you’re a landlord or rich industrialist, democracy is not for you.”

The Pakistan Muslim Alliance has fielded eight candidates in Monday’s elections. One of them is Hafiz Muhammed Kafiyatullah, a local cleric who was seething with anger. “I read in the local Urdu newspapers that I had withdrawn my candidacy in favor of my opponent from PML (Q) — the ruling party aligned with President Pervez Musharraf. I have done no such thing. They were trying to intimidate me. When I asked the election commission representative to help me, he said he had no real powers. Now what am I to do?” he implored.

Kafiyatullah is worried that his party’s election symbol (a fish) will not even be on the ballot sheet come Monday. Sitting next to him was Abdul, a stocky man with a beard who told me that it wasn’t just Musharraf’s party who were harassing them: “The MQM is not far behind. They came to us a few days ago and told us that if Hafiz and his followers didn’t vote for them, he could be killed.”

Election turnout is expected to be low as people fear more violence.

In the murky world of Pakistan’s electoral process, Kafiyatullah’s story is not unique. Mohammed Ilyas, a young man who lives in Bilal Colony, a poor neighborhood of Karachi, told me that he had been recruited by the MQM a few days ago. “They came to me and said that I had no choice; I had to help their candidate win. They have now appointed me their polling agent, which means that I have to work with them to ensure that the votes are being cast correctly.”

According to Ilyas, members of MQM threatened to injure his brother if he didn’t cooperate. When I pressed him further, he told me that in some areas, the ballot papers were already at the candidates’s homes. “Some of us have been asked to come to stamp the ballot papers on Sunday night in favor of the MQM,” he said.

Ilyas explained the process to me in detail. In some closely contested polling areas where the races are hard to predict, the ballot boxes will be stuffed with papers already stamped for a candidate. “The second method is far more dangerous,” he said. “There will be many polling stations, which will be closed down. The voters who show up will be told that their votes have already been cast. In the poor neighborhoods, this is easy to do.”

Ilyas explained the process to me in detail. In some closely contested polling areas where the races are hard to predict, the ballot boxes will be stuffed with papers already stamped for a candidate.

The army and the police have been deployed across the country at various polling stations. A lot is on the line for not only the country but also the major political parties. Outside Pakistan the elections on Monday may seem like a major step toward democracy, but many of those trying to take part in the process feel that it’s actually a set back for democracy.

Dr. Saud of the Pakistan Muslim Alliance told me that he was 100 percent certain the elections were not going to be free and fair. “It’s not because the president of the government doesn’t want free and fair elections, it’s because in this illiterate country of ours, fear, intimidation and harassment get you votes. Until that culture is destroyed, Pakistan will never have democracy.”

Sharmeen Obaid-Chinoy has been covering the Pakistan elections for FRONTLINE/World.

Pakistan: The Aftermath

January 7, 2008

BY Sharmeen Obaid-Chinoy

Correspondent Sharmeen Obaid-Chinoy

Editor’s Note: In her fifth and final dispatch from Pakistan, our correspondent Sharmeen Obaid-Chinoy wraps up her preview of an election that never happened — postponed due to the assassination of opposition leader Benazir Bhutto on Dec. 27.

Look for more FRONTLINE/World reports from Pakistan in the coming weeks, including reporter David Montero’s video about the conflict between Taliban insurgents and the Pakistani military in the Swat Valley.

When I arrived in Pakistan six weeks ago, I found the country’s civil society reinvigorated. In my hometown, Karachi, students, lawyers and activists were all agitating against President Pervez Musharraf’s emergency rule. They were united in their cause to restore an independent judiciary. This was the first time my generation had witnessed a movement like this. There was a sense that whatever the outcome, Pakistan would emerge stronger. Finally, its educated classes were making a noise, were concerned about the direction their country was taking.

But things unraveled very quickly.

The major political parties parted ways with the protestors who were calling for a boycott of the January 8th elections (now postponed to February 18th). Many people felt betrayed. Their top priority was the restoration of the judiciary Musharraf had purged, not the elections. The popular movement argued that if the political parties had pressured President Musharraf, if they had continued their struggle hand in hand with civil society, the judges might have been back on their benches.

With the rule of law restored, more genuine elections might have then taken place. Instead, the election campaign felt like a shadow play with the government directing the outcome.

Backed by the U.S., Benazir Bhutto campaigned as the secular democratic alternative to Musharraf and to the rise of Islamic radicalism. The corruption charges against her were swept under the carpet, there was little talk about her failings as a two-time prime minister, including her support for the Taliban in Afghanistan. She was presented to the Pakistan people as the democratic choice.

The election campaign felt like a shadow play with the government directing the outcome.

And then came the unthinkable. Ten years from now, just as people in the United States ask each other where they were on 9/11, Pakistanis will ask each other where they were when they heard the news of Benazir Bhutto’s assassination.

We were all shocked — no, stunned. How could this have happened? Regardless of what one thought of her politics, she was a courageous woman who fought hard to keep alive the legacy of her father, Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, who was ousted in a military coup in 1977 and hanged. She paid dearly for her political commitments.

A three-day mourning period was marred by rioting, looting, and more rioting, as we all watched in silence and horror. Factories were burned; people were killed. Would we ever recover from this? And just as we thought we had hit rock bottom, we heard that Ms. Bhutto had left a will, and in it she had named her husband, a dubious character, her successor as head of the Pakistan People’s Party.

Pakistanis wondered how a woman who stood for democracy, who charmed the West with her rhetoric about democracy versus dictatorship, could name her own successor, and a family member at that. To make matters worse, her husband, Asif Ali Zardari, then appointed his 19-year-old son co-chair of the political party. Bilawal is not even old enough to hold office, how can he be heading a political party?

Since Ms. Bhutto’s assassination, Pakistanis have watched in dismay as the government and the Bhutto family have hurled accusations at each other.

Since Ms. Bhutto’s assassination, Pakistanis have watched in dismay as the government and the Bhutto family have hurled accusations at each other. Her husband has accused the government of not providing enough security for his wife after she returned from exile in October and he held President Musharraf directly responsible for her death.

Right off the bat, at a tense, televised press conference, a journalist asked the President whether he had played any part in the assassination of his political opponent. “Frankly, I consider the question below my dignity to answer,” Musharraf responded. “I’ve been brought up in a very educated and civilized family, which believes in values, principle and character. My family, by any imagination, is not one that believes in killing people, assassinations or intriguing.”

Instead the President laid the blame on Islamist militants with al-Qaeda links who are battling government forces in the North-West Frontier Province, specifically naming Baitullah Mehsud and Maulana Fazlullah. He promised to target those responsible.

Musharraf also said that he is under threat himself, having narrowly missed assassination attempts in December 2003. “I cannot say that I am very, very secure. There are people gunning for me. But I know how to protect myself.”

A team from Scotland Yard has arrived in Pakistan to assist the government in its investigation of the assassination. But despite President Musharraf’s assurances of a thorough probe, Pakistanis worry that the Scotland Yard team will not be able to conduct an independent inquiry into Ms. Bhutto assassination.

In 1951, Pakistan’s first Prime Minister, Liaqat Ali Khan, was assassinated in the very same park in Rawalpindi where Benazir Bhutto was murdered.

Pakistan has been here before. In 1951, the country requested the help of the British government when its first Prime Minister, Liaqat Ali Khan, was assassinated in the very same park in Rawalpindi where Benazir Bhutto was murdered. Even then, the Scotland Yard investigator was not allowed to operate freely and was sent back after a few weeks. The results of the inquiry were never made public.

This being the land of conspiracy theories, rumors about Ms. Bhutto’s assassination are rampant. Several text messages about the assassination are circulating across the country. They both point to clips posted on the Internet website You Tube. The texts read, “If you want to know the truth about the death of Ms. Bhutto watch these clips.”

In the first clip, Ms. Bhutto is addressing the rally and a man standing next to her is seen gesturing to someone in the crowd. He then makes some suspicious gestures towards Ms. Bhutto. Conspiracy theorists interpret this as a sign that someone in her entourage was responsible for her death.

In the second clip, Ms. Bhutto is speaking to British journalist Sir Robert Frost in an interview last November. In a long, rapid-fire answer to a question, she says that Osama Bin Laden was killed by Ahmad Sheikh, the man responsible for killing Wall Street Journal reporter Daniel Pearl. Frost did not interrupt or question her about this. Most have interpreted this as a slip of the tongue. But the conspiracy-minded are suggesting that Ms. Bhutto admitted to something she should not have revealed and has paid for it with her life.

Also, in the wake of the assassination, there is more talk of the U.S. trying to impose its will on Pakistan. I had heard this from students when I first arrived in early December. “Perhaps the United States only wants a stable Pakistan, and not a strong one,” one young woman told me. “If they wanted a strong Pakistan, they wouldn’t impose their choices on us.” I found in every strata of society, there are people who believe that the United States only insists on democracy in Pakistan when it suits its needs.

“In a country where a plate of rice buys you a vote, how can there be democracy?”

There are also people who question whether democracy, as the West imagines it, can actually function in Pakistan.

I had a conversation with Rohail Hayatt, a renowned music producer in Karachi. A liberal, secular Pakistani, who formed Pakistan’s first pop band in the 1980’s, he was of the opinion that it was very difficult for democracy to flourish in Pakistan. “In a country where a plate of rice buys you a vote, how can there be democracy?” he asked.

I remember traveling through rural Pakistan in 2002 when the last elections were held and meeting villagers who told me that they were forced to vote for either their landlord or whatever candidate their landlord supported. About sixty percent of the population resides in rural areas where these feudal conditions prevail.

But despite the inhospitable terrain for democracy in much of the country, despite Pakistan’s history of authoritarian rule, and despite the chilling murder of Ms. Bhutto and the violence it unleashed, I can’t help feeling that all is not lost. The political stirring I witnessed in early December, when Pakistani civil society came to life, taking to the streets in support of democratic rights and an independent judiciary, has not been extinguished.

When campaigning resumes for the parliamentary elections on Feb. 18, there is sure to be a sharp debate about the country’s future, and how the coutry should deal with the increasing Islamic radicalism in its midst.

Pakistan: Burn, Baby, Burn

January 2, 2008

BY Sharmeen Obaid-Chinoy

Burned out cars litter the streets of Karachi following the violence.

Editor’s Note: In a televised speech to the nation Jan. 2, Pakistan’s President Pervez Musharraf vowed that the army and police would crackdown forcefully on any renewed violence, and he appealed for calm in preparation for elections now postponed until Feb. 18. But as our reporter Sharmeen Obaid-Chinoy writes from Karachi, the city is still tense after Benazir Bhutto’s assassination and emotions are raw.

As dawn broke in Karachi the day after Benazir Bhutto’s assassination, its residents woke to find their city looted and vandalized. After a night of rioting, an eerie silence hung in the air, as business owners surveyed the damage.

Paramilitary forces were given orders to shoot to kill if they came upon any protestors destroying property, but it was too late. More than 50 people had been killed across the country. Three hundred and sixty bank branches nationwide were torched and ransacked. Twenty railway stations were burnt and in Karachi, railway tracks were dug up by an angry mob. An industrial area in the heart of the city resembled a war zone, littered with the charred remains of cars and trucks.

The violence was the worst Karachi has ever seen.

“My father had suffered a major heart attack and we were on our way to the hospital when a mob attacked us,” said Ambareen Khursheed. “My mother and brother tried to stop them, to explain that my father was dying, but they didn’t care. They wanted to burn the car with all of us in it.” Her father died soon afterwards. “They were not mourning the death of a leader, these people just needed an opportunity to loot and plunder the city,” she told me at her father’s funeral.

“They were not mourning the death of a leader, these people just needed an opportunity to loot and plunder the city.”

Most people sat glued to their television sets. In a chai khana (tea room) in Neelum colony, several day laborers watched the Bhutto funeral proceedings in disbelief. One of them, Jan Khatim, told me that even though he didn’t agree with her politics, he was appalled by her murder. “I remember the days when we had peace and security. I am a devout Muslim man, but I condemn this killing. No Islamic man can say that this was done in the name of our religion,” he said.

A few others nodded in agreement and one of them, Sahib Khan, came over from his table to tell me that he had been caught in the rioting the evening before. “These people are criminals. They weren’t mourning, they were looting. I saw it with my own eyes. They looted a carpet shop and then a grocery store.”

Out on the streets, life slowly limped back to normalcy. But even now, most shops and fuel stations remain closed. Those that dared to open were threatened by groups of people wielding sticks. “Our Quaid (leader) is dead,” they screamed “and you want to do business.”

Most poor residents of Karachi do not own refrigerators and rely on daily groceries to feed their families. In Punjab Colony, Begum Nusrat was rushing from one closed shop to the next. “I have three small children, and nothing at home to feed them with. How can they close everything? What about us, the poor citizens? How will we feed ourselves?” she said as tears rolled down her face.

Some of the worst violence took place on the streets of Karachi, Benazir Bhutto’s home turf.

Soon a crowd gathered around. They were all frustrated and angry. “We don’t care about politics,” said Zubaida Khanum, whose ailing mother had no access to medicines. “We are sad that they killed Benazir but the Pakistan People’s Party is supposed to be for the poor of the country, and this is how they treat us. They burn our motorcycles and close our shops, they leave us poorer and hungrier.”

What was most surprising to many in all of this was the fact that no senior Pakistan People’s Party leader condemned the violence.

Karachi was Ms. Bhutto’s hometown. This is where she received her early education and built her home and this is where she enjoyed a lot of support in her early years. In Gizri, an area hit by violence, where tires still burned on the streets, a group of her supporters, carrying her photograph and waving her party’s flag, told me that they were shocked and ready to avenge her death.

“She is the greatest leader we will ever have. The Bhuttos are for the people of Pakistan, they work for the poor, and they killed her,” said Ahmed Sohail, a twenty-year-old electrician. He blamed her assassination on the government. “She was a threat to Musharraf so they killed her.”

“The Pakistan People’s Party is supposed to be for the poor of the country, and this is how they treat us. They burn our motorcycles and close our shops, they leave us poorer and hungrier.”

But even Ms. Bhutto’s supporters were divided as to why she was killed. Ghulam Hassan, a car mechanic in the group, accused the Islamic militants. “These religious organizations could not stand taking orders from a woman. But I tell you she was more of a man than any of them, that’s why they killed her.”

More controversy followed, as it emerged that Ms. Bhutto had left a letter with Mark Siegel, her U.S. spokesman and lobbyist, saying that if she were killed, President Musharraf would be to blame. “I would hold Musharraf responsible,” she wrote. “I have been made to feel insecure by his minions…”

Soon after the release of the letter, in a televised press conference, the Pakistani government’s spokesperson declared that Ms. Bhutto had not died from shrapnel or bullet wounds but from hitting her head on her jeep’s sunroof. Ms. Bhutto’s aides promptly accused the government of covering up her assassination and urged international governments to send in impartial investigators to determine what really happened.

Newspaper editorials wondered how the government could come up with such a ludicrous theory when photographs and videos clearly showed that a man armed with a hand gun and a suicide bomber managed to breach her security and got in close range of her car. But some Urdu language news coverage was cautious and questioned why Ms. Bhutto, who was well aware of the threats made against her life, would risk exposing her head and torso from her jeep, making herself a clear target.

Most were shocked when they heard that (Bhutto) had left a will in which her husband had been made the head of her political party.

Benazir Bhutto undoubtedly left a void and even those who didn’t agree with her or her politics mourned her death. But most were shocked when they heard that she had left a will in which her husband had been made the head of her political party. Asif Ali Zardari is widely regarded as one of the most corrupt people in Pakistan. He has pending court cases in Switzerland and the United Kingdom. He has already served a jail term in Pakistan of eleven years on charges related to corruption.

Addressing a press conference Mr. Zardari named his 19-year-old son, Bilawal Zardari, (who has since added his mother’s maiden name, Bhutto to his) co-chair of the Pakistan People’s Party. A sober Bilawal addressed a large cadre of journalists and announced, “My mother always said, democracy is the best revenge.”

Bilal Zubair, a banker, who watched the press conference with his family, expressed his anger at this turn of events. “We live in a banana republic, where a 19 year old, who isn’t even old enough to contest the elections, is made to change his last name and command the largest political party in the country.”

Others had similar feelings. “America insists on democracy for Pakistan. Well how democratic is Benazir’s will? She was supposed to be a democratic person but she turned out to be as nepotistic in death as she was in life. Why aren’t Americans insisting that the People’s party have internal elections? Their silence is deafening,” said Huma Naeem, an artist.

It seems that in death as in life, Ms. Bhutto has polarized the nation.

Pakistan: The New Taliban

December 21, 2007

BY Sharmeen Obaid-Chinoy

Length: 4:54

There are as many as 10,000 Islamic schools in Karachi alone.

Editor’s Note: As campaigning continues for Pakistan’s pivotal January 8 parliamentary elections, FRONTLINE/World reporter Sharmeen Obaid-Chinoy files the third in a series of dispatches — this one focusing on the rise of fundamentalist political forces challenging President Musharraf’s government.

On the streets of Karachi, the religious political parties are campaigning hard for the January elections. Their army of madrassa (Islamic school) students are wall chalking, hanging banners, handing out leaflets and encouraging people to bring the Islamists to power.

The religious parties have reason to believe that they may be victorious. In the 2002 elections, they made formidable gains — for the first time in the country’s history they took control of a quarter of the seats in parliament. Their aim this time: To win majority control of parliament and elect their own Prime Minister.

The religious parties have reason to believe that they may be victorious. In the 2002 elections, they made formidable gains.

There are as many as 10,000 Islamic schools in Karachi alone. Though the religious parties say they forbid political activities on their campuses, that’s not what I found when I visited one such school in Sohrab Goth, a very poor area on the edge of Karachi.

This is a vast, sprawling, dusty neighborhood, which came into existence in the early 1980s when refugees from the war in Afghanistan poured into camps set up by the Pakistani government. The camps are long gone. Now a mix of second generation Afghans and Pakistanis live here in concrete buildings. A traditionally conservative area, women seldom leave their homes unaccompanied by men, and the Afghan traditional blue burqa is the norm.

I arrived at Jamia Baitul Muqadas in Sohrab Goth on a crisp December morning at the invitation of its headmaster Maulana Mohammad Ghayas, who is contesting the upcoming elections. The maulana wanted to show me that he ran a liberal Islamic school, that Islamic religious parties were not a threat to the country, and that once elected they were going to bring peace and prosperity.

Headmaster Maulana Mohammad Ghayas says he runs a liberal Islamic school.

Some madrassas are opening up their doors in an effort to allay the fears of those who believe that these institutions are hot beds of fundamentalist activities. Many madrassas forbid female journalists but I was allowed to walk freely through the halls of the school and speak to any of the students I chose to.

Classes were in full swing when I arrived, children as young as five were enrolled. As I passed one of the classes, I saw a teacher berating a student. He was holding a large pipe in his hand, ready to strike. When he saw me, he dropped it. Madrassa teachers have a reputation of being harsh to their students. Severe corporal punishments are handed out in the name of Islam.

The maulana on his tour insisted that the religious school was not a training ground for militants as people in the West thought. He was right in one sense: There were no weapons lying around. But the Islamic schools, even those without direct links to violence, promote an ideology that provides religious justification for violent attacks. An entire generation of Pakistanis is growing up in these madrassas, devoid of any critical thinking, and developing severe hatred for anything Western. These Pakistanis are the backbone of the religious parties and they have the street power to paralyze cities.

An entire generation of Pakistanis is growing up in these madrassas, devoid of any critical thinking, and developing severe hatred for anything Western.

In 2002, President Musharraf vowed to reform the madrassa system and its curriculum. Foreign students were to be registered with the government and the classroom content was to be vetted. Five years later, his plans have failed. Maulana Ghayas declared that the president could not control the madrassas because they were not funded by the government and did not rely on their resources. “We are an independent body,” he told me. “We rely on private donations, how can the president control us? We will never listen to him.”

At the madrassa I met 25-year-old Khan Sahab, an Afghani by birth, who told me that Pakistan’s true identity had been distorted by President Musharraf. “He thinks that Kamal Ataturk [the father of the modern Turkish republic] should be Pakistan’s mascot. Our ideal is our Prophet Mohammad, not some secular Turkish man.” Khan had spent the past four years studying at this madrassa, and he hoped that the headmaster would win the elections. “President Musharraf has women on television, there is no Shariah law here, women can walk around amongst men, we will change all of that when our leaders come to power. That is the true destiny of Pakistan.”

Many who attend the religious schools are proud to be associated with the Taliban.

Downstairs, before the call to prayers, I met with 14-year-old Saeed Shah, who had seven siblings all studying at various madrassas around the city. “I am proud to say that I am a Taliban,” he told me. “A Taliban is not what you people think he is, he is a true Muslim, only America has made him to look like a villain. To us a Taliban is a hero, a true defender of Islam.”

The headmaster, Muhammad Ghayas, belongs to Pakistan’s largest Islamic political party, the Jamiat Ulema-e-Islam, which gained prominence in the 1970s when it played a vital role in assisting the Afghan mujahideen against the Soviets. Today, The Jamiat is known to have links with the Taliban on the Pakistan as well as the Afghan side of the border. In the past two years the party assisted Musharraf’s government in negotiating a peace deal with the insurgents in the tribal belt of Waziristan.

Though the party’s leader, Maulana Fazlur Rehman, is a suave politician and is not opposed to working with the more secular parties in Pakistani politics, his followers are more hard line. They want an Islamic Shariah-run government more severe than Saudi Arabia’s.

An active Islamist insurgency in the tribal belt has spilled over to other areas like the Swat Valley. There are bomb blasts on a daily basis; hundreds of Pakistanis have lost their lives in recent months.

They may be well on their way. Already an active Islamist insurgency in the tribal belt has spilled over to other areas like the Swat Valley. There are bomb blasts on a daily basis; hundreds of Pakistanis have lost their lives in recent months. In some areas in the northwest, women are forbidden to work and attend schools. Barbershops have been closed down, CD and DVD stores burnt. Renegade FM radio stations are broadcasting calls for Jihad.

Musharraf’s government has been slow to control religious extremism in Karachi and the rest of the country. This has emboldened the religious parties and leaders like Maulana Ghayas who feel the time is ripe to bring about an Islamic revolution. Not through violence, he told me, but by the ballot.

Video Credits:
Camera: Mahera Omar, Sohail Ahmed

Pakistan: “The Liberal Dictator”

December 5, 2007

Length: 3:19

From left, Afia Zia and Nazish Brohi, founding members of the “People’s Resistance” group at their weekly candlelight vigil outside the Karachi Press Club.

Editor’s Note: When President Pervez Musharraf declared emergency rule in early November, fired his entire Supreme Court and arrested hundreds of judges and lawyers, mass protests followed, and the country was thrown into political turmoil. To take the current mood of the country, we asked our long-time correspondent in Pakistan, Sharmeen Obaid-Chinoy, to write a series of diary dispatches in the run up to the elections Musharraf says will take place on January 8. In her first diary entry, Obaid-Chinoy reports from Karachi, where, she says, the city is alive with political activity for the first time in 20 years.

I landed in Karachi to find a city galvanized by politics. It’s been more than two decades since civil society has made any effort to engage in the political process. In fact, my generation, those in their 20s and 30s, has never seen such fervor in the streets. These are exhilarating times for Pakistan, both for those who oppose President Musharraf and for those who support him. Debates once held over dinner tables inside people’s homes are now being heard everywhere, from the pages of Facebook to blogs and radio shows.

On the first evening back in my hometown, I was invited to a meeting of individuals calling themselves the “People’s Resistance.” They came together soon after President Musharraf imposed the state of emergency on November 3, and their members are doctors, lawyers, women’s rights activists and journalists from this middle class neighborhood. During the past month, they had been organizing flash protests, candlelight vigils and demonstrations, often using graffiti to get their message across. “One coup per dictator” and “Go Musharraf Go” are two of their most used slogans.

I couldn’t help thinking that inadvertently President Musharraf’s emergency decree had been good for Pakistan. It had stirred up the dormant middle and upper classes, which seldom took part in the electoral process or even bothered to vote.

The agenda that evening was simple: Should the People’s Resistance boycott the upcoming elections or not? The 20 or so members present launched into a lively debate, where the women were far more vocal in opposing Musharraf than the men. In the end, they unanimously voted to boycott the upcoming elections if the ousted [Supreme Court] judges were not reinstated and current conditions persisted. [During the first week in December, Musharraf renewed his pledge to end the state of emergency on December 16 in preparation for the January 8 elections.]

“Look, we have no romantic illusions about the political parties — we know they are corrupt and nepotistic,” Nazish Brohi, a social policy researcher and founder of the group, told me after the meeting. “We just want the system to work. Judges can’t be thrown out at the whim of one man. If we allow the system to work, then it will produce leaders who we can elect in the future.”

When I asked her if democracy could work in Pakistan, she responded with certainty: Yes, it could.

“I want to debunk the myth that an illiterate population will not be able to elect good leaders,” she said. “Education is not a prerequisite for intelligent voting.”

Activist Tarzia Mohuddin with her teenage daughters Michelle and Ghanwa at the vigil.

Another woman at the meeting, sociologist and columnist Afia Zia, acknowledged that Musharraf had advanced the cause of women in Pakistan. “It’s been funny because General Musharraf has been a liberal dictator,” she said. “He’s given us a lot of rights.” But she insisted that the military and Musharraf must “get out of politics” for democracy to have a chance.

Outside, I spoke to a young man who was closing his shop for the evening. Adil Khawar had heard the chants “Go Musharraf Go” coming from the meeting across the street. When I asked him about the current state of the country and the upcoming elections, he looked at me with a wry smile. “I don’t know what democracy is because I haven’t really experienced it, but I do feel a sense of freedom,” he said, adding, “I feel for President Musharraf — he is up against a lot, and I know that he means well for this country.” Then, pausing, he said, “Maybe we don’t deserve him.”

Later, while surfing through Facebook, where many young Pakistanis gather to talk about the political future of their country, I found at least as many groups for Musharraf as against him. Students as young as 14 were sharing their opinions under headings such as “We choose Musharraf but oppose emergency in Pakistan” and “A Turnip would make a better Head of State than Musharraf.”

A young musician called Imran Qadir told me that a number of his friends were joining rallies and protesting, but he supported Musharraf because he’d given many freedoms to Pakistanis.

A young musician called Imran Qadir told me that a number of his friends were joining rallies and protesting, but he supported President Musharraf because he’d given many freedoms to Pakistanis. “You know, when I was 14, you couldn’t wear jeans on television. Nawaz Sharif’s government was so anti-Westernization that if I wanted my music video aired on state-run television, I would have to heavily censor it. But in the last eight years, we have over 40 television channels; I can say what I want; I can wear what I want and will not be censored.” But Qadir said he was considering moving away from Pakistan because of the uncertainty: “I don’t want [former prime ministers] Benazir Bhutto or Nawaz Sharif to come into power, because they are not democratic in any way. They are despots, who are power hungry and will do anything to get what they want. In fact, I won’t be surprised if they turn back the clock for our generation.”

The debate has polarized Pakistan’s urban professional classes, many of whom sympathize with President Musharraf and have nothing but disdain for their democratic choices.

Another young woman, Sabina Ahmed, told me that she had never felt so passionate about politics in her life: “President Musharraf is a dictator. He may be liberal, but he is as power hungry as the rest. He has ruined this country’s judiciary and removed our best judges from power. It is going to take the country at least a decade to recover.”

The debate has polarized Pakistan’s urban professional classes, many of whom sympathize with President Musharraf and have nothing but disdain for their democratic choices. They credit the president with holding economic growth at 7.5 percent and for attracting billions of dollars in foreign investment to the country. But they also feel that he has crossed the line by removing the judiciary and silencing the media.

At a candlelight vigil the next evening, many expressed that they wanted the president to resign immediately. Tarzia Mohuddin had brought along her teenage daughters. Holding a sign that read, “Freedom of Thought and Expression,” she told me that Musharraf had disappointed her. “He started out so well,” she said. “But now he has destroyed everything he claimed he stood for. How can there be democracy when he has destroyed the very institutions that could uphold it?”

Video Credits:
Camera: Mahera Omar, Sohail Ahmed

Pakistan: The “Other” Bhutto

December 1, 2007

BY Sharmeen Obaid-Chinoy

Fatima Bhutto campaigning for her mother in Pakistan’s Sindh province.

Length: 4:54

Editor’s Note: Despite all the talk of boycotting the January 8 parliamentary elections in Pakistan, former Prime Minister Benazir Bhutto has returned to the campaign trail. So has President Musharraf’s other main rival, Nawaz Sharif.

In her latest dispatch, FRONTLINE/World correspondent Sharmeen Obaid-Chinoy visits the Bhutto ancestral home in the province of Sindh to interview former Prime Minister Benazir Bhutto’s niece, Fatima, who has become a thorn in her aunt’s side. Educated in the U.S. and fast becoming a prominent figure in her own right, the 25-year-old could turn out to be a serious political challenger to Benazir in the coming years. And there’s no love lost between the two women. Fatima blames her aunt for the 1996 murder of her father, Benazir’s brother, and calls her “one of the most corrupt leaders the world has ever seen.” Watch excerpts from the interview and read more about Fatima below.

There are deep divisions within the Bhutto family. In 1996, Mir Murtaza Bhutto, Benazir’s younger brother and her political opponent, was brutally gunned down just steps from his house in Karachi, while his sister was the prime minister.

The authorities claimed he died in a police shootout with his body guards, but the public — depending on whom you talk to — point fingers at Benazir and her husband Asif ali Zardari.

Benazir Bhutto has publicly denied any involvement in the death of her brother.

A graduate of Columbia University, the 25-year-old Fatima spends her days campaigning against her aunt [Benazir Bhutto], who, she says, is “one of the most corrupt leaders the world has seen.”

Fatima is Murtaza’s eldest daughter. A graduate of Columbia University, the 25-year-old spends her days writing and campaigning against her aunt, who, she says, is “one of the most corrupt leaders the world has seen.”

Many Pakistanis see Fatima as an alternative to Benazir, a serious challenger in the coming years and the rightful heir to the country’s most powerful political dynasty. She seems to have the pedigree required to contest and win elections, if she so chooses. In Pakistan, a Bhutto surname is almost enough to guarantee someone the job of a premier.

As I drove up to 70 Clifton, the house in which Benazir grew up and where Fatima now lives near the Arabian sea in Karachi, I thought of the similarities between the two: Both their lives were shaped by the death of their fathers at a young age, and both spent time at Ivy League universities in the United States and are articulate and educated. But the similarities end there.

The house and its adjoining office are steeped in history. The walls are covered with historical photographs and the library is filled with speeches and documents from the ’60s and ’70s, written by former Prime Minister Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto, Benazir and Murtaza’s father.

Over the years, Benazir Bhutto has filed property cases against Fatima and her mother. The former prime minister believes that the house is rightfully hers and has made several attempts to evict the current occupants.

Fatima Bhutto (center) visiting her father’s grave.

Without hesitation, Fatima tells me that politics is not a birth right. Sitting next to a life-size portrait of her father, she discusses the issues plaguing Pakistan.

“Part of the problem with Pakistani politics is that an entire nation has been held hostage to a very few, who treat politics like it’s a family business. We need the field to open up so that is why I am not running.”

But in the run up to the January elections, Fatima is busy campaigning for others in her family in Larkana, the Bhutto ancestral village in the province of Sindh. Her father founded an offshoot of the Pakistan People’s Party in the early ’90s, and her mother now is running for a place in the parliament against Benazir. “These elections are going to be tough,” Fatima tells me. “But I am determined to keep my father’s legacy alive.”

It has been more than 10 years since Fatima last spoke to her aunt. She feels that Benazir was complicit in the murder of her father. The proof, she says, lies in the report issued by a tribunal convened after her father’s death, which concluded that the assassination could not have taken place without approval from a “much higher” political authority.

Fatima’s statements are starting to affect Benazir. Local Pakistani newspapers published a story last month in which sources close to Benazir revealed that they were trying to patch things up between the two women.

Fatima’s statements and campaigning are starting to affect Benazir. Local Pakistani newspapers published a story last month in which sources close to the former prime minister revealed that they were trying to patch things up between the two women and to convince Fatima not to make statements against her aunt. Anwar Bhutto, who spoke on behalf of the Pakistan People’s Party, told journalists, “Benazir really wants Fatima to join active politics and she never considers her a rival. She will be an asset for Benazir and the PPP if she enters politics.”

The questions and accusations grow as elections draw closer. Before I leave she tells me that she is worried about what Benazir’s return means for the country. “Her legacy as a two-time prime minister is a legacy of gross corruption. She is estimated to have stolen $1.5 to $3 billion from the Pakistani treasury. It’s one of state violence…”

When I ask Fatima if a reconciliation is in the cards, her response is a vehement, “No.”

“Benazir needs to be tried in court for the crimes that she has committed. We do not see eye to eye on anything and we do not subscribe to her distorted version of democracy.”

Video Credits:
Camera: Mahera Omar, Sohail Ahmed

Canada: “Highway of Tears”

August 18, 2006

BY Sharmeen Obaid-Chinoy

Highway sign showing message about the missing women.

A sign along Highway 16 marks the plight of the missing women.

Every spring when the snow melts, Sally Gibson organizes a search team to look for her niece, Lana Derrick, who went missing in October 1995. “It’s a ritual,” she says. Once the weather warms up, Gibson gathers her friends and encourages them to walk the desolate roads behind her house.

She’s not alone. Families all along Canada’s Highway 16 — a 425-mile stretch of road that cuts through pine forests, rivers and remote Indigenous reserves in central British Columbia — are searching for their missing loved ones. There was Delphine Nikals who went missing in 1990; Ramona Wilson who disappeared in 1994; and last year, Tamara Chipman disappeared.

Gibson, whose niece has been missing for 11 years, refuses to accept that Lana is dead. “She is not dead to us, she is just missing.”

Gibson, whose niece has been missing for 11 years, refuses to accept that Lana is dead. “She is not dead to us, she is just missing,” Gibson says. Local police stopped pursuing the case a long time ago.

With eyes filling with tears, Gibson points to the green trailer where Lana grew up. “We all lived on this reserve together,” she says, as it begins to drizzle. She zips up her cotton jacket and offers to give me a tour of her neighborhood.

As we walk around, it becomes clear that the reserve, similar to Indian reservations in the United States, is very different from other parts of Canada. Here, aboriginal Canadians live in stark poverty. A blue Ford pick-up truck with three of its tires missing is parked next to an abandoned tin boat. A stray dog sniffs through piles of garbage that no one comes to collect. A young girl in denim shorts roller blades past a pile of plastic bags and crushed beer cans.

Abandoned cars and debris on the aboriginal reservation.

An abandoned car on the aboriginal reserve.

It’s a side of Canada that many don’t see. The unemployment rate in this part of British Columbia is more than 90 percent. People here are suspicious of outsiders and feel ignored by the Canadian government.

When Lana went missing, her family contacted the Canadian police to file a missing person’s report. “They gave us 72 hours; after that they said we were on our own,” says Gibson. “To us, prejudice is alive and well in Canada, against our people. And every time a young woman goes missing along the highway they ignore it, because it’s not one of theirs — it’s an aboriginal girl,” she says.

In October 2004, Amnesty International released a report titled Stolen Sisters: A Human Rights Response to Discrimination and Violence Against Indigenous Women in Canada. The report linked high levels of violence against Indigenous women and girls across Canada to deep-rooted marginalization and discrimination. “Not enough is being done to ensure that police forces consistently respond swiftly and effectively when Indigenous families report a missing sister or daughter,” the report stated. “And not enough is being done to ensure that Indigenous women and girls are not put in situations of extreme vulnerability in the first place.”

“The problem is that aboriginal women are seen as prostitutes, as dispensable women by Caucasian Canadians,” says Lucy Glaim, an aboriginal youth justice advocate.

Driving down the desolate highway, I see posters of the missing girls tacked to utility poles. In gas stations, family members have posted pleas to help them find their lost little girls. At the town of Burns Lake, I see a sign that says, “Highway of Tears: In memory of the missing women.” Every town seems to have been affected.

“The problem is that aboriginal women are seen as prostitutes, as dispensable women by Caucasian Canadians,” says Lucy Glaim, an aboriginal youth justice advocate. Glaim’s sister, Delphine Nikals, went missing in 1995. Her family has not heard of her since.

Glaim acts as a facilitator between young aboriginal offenders, the tribal elders and the Canadian police. She says the police stereotype aboriginal Canadians and look at them as troublemakers. “If the Canadian police see us as disposable people, how are we going to get the respect of the Caucasian community?” asks Glaim.

Many of the small towns that dot the highway have their own theories about the missing women. Some say a serial killer is on the loose. Others think it’s one of their own, a person who knows the community and the women well. Since the Canadian police routinely have no suspects and make no arrests in connection with the disappearances, the rumors continue to thrive.

Mother holds up picture of missing daughter.

Correy Millwater, Tamara’s mother, holds an early photograph of her daughter who disappeared in 2005.

“I don’t think a serial killer is on the loose,” says Glaim. “It’s easier for our society to lay the blame on one person, but I believe that there are multiple murderers out there who are racist and are targeting aboriginal women.”

Further down the highway, in the fishing town of Terrace, known for its salmon, Tom Chipman is putting up posters of his 22-year-old daughter Tamara, who went missing in September 2005. Tamara’s two-year-old son Jaden walks around with his mother’s photograph tucked under his arm. Tamara’s mother spent days in the hospital after her daughter’s disappearance.

“I just couldn’t look for my baby daughter in ditches and side roads,” she tells me. “How can a mother bring herself to do that?”

Once the posters are up, the Chipmans gather around a makeshift outdoor campfire to discuss their next strategy and to reminisce.

“Tamara was a headstrong girl, she knew how to defend herself. So whoever took her was strong and knew what he was doing,” says Tom Chipman.

One of Tamara’s aunts points out that the Greyhound bus, the only public transportation from Prince Rupert to Prince George, is cutting back on services. “Unemployment is high in aboriginal communities, there is a lack of public transportation, and now they are cutting back on the Greyhound bus service. How do they expect people to travel? Not everyone has cars,” she says.

Father pins missing person poster on a gas station window.

Tom Chipman puts up a missing persons poster of his daughter Tamara at a local gas station.

Another aunt reveals a secret she has kept hidden from her family. Many years ago, while hitchhiking, she was picked up by a local truck driver who tried to rape her. “He put his hand on my thigh and tried to rip my clothes off,” she says. “But I bit his hand and opened the car door and ran as fast as I could. I never reported it because I didn’t think the police would do anything about it,” she tells the group.

When I speak with Staff Sgt. John Ford, who handles media relations for the Royal Canadian Police, he tells me relations are good between the aboriginal community and the police.

“The message we are getting from the families is that they are satisfied with our investigation,” he says. “They know we are doing our job to the best we can.”

Ford denies this is a race issue but more the logistics of patrolling such a desolate area. “The area we are talking about is vast, it’s rugged; witnesses are non-existent. It’s as if these women have vanished into thin air,” he says.

Reporter talks with the police spokesperson.

Reporter Sharmeen Obaid-Chinoy talks to Staff Sgt. John Ford.

While the police make little headway, local private investigator Ray Michalko, a former police officer with the Canadian mounted police, has started his own investigation. He has spent time with the families retracing the last steps of many of the victims. Now, he routinely gets tips from locals who would rather talk to him than go to the police.

Michalko has driven the stretch of Highway 16 and the numerous back roads that lead into the woods from the highway. “The terrain is difficult; the bodies could be dumped anywhere,” he says. “But that’s no excuse for not finding out who is behind these murders.”

Despite his ex-cop status, Michalko says the police aren’t doing enough. “It takes most people a lot of thought and internalizing to get up the courage to call their local police with a tip,” he says. “When they finally do make the call, they need to be made to feel that their call was appreciated and that they are making a difference by calling the police.”

While many families still search for their missing daughters, Matilda Wilson, who lives in the town of Smithers, visits the grave of her daughter Ramona, whose body was found along the highway sexually assaulted and strangled more than 12 years ago. Ramona was 14 when she went missing.

Matilda Wilson at the graveside of her 14-year-old daughter Ramona.

“They took the light of my life away from me,” Wilson says. “Ramona was a bundle of joy, she made us all laugh, she was so young. Why her?”

On April 9, 1995, Wilson received a call from the local police. They wanted her to identify her daughter’s belongings. The 10-month search had come to an end.

“Someone asked me that if my daughter had blonde hair and blue eyes, would her killers be found?” says Wilson. “I think they would. Smithers is a small town and the police have to only ask questions and do a little investigation and they will come up with clues.”

Keeping attention on the disappearances, the Chipman family organized a walk from Prince Rupert to Prince George earlier this year to honor all the missing women along the highway. They walked the 425 miles through rain and snow. Family members of other missing women joined in. They walked for 20 days, urging each other to cover 20 miles a day. In every town people cheered them on. They arrived in Prince George on March 30, where a symposium was organized to discuss what families and the police could do to make the highway safer.

In Smithers, local artists have also put together an art show to commemorate the missing women. Alongside a painted facemask of one of the young women, someone had scribbled:

I dreamt I held you in my arms, safe and warm
I woke to tears falling silently.
My heart is heavy and burdened
smothered with grief so hard to bear.
Please return to me and let me gently touch your cheek
if only in my dreams.

Sharmeen Obaid-Chinoy is a regular contributor to FRONTLINE/World. Click on the links to watch her Rough Cut report about the devastating earthquake in Pakistan last year, and her 2004 broadcast “Pakistan: On A Razor’s Edge” about the country’s 50-year dispute with India over Kashmir.

Canada: “Highway of Tears” - Dispatches PBS

August 18, 2006

By Sharmeen Obaid Chinoy
Highway sign showing message about the missing women.

A sign along Highway 16 marks the plight of the missing women.

The families have dubbed the road the “Highway of Tears,” and Amnesty International estimates that 32 aboriginal Canadian women have gone missing in the last three decades along the highway, which runs from Prince Rupert to Prince George.
Gibson, whose niece has been missing for 11 years, refuses to accept that Lana is dead. “She is not dead to us, she is just missing.”

An abandoned car on the aboriginal reserve.

In October 2004, Amnesty International released a report titled Stolen Sisters: A Human Rights Response to Discrimination and Violence Against Indigenous Women in Canada. The report linked high levels of violence against Indigenous women and girls across Canada to deep-rooted marginalization and discrimination. “Not enough is being done to ensure that police forces consistently respond swiftly and effectively when Indigenous families report a missing sister or daughter,” the report stated. “And not enough is being done to ensure that Indigenous women and girls are not put in situations of extreme vulnerability in the first place.”
“The problem is that aboriginal women are seen as prostitutes, as dispensable women by Caucasian Canadians,” says Lucy Glaim, an aboriginal youth justice advocate.