A death foretold

DAYS after he announced that elections would be held in a couple of months in 1977, Zulfikar Ali Bhutto was asked by a western journalist how many terms he expected to win. That was a time when there was no political threat on the horizon, and Bhutto reigned supreme.

“I am not looking beyond the next term,” he replied. “The Bhutto men do not live very long.” Nor, it seems, do the Bhutto women. I did not use this particular quotation during Benazir’s lifetime as I thought it would have been insensitive.

Since she returned on Oct 18, I had feared that she would be the victim of an assassin. When the terrible attack on her cavalcade killed 150 of her followers, but spared her, I was relieved, but not reassured about her safety.

Over the years, I have written many articles critical of her policies and her conduct. But I never stopped respecting her as a person. Although some have accused her of arrogance, as a civil servant and a journalist, on every occasion we met, she was always warm and courteous to me.

Our last meeting was in Lahore about three weeks ago. I was there on a brief visit, and rang up my old friend Asma Jehangir, human rights lawyer and activist, to ask if I could drop by to say hello that evening. She replied that Benazir was coming over, and I should be there by nine.

When I arrived, I ran into many old friends. Asma had gathered a number of people from civil society to talk to the PPP leader and express their concerns. Benazir looked her usual supremely confident self as she walked in.

When she saw me, she stopped to greet me and ask how I was after all these years. Then she proceeded to give a brief talk in which she outlined her party’s priorities and goals. During the question-answer session, she was relaxed and, even when she disagreed with an observation or comment, she maintained her poise. There was no hesitation or attempt to dodge a tough question.

As she got up to leave, she stopped to chat with me again, thanking me for an article I had written on the eve of her return to Pakistan in which I had welcomed her back. Her last words were to ask me to see her in Karachi. This meeting did not take place, alas, as she hit the campaign trail, and I flew to England.

While I worked as a young deputy secretary on her father’s speech-writing staff in the mid-seventies, she was abroad, first in the US, and then in England. It was not until General Zia overthrew ZAB in 1977 that I first saw Benazir.

She was a slim, awkward-looking girl as she stood on the stage in Rawalpindi to address an opposition rally. Her first public speech was brief and hesitant, and her Urdu was frankly terrible.

Over the years, I heard her speaking in public many times, and she improved with each outing. On her return after years of self-exile, I noticed how much more fluent in Urdu she had become.

Many people have compared her unfavourably with her father, but I have always thought she was a much kinder and more humane person than ZAB. Indeed, her weakness as a prime minister lay in her inability to be tough with people when it was necessary. Margaret Thatcher, a politician Benazir admired greatly, never had this problem.

During her second stint as prime minister, Saeed Hasan Khan, the writer and raconteur, once told me he was sitting in the office of Tanveer Ahmed Khan, then information secretary to the government. The green (secure) telephone rang with the PM at the other end. Saeed Bhai heard his host say that he did not know who Mazdak was, and nor was he aware why he had started writing against her. End of conversation.

Those were the days when I was a civil servant, and wrote under the pseudonym of Mazdak. Benazir Bhutto was well aware of this, but never used her prerogative as prime minister to have me dismissed, or otherwise disciplined, even when I was very critical of her government in this newspaper.

Her father would have had no compunction in having an insubordinate civil servant sacked. As a matter of fact, he had many removed or suspended for far lesser sins.

For all these and many other reasons, I was sickened, saddened and angered at her assassination. It seems such a waste of so much potential. For years, there has been a concerted campaign to smear her reputation in the media and in the drawing rooms of the privileged of Pakistan. Orchestrated by intelligence agencies, it has resonated deeply among the chattering classes. As it is politically incorrect to openly support the army, the rich and the powerful have taken to talking down politicians and the political process. This justifies the presence of the army, and this in turn suits those whose only concern is the accumulation of wealth.

But talk to the dispossessed of Pakistan, and you soon discover the PPP’s true constituency. You will also find out why, despite the army’s best efforts over the years, the Bhutto name is such a force in Pakistani politics.

Many of her detractors among the well-to-do are of the view that Benazir was elected prime minister twice simply because she was ZAB’s daughter. This might have been true in the initial phase of her political career, but after the years she spent in jail and under house arrest under Zia, she had gained an independent stature.

One thing she shared with her father was his genuine concern for the poor. Unlike those who practise their politics in drawing rooms and military establishments, both Bhuttos spent much time with the dispossessed and the vulnerable. Neither achieved as much for them as they would have liked, as they were not given enough time by their many enemies.

Until recently, my brothers and I had three nurses to look after my mother who needs a certain amount of help in her old age. Two of them are Christian, and when I asked them whom they would vote for, both replied that they and their families always voted for the PPP.

While the rich hate the Bhuttos, the poor love them. This is the legacy Benazir Bhutto is leaving behind. May she rest in peace after all these years of adversity.