Man with a conscience

JUST when I thought Pakistan was surely slipping into the very darkest depths of an abyss of lies, hate and intolerance from which there could be no possible return, emerges a man with a conscience and courage to change my mind.

Today it was proved beyond the shadow of a doubt that the trumped up case against 11-year-old Rimsha, the Christian girl accused two weeks ago of blasphemy and desecrating the Holy Quran, was the deliberate doing of a certain Imam Khalid Chisti, who not only instigated and manipulated the whole incident, but was also responsible by his actions for the displacement of more than 600 terrified Christians from the fringes of the Islambad colony they called home.

This man deliberately and willfully burned pages of the Holy Book and blamed it on a clueless little girl and other Christians of the colony, whipping up a frenzied mob seeking blood and more.

For two weeks that little girl and her family have been locked up in a high security prison as if they were the worst kind of murderers. For two weeks religious zealots and Muslims blinded by self-righteousness have been demanding she be punished.

For two weeks it has been thrust down everybody’s throat that Pakistan's draconian Blasphemy Law, the hideous and twisted brainchild of that ruthless military dictator, General Zia-ul-Haq, was unchallengeable and unquestionable. Today the fallacy and danger of that belief was laid bare.

And today the truth came out in all its shining glory courtesy a man of conscience. In a stunning revelation to news channels and the police, Hafiz Mohammed Zubair, an Imam from the same mosque of which Khalid Chisti was the senior prayer leader, told how a man had brought a shopping bag filled with torn up pages of a religious book/pamphlet to which Chisti added by tearing pages off a Holy Quran from the mosque.

It was not a Christian or a Hindu that tore the pages but an Imam, a man given the responsibility of calling the faithful to prayer and propagating Islam. A man entrusted with the task of teaching tolerance and peace, the very values Muslims proclaim are of foremost import.

When Zubair had asked Chisti why he had torn the pages and was instigating trouble, the senior Imam had snapped at him: “Because this is the only way to get rid of these Christians."
 http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=465938693438549

And that is how Rimsha came to be in the eye of the storm, a storm that has stirred up a heated debate and concern in Pakistan and abroad.

I salute the honesty and courage of this man, Hafiz Mohammed Zubair. May God protect him and give him strength to always speak the truth.

Now as a Christian Pakistani, I would like to say a few things that need to be said.

The Christian community, which makes up a small number of the total population of Pakistan, has never been safe, never been prosperous, never been respected and its members have always been treated as second hand citizens. Nay, worse even than street dogs.

This despite the fact tha we have shown the utmost loyalty to our country, have performed bravely and have even laid down our lives in the wars Pakistan has fought, (Wing Commander Mervyn Middlecoat, a Pakistan Air Force fighter pilot was involved in a number of aerial battles during the 1965 and 1971 Indo-Pakistan wars as did Group Captain Cecil Chaudhary... and there were other as well who gave a good account fo themselves in the army, navy and police), educated hundreds of thousands of Muslim children in mission and Catholic schools, and made the every day life of so many Muslims so much easier by doing median jobs they consider beneath their dignity, cleaning streets and their homes.

                                                        

In turn, our women and girls have been kidnapped, raped, forcibly married and converted. Our men have been constantly pushed into the background and deprived of their rightful dues.

Who we are and what we are can be summed up by this joke told to me very early on in my life by a school teacher who happened to be an ex-PAF officer. I recall, he asked: “Do you know what the white in the Pakistani flag stands for?”

“No,” I said.

“The white stands for you minorities… the Christians, Hindus and so forth…”

I nodded. I had not known.

“And…” he continued with a smirk and a chuckle, “Have you noticed how the flag pole is always up the white part of the flag. The bamboo is always up your asses!!”

Sitting here in the comfort of my home in the United States, I recall that day and so many others.

I recall that day in 1965, with Indian war planes dumping bombs near GHQ, Rawalpindi, and the ground and walls shaking in the most horrible way, my father had come home, his face furious, his hands shaking in anger. I was just five year’s old and was terrified of the explosions that rocked our house just a few miles from GHQ. But one look at my father’s face and I forgot the quaking earth and rattling windows.

“We have to go,” he said, “I have been transferred to Multan and we have to leave immediately”.

My father was in the police. At the time he was a sergeant, one of a select group of Anglo-Indian officers kept on to make the Police look good... a quirky image thing. He was one of the four officers that did pilot duty for the President of Pakistan, Field Marshall Ayub Khan. Just a few years earlier he had been part of Queen Elizabeth’s escort group when she had visited Pakistan.

“I have been told that as a Christian I am a security risk,” he told my mother.

So in the midst of the war we moved to Multan. It took us almost three days. Our train was shot at by Indian paratroopers hidden in a cane field, we managed to get caught in the worst dog fight of the war over Lahore Railways Station…. and I remember the roaring jets and tracer bullets lighting up the sky to this day. It was terrifying.

My father, who was a police officer, was a security risk because he was a Christian!

This was a man ho had opted to live in Pakistan rather than India at the time of partition.

When I was eleven I came across my first taste of being a Christian in Pakistan. I was a sixth grader studying in Multan’s LaSalle High School, a school run by brothers of a Catholic order.

“You can’t drink water from the cooler,” I was sternly admonished by a teacher named Chauhan, “…it’s only for Muslim boys. You have made the water unpure.”

He clouted me across the ear.

I never understood what he meant. But my ear hurt most horribly and I finally mustered the courage to tell my father. I remember he did not say a word, but went to his chest-of-drawers, which was always kept locked. When he returned he had his pistol in his hands and was putting bullets in the clip.

It took all my mother’s persuasion and good sense to keep him from going to the school and shooting that man.

I never told my father about any further mistreatment ever again. I was his only son and it would be too much for him to tolerate.

So I got used to being called a “choora” … a derogatory term for a sweeper or street cleaner. I got called a ‘kafir’… an infidel. I got told I would never go to heaven. I was permanently reminded not to touch food items or glasses of water or it would become ‘p’leet” …. unclean!

When I finally managed to make it to the relative comfort of the ninth grade, I believed perhaps it would be different. I was mistaken.

This time it was not the boys but a particular teacher who decided to take his religion inspired ire out on me, another Christian boy named Robert and a few others, a couple of Parsis (Zoroastrians) included.

Munir was the name of this particular individual and he had a sadistic streak that ran deep and a hatred for non-Muslims to match. Munir was supposed to teach mathematics, but at least once in the week he would put the maths books down and he would preach… yes he would preach Islam and he would sing na’ats. His voice would take on a sharp, hysterical edge and those of us who were not Muslims would wriggle and fidget in our seats in discomfort.

We understood not a word of the Arabic he used, neither did most of the Muslim boys, and I know now, that neither did he. It was all by rote. 

Then he would fix us with a stare and say: “There is no redemption for you. No hope for you. There is only one way; become Muslims.”

When there would be no answer forthcoming from us, he would get angry, take out the maths text book, and ask one of us to do a particularly difficult problem or even one we had no idea about. Of course none of us could.

This is when Munir would come into action. He would say. “Kuttay, tum saaray kuttay / All of you are dogs.”

He would then order us to get on our knees and elbows and crawl three to four times around the class room. All the while he kicked us, punched us and beat us with a whip like cane.

It was degrading and we cried. At fourteen and fifteen years of age… we cried like girls.

None of us told our parents but we did get together and swore that when our matric exam would be done we would teach him a lesson.

We never did.

I went into sports, became a very successful track and field star. Set some records, won some medals at the national level.

They hated me. They planned against me. They stole my shoes and my equipment. But they never could get the better of me. There was an inner defiance and need to prove that I was better… it inspired me to higher heights.

One day, at an inter-collegiate meet in Lahore, I was told by one of my Muslim friends, “Steve you are a fantastic athlete and a great guy… but it would be so much better if you were a Muslim.”

Did it ever occur to him that God had intended me to be better at the broad jump and triple jump than he and this was God’s gift to me? Would I be a better jumper if I was a Muslim? Would I be a better human being?

At another track meet, this one in Wah, I won four gold medals… but my happiness was tarnished. A track official accused me of disrespecting the ‘talwaat'. He said I had been ‘dancing.’

And so it carried on; more accusations, more abuse, more aggressive persuasion to convert.

In 1988 I got married.

I married a Muslim girl.

Yes I did.

She’s a Pathan and her family comes from the tribal areas.

Her family has been wonderful and helped us survive the first few years during which we shifted homes no fewer than 17 times. We feared for our lives and we had every reason to. No place was safe for us.

In Islam a Muslim man can marry a Muslim woman and she can retain her religion. The children follow the religion of their father i.e. Islam. However, a Muslim woman cannot marry a Christian man and this is punishable by death by stoning.

I have been married now for 24 years and have four daughters.

In 2009 my family was held up at gunpoint by extremist gunmen just 200 yards from a government installation and we only survived after they insisted we convert to Islam and recite the ‘kalima’. It was matter of survival so we did.

They put a gun to my head and threatened to shoot me. They threatened to kill my family.

We survived.

If God had not intended it, I and my family would not have survived.

There are a hundred and one stories I want to tell you about Christians in Pakistan, the dangers they face, my personal story, how I survived, how I once offered ‘namaz’ all the way from Karachi to Lahore in the company of  group of mullahs, how I was forcibly converted to Islam by another bunch of mullahs in a newspaper office, how my wife and I were photographed as we walked near our house by two bearded men in  car, how we feared for our daughters’ safety…

And just how afraid we were all the time while in Pakistan; always afraid somebody would find out about our marriage or frame us for blasphemy.

Blasphemy… it was the big one that really worried us and gave us sleepless nights. We had plans … all sorts of contingency ones. We lived traumatized lives. It was fear of the worse kind…

But I would need a book to tell you all….

And so…stay with me. That book is coming.

I would like to reiterate, before I sign off, that although I and my family are safe in the United States, some of biggest support and help has come from Muslim friends, family and community members and people we don’t even know. These people are true Muslims and I love them all for they have proved time and again that before being Muslim they are human first.

Not all Muslims are bad, only those who are more Muslim than others and who don’t know or ignore the fact that Islam teaches tolerance, peace and moderation. There is no place extremism of any sort. It is haram.

It was a Muslim of the best kind today that inspired this blog post.

And that is why I once again would also like to honor Hafiz Muhammad Zubair for he has not only saved the life of an innocent girl but has shown goodness as only God bestows upon his favorites.

May he stay blessed and safe.

Tonight my prayers are for him and his family. 

Peace be upon you

In the next 15-20 years Islam will be the biggest religion in the world replacing Christianity in its entirety at the top. It is already larger than Catholicism. Yet many people still have no idea what the religion is about.

Although I’m not a Muslim I frequently find myself answering very basic questions on Islam and, more often than not, defending it. There is a lot of misconception surrounding it which of course is true of every religion. Once people understand they believed wrong, they are more open to listening and understanding.

The other day I explained to an American friend the meaning of Aslam ul Laikum and he was surprised to know it simply meant “Peace be upon you.” If you take these words for just words there is no religious implication. It is a greeting and a beautiful one at that.

Well this friend of mine then went on to ask more basic questions all related to Islam which I answered to the best of my ability and he went away saying, “This is so different from what I heard. I guess I will have to learn more.”

So imagine my shock and disgust the other day when I came across a particularly offensive question on Facebook from a Pakistani journalist provocateur on whether it was ‘jaiz’ to greet non-Muslims or accept their greetings.

Greetings are acknowledgement of recognition and tolerance….

The Zulu greeting, "Sawubona" means "I see you" and the response "Ngikhona" means "I am here". Doesn’t that sound beautiful too?

Yesterday, while waiting for my daughter at school, I saw an old Sikh man. Out of respect, I asked him in Punjabi how he was and he immediately put his hands together in a traditional greeting and reciprocated, asking me how I was.

Guess my answer….

“Allah ka shukr hai,” I said.

Me… a Catholic to a Sikh!!

More than just a cup of tea

Online author/writer and social entrepreneur Bryan Farris seems to be quite smitten by Pakistan, its people, culture and religion. In a recent article, he observes: “Pakistanis love tea. If this isn’t self-evident, I don’t know what is. Pakistanis love to sit down, stir their chai, and chat. Spending time with others and building relationships is so important. Back home people tend to fly through their days, but in Pakistan, every moment with another is cherished.”

http://risingpyramid.org/2011/08/25/a-rubberband-kind-of-year-see-you-later-pakistan/

A University of Berkeley graduate, Bryan writes that Pakistan is not what it is perceived to be. He’s spent the better part of a year in Pakistan. “I’ve come to know myself and the world around me in a much deeper way than before.”

Bryan also strives hard to explain what the Muslim fasting month of Ramadan is and how it is observed in Pakistan. He also briefly touches on that all-important issue that currently not only concerns Pakistan but much of the world… terrorism and the impact it is having on the country.

“Pakistan is not a country of terrorists, but rather a country afflicted by terrorists,” he rightly observes. I would find it hard to disagree with him, but then he barely goes on to tell us how he came tot his conclusion.

There is much to see and learn in Pakistan. It is a land like no other. Maddeningly simple, yet so complex! I should know; I was born there. My perspective of Pakistan would be a little different to that of someone on a short visit to the country. But let’s start with Pakistanis and their tea-drinking habit.

Pakistan is the world’s fourth largest consumer of tea with one kilogram per capita tea consumed annually compared to 0.75 kilogram worldwide. Just like many other consumer items, there is a lucrative and thriving illegal market in tea in Pakistan.

But there is a lot more to tea drinking than numbers. Indeed, it is a culture that varies contrastingly depending on where one is in Pakistan and whom with. For the majority of Pakistanis the morning does not start before a cup of tea is consumed i.e. before one’s teeth are brushed. Thereafter, between three and eight cups are consumed in the day. Sometimes more!

For a cup of tea to be accepted as such it has to be hot, it has to be sweet and most importantly, it has to be ‘karak’. (strong) Foppish English blends such as Earl Grey, Orange Pekoe etc just don’t cut it.

Tea drinking also varies across the social landscape. If one is poor or lives in rural Pakistan, tea is drunk from transparent glasses or from a traditional ‘pyala’, a colorful ceramic bowl. It is hot, milky and sweet, is sipped/slurped loudly, relished and drunk slowly.

In the city, if one happens to visit a mechanic, carpenter, plumber, small business owner, or government offices one is usually offered piping hot tea in small cups and saucers. Sometimes, in such circumstances, tea is poured into the saucer and then consumed. Such tea is usually slow cooked, is extremely sweet and has dollops of cream in it. It has to be drunk hot and while making conversation.

In college and hospital canteens, tea is usually accompanied by a crisp potato samosa or a bun samosa sandwich.

In Lahore and most Punjab cities one can get really good tea from any of the many roadside tea stalls, small restaurants/dhabas (roadside eatries) or even tea vendors.

If travelling long distances in Pakistan, the best place to get tea would be at a truck stop where not only is the tea good enough to ‘make you stand up’ but is accompanied by the most delicious parathas (Lightly fried flat bread).

Usually the best tea can be found at Railway stations and there has been many a cold night that I have walked two miles or more to the Railway station for a good cup of tea.

If doughnuts and coffee are synonymous with cops in the States, then tea and ‘yellow biscuits’, cheap sweet cookies that are yellowing in color, are the favorite snack for the police in Pakistan. Army officers too share this love for tea and yellow biscuits.

In the winter, Punjabis love their doodh patti which is tea slow cooked in milk. This rich and creamy drink is what hot chocolate is to the West.

Also in the winter months Kashmiri tea is very popular. This rich brew has tea, cashew, pistachio, cream and thick milk in it. Extremely rich, it is a pinkish color and is a great favorite.

If in the north, especially in Pakhtun areas bordering Afghanistan, then kehwa is what one drinks. Kehwa is green tea with a dash of lemon or cardamom. It is sweet and delicious and can be consumed in great amounts. If offered kehwa, one cannot refuse the host. It is just not done. The same type of kehwa is sometimes provided in many homes in the Punjab after dinner.

When I was a kid, we had morning tea before going to school with breakfast and tea at tea-time which was exactly four or clock every day. The adults of the house also had mid-morning, after lunch tea, evening tea, night tea and late night tea. Tea at four came along with cookies, cup cakes or cake.

At the club houses and gymkhanas in Pakistan tea is still ceremonial and comes in true British fashion, tea pot, tea cozy, sugar pot, milk pourer, tea cups and saucers, quarter plates, cakes, pastries, cookies both sweet and salt, éclairs, cream puffs, and cucumber, tomato or chicken sandwiches etc.

http://artandseek.net/2009/07/20/our-man-in-pakistan-talk-and-tea/

Many top hotels proudly feature ‘high tea’, which is late tea or evening tea past the four o clock hour. This is grand affair and an occasion to discuss serious matters in an appropriate ambience. Business or social discussions are the norm at such high teas.

In Pakistan, tea is also a great leveler and a trusted ally in the art of mediating or settling differences.

When there is a disagreement between two individuals and one says, “Let’s have a cup of tea,” the other is obliged to do so for he has just been handed an olive branch. When this phrase is used it means, “Let’s not argue; rather let’s discuss the issue in a mature manner, putting emotions aside and getting down to the crux of the matter.” The time it takes for the tea to come and be drunk gives both parties time to reflect and get their point of view together in coherent way. If one of the individuals denies the request for tea, it means the matter cannot be resolved.

Greg Mortensen might have been wrong about many things, but about tea he was not when he wrote in his controversial book “Three Cups of Tea” about the meaning of sharing a cup of tea in Baltistan, northern Pakistan: “The first time you share tea with a Balti, you are a stranger. The second time you take tea, you are an honored guest. The third time you share a cup of tea, you become family.”

For a little more on tea check out:

 http://blogs.tribune.com.pk/story/6096/in-search-of-a-tea-house/

I for one would pick tea over coffee any day of the year. It has so much more going for it, especially when one’s tired or cold. Just how much tea means to most of us tea drinkers is perfectly summed up by one of my all time favorite authors, Rudyard Kipling:

We had a kettle; we let it leak

Our not repairing made it worse

We haven’t had any tea for a week…

The bottom is out of the Universe.

And now to Ramadan, that “religious boot camp” that Bryan refers to.

I love the concept of Ramadan. I think it is beautiful when observed in its entirety and true purpose. Having lived in Dubai, United Arab Emirates, I can tell you with the utmost certainty that most Pakistanis are very spirited when it comes to the month of Ramadan, especially when it comes to the fasting and praying and making sure that others observe the holy month.

However, this past Ramadan has forced me to ask some serious questions about this wonderful month and Pakistan. Although a Christian, my kids insisted my wife make all the delicious foods associated with Eid, kept three rozas (days of fasting) and regretted they were not with their friends in Pakistan for Eid. I put it down as being a cultural thing. My wife’s colleagues were amazed that she was able to fast and yet work eight hours without drinking, eating or cursing.

When in Dubai for my first Ramadan I was enthralled to see how the city had been decked up with eastern style lanterns, how all the mosques catered free Iftar and Sehri meals, how wealthy locals and the rulers gave zakat (money earmarked for the poor and needy) with joy in their eyes, how night markets flourished, how families got together in the evening and enjoyed their Iftari and time after till late in the night, how the prices of everything were modulated and reduced and how the locals carried out their daily work without any visible difference.

But what really moved me was their spirit to observe Ramadan in its true sense, with simplicity and sanctity. Arabs usually break their fast with a date and a sip of water. I have seen it.

One day, just before Iftar, I was in a taxi on Sheikh Zayed road and the driver stopped to break his fast. He had two dates. He offered me one. Then, a local stopped next to us in his Land Cruiser and quickly brought out a simple mat which he spread on the sand before bringing out a traditional Arab coffee pot and some more dates. He offered us coffee and dates. This was a rich guy.

In contrast, nobody cleans up the city or decorates their environs in Pakistan during Ramadan even though Ramadan is a cleansing process. Most people pull out their money long before Eid so that Zakat is not automatically deducted by banks. I thought Zakat, the fourth pillar of Islam, was mandatory. What of the rest of Ramadan if this important requirement is not fulfilled?

In Pakistan the prices of all things double and triple during Ramadan. It is amazing how this holy month is thus abused and yet those who carry out such nefarious activities call themselves Muslims and say they are observing the fast. Hello?

http://www.pakistantoday.com.pk/2011/08/vegetable-prices-escalate-as-ramadan-progresses/

During Ramadan, if Pakistani offices are not deserted, then those manning them are in such a bad disposition that it is impossible for them to function. They have a one word explanation for their lethargy … Ramadan!

Where as simplicity is required, lavish Iftar buffets, dinners and parties are the rage in Pakistan; people stuff themselves with rich foods and delicacies. There is no moderation. As Bryan observed, “Pakistan is a country of extremes,” and so it is. Pakistan and Pakistanis during the month of Ramadan are a case in point.

http://insider.pk/national/ramazan-in-pakistan/

Then specifically this Ramadan this month:

·         Ethnic and sectarian strife has claimed hundreds of lives in Karachi, and elsewhere including child murders and shootings.

http://www.dawn.com/2011/08/28/ethnic-fault-lines-of-karachi.html

·         A so-called religious expert, Dr. Aamir Liaquat was exposed on Youtube as a charlatan and real lowlife after using the most disgusting and vulgar language during his programs. Worse still Pakistani seemed intrigued with the content of the video for a long, long time.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4iypwrIPe1Q

·         There have been blasts and suicide attacks on mosques and police stations, claiming numerous lives.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-14587292

·         A landlord let his dogs loose on a seven year old girl, leaving the child badly mauled and totally traumatized.

http://www.dunyanews.tv/index.php?key=Q2F0SUQ9MiNOaWQ9MzY4MjY=

·         On April 14, two men entered the home of a woman, cut off six of her fingers, slashed her arms and lips and then sliced off her nose. Before leaving the house, the men locked their 28-year-old victim inside.

http://www.dawn.com/2011/08/09/rape-mutilation-pakistans-tribal-justice-for-women.html

·         On April 13, a 70-year-old Dr. Warren Weinstein, an American development worker who spent seven years in Pakistan, was kidnapped after a group of eight men broke into his house.

http://www.washingtonpost.com/world/asia-pacific/pakistan-police-rescue-kidnapped-american/2011/08/25/gIQADzl5cJ_story.html

·         Likewise, the son of slain Punjab Governor Salman Taseer, Shahbaz, was kidnapped one day after arriving in Pakistan from Dubai.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/08/26/shahbaz-taseer-kidnapped-_n_937988.html

·         The army continues to battle extremist elements in the north who insist that the army is comprised of a bunch of ‘kafirs’ and enemies of Islam. Nobody is concerned about these brave souls who have made numerous sacrifices for their country.

http://tribune.com.pk/story/228329/nine-killed-in-south-waziristan-clashes/

Of course there is much more.

Bryan notes that Pakistan is afflicted by terrorists and terrorism. True. To get some indication of this I would suggest people go to Youtube and check out a series of tele-films called Faseel-e-Jaan Say Aagay which shows how the Pakistan Army is battling against extremist elements.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y-edDttqdTg

Many of you will be surprised. So many young soldiers have died in Swat and Waziristan fighting so-called ‘jihadis’, self proclaimed warriors of Islam.

Pakistan is not a terrorist state as many people in the West believe. It is in the grip of a forced retro-orthodox Islamic ideology that is bringing it to its knees and makes it a dangerous place to be. In total contravention to the edicts and teachings of Islam, there is no tolerance in Pakistan.

The murder of Salman Taseer is a point in case.

What possible hope can a country have when its lawyers and law enforcement officers applaud and garland a murderer?

http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2011/jan/06/pakistan-salman-taseer-assassination

Those who know how to bend the will of the people have the perfect weapon… illiteracy. Only 40 odd per cent of Pakistanis are educated. Therefore, their naivety makes Pakistan the ideal place for the dogs of war and there is no escaping this fact.

http://www.dailytimes.com.pk/default.asp?page=2011%5C01%5C30%5Cstory_30-1-2011_pg13_1

Corruption, ideology, hunger for power, lack of education, economic despair… it’s all there.

Back in the sixties and seventies Pakistan was a beautiful place to live in. But then along came Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto with his greater “Islamic world” vision. That he was followed by that great protector of Islam, Zia-ul-Haq, that oh-so-pious general, truly set Pakistan on the path to where it is. The genesis of Pakistan’s troubles did not start with the Afghan war and they are not about to end any time soon. The Taliban, Al Qaida and their Arab financiers have ensured that.

It is easy to be overwhelmed as a first time visitor to Pakistan. You learn to trust and then just when you relax, trouble comes in the worst possible way. Daniel Pearl learned that the hard way.

Warren Weinstein said he was among people he trusted and yet he was kidnapped two days before coming back to the United States. Three weeks now and nobody knows where he is. I hope there is someone out there who cares.

Pakistan is an enigma that cannot be summed up in a few months, a few years, a few pages….

God keep you safe Warren

                           Warren Weinstein (Extreme right) at an orange orchard in Sargodha, Pakistan.
It’s been four days now and the sense of shock is no less.

Saturday morning, I got a call from a fellow journalist in Islamabad who informed me that earlier that morning my former boss and good friend Warren Weinstein had been kidnapped from his home in Model Town, Lahore, Pakistan. He sounded apologetic and embarrassed, almost as if he was to blame in some way for what had happened.

I immediately went to my laptop.

According to online reports, eight to ten men entered the premises of Warren’s large residential-cum-office building at dawn. After tying up the security guards, they pistol whipped and beat Warren’s Pathan driver, Israr, forcing him to take them up to Warren’s first floor suite. After the terrified driver identified himself, Warren opened the door, was hit on the head with a pistol by one of the armed men, and was dragged away bleeding to a waiting vehicle by the kidnappers who immediately drove off.

The police say they have made little or no headway, despite help from the FBI in the investigation. The kidnappers have made neither contact nor ransom demand.

Fact is time is running out. Warren is seventy years old. I know for sure that he has blood pressure problems and can suffer extreme asthma attacks. Just a little over two years ago he had heart surgery. Warren’s health has not been what it should for some time now.

The saddest thing is that Warren was to return home to the United States to his wife Elaine, daughter Alyssa and grand children this Monday after having spent the better part of seven years in Pakistan. He would have been home. He should have been home.

It is my fervent prayer that Warren makes it home safe and sound.

Sadly, the media in the United States has pushed Warren’s abduction into the background. The newspapers no longer carry the latest story; the TV channels hurry through updates on his status which is usually just a few words on the ticker.

Furthermore, the feedback and comments on the websites/blogs of TV channels and newspapers have the most disturbing, callous, cruel and uninformed remarks about the whole incident.

The majority of the people commenting haven’t got the foggiest on what Pakistan is about; not the dynamics, not the ongoing battle of conflicting ideologies or the ground realities of what does or does not make Pakistan tick. They have no idea of the religious, political, historical, geographical position or the ethnic diversity of the country. That callous ‘whatever factor’ makes them immune to anything that seemingly does not directly/personally have something to do with them.

But take it from me, it takes immense courage for anyone from the West to spend a single day in Pakistan leave alone live and work there. Warren not only had the guts but resilience to stay in Pakistan for seven long years. Most importantly, his work made a difference… a huge difference at many different levels.

Callous online remarks opine that Warren got what was coming to him. One person, if I recall correctly it was on the LA Times website, went so far as to say not a single cent should be spent looking for him. Others called him crazy. Some wanted to know what an American Jew could possibly find so endearing about Pakistan. Some speculated that he was a CIA agent. Others called him greedy, a grubber!

Various conspiracy theories have been put forward as to what Warren was doing in Pakistan and specifically in the Federal Administered Tribal Areas (FATA), home to tribal Pathans, shadowy extremist groups and their terrorist Arab financiers bent on teaching the ‘infidels’ a lesson never to be forgotten. Was he an arms dealer? Was he providing covert training? Was he promoting and fulfilling a hidden Jewish agenda for Israel?

These exercises in make believe could be true and then again maybe not.

I can only tell you about the Warren I know and the work he did in the two years I worked for him as an employee of J.E. Austin of which Warren was the country manager directing the USAID project, Pakistan Initiative for Strategic Development and Competitiveness (PISDAC). I write only about Warren, the man.

I first met Warren at the Marriott, a five star hotel, in the sprawling coastal city of Karachi in May 2006. I was in search of a job, having finished with CNBC Pakistan as the head of the News & Current Affairs departments earlier that month.

A good friend, who now runs a highly successful media network and NGO, had referred me to him. I spied Warren coming out of the hotel bookshop and recognized him immediately from the description my friend had given me – “Not very tall, slightly roly-poly and a professorial air about him.”

It took Warren two cups of watered down tea, a couple of cookies and some half-hearted questioning to decide he was going to hire me. The only time he disagreed or rather negotiated was about the salary he’d have to pay me for my services. But that was to be expected.

Warren also invited me to join him the next day for a meeting with the then minister of trade and commerce, Hamayun Akhter. I was aware immediately that I was being checked out. Luckily I was able to satisfy Warren’s doubts if he had any.

I learned three things about Warren that day:

1.        Warren was extremely comfortable with the minister. They were on first name basis. The minister was extremely well informed and Warren was even more informed. Lesson: Warren knew his cookies and did not get fazed easily.

2.     Warren did indeed have a professorial way about him and amply demonstrated this by talking about Pakistan’s trade and commerce status in detail and specifically about the Marble& Granite, Dairy and Gems & Jewelry sectors. It was all in his head. He needed no prompts. He knew what to say and how to say it. Lesson: Warren had immense knowledge about his work and went about it with a professorial zeal.

3.        Warren was extremely comfortable with the Pakistani way of conducting business in all its subtle and not-so-subtle ways; Warren knew how to play the game. Most importantly, other ministers, industrialists, government and private sector officials and representatives also knew that Warren was not a pushover. He was tough and knew what was needed to make these sectors become economically competitive. He was very blunt in pointing out that Pakistan would be the beneficiary of the strategies he and his group of local experts and industrial stakeholders made. Lesson: Warren was well-versed in Pakistani ways.

I accepted the job and would have joined Warren within the week had not another opportunity come up. I spent the next two months in Sharjah in the United Arab Emirates before realizing I’d decided wrong.

Back in Pakistan again, I called up Warren from Lahore and asked if he would see me. He said yes. That afternoon, in his office, I asked him if the job he had offered me was available. Warren said no.

However, a few hours later while on my way back to Islamabad, Warren called me up and told me to be at work the next day. I did not inform him that I was halfway to Islamabad.

Next morning, I arrived at 49-J Model Town, Lahore for my first day of work for J.E. Austin and PISDAC. It was a large residential building that had been turned into an office. Wearing just its mat gray cement finish, I learned later that the house had not yet been completed when rented.  Warren said it was not necessary to do so.

Surrounded by an eight foot boundary wall topped with iron spikes, the house had a large gate guarded around the clock by two or three guards armed with shot guns. On two sides were other houses, one was fronted by a narrow road and on the right was a sometimes used soccer field.

The bricked in area in front of the house could park seven to eight cars. At the back of the house were separate living quarters for the company’s drivers, Warren’s personal driver and self-appointed bodyguard at the time, a large Punjabi Christian named Bhatti, and the guards belonging to a local security company.

The ground floor (Americans would refer to it as the first floor) comprised a large reception area which had four work cabins, eight large office rooms, including Warren’s, three bathrooms, a kitchen and a pantry area. There was a conference room in the basement, which I learned quickly enough, was where the weekly office meeting was held and where strategies and plans were made.

Warren lived upstairs in a suite which comprised much the same accommodation as below. There was also a guest room and a separate suite for the other American who lived on the premises, Eugene Miller.

At the end of the first day’s work Warren asked me where I was putting up and I informed him that I had come directly to the office from Islamabad and would go looking for a hotel that was close enough, until I could find a place of my own.

“Nothing doing,” said Warren, “You can stay upstairs in one of the spare bedrooms.”

Warren’s place upstairs was tastefully decorated with rich Pakistani carpets, a lovely rocking chair, large sofas, walnut, brass and marble tables, other indigenous furniture, some fine paintings and wall hangings, plenty of music and plenty of movies. It was a home.

Warren showed me to a room not far from his. “Yours until you find a place,” he said, adding, “If you need anything the fridge in the kitchen usually has something that will do.”

I learned that day that Warren was about to become a grandfather and that he liked ‘Desi’ music. I also found out Warren could speak several languages, not just the six mentioned in one of the online reports I saw today, and that he loved Pakistani mangoes and spicy ‘chappli kebaabs’. Warren also informed me that day that his favorite food was Baba Ganouj, a delicious Arab dip made out of roasted egg plants, tahini and olive oil. He was delighted to find out that I knew what it was and even more that I knew how to make it.

Lesson learned: Warren liked good food, music and movies.

About ‘lesson learned’, in the days ahead I quickly comprehended that it was one of his most frequently used catch phrases. When it came to Warren, there was always a lesson to be learned.

Warren taught well. It took me just a few weeks to know plenty about the six industrial sectors that either came under or were to be part of the PISDAC project. These were Dairy, Marble & Granite, Gems & Jewelry, Surgical Instruments, Furniture and Horticulture (apples, mangoes and grapes).

But there was something even more valuable I learned over time. Warren had the ability to move up and down the social scale to solve problems when it came to the stakeholders of these six sectors. From a craftsman working in the unhealthy confines of a hazardous furnace in the surgical sector to the multi-millionaire exporters of surgical instruments, he knew how to deal with them, what to say to them and how to say it.

Warren is a master at work force and value chain development and he selflessly imparted these values to his local staff, especially to his Strategy Working Group (SWOG) leaders. These were young men who worked hard and were eager to learn. “He’s a guru,” one said.

“I know SWOG sounds like a dirty animal,” but that’s just the nature of the group, Warren once said tongue in cheek.

Warren has a tremendous sense of humor. His favorite joke was about elephants mating. Quick on the uptake, it would take Warren less than a second to have a wicked repartee ready. When he would laugh the entire office could hear him. It’s an infectious laugh, a hearty laugh and one that comes from the soul. There is no holding back.

Indeed Warren’s laughter was so notorious that I one day made a recording on my phone. I saved it as my ring tone. Later that day, about an hour after Warren left for Islamabad my phone rang. The office, which had been pretty noisy till then, suddenly went silent. I walked out to find puzzled looks on the faces of some of my colleagues.

“We thought the boss had left, but he’s still here,” one of them informed me.

“How do you know?” I asked.

The guy looked back at me as if I was a hundred different types of dumb. “Didn’t you hear him laugh just now?”

I had fun with the ring tone that day until I was found out.

One of Warren’s biggest plus points is that he is a wonderful boss. He believes in giving people the space to work and gain experience on their own while making subtle suggestions and nudges in the right direction. He even allowed mistakes. Warren’s analysis on a situation is rarely wrong.

While we’d kid about his eccentric behavior at times (He once sent Israr, his driver, to drive ten miles to exchange an egg), the respect factor for Warren was beyond doubt. He was the teacher; we were the students and that’s the way it was for the entire two years I worked for him until the PISDAC project concluded.

Warren was acutely aware of human pain and problems. Not only did he lend me money once when I desperately needed it, but when my wife had to undergo surgery at the Shaukat Khanum Memorial Cancer Hospital in Lahore, Warren sent her a large bunch of flowers and for a long time after always remembered to enquire after her.

The most worrisome facet of Warren’s stay in Pakistan, however, was his total lack of regard for security. Warren believed he was amongst trustworthy people. He believed they could never ever cause him harm.

At the drop of a hat, Warren would announce he was going to Islamabad. It would be just him and his driver. Warren would get into the back seat of the Toyota Altis, put down a pillow and lay down. “Israr,” he’d order, “jahaz.” (Fly like a jet).

There were times that Warren would be in three cities at one time. Lahore in the morning, Islamabad in the afternoon and Karachi in the evening! He was well known by the staff at the Avari and Pearl Continental in Lahore, the Marriot and Serena in Islamabad and the Marriot and Avari in Karachi. He was seemingly tireless. And then there were times he looked so tired that we’d get worried.

Warren hates being hemmed in by political correctness and limitations. “I know what I’m doing,” he would say, “My team knows what they are doing.”

The only time Warren made a real mistake was when he failed to realize that the new USAID person in-charge of development, who’d reportedly come all the way from either Serbia or Slovakia, was a lesbian. Warren totally missed it, even though when he was first introduced to her, she came in to the room hand-in-hand with another female. Unfortunately, that day Warren also gave a couple of examples that were of totally masculine nature. It didn’t help. Especially the elephant mating joke.

By the time Warren realized he'd cocked up it was too late. She made it a point of making him an example. It goes to Warren’s credit, he outlasted her.

People will ask so what impact did Warren have on Pakistan, or the people and industrial sectors he worked on?

Well he did. He most certainly did.

Under Warren the Dairy industry was able to set up a public-private company, Dairy Pakistan, through which not only were dairy requirements legislated, but the entire value chain benefitted from small producers to exporters. More products, better products, by-products were introduced. Better packaging, better marketing, better branding was put in place. More opportunities were explored.

The same was the case of the Gems & Jewelry & Marble & Granite sectors. Both established successful public-private sector companies to guide the growth of their respective sectors. Wastage was stopped. New markets found. Better produce introduced. Better machinery introduced. Better marketing strategies implemented and so on and so forth. Women were encouraged to work.

Most of all, Warren was successful to a great extent in bringing awareness on competitiveness, innovation and branding. Where he really worked wonders was being able to make a dent in hundreds of years if wrong practices. Warren advocated and strongly believed in mindset change and to this end, he was more successful than even he realized.

Most daringly Warren’s work in FATA, where Marble & Granite and Gems & Jewelry were his main areas of concern, was where he was in most danger. Warren took to wearing shalwar kameez, he began to speak Urdu and went to the trouble of starting Pashto. He did everything it took to make the distrusting tribals and FATA administration officials comfortable with what he was doing.

Amazingly, Warren said he never felt in danger in this most unpredictable and dangerous area of Pakistan where lesser people have disappeared never to return.

Ironically, Warren considered Lahore to be home and it was from here that he has been taken.

According to his driver, the guards and the police, the kidnappers were dressed in western clothes, shirts and trousers, and spoke Urdu.

How interesting.

I have some questions.

Why would someone in the heart of Lahore speak Urdu? Why not Punjabi?

If they were militants, then you’d expect them to speak in other languages… perhaps Pashto or Baluchi, maybe even Arabic.

Not defending those Godless so-called Jihadis, but could it be someone else? Could it be something more sinister?


In Pakistan, anything and everything is possible.

There is a certain lot of men trained in espionage and complex mind-games, including political manipulations among other nefarious deeds, that fit the bill perfectly. Could it be the ISI?


In one of the latest reports I have read the kidnappers searched his person for hidden traceable chips. Not something your ordinary kidnapper would think of, right?

Is this some kind of tit-for-tat game?

Why was Warren taken just days before he was returning to the States?

Who knew?

To conclude, it’s been four days now. I’m still trying to think straight. Warren is a good friend, a good human being, a productive human being, a family man who enjoys food, music and good things. Most of all Warren enjoyed building relations and friendships. He has many friends and all will be praying for his welfare.

The last time I met Warren was at the heavily guarded Marriot in Islamabad. Warren had called me earlier that day and had just wondered if ti was possible for me to make some Baba Ganouj. My wife made him a roasted chicken to go with it. Warren was over the moon. He carried on and on about how delicious it was.

Then he said, “I worry about you and your family. You are not safe in Pakistan. Try and get out. Do it for your daughters. What are you waiting for?.... You’ve been held up at gun point, you’ve been threatened, your house has been robbed, you worry all the time about the safety of your children…. What are you doing here?”

I promised him I would. Then I said, “Warren when are you going back to the States. I know Elaine was here recently, but when are you going? You know its not safe with all these bombings, targeted shootings  and all. They are targeting the army and especially westerners."

“I’ll be going soon,” he said and laughed.

That was in late 2009.

In December 2009 I called Warren and informed him that my family had got visas. I told him I was getting out of Pakistan.

“Go to safety,” he said.

Now it’s my turn. “Come home safely Warren.”