Journalism is a dangerous profession in Pakistan. But a vibrant, relatively free press still exists in this volatile country

Mustafa Qadri
guardian.co.uk, Friday 19 December 2009 18:00 GMT

For as long as anyone cares to remember, journalism has been a dangerous profession in Pakistan. Although of late much of the attention has focused on the risks to foreign journalists, the situation for local reporters is equally, if not more, parlous.

First consider that virtually all the on-the-ground news you read from Pakistan, especially from conflict zones, has been gathered by a local reporter under considerable personal risk. That is certainly the case for journalists working in the northwest frontier where the Taliban are most active. “I [do some] work for Voice of America,” one veteran reporter, who requested anonymity, told me in the safety of a hotel room in Islamabad. “Even now, I do not tell [the Taliban he interviews] that. It would mean certain death.”

Only last week, the Guardian’s Ghaith Abdul-Ahad and two other journalists were kidnapped by an unknown gang in a region bordering Pakistan’s tribal areas. Although they were thankfully released on Wednesday, many others have not been so lucky.

Despite the risks, journalists like Abdul-Ahad remain a vital part of keeping the powerful accountable. Earlier this year, for instance, the media was at the forefront of exposing attempts by the current and previous Pakistan government to crack down on supporters of the current chief justice of Pakistan. Other scandals, like illegal commodity syndicates allegedly involving the ruling elite, have also been brought to public attention thanks to independent media.

Of course, Pakistan’s press is far from perfect. Although this year most outlets have exposed the brutalities of the Pakistan Taliban, over the past eight years that the insurgency has existed many either voiced sympathy for them or ignored their excesses. Even now many commentators refuse to refer to the insurgents as Taliban and instead suggest that there are foreign hands in most everything that occurs in this country.

The government has also on occasion criticised the media for broadcasting graphic images of the violence that has rocked the major cities for exacerbating the fears of an already panicked population. It has also shut out independent reporting from the frontlines, making it difficult to determine the success or destructiveness of army operations.

Some journalists have even been threatened or killed in mysterious circumstances, leaving many to suspect covert government involvement.

Kamran Shafi, the noted columnist from the Dawn newspaper, had bullets fired into his Islamabad home last month in what is widely believed to be an attempt by Pakistan’s security establishment, or elements within it, to silence one of the more independent and critical voices in the media.

A decade earlier, Najam Sethi, another veteran journalist, was detained by federal intelligence agents because of the perceived “anti-Pakistan” bias of his reporting. Sethi was released owing largely to his high profile and international lobbying. But most journalists do not have these protections.

Back in February, the bullet-ridden body of Musa Khankhel was found in the Swat valley a day after reporting on a peace deal between a pro-Taliban cleric and the government. Although no conclusive investigations were held, Khankhel’s employer GeoTV believes state intelligence murdered Khankhel out of fear he would expose the reality that the peace agreement was actually aiding the Taliban’s advance into the region. Khankhel had previously survived two assassination attempts by what he claimed were state security forces.

The government is not monolithically opposed to the press. Nor is it the only one that intimidates journalists. Expose the misdemeanours of gangsters or religious groups and you could face anything from death threats to rent-a-crowd mobs outside your residence, hurling profanities and garbage.

How is it then that a vibrant, relatively free press has survived in such a volatile country with a long history of autocratic rule? There appears to be three main reasons. First, the media are the modern incarnation of the subcontinent’s ancient literary traditions where laureates reflected the moods and aspirations of entire communities. It helps that Pakistan’s poetic languages describe the most heinous and beautiful of things in highly allegorical terms. This heritage finds a natural ally in the popular media.

Second, with power so highly concentrated, the media has been one of the only ways that information ever seeps out of the elite and into the mainstream. Allied to this is the third reason: the powerful are so dependent on the weak – be they servants, functionaries or relatives – that it is near impossible to keep things secret.

All the more reason why journalists don’t die of boredom in Pakistan.

Last Updated: Mon, 24 Aug 2009 12:24:00 +1000

People in a Pakistani frontier region threatened by the Taliban are trying to preserve a culture rich in poetry and dance from religious extremism.

The culture of the ethnic Pashtun peoples often delights in worldly pleasures – like sex and alcohol – considered un-Islamic by religious conservatives.

In the Badaber district of North-West Frontier province, the poems of the great Pashto literary figure, Ghani Khan, are still recited.

Khan celebrated such pleasures as “my beloved, my youth, and a cup of wine”.

Promises

He also offers a more immediate answer to any preaching about rewards in paradise:

Give the promises of eternal bliss to the Mullah after my death;
Could dreams of nymphs in the afterlife ever satisfy the poor?
Give me here just one nymph, smart, exalted and mesmerizing;
O God, if you do not do this, then keep your heavenly bounties;
I need them neither here nor in the afterlife.

The Taliban and other militant groups that champion a strict interpretation of Islam challenge such poetry.

Elsewhere in Pakistan, in the Swat valley before its recapture by the Pakistani army, the Taliban murdered several dancers and soothsayers they deemed immoral.

In Badaber, members of an anti-Taliban lashkar, or army, defend the vitally strategic tribal region, where the Taliban and government security forces wrestle for control.

Fazal Maula, who works for a non-government aid organisation there, told Radio Australia’s Connect Asia that Badaber, surrounded by tribal areas and with Peshawar province also on one side, is “the gateway into Peshawar”.

“Hardly six to seven kilometre area, in other words, protect the whole Peshawar from militancy and terrorism,” he says.

Ghani Khan (1914-1996) was the eldest son of Khan Abdul Ghaffar Khan, known as the Frontier Gandhi, who led the Pathans of today’s Pakistani North-West Frontier against British colonialism.

Outdates

His poetry echoes a style of verse that outdates the Taliban by about a century.

It paints a very different picture of the Pashtun peoples, who have more recently become associated with extremism.

But local communities are forming networks across religious, gender and political lines to preserve their culture and protect their society.

Fazal Maula says: “The people of Badaber area constituted different committees on the grassroots level to become united and to face this terrorism in the area.

“In this mobilisation process, mullah were also involved.”

But with many decades of radicalisation to contend with, it will take some time for the great poets to be heard in full again.

http://australianetworknews.com/stories/200908/2664856.htm

Updated August 24, 2009 12:03:41

Much of Afghanistan’s Pashtun-dominated south and east has been tense during for the recent presidential elections, but just over the border in Pakistan, outside Peshawar, the battle rages for cultural control of the community. The Taliban are trying to outlaw traditional poetry and dance, which they consider un-Islamic.

Presenter:Mustafa Qadri
Speaker: Fazal Maula, Peshawar-based non-government organisation

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QADRI: Following my travels through northwestern Pakistan where millions fled the war against the Taliban, I met members of an anti-Taliban lashkar or army in the tribal district of Badaber. To describe Badaber as an outpost would be something of an understatement. Both the Taliban and government security forces have wrestled for control of this vitally strategic tribal region. Fazal Maula from a local non-government organisation explains.

FAZAL MAULA: You know it is on one side the door to Peshawar and on the other side it locates Dera Adam Khel which is a tribal area. And on our right side it is Barha [Khyber] agency that is still a tribal area. And this place… hardly six to seven kilometre area in other words protect the whole Peshawar from militancy and terrorism.

QADRI: So it’s like the gateway into Peshawar.

MAULA: It is the gateway into Peshawar.

QADRI: But this battle is not merely being waged with guns and bombs. Along with challenging the writ of the government, the Taliban and other militant groups that champion a strict interpretation of Islam have also challenged traditional Pashtun culture. Especially endangered is the rich heritage of poetry and dance which often delights in worldly pleasures – like sex and alcohol – considered unIslamic by religious conservatives. In the Swat valley prior to its recapture by the Pakistan Army, for example, the Taliban murdered several dancers and soothsayers they deemed immoral.

QADRI: At a community rest house in Badaber, a man recites a poem from the celebrated Pashto poet Ghani Khan. Many of the great Pashto poets like Khan have been largely unmentioned in recent times as people fear reprisals by the Taliban and other ultra orthodox religious groups.

TRANSLATOR: (Poetry recital) God, O beloved God, make this world a heaven for me; it would take just three things; all I need is my beloved, my youth and a cup of wine; give the promises of eternal bliss to the Mullah after my death; could dreams of nymphs in the afterlife ever satisfy the poor? Give me here just one nymph, smart, exalted and mesmerizing; O God, if you do not do this then keep your heavenly bounties; I need them neither here nor in the afterlife.

QADRI: Poetry such as this, which outdates the Taliban by around a century, paints a very different picture of the Pashtun peoples who have more recently become associated with extremism. Yet even now, as government authorities push the Taliban out of the tribal frontier, local communities are forming networks across religious, gender and political lines to preserve their culture and protect their society. Here is Fazal Maula again.

MAULA: The people of Badaber area constituted different committees on the grassroots level to become united and to face this terrorism in the area. In this mobilisation process mullah were also involved.

QADRI: It is one of several grassroots attempts to foster peace in Pakistan’s North West Frontier Province. But with so many decades of radicalisation to contend with it will take some time for the great poets to fully re-emerge.