Swat valley: transition from Buddha to Radio Mullah

Celebrated in the Hindu scriptures as 'udyan' (garden), it's a stunningly picturesque place where the Buddha once walked, cultures intersected, poets sang and mystics came in search of peace. But, sadly, Swat valley in northwest Pakistan has now become synonymous with unrest, bloodshed and Talibanisation.
Not many know that the Swat valley, which is in the news now for the local government's much-criticised peace deal that allows the Taliban to impose Sharia, or Islamic law, in return for surrendering arms, has an unbroken history of over 2,000 years that has seen many religions and civilisations come and go.
'The Swat river is mentioned in the Rig Veda as Suvashtu which literally means the river on which settlements can be made,' Kumkum Roy, professor of ancient Indian history at Jawaharlal Nehru University (JNU) and the author of 'Historical Dictionary of Ancient India', told IANS.
'Kushan rulers also had connections with the Swat valley,' she said.
Centuries later, the scenic river, which flows from the majestic Hindukush mountains into the Kabul river in the Peshawar valley, is a magnet for Pakistani tourists who love to flaunt the Swat valley as the Switzerland of Pakistan.
Some historical accounts also mention that in 327 BC Alexander the Great crossed the Swat river with part of his army and before going south to conquer the locals at what are now Barikoot and Odegram.
The region has also played host to a succession of dynasties like the Mauryans, the Indo-Greeks, the Indo-Syphians, the Kushans, the Turk-Shahis and the Hindu-Shahis down the ages before the invasion by Mahmud of Ghazni who brought Islam to the valley in the 11th century.
Buddhism thrived in the region that was once the centre of the Gandhara civilisation. The Swat museum has the footprints of the Buddha, who, as legend has it, came to Swat during his last reincarnation as the Gautama Buddha.
Statues of the Buddha, stupas, monasteries, rock carvings, art, coins, pottery and other artefacts can be found everywhere in the valley. Emperor Ashoka is also said to have ordered the erection of a stupa in the region.
In 403 AD, the famous Chinese pilgrim, Fa-Hien, counted 6,000 monasteries in the valley. Two centuries later, Hsuan Tsang, another itinerant monk, saw around 1,400 monasteries.
This splendid multi-layered heritage now stands imperilled with a resurgent Taliban determined to impose its austere version of the ideal Islamic society based on Sharia that has no place for music or other niceties of life and scorns sending girls to school.
Although the restive Swat valley has been known for anarchy and lawlessness for some time, the process of Talibanisation started acquiring a sinister ring in July 2006 when Maulana Fazlullah, a firebrand cleric-turned Taliban ideologue and commander, started broadcasting his Wahhabi interpretation of the Quran and preaching extremist messages to people in the valley.
'Radio Mullah', as he came to be known, soon became a local legend and acquired an army of volunteers who pillaged and burnt girls' schools, CD shops, the famous ski resort and Buddha statues to turn his dream of installing an Islamic emirate into reality.
Not surprisingly, much after their ideological fellow travellers across the border in Afghanistan who brutally destroyed the famous Buddha statues in Bamiyan, they have also turned their ire on what they consider remnants of an infidel culture.
Nearly one and a half years ago, Fazlullah's informal army defaced a 23-foot-high, 7th century Meditating Buddha, carved in a rock in the lap of a mountain in Jehandabad village, in Swat, triggering protests among conservationists and Buddhists all over the world.
Things can only get worse with the Islamabad-backed provincial government striking a deal with the local Taliban represented by Sufi Muhammad, the father-in-law of 'FM Mullah.'

Brisking neighbour

Officials estimate that the Taliban has either burnt down or blown up more than 140 educational institutions in the past two years. The picture shows students outside a school after it was destroyed in the Kundar village of Swat Valley.

A small bomb blast does not make the headlines in Karachi anymore. The ensuing dialogue is always followed by the same question: how many killed? One, two or even 10 does not merit a pause in the conversation, let alone a prayer for the departed. These stoic rejoinders are not limited to Karachi. Similar reactions punctuate news of bombings all over Pakistan, perhaps with even more pronounced restraint when the incidents take place in the tribal areas. Just as the news of a bomb blast is met with little incredulity, Pakistanis, confronted with an Islamist insurgency spanning into its third year, continue to insist that their daily lives remain unaffected by the upsurge in Islamist violence around the country. The twin symptoms, resignation and denial, are denominators of Pakistan's new 'normal' — defined as it is by violence so commonplace and insecurity so routine that it no longer registers shock or protest.

This redefinition of ordinary has not been gradual. Even a mere five years ago, the Taliban was an idea relegated to beyond the western border in Afghanistan, and tourists continued to swarm areas like Swat for summer vacations. Ski lifts were crowded and guesthouses remained full all season. The death of that Swat is now old news, no longer reported by journalists, either in Pakistan or abroad.

Yet the magnitude of violence and fear unleashed tells a story of how, in a short span of time, a population can be so vastly terrorised that it is rendered effectively mute. Officials estimate that the Taliban has either burnt down or blown up more than 140 educational institutions in the past two years, leaving nearly a million of the children without access to education. With nearly 30 per cent of the girls having withdrawn from schools and colleges anyway, the news of the announcement by Mullah Shah Doran, the Taliban's second in command, that all girls would be forbidden from attending school from January 15, 2008 was relegated to the inside pages of most newspapers.

If the girls in Swat are bearing the brunt of the Taliban campaign against education, the girls daring to go to school in the urban centre of Lahore are not spared either. The bomb squad in the city reported nearly 50 threats to various schools and colleges in the past few months. The threats were part of the Tehreek-e-Taliban Pakistan's effort to expand its activities into the cultural capital. As part of this campaign, nearly five "cultural blasts" took place on January 9, 2009 outside theatres which were accused of spreading immorality. The incidents were connected to blasts that took place in the city last year near the Al-Hamra Arts Centre and Garhi Shahu ice cream parlours. The last time the area was threatened, in the form of an anonymous letter written to Shabbir Labha, head of a local trader's organisation, the writer said the area would be bombed if the sale of pornographic CDs was not halted immediately. One day later, traders voluntarily burned 60,000 CDs in a pragmatic move to avert an attack on their market. This most recent "cultural blast," however, came without warning, costing millions of rupees in damage to the theatres.

Singular incidents such as these come and go, but their cumulative effect on the maimed psychology of people is far from being of "low intensity," the term used to describe the explosive used in the most recent Lahore attack. In the past year, Pakistan has overtaken both Iraq and Afghanistan in the number of suicide attacks, with casualties numbering over 600.

No category of targets — from schools to juice shops and from fancy hotels to barber shops — has been spared. The victims have been security officials, businessmen, poor trader women, shopkeepers and, of course, even former Prime Ministers. Television audiences have become used to watching clips of decapitated heads of suicide bombers, which are regularly made available to TV crews after attacks. Everyone knows that when a suicide bomber detonates his explosives, his head pops off and is usually found intact.

The visibility and constant onslaught of violence has a peculiar effect on those witnessing it. As the grasp of the insurgency widens, from the remote tribal areas always, relegated to the recesses of the Pakistani geographical imagination, to the streets of Karachi and even the cultural centre of Lahore, the world of the individual Pakistani constricts further and further. The web of concern and empathy, once expansive enough to encompass fellow countrymen, gets ever narrower, stretching only to include those in ever smaller circles. In contracting their radius of concern, Pakistanis look only to their near and dear, finding solace in the small group that may still remain untouched, and insulating themselves from the assassinated, the kidnapped, the looted and the threatened.

As a result, it is not just bomb blasts that merit little attention, empathy or protest from Pakistanis. Ever worsening crimes — from the live burial of five Balochi women by the relative of a Minister to the unleashing of dogs on a 17-year-old pregnant girl — prompt little mass protest other than by token women's groups and journalists. In a mental exercise engaged in only by the most traumatised, Pakistanis routinely slice their much taxed sympathy into those few that matter and the millions that don't. In the words of one Karachi-ite, "I look down, do my work, pick my children up from school and don't worry too much about what is happening. It's the only way I can survive here."

And then there are the moral conundrums permeated by violence that strategically attacks a set of confused ideological premises which have long plagued the moral conscience of Pakistanis. One area where this confusion is glaring is the regulation of cultural practices considered un-Islamic under the draconian Taliban rubric. It is thus not just the Taliban threats that have an impact on local populations but their reverberations. One example is the Lahore High Court's recent decision to ban 'mujra,' the age-old dance form practised in Lahore for nearly 400 years.

Following the ruling, the theatres where the dancers performed went on strike, prompting the court to reverse the ban and order the dancers to "wear shawls covering their necks and wear shoes." Necks and bare feet were considered too erotic, and hence impermissible. The moral of the story is clear: in a society unsure of the religious merit of its culture and unable to articulate the place of religion, all ills can be blamed on the guilty pleasures that can produce moral shame, and hence justify terror. In this case, the misogyny heaped on female entertainers and the guilt of those selling and consuming their product are effectively used to valorise even the terror produced by the Taliban. When those enjoyments relegated to the guilty recesses of consumption are attacked, their elimination, however crude, is painted as purification rather than denigration of society.

In the years and months since the Taliban insurgency has taken hold, its measure has been taken in lives lost and property damaged. Little effort has been made, however, to evaluate how the incursion of religious extremism has altered civil and social life in Pakistan. The indirect effects of the constriction of empathy, the tacit acceptance of insecurity and the self-imposed moral monism that is intolerant of all differences are effects that have a longer and much more drastic effect. This can already be seen in the muffled non-existence of civil society that can no longer organise or conceptualise a position on any political or legislative issue.

If Pakistan does not have a national, organised movement of civil society groups against terror, it is not because Pakistanis are not suffering. The conglomeration of a survivalist indifference, in which caring is reserved not for the larger world but for the chosen few of one's immediate circle, and the confusion of faith and its role as a moral regulator are ultimately giving birth to a new, more menacing definition of normalcy.

In a country where the population is inured to violence and has resigned itself to persecution, there can be little expectation of political organisation or representation beyond the most illusory. Lulled into catatonia by such pervasive helplessness,

Pakistanis can do little except deny that the violence exists, persecutes and targets them every single day, or stubbornly insist that even if it does, it means little and that life — simply if uncertainly — goes on just as before, with a new definition of normal.

The recent surrender by the Pakistani State to the Taliban in the Swat valley may well turn out to be a watershed in the history of the Indian subcontinent. In terms of long-term impact, this may even overshadow the recent Mumbai massacres. All signs point to the 'Talibanisation' of Pakistan. Here are several pointers:

* I A Rehman writing in the Dawn newspaper on February 12 says 'the Pakistani armed forces were indoctrinated in General Zia-ul Haq's rule to reserve senior posts for genuine Islamists. The Pakistan army may have the capacity to kill hordes of people, but it will not -- and cannot -- do that.' The army and the State may well disintegrate if it does.
* General Ashfaq Kayani, son of a former soldier, is the first non-elite chief of the Pakistani army. Given his socio-economic background, he is more likely to be part of the 'natural' constituency of the Taliban.
* We have the example of Iran -- on February 11, 1979, when the mass upsurge to impose 'Islamic rule' reached its zenith, the Iranian army declared its 'neutrality' in the ongoing conflict. This sealed the fate of the Shah of Iran. A similar happening in Pakistan is very likely.
* Slumdog Jihadis: The Dawn on December 18, 2008, quoted the Pakistan Planning Commission's Deputy Chairman Sardar Asef Ahmad Ali that poverty had skyrocketed to above 40 per cent in the country, leaving millions helpless. It is these poor/unemployed/ uneducated people that are cannon fodder for the jihadis. The interrogation of the lone surviving Mumbai terrorist Ajmal Kasab's story fits the bill. There are such 48 million Ajmals waiting in Pakistan to be primed against India.

I found it extraordinary that Indians were always blissfully unaware of developments in their neighbourhood. No ruler of Delhi ever woke up when the enemy crossed the Khyber Pass. The first stirrings of action were usually when the enemy was at the gates, at Panipat, just a day's march from Delhi.

Indians have been made to totally forget the holocaust that they faced in past; the name Hindukush itself means 'Hindu killer', a reminder of the days when thousands of Indians died on the mountain slopes while being taken to Central Asia as slaves.(the Encyclopaedia Britannica quoting a 12th century traveller Ibn Batua)

Nearer our times, the 1981 UN declaration of Universal Human Rights writes; 'Among the genocides of human history, the highest number of people killed in the small span of time is in Bangladesh in 1971. An average of 6,000 to 12 000 people were killed every single day. This is the highest daily average in history.' The lower estimate shows that 15 lakh were killed, a majority of them Hindus. A commission of inquiry appointed by the Pakistan government, the Hamidoor Rehman Commission, has recorded testimonies of Pakistani army officers who have quoted General Amir Abdullah Khan Niazi asking the question 'How many Hindus have you killed today?' as a matter of routine. We have forgotten this recent episode as well.

Demography is destiny

Pakistan has a very high rate of population growth. Although it has declined from three percent at the time of the census in 1981 to the present 1.9 per cent it is still the highest among populous countries of more than 50 million, except Nigeria. The more reliable indicator of population growth is the total fertility rate -- the number of children born to a woman in her reproductive span. Pakistan's TFR is four. A TFR of 2.1 is considered replacement level which leads to a stable population.

In Pakistan, the under-15 population is 37 per cent of the total. Given the poor education, health and skills of this youth, they are fodder for jihad and little else. With the mullahs constantly drumming that all of Pakistan's ills are due to the evil Hindu India/Zionist Israel/Christian America troika, Pakistan's biggest export for a long time is likely to be terror.

If by some miracle, Pakistan is to implement population control tomorrow, it will take two to three decades for it to take effect. Even if the re-brainwashing was to begin now, again it is bound to take time. The sad fact is that neither of these things is happening either tomorrow or any time soon.

Impact of the economic meltdown

For decades over 25 percent of the Pakistani labour force was employed in the oil-rich Middle East. With the economic downturn and lower oil prices, the boom is over. The Dubai shopping festival was a flop this year. The returning labour force will only add to the unemployment in the country.

In any case, Pakistan has very little industry and its agriculture is confined to Punjab and parts of Sindh. Most of the country's landmass is arid and unfit for agriculture. Rural poverty will gallop in the near future.

Ripe for implosion

The politics of extremism as represented by the Taliban, the economic meltdown and demographic pressure all point to a major implosion in Pakistan. Are we ready for the fallout?

Despite this threat staring in our face there is a palpable lack of national unity -- another Indian trait. In the last four years, we have let our defence apparatus go to seed, so much so that we have lost the conventional edge over Pakistan.

Given this situation the only option for India is to 'isolate and contain' Pakistan. That still leaves the million dollar question about Pakistan's nuclear weapons. Here one hopes that all those joint exercise with special forces of the US, UK, Israel, China and Russia were in preparation for this very contingency.

If not, then God save the world!

A paper on Terrorism index and Pakistan

A perfect terrorist storm may be brewing in Pakistan. When asked to choose the nation that is most likely to become the next al Qaeda stronghold, more experts chose Pakistan than any other country, including Iraq. Osama bin Laden reportedly remains at large along Pakistan's mountainous border with Afghanistan, where al Qaeda is also regrouping; the country's intelligence service is said to be still cooperating with radical Islamist elements; and President Pervez Musharraf's political future seems increasingly imperiled. These developments would not be as worrisome had the experts not also said that Pakistan is the country most likely to transfer nuclear technology to terrorists in the next three to five years. Together, it's a terrifying combination.



But if there is a wide consensus about the dangers that Pakistan poses, there is very little agreement about what to do about it. A modest number of the index's experts, fewer than 1 in 3, favors threatening Pakistan with sanctions. Yet about the same number support increasing U.S. aid to the country. Such a muddled response underscores the puzzle that Pakistan presents to American policymakers. What is clear is that the experts do not favor more of the same: More than half of those surveyed believe the current U.S. policy toward Pakistan is having a negative impact on U.S. national security. Getting the strategy right could be critical if the world is to keep those dark clouds from forming.