The Women's Movement in Pakistan: Activism, Islam and Democracy 9781788318815, 9781786735232

Table of contents :
Cover
Title
Copyright
Contents
List of Illustrations
Acronyms
Timeline
Acknowledgements
Introduction Midnight’s Daughters
1. Contours of an Islamic Pakistan
2. Global Politics and Zia’s Islamisation
3. The Women’s Movement: First Phase
4. Grappling with the Damage Done
5. Activism Changes Form
6. Maulanas at the Helm
7. Swat and the Taliban Ascendancy
8. Sexual Violence and the New Activists
9. Women in Politics and the Promise of Democracy
10. The Long View
Appendix I. Women’s Action Forum Interviews
Appendix II. Glossary
Notes
Bibliography
Index

Citation preview

Ayesha Khan is Senior Researcher at the Collective for Social Science Research in Karachi. She has been a journalist in international radio, local television and press and has also served on the boards of various NGOs. She studied at Yale University and at SOAS, University of London. Her contributions have appeared in Feminism, Empowerment and Development, Thinking International Relations Differently and Interrogating Imperialism; and in journals including the International Feminist Journal of Politics and Feminist Economics.

‘This is a field-defining history of secular, liberal, progressive women’s politics by one of Pakistan’s leading activist scholars. Ayesha Khan captures the anger, humour, tragedies and successes of the women’s movement in Pakistan in a book which is impossible to put down.’ – Sana Haroon, Associate Professor in History and Asian Studies, University of Massachusetts, Boston ‘Ayesha Khan has written a much-needed account of the women’s movement in Pakistan, a courageous movement in a country that has still a considerable way to go in recognising women’s rights and equal status as citizens. Carefully researched and pacily written, it locates the evolution and strategies of the movement at the intersection of the troubled history of democracy in the country and the rise of global political Islam.’ – Naila Kabeer, Professor of Gender and Development, The London School of Economics and Political Science ‘This book tackles a difficult issue in Pakistan’s history from the vantage point of both a scholar and an activist. Ayesha Khan has conducted extensive interviews with many activists who built the women’s movement in Pakistan. There is no competing publication that has done this, making this book highly original and valuable to the field.’ – Anita M. Weiss, Professor, University of Oregon ‘This timely work explores the achievements and challenges that have faced the women’s movement in Pakistan. It draws on interviews and original documents to reveal the diversity and complexity of its quest for equality in a country in which Islamisation reinforces patriarchy. The author succeeds in providing a very rich account of a movement that has faced different kinds of challenges in the Zia and post-Zia eras. It remains part of an important struggle to create an inclusive Pakistani state and society.’ – Ian Talbot, Professor of Modern British History, University of Southampton ‘The history of the women’s movement in Pakistan is a story with enormous contemporary relevance - not only for South Asia, but for challenged women’s movements around the world. This work is a guidebook for these times. It is a highly analytical yet immensely inspiring account of the struggle, endurance, and courage of the meshwork of individuals, networks, organisations and strategies that embody the women’s movement in Pakistan - one that no regime or political upheaval in that country has been able to destroy. Yet, it does not hesitate to analyse the cracks within. Most importantly, this book provides vital lessons and insights for feminist leaders around the world about resilience, about the need to constantly find new spaces and forms for our activism, and about what it will take for our movements to survive the current political moment and its multiple challenges.’ – Srilatha Batliwala, Senior Advisor, Knowledge Building with CREA (Creating Resources for Empowerment in Action)

THE WOMEN'S MOVEMENT IN PAKISTAN Activism, Islam and Democracy

AYESHA KHAN

For my late parents, Thera and Munir Ahmad Khan, with love and gratitude

I.B. TAURIS Bloomsbury Publishing Plc 50 Bedford Square, London, WC1B 3DP, UK 1385 Broadway, New York, NY 10018, USA BLOOMSBURY, I.B. TAURIS and the I.B. Tauris logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc First published in Great Britain 2018 Paperback edition first published 2020 Copyright © Ayesha Khan, 2020 Ayesha Khan has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Author of this work. For legal purposes the Acknowledgements on p. xvi constitute an extension of this copyright page. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. Bloomsbury Publishing Plc does not have any control over, or responsibility for, any third-party websites referred to or in this book. All internet addresses given in this book were correct at the time of going to press. The author and publisher regret any inconvenience caused if addresses have changed or sites have ceased to exist, but can accept no responsibility for any such changes. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. ISBN: HB: 978-1-7883-1198-4 PB: 978-1-8386-0708-1 ePDF: 978-1-7867-3523-2 eBook: 978-1-7867-2523-3 Series: Library of South Asian History and Culture 12 Typeset in GaramondThree by OKS Prepress Services, Chennai, India To find out more about our authors and books visit www.bloomsbury.com and sign up for our newsletters.

CONTENTS

List of Illustrations Acronyms Timeline Acknowledgements Introduction Midnight’s Daughters 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10.

Contours of an Islamic Pakistan Global Politics and Zia’s Islamisation The Women’s Movement: First Phase Grappling with the Damage Done Activism Changes Form Maulanas at the Helm Swat and the Taliban Ascendancy Sexual Violence and the New Activists Women in Politics and the Promise of Democracy The Long View

vi viii xi xvi 1 19 43 75 116 143 169 189 217 244 278

Appendix I Women’s Action Forum Interviews Appendix II Glossary

307 313

Notes Bibliography Index

317 367 386

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Figures Figure 2.1 Chief Martial Law Administrator General Mohammad Zia-ul-Haq inaugurating a display of records of court cases relating to Mohammed Ali Jinnah, Sindh High Court, Karachi. Photo: White Star. 64 Figure 3.1 First WAF Convention in Lahore, 1982. (Outstretched) Lala Rukh, (1st row, from left) Ghazala Rahman, Khawar Mumtaz, Sultanat Bokhari, Hilda Saeed, Nigar Ahmed, (2nd row) Samina Rahman, Rukhsana Rashid, Farida Shaheed, Humaira Rahman, Fareeha Zafar, Nighat Said Khan, Aban Marker-Kabraji, (standing) Farida Sher, Najma Sadeque. Photo: Lala Rukh.

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Figure 3.2 WAF and women lawyers attacked by police during demonstration against proposed Law of Evidence, 12 February 1983. (Far left) Hina Jilani, (centre) Zhila Shah. Photo: Rahat Ali Dar.

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Figure 3.3 WAF activists burn their dupattas in Lahore, 1987. (From left) Lala Rukh, Neelam Hussain, Nighat Said Khan. Photo: Rahat Ali Dar.

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Figure 4.1 Activists challenge police in front of Governor House, after they forcibly remove Humaira Butt from Edhi Shelter in Karachi, 1999. (From left) Sadia Shah, Uzma Noorani, Nafisa Shah, Danish Zuberi, Anis Haroon, Seema Sheikh. Photo: White Star. 137

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

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Figure 5.1 Nigar Ahmed and Shahla Zia, co-founders of Aurat Foundation, nd. Courtesy: Zia Family.

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Figure 6.1 Khawar Mumtaz (foreground) with WAF at anti-Taliban protest, Lahore 2007. Photo: Lala Rukh.

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Figure 7.1 Asma Jehangir demands police stop violence against lawyers, political activists and media personnel, Lahore 2007. Photo: Tanveer Shahzad/White Star.

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Figure 7.2 Benazir Bhutto’s return from exile in October 2007 to Karachi, before a suicide bomber attacked the convoy, killing 150. (From left) Bhutto, Qasim Zia, Qaim Ali Shah, Sherry Rehman, Aftab Shaban Mirani. Courtesy: Pakistan People’s Party.

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Figure 7.3 Malala Yousafzai at her school in Mingora, Swat, 2011, the year before the Taliban attacked her. Photo: Kohi Marri.

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Figure 8.1 Mukhtar Mai, gang raped by order of a jirga, took her assailants to court. Photo: White Star.

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Figure 9.1 Nafisa Shah, General Secretary, Women’s Parliamentary Caucus and Fehmida Mirza, Speaker, National Assembly of Pakistan, 2008–13. Photo: White Star.

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Tables Table 9.1 Reserved seats provision and number of women in National Assembly 1947– 2013.

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Table 9.2 Legislative Representation of Women 2002.

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ACRONYMS

AASHA AGHS ANP APWA ASR CEDAW CIA CII DFID DWA ECP FATA FIR FPAP FSC FWB HRCP ICPD IIFSO IJI IJT ISI

Alliance Against Sexual Harassment Legal Aid Cell for Women, Lahore Awami National Party All Pakistan Women’s Association Applied Socio-economic Research Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women Central Intelligence Agency Council of Islamic Ideology Department for International Development Democratic Women’s Association Election Commission of Pakistan Federally Administered Tribal Areas First Information Report Family Planning Association of Pakistan Federal Shariah Court First Women Bank Human Rights Commission of Pakistan International Conference on Population and Development 1994 International Islamic Federation of Student Organizations Islami Jamoori Ittehad Islami Jamiat-Jamiat-i-Tulaba-Tulaba Inter-Services Intelligence

ACRONYMS

JAC JI JUI JUI (F) JUI (S) JUP KP LFO LHC LHW MB MFLO MMA MNA MQM MRD MWL NATO NCSW NGO NWFP PATA PAWLA PCSW PDPA PILDAT PILER PML (N) PML (Q) PNA PPC PPP PTI PWLA SDPI SHC SPO

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Joint Action Committee Jamaat-i-Islami Jamiat Ulema-e-Islam Jamiat Ulema-e-Islam (Fazal-ur-Rehman faction) Jamiat Ulema-e-Islam (Sami-ul-Haq faction) Jamiat Ulema-e-Pakistan Khyber Pakhtoonkhwa (new name of NWFP) Legal Framework Order 2002 Lahore High Court Lady Health Worker Muslim Brotherhood Muslim Family Laws Ordinance Muttahida Majlis-e-Aml Member of National Assembly Muhajir (later Muttahida) Qaumi Movement Movement for the Restoration of Democracy Muslim World League North-Atlantic Treaty Organization National Commission on the Status of Women Non-government Organisation North-West Frontier Province Provincially Administered Tribal Areas Pakistan Women Lawyer’s Association Provincial Commission on the Status of Women People’s Democratic Party of Afghanistan Pakistan Institute of Legislative Development and Transparency Pakistan Institute of Labour Education and Research Pakistan Muslim League (Nawaz group) Pakistan Muslim League (Quaid group) Pakistan National Alliance Pakistan Penal Code Pakistan People’s Party Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaaf Punjab Women Lawyer’s Association Sustainable Development Policy Institute Sindh High Court Strengthening Participatory Organizations

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THE WOMEN'S MOVEMENT

TNSM TTP UK UN UNDP UNFPA USAID WAF WAMY WPA YMCA YWCA

Tehreek-e-Nifaz-e-Shariat-e-Mohammadi Tehreek-e-Taliban Pakistan United Kingdom United Nations United Nations Development Programme United Nations Population Fund United States Agency for International Development Women’s Action Forum World Association of Muslim Youth Women’s Protection Act 2006 Young Men’s Christian Association Young Women’s Christian Association

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PAKISTAN

TIMELINE

1947 1949 1951 1953 1955 1956 1958 1961 1962 1965 1969 1970 1971 1972 1973

1974

Pakistan’s independence from British colonial rule. Objectives Resolution made preamble to constitution. Thirty-one ulema submit 22-Point programme to government for Islamisation. Anti-Ahmadi riots in Punjab. Commission on Marriage and Family Laws formed (as inquiry commission). Constitution passed, proposes ten reserved seats for women in National Assembly. Field Marshal Ayub Khan takes power. Muslim Family Laws Ordinance promulgated. New Constitution grants 13 reserved seats for women in National Assembly. Pakistan goes to war with India; ends in stalemate. Ayub Khan resigns amidst popular protest. Awami League wins elections. War with India and Independence of Bangladesh. PPP’s Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto becomes President of Pakistan. Darul Uloom Haqqania madrassa established. Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto becomes Prime Minister. PPP passes Constitution unanimously. New constitution grants ten reserved seats for women in National Assembly. The Second Islamic Summit Conference held in Lahore.

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1975

Pakistan Women’s Rights Committee formed (as inquiry commission). General Zia assumes power in military coup d’etat (July). Iranian revolution (February). Siege of Mecca (November). Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto hanged (April). Soviet invasion of Afghanistan (December). General Zia promulgates Hudood Ordinances. National Education Policy adopted. Women’s Development Department set up within federal Cabinet Division. Fehmida and Allah Bakhsh sentenced to death for zina, Women’s Action Forum formed. Pakistan Commission on the Status of Women formed (as inquiry commission). Women’s demonstration in Lahore (February). Movement for Restoration of Democracy launched (September). WAF Lahore splits temporarily. Women activists incarcerated in Lahore (September). Law of Evidence (Qanoon-e-Shahadat) passed. Nawabpur incident. Inquiry Commission Report on the Status of Women suppressed. General Zia appoints 20 women on reserved seats to National Assembly. 8th Amendment to the Constitution. Shahida Parveen and Mohammed Sarwar sentenced to death for zina. General Zia killed in plane crash (August). Benazir Bhutto elected Prime Minister (December). Ministry for Women Development established. Soviet withdrawal from Afghanistan. TNSM founded in Malakand. Bhutto’s government dismissed by President Ghulam Ishaq Khan (August).

1977 1979

1981 1982 1983

1984 1985

1987 1988 1989 1990

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TIMELINE

1991 1993 1994

1995 1996

1997

1999

2000 2002

2003

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Constitutional provision for women’s reserved seats in assemblies lapses. Nawaz Sharif elected Prime Minister. WAF declares its secular position. Sharif’s government dismissed. Benazir Bhutto elected Prime Minister. Bhutto attends International Conference on Population and Development in Cairo. Commission of Inquiry for Women formed. Pakistan India People’s Forum for Peace and Democracy launched. Bhutto attends World Conference on Women in Beijing. Pakistan ratifies CEDAW. Lahore High Court rules Saima Waheed may marry without consent of wali. Bhutto’s government dismissed by President Farooq Leghari (November). Report of the Inquiry Commission on the Status of Women presented. Nawaz Sharif elected Prime Minister. Qisas and Diyat Ordinance becomes law. Ministry for Women Development merged with Social Welfare and Youth Affairs. Lahore High Court upholds validity of Humaira Mahmood’s marriage. Samia Sarwar murdered (April). General Pervez Musharraf seizes power in coup d’etat (October). National Commission on the Status of Women established. Elections bring religious party coalition MMA to power in NWFP. Mukhtar Mai gang rape. Reserved seats restored in all elected bodies for women. Supreme Court rules in favour of girl’s marriage without consent of wali. NWFP Assembly passes Hasba Act. Shazia Khaskheli and Hassan Solangi honour killing.

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2004

Sindh High Court rules Shaista Almani competent to decide her marriage. Honour Killing Act passed. Shazia Khalid raped in Baluchistan. Sindh High Court outlaws jirgas. Women Protection Act passed. TNSM/Taliban gains control of Malakand. Musharraf removes Chief Justice of the Supreme Court (March). Military action against Lal Masjid insurgency in Islamabad (July). President Musharraf declares Emergency (November). Taliban assassinate Benazir Bhutto (December). General elections, PPP wins. Two million internally displaced by army conflict with Taliban. President Musharraf resigns (August). Women’s Parliamentary Caucus formed. PPP negotiates third and failed Nizam-e-Adl peace deal with TNSM (February). Chand Bibi flogging video goes viral (April). Military regains control of Malakand (July). 18th Amendment to Constitution unanimously passed Parliament passes first sexual harassment laws. Supreme Court acquits all but one in Mukhtar Mai’s rape trial. Salman Taseer, Governor of Punjab, assassinated for critiquing blasphemy laws. Parliament passes acid crimes laws. Malala Yousafzai shot by the Taliban (October). Parliament passes first domestic violence law. PML (N) wins general elections in first civilian power transition (May). Lal Masjid’s Maulana Aziz acquitted in 27 court cases (September). Maulana Fazlullah elected chief of Pakistani Taliban (November).

2005 2006 2007

2008

2009

2010 2011

2012 2013

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TIMELINE

2014 2015 2016 2017

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Malala’s autobiography banned by Pakistan Private Schools Federation (November). Military launches Operation Zarb-e-Azb against Taliban (June). Taliban massacre Army Public School students (December). Activist Sabeen Mahmud assassinated. Qandeel Baloch honour killing (July). Parliament passes additional laws for rape and honour killings (October). Military launches Operation Radd-ul-Fasaad against Taliban (February). Parliament passes Hindu marriage laws (March).

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This book is based on work that has spanned almost 30 years in Pakistan, which I began as a journalist, continued as a researcher, and always took part in as a participant in the movement for women’s rights. The impetus to shape my thoughts into a coherent whole came when I realised that the younger generation of Pakistani women are likely to be unaware of the courage, deep commitment and intellectual depth of activists who have struggled for decades to keep alive a vision for their country based on gender justice and inclusiveness, which appears to be losing adherents today. Our history books do not bear witness to the enormous sacrifice hundreds more women have made – incarcerated, murdered, ostracised or exiled for defying the weight of patriarchy, which lies so heavy on this land. I gathered material for this book from a variety of sources to capture the debates and dynamics within what is loosely termed ‘the modern women’s movement in Pakistan’. I am most grateful to the activists who shared their stories with me during lengthy interview sessions, deepening my understanding of the old feminist maxim that the personal is political and reminding me of its renewed relevance. The book’s framework and argument did not permit me to include the full range of activists’ voices or discuss the full extent of their engagements with issues, but I hope that future accounts will do justice to their contributions. I am indebted to the South Asian Women’s Fund for an initial seed grant that enabled me to travel for interviews and invite Mahwash Bhimjee to be my invaluable research assistant. The School of

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

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Interdisciplinary Area Studies, University of Oxford, supported this research by inviting me to be a Visiting Scholar during a term in 2016 and I thank Matthew McCartney and George Kunnath for their interest in my work. Many thanks are also due to my editor at I.B.Tauris, Sophie Rudland, for her enthusiasm and belief in the timeliness of this research, and to Kamran Asdar Ali for the introduction. The manuscript benefited enormously at different stages from the thoughtful feedback of Sorayya Khan, Omar Khan, Naeem Inayatullah, Asad Sayeed, Nighat Said Khan, Maliha Zia Lari, Beena Sarwar, Sara Malkani, Haris Gazdar and Nafisa Shah; as well as the comments of anonymous peer reviewers. I am grateful for my copy-editor Amanda Kay’s timely help at the manuscript’s final stages, and the last-minute input from Sana Naqvi and, Aslam Khwaja and other colleagues at the Collective for Social Science Research. The task of collecting photographs was made easier with the help of Maryam Rahman, Kohi Marri and Arif Mahmood. I drew on many friends’ and family members’ belief in my work in times of deepest doubt, and I thank them all. I am particularly grateful in manifold ways for the wise words of Abintah Zuberi, Shazia Zuberi, Aisha Gazdar, Naila Kabeer, Natalie Loibner, Uzma Ambareen, Sangeeta Ahuja, Frances Harrison, Ruth Shrimpton, Nida Jafar and the late and dearly missed Nasser Hussain. Finally, I thank my children, Reza and Laleh, for being there, and my husband Ahsan Jamil for supporting me to make this work possible.

INTRODUCTION MIDNIGHT'S DAUGHTERS

This book is a history of women’s struggle for their rights in Pakistan as played out through the modern women’s movement. Women mobilised before and immediately after the country gained independence from British India, at the stroke of midnight on 14 August 1947. They supported Muslim nationalism and fought to secure limited rights during its initial decades. However, women entered into open confrontation with the state when they encountered the military regime of General Zia-ul-Haq in 1977. The new government targeted women for symbolic and political effect, and the result was the creation of an alienated but vocal section of elite women who triggered the modern women’s movement. Throughout the next 40 years, women activists mobilised to undercut the worst impact of Zia’s rule, while, at the same time, women’s rights and entitlements came under sustained attack. For the first time, protestors used a discourse of patriarchy and a feminist critique of the state. This book will trace the legacy of General Zia’s rule and his Islamisation policies and show its linkages with militancy amongst the Taliban and other extremists to help shed light on how we have come to a point where women health workers are shot for administering polio vaccines to children. The Zia years were a stark illustration of the lack of coherent nationbuilding since 1947 on the one hand, but on the other they revealed women’s continued determination to have their voices heard in shaping the nation. Historian Ayesha Jalal writes, ‘the struggle for formal selfdefinition has been conducted in pitched battles between a vocal Islamic lobby and their “secular” and “modernist” opponents.’1 While the

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mapping of this battle terrain is more complex and contested than this, there has certainly been a growing struggle pitching Islamist against more secular opponents that appears to polarise the nation at critical junctures. Zia’s legacy brought forth a new generation so garbled in their understanding of the relationship between state, society and Islam, they blame Malala Yousafzai for bringing a bad name to her country because she was shot by the Taliban and celebrated abroad. The women’s movement as portrayed here represents women who, broadly, hold a secular, progressive, liberal and democratic view of how the state should be governed. Today Pakistan is still a fledgling democracy, after decades of military rule and sustained attempts to suppress political parties. It is subjected to much criticism for the flaws in its system. Nonetheless, supporters of the political process share the view that democracy ‘is a constantly perfected and always perfectible state or condition whose progress will depend upon a variety of political, social, economic, and cultural factors’.2 While much of the movement has engaged with the vexed problem of how ‘Islamic’ the state should be, of equal importance is the assumption that women’s rights can be best achieved through a democratic political order, as can the rights of all citizens. Women activists are heavily invested in seeing this process succeed. As human rights leader, Asma Jahangir, said, ‘Democracy is survival for women.’3 Among the diverse women who ascribe to this view, there are variations and differences that sometimes threaten to be divisive, as occurred within the movement’s lead organisation, Women’s Action Forum, during the early years. But these should not detract from the overall shared understanding that a democratic order is essential to achieving women’s rights. This belief continues until today and has spread into pockets of the country through community-based work undertaken by rights-based organisations. I use the term women’s movement deliberately, because although the number of women who have closely nurtured it is small, it represents sustained collective action by women for their rights, it has determined the legislative and policy agenda for their progress, and shaped the discourse around gender and social justice issues in the country.4 Leaders of this movement during its initial phase in the 1980s have risen to positions of influence today as politicians, policymakers in government, international human rights leaders, editors of widely read

INTRODUCTION

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publications, senior artists and writers, without whom Pakistan’s intellectual, cultural and political landscape would look significantly more barren. Although the heady years of street protests are over, a pathway and vision for gender justice has been articulated and is still being fought for under extremely challenging circumstances. The time is right to present a historic review of the evolution and activities of this movement, because its vocal adherents are fewer in number than before, although they remain influential, and its platform now seems radical in a social context of growing conservatism. Our young people do not know how it was that a modern women’s movement evolved under the military dictatorship of General Zia-ulHaq (1977 – 88) in response to his policies. They are not able to make the linkages between today’s suicide bombers, who use religion to justify their violence, and his policies of Islamisation, including harsh blasphemy laws that led to the persecution of minorities in the name of creating an Islamic state. Yet solutions will only emerge from the understanding of historical patterns, and there is still a valuable pool of experience for us to draw on as we search for ways to build peace in a country that is insecure, violent and filled with exclusionary rhetoric. This book is an effort to bring out the voices of women who have spent their lives trying to expose the injustices faced by the disenfranchised, and make the case for building an equitable state and society instead. The growing politicisation of religion and its effect on society over the last decades made the goals of the women’s movement more elusive than ever; but so, too, have issues of bad governance, militarisation, poverty, and economic stagnation. In this context, the state has nurtured an exclusionary vision of its polity, whereby an increasing number of the people do not belong as full and equal citizens – religious minorities, ethnic minorities, and women included. The writ of the state has weakened in large parts of the country. Meanwhile, informal political and judicial systems emerged stronger, thus further disempowering women. Constitutional and legislative changes that came with recent democratic dispensations are promising but need to be supported by long-term economic and political stability. There are manifold and bewildering polarisations in Pakistani society. While the most often cited polarisation is between the educated and the uneducated, those who hold religiously conservative views can be found

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at all levels of education and so may not be equally divided between the educated and uneducated at all. Similarly, those who hold that Pakistan should be a secular state are not all from amongst the western-educated elite, but include many from what remains of left-wing political support amongst the rural and urban lower classes. This is not a book about Islam. Rather, it is about the articulation of Islam in Pakistan’s political context. Parties of the religious right have spoken out against price hikes, lack of available health and sanitation services, corruptions in the courts, and the need to address the needs of the poor. They have not, however, spoken about land reforms, reflecting the right-wing views of these organisations. They speak of social justice – but the rights and entitlements of full citizenship are not for women. They speak of human rights – but not for religious minorities. They speak of a state for Muslims – but there is decreasing security for Shias. They say that Islam is our culture and it is for all Muslims, yet many are silent on the Taliban and killing of fellow believers. Pakistani youth raised in a post-General Zia era were exposed to more exclusionary interpretations of Islamic tradition than those raised before his regime. They are less likely to question the doctrinal validity of the laws and practices that Zia put into place in the name of Islamisation, than are those who remember the country before he emerged. They are more likely to accept the official narrative that the purpose of this nation is the creation of an Islamic state, even if it means that not all citizens will be equal. Evidence challenges that narrative and reveals instead women’s long history of dissent against the violations of citizens’ rights and denial of opportunities. The complexity of class, ethnic, social and political discord in Pakistan is not the focus of this work, neither is the full scope of movements for social justice that have emerged as a result. These include the peasant rebellion in Punjab for land rights simmering for the last 16 years, ethno-nationalist struggles in Baluchistan Sindh and the Seraiki belt, and the lawyers’ movement for restoration of judiciary in 2007 that eventually led to the resignation of President Musharraf the following year. Women have been active in these movements as well; although gender justice was not their goal it has featured in their struggles. One reason for privileging the progressive and secular modern women’s movement is to preserve its history for a new generation of women. After all, it is still a living movement – tenacious and filled

INTRODUCTION

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with possibility – only in need of more adherents and creativity to reinvent itself. It is certainly a movement led up by middle- and upperclass women, as its critics are quick to point out, and does not have the pull of a mass movement with cross-class linkages. Yet it has been at the forefront of challenging the growing hold of an exclusionary ideology over the national imagination; therefore, its history bears close examination if we are to preserve its gains for the future. Politics is played with risk to one’s own life in Pakistan, but now human rights activists, not just political workers, are killed for crimes such as speaking out against the blasphemy laws. The murder of Punjab Governor Salman Taseer for defending a young Christian woman accused of blasphemy is fresh in the minds of our youth. While politicians have defended the murders of women in the name of tribal honour, the Taliban kill community health workers for administering ‘un-Islamic’ vaccines and contraceptives. Insecurity has permeated every level of society, but with it now must come certain clarity of perspective. This is the time to build bridges across communities in the country, based on the active inclusion of women. Today Pakistan is at a juncture where its people need to find a way to negotiate with a fragile nation state for their rights and entitlements, within an increasingly polarised context that pits religious extremists, albeit a minority, against a broadly moderate mainstream population and the extremes of wealth against the poor. It has taken over 30 years to get to this juncture, and it may take even longer for the deep rifts and contradictions within the polity to develop into some form of consensus. The problems inherent in the very creation of the state, and its history of predominantly undemocratic rule since 1947, have led to the current impasse in which Pakistan has still not coalesced into a nation and political leaders continue to use Islam as a political weapon. The rule of General Zia-ul-Haq has had the most corrosive effect on efforts to turn Pakistan into a modern and progressive country. It is this legacy that men and women together will have to dismantle to secure a future for Pakistan as an inclusive state.

Methodology My research for this book covered varied historical source material. I interviewed 25 women’s rights activists, all affiliated with Women’s

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Action Forum (WAF) at some stage. Most were part of WAF’s founding membership and remained activists. Their careers had taken them along varied, sometimes overlapping trajectories. They were lawyers, journalists, writers, development professionals, teachers, politicians, academics and even government officials. Many had worn more than one of these hats during their careers. Pakistan’s women activists also enjoyed recognition internationally, e.g. as special rapporteurs for the United Nations and members of international networks and organisational boards, to which I draw attention in the text. I focus on the more senior activists because I am interested in exploring their perspective and the experiences of the women’s movement as it unfolded over the turbulent decades of Pakistan’s rapidly changing political context. I also interviewed other individuals who have been affiliated with government bodies, such as the Council of Islamic Ideology, and who could comment on the inner workings of making, and then reforming, Pakistan’s Islamic laws. I supplement my interviews with primary documents from WAF’s own files, such as minutes of meetings and national conventions, position statements, press releases and internal notes. I possess documents from my own activism with WAF during the 1990s, and I refer to the archives of WAF’s chapters for material before and after. Parliamentary debates and official documents form another rich source of primary material. Pakistan’s authoritarian regimes have been characterised by silencing dissent amongst intellectuals, the repression of academia and freedom of thought, and long periods of media censorship or manipulation. As a result, we find our most accurate histories are not to be found in our history books, of which there are not enough in any case. Instead, narratives can be pieced together using the work of courageous journalists who have chronicled events in determined detail and borne witness at great personal risk. I rely extensively on reliable press reports as source material because they constitute the most accurate body of knowledge about many of the case studies, criminal investigations and political episodes described here. The most important secondary source material is women’s own writing, much of which is only published locally and that, too, by their NGOs. Since the richest source of information about the women’s movement lies here, I felt it was important to draw attention to these

INTRODUCTION

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texts to highlight activists’ intellectual contribution, as this work was never commercially available and is mainly out of print. I hope that the bibliography will serve as a useful guide to the extensive writings of women in Pakistan and inspire readers to explore them further. Finally, this book draws on my years of living and working in Pakistan, participating in the women’s movement, covering women’s issues as a journalist, and later conducting extensive research in the field. I have conducted research for some of the women’s NGOs discussed in this book, and previously served on the governing bodies of three of them. I am writing as a participant in this activism, as a woman who has lived with the changing realities in this volatile society but who remains hopeful about our ability to shape a better future. *** Since independence from British India in 1947, women in Pakistan have been engaged in a struggle to claim their status as full citizens of the state. They have been relegated to the peripheries of citizenship,5 through state-sponsored exclusion from the public sphere and decisionmaking structures, both formal and informal. Military rule, by its very nature, excludes women from participating in decision-making, but democracy is a mode of governance that is premised upon inclusion. Hence, as Shaheed argues, democracy, flawed as it is, remains a critical factor for gender equality and women’s inclusion in Pakistan.6 During the military rule of General Ayub Khan (1958– 69), the question of how Pakistan’s evolution tallied with progress for women was not prominently on the social or political agenda (Chapter 1). In retrospect, however, there were already friendships and alliances forged in the 1950s that were to haunt Pakistan for decades. Ayub Khan had international support, that is, the United States considered it a friendly government to its Cold War interests, and for the same reasons it also funded the growth of the right-wing Jamaat-i-Islami, an urbanbased religious political organisation active in the universities in opposition to left-wing student groups. It was the Jamaat and similar groups that were to promote highly patriarchal interpretations of Islam and become close allies of the next military dictator of Pakistan, General Zia-ul-Haq. He, too, became a close ally of the US, this time in support of the Afghan resistance to Soviet occupation.

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After the country split in 1971 followed by a brief interregnum with populist democratic governance under Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto’s People’s Party government (1971–7), the military took over again (Chapter 2). This time global politics intervened more forcefully to play a decisive role in supporting General Zia-ul-Haq’s policy of Islamisation. The 1979 Iranian revolution showed the way for a resurgence of Islam on the world stage and modelled a Shia theocracy, which, in turn, helped to stiffen Saudi Arabia’s resolve to entrench its ulema more forcefully and allow them more leeway in exporting Wahhabi Islam worldwide as a counterfoil to stemming any growing Shia influence in the Muslim world. Pakistan’s Jamaat-i-Islami already enjoyed deep links with Saudi Arabia through its relationship with the Muslim Brotherhood and Maulana Maududi’s standing with the monarchy, and it served as a conduit to facilitate General Zia’s deepening ideological bond with Saudi Arabia and turn away from South Asia. When the Soviets invaded Afghanistan in 1979 it was a windfall for Zia, who, by offering himself as a go-between for the mujahideen resistance, found the western world was willing to overlook his lack of political legitimacy and manipulation of Islam to justify his continued rule. It is a central argument of this book that without massive financing, from Saudi Arabia in particular, and tacit support from the west over the last 40 years, the exclusionary Islamisation of the Pakistani state, with its negative impact on women, minorities and human rights, would not have been possible. It has cost a great deal of money to ensure that the generation after Zia has a less inclusive notion of what it means to be Pakistani than the generation preceding it. Most of the money for the religious indoctrination came from Saudi Arabia and some of it from the United States. While it is commonplace in Pakistan for people to comment on the Saudi influence in the country, and how they have funded the excessive construction of mosques or the training of ulema, it is rare for anyone to have a grasp on the scale of financing behind this project. After 9/11 it suddenly became important to the US, and indeed much of the Muslim world, to find out how terrorism was funded. Since then, extensive tracking has exposed the role of international charities in channelling money to these activities, particularly those funded by Saudis. Zia’s Islamisation was initially led by his supporters in the Jamaat-iIslami, who implemented an overhaul of the education curriculum, revived the Council of Islamic Ideology with Saudi support to generate

INTRODUCTION

9

new laws, and pushed for the creation of Shariah courts to oversee their implementation. Islamisation was characterised by a narrowing view of the polity, targeting non-Muslims and women in particular, that set in motion an ideological shift amongst the populace which has only deepened over time. As women discovered too soon, Pakistan’s Islamic credentials would be writ large on their bodies, with new controls over sex, marriage, apparel and mobility demarcating a diminished place for them. In response, a new resistance emerged, led by urban educated women who rejected discriminatory laws and policies and demanded a return to a constitutional and democratic dispensation with equal rights for all. In Chapter 3, I will describe the struggle which galvanised the modern women’s movement and only saw major successes almost 20 years after it began. While the main focus of this struggle in the first phase was opposing legislation, activists found themselves lacking allies amongst their natural supporters on the left. Activists also became engaged in an extended learning process about the nature of women’s oppression in Pakistan and how best to confront it in the context of all the other forms of inequalities – political, social and economic – that exist. Their efforts started the most serious and sustained engagement with the question of women’s oppression thus far been posed in Pakistan. This continues today. Women’s Action Forum, which is the focus of this study, was formed in 1981 as a platform for women’s groups in resistance to the government. WAF included Punjab Women’s Lawyers’ Association, the All Pakistan Women’s Association, and Democratic Women’s Association, who joined in the protests in urban centres, when the first death sentences under the zina laws were handed down. The eventual confluence of women’s protest agenda with pro-democracy agitation in the form of the multiparty agitation known as Movement for the Restoration of Democracy can be viewed as an unintended consequence of the repressive regime.7 A rapidly evolving civil society began to mobilise around issues of human rights and democracy during the 1980s. The women activists naturally joined forces in the 1980s with other civil society organisations demanding restoration of democracy and the political process, as well as full rights for religious and other minority groups in the country. Their rationale was clear: only through the framework of fundamental rights as guaranteed by the constitution of Pakistan and a democratic political

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order in which the state allowed its citizens equal rights and privileges would it be possible for women and other disenfranchised groups to achieve their goals. General Zia suspended the 1971 Constitution upon taking power. In response, all activists, social and political, demanded its restoration. During the first decade of the modern women’s movement, activists struggled with divisive questions that threatened to undermine their unity. First was the idea of using an Islamic framework to make their case to the government and win public support. Zia’s instrumentalisation of Islam was crude and designed to create a constituency of support for his military rule. At first, women thought if they made coherent counter-arguments based on liberal interpretations of religious teachings they would be able to push back his discriminatory laws and policies. Second, WAF was avowedly not a political organisation, thereby avoiding the heavy-handed restrictions on political activity during martial law and the appearance of being aligned with any political party. But the subtle distinction between being ‘non-political’ and ‘apolitical’ led to confusion and internal dissent that threatened to divide the movement early on. Finally, the non-hierarchical and consensus-based decision-making structure of WAF led to confusion and some disagreement in the Lahore chapter which, along with the first two issues, led to a brief split in the organisation. By the time of Zia’s sudden death in 1988, WAF had come a long way in developing a coherent rationale for its position on these issues. It abandoned the use of an Islamic framework to make its case and declared that it stood for a secular state. This ensured that no privileging of sect or religious interpretation could be used to interfere with the rights of citizens in the process of building an inclusive state. But by this time society itself was undergoing profound changes engineered for the opposite goal, of de-secularising society. Not only had the hudood and blasphemy laws undermined the status of women and non-Muslims, but the Islamisation of the public education curriculum was showing results too. Young people were schooled in rhetoric through textbooks and teaching objectives that demanded they unthinkingly accept the ‘ideology’ of Pakistan as theocratic, anti-Hindu/non-Muslim/India, and committed to the idea of jihad. A pattern emerges during the 1990s (Chapters 4 and 5). The PPP government twice attempted to take some official steps towards placing

INTRODUCTION

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women’s issues in the mainstream of its agenda, but both tenures were too short to see tangible results. The PML governments twice tried to pursue the right-wing agenda of General Zia through continuing his Islamisation process. Although if Nawaz Sharif had succeeded in passing the version of the Shariat Bill that he preferred, and if he had indeed been elected Amirul Momineen, he may have taken religious extremism even further than Zia did. Similarly, if Benazir Bhutto had been able to complete a full tenure in power, the policy measures she took may have taken stronger root and she may have attempted legal reforms to benefit women. The cases of sexual violence did not end with Zia’s regime. During the 1990s, a changing society visibly struggled with the issue of ownership of women’s bodies and their culpability for sexual encounters, including rape. The latter was also now seen as a tool for political victimisation against supporters of the PPP, which occurred at least twice in 1991. The politics of Nawaz Sharif’s government, in support of the religious right and opposed to the liberal ideology of women’s rights activists, played itself out in how these high-profile cases were handled. The clash between his politics and those of women’s rights activists peaked during a case involving Humaira Butt, the daughter of a member of the Punjab Assembly allied with the PML who married against her father’s will. She was arrested and prosecuted with the support of the Punjab government, although the validity of her marriage and her right to choose her own husband were eventually upheld in the Lahore High Court. But the damage had been done. Other similar cases were to follow, and activists felt powerless as more and more women who married from free choice risked their lives and those of their husbands. One victory that activists could claim was that they had broadened their support base to include members of the media, who began to write about violence against women as an issue and cover cases in detail. At first, the English newspapers and selected magazines began to carry the stories, and then later, the Urdu and regional presses joined in. During the 1990s there were a limited number of radio and television channels and the state had a great deal of control over them, so mass coverage of controversial issues was curtailed. The overlaps between journalists, lawyers and activists made for high-profile coverage in the press, if not in electronic media, of sexual violence and legal cases involving women’s rights.

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Feminists are put on the defensive for their failure to achieve a wider and deeper base, to build a movement for social change with ‘grass roots’ authenticity. They are accused of dependency on western aid funding to run their projects and NGOs, thereby espousing a women’s rights agenda that is not indigenous and subject to manipulation by western political interests. Some of these criticisms have been the source of endless soul-searching over the last 30 years – could it have been different if we had never accepted funding from outside? Do our NGOs effectively serve women’s interests or that of donors? Should we have started a women’s political party? Are we not sufficiently political because we work outside of parties? When General Pervez Musharraf initially seized power in a coup d’etat in October 1999, his promise to deliver ‘enlightened moderation’ was dangerously welcomed amongst many civil society groups (Chapter 6). Activists were partially disillusioned by Benazir Bhutto’s two stints in power and her inability to roll back discriminatory legislation. It seemed although the Pakistan People’s Party was progressive in its policies towards women it did not prioritise them. Worse, though, were Nawaz Sharif’s two tenures as Prime Minister and his interest in completing Zia’s unfinished agenda. If Musharraf had stepped in to correct the state’s path onto more progressive lines then some, although not all, were willing to give him time. It soon became apparent he was playing a double game in the aftermath of 9/11, and using the spectre of an uncontrolled religious right-wing to solicit continued backing from the US despite the suspension of democracy. Musharraf facilitated the religious parties to form a coalition, the Muttahida Majlis-e-Aml (MMA) and run in the controversial 2002 elections. The MMA-led opposition at the centre, formed government in the North-West Frontier Province (NWFP) and a coalition government in Baluchistan as a result. It became apparent they enjoyed some support due to their opposition to US policies in the region. MMA’s three-year tenure in power in NWFP (2002– 5) was a crude effort to impose religious laws and enforce a strict morality code along the lines of Taliban rule in Afghanistan, which sought to exclude women from public life and blame them for sexual violence. The Supreme Court pushed back against their Hasba Bill, and a planned apostasy law never made it to the vote. The MMA’s tenure in government encouraged militancy in the province and surrounding

INTRODUCTION

13

tribal areas and helped to develop a vigilante culture in which men felt empowered to attack others in the name of implementing Islamic morality. WAF floundered during this period, as conflicting signals from the government’s rhetoric clashed with the emerging reality on the ground. When in 2007 women militants from Lal Masjid, a mosque and madrassa complex in Islamabad, began to attack ordinary citizens in the name of imposing religious norms, it was hard to comprehend the government’s unwillingness to put an end to it. As the crisis grew – bringing the military into direct confrontation with armed insurgents within the complex – activists realised Musharraf had gone too far with his double game, possibly deliberately. But instead of reversing the policy, the government immediately began to capitulate and enable Lal Masjid to swing back into action after the military operation. In another grave development, protests against the government’s unwillingness to shut down the extremist rhetoric that still emanates from Lal Masjid have led to more recent assassinations of rights activists. Soon, militants active in the north-west coalesced to form Pakistan’s Taliban movement, in a direct challenge to the writ of the state. An important turning point was reached when the Taliban took control of parts of the Federally Administered Tribal Areas (FATA) and Malakand, including the valley of Swat. Now non-state actors imposed Shariah and Islamic ideology upon Pakistani citizens, dispensing with any formal allegiance to the state. Even Jamaat-i-Islami and Jamiat Ulema-i-Islam (JUI-F) began to disassociate themselves from the Taliban’s suicide bombings and attacks on schools, saying the militants no longer took their instructions. By the time Musharraf was forced out of power in 2008 through popular protest and a powerful judicial movement that challenged his authority, more territory had been lost than ever, and the Taliban had assassinated Benazir Bhutto. After the PPP swept into power in the 2008 general elections, a civilian dispensation was again left to cope with the overwhelming damage done by the military. A series of peace deals with the Taliban ensued, interspersed with military action. Chapter 7 describes in detail the effects of Taliban rule upon the people of Swat and its adjoining areas. The rise of militant groups such as the Tehreek-e-Nifaz-e-Shariat-e-Mohammadi (TNSM) is linked to the

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unresolved status of tribal areas, which are not formally incorporated into the state apparatus and therefore prevent the people from exercising full political and administrative control over their own affairs. Initially popular as a counter to the state’s dysfunctional court and administration, the TNSM morphed from a movement demanding Shariah rule during the 1990s into a violent extremist group under the leadership of Maulana Fazlullah, who ruled Swat 2007– 9 with growing brutality. The Taliban directly attacked traditional institutions of power in tribal agencies of FATA and in Swat as well. They were opposed to specific advances in technology and signs of western modernity, isolating communities under the control by outlawing, television, internet, music and videos. Women were banned from public places, girls’ education was first discouraged then forbidden, and violence against dissenters became the norm. The Taliban attacked community health workers, particularly women and those who administered polio vaccinations, declaring that their work was against Islam and in the service of US interests. They bombed hundreds of schools, administered floggings and beheaded ‘criminals’. Activists could do little more than criticise the state for failing to stop the insurgency and demand that it re-establish control and protect the rights of affected populations. The rest of the country experienced intermittent suicide bombings and attacks on institutions by the Taliban, but the most directly vulnerable people were those in villages and towns in the tribal areas and parts of the province where militants roamed virtually unchallenged. Activists brought to public attention cases of abuse against women such as the flogging of Chand Bibi, which created a public outcry. By the time Malala Yousafzai was shot in 2012, the civilian government had negotiated three failed peace deals in Swat, which ultimately led to direct conflict and millions of people internally displaced. WAF, that always stood for less rather than more military engagement, conceded there was no other option to army action, although activists called for it to be followed by meaningful political and administrative reforms. While Talibanisation in its most extreme form came to dominate life and society in Pakistan’s north-west, rendering activists virtually helpless to stop its violence, women in the rest of the country had to contend with a steady increase in sexual violence cases at the same time.

INTRODUCTION

15

Musharraf’s liberal credentials were sorely tested not only by his cultivation of the MMA, but also his ambivalence towards women survivors of violence who dared to pursue the course of justice against serious odds. The gang rape of Mukhtar Mai in 2002, followed by the rape of Shazia Khalid, were embarrassments that simply did not go away. That survivors themselves led the demand for legal redress made these cases distinct from other high-profile cases taken up by activists during the 1990s. Musharraf was forced to initiate legal reform in order to appease his critics in the west, after his mis-statements about rape cases undermined his ‘liberal’ credentials. The fact that it was possible to create institutional and media support to amend the zina laws and outmanoeuvre the religious right exposed the state’s opportunistic approach towards Islamic legislation. However, in the case of honour killings, legal reform has been more fraught because the religious right has dug in its heels on the question of changing Islamic laws pertaining to murder. The courts, too, are deeply committed to upholding the option of a victim’s family forgiving the accused in murder cases, rendering honour killings still subject to out-of-court settlement and murder with impunity. That incremental reform in rape and honour killing laws has been possible at all is a result of new collaborative practices between activists, their NGOs, and women parliamentarians who have worked together across party lines to garner support from men in the assemblies and outflank opposition from the religious parties. However, the reality that many male politicians privilege their tribal positions over their commitment to the constitution has meant that jirga decisions leading to honour killings, rapes and forced marriages are often led by them as well. This forced the courts to step in and declare jirgas illegal, but to little effect on the ground. One area of mobilisation has seen more success, though, and that is the campaign to increase the political participation of women. Chapter 9 is a discussion of the campaign to increase women’s representation in elected bodies and encourage them to come out of their homes to vote, even under dangerous circumstances. Reserved seats create more numbers for military governments, and Musharraf’s restoration of this quota fulfilled its purpose. He could not predict, though, how engaged and committed to legal reform the women on reserved seats would prove

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to be. Together, they have achieved unprecedented legislative breakthroughs under difficult circumstances, often without their parties’ support but backed by other women colleagues and strengthened through the formation of a Women’s Parliamentary Caucus.8 Most legislation on women’s issues took place after the 2010 18th Amendment to the Constitution permitted greater provincial autonomy. Sindh has taken the lead in pro-women legislation, possibly because its political landscape is dominated by two parties viewed as most secular along the spectrum: PPP and Muhajir Qaumi Movement (MQM). The religious parties consistently resist the reform agenda, backed by pronouncements from the Council of Islamic Ideology. In those provinces where they exercise most influence, such as Khyber Pakhtoonkhwa and Punjab, laws for women have been either prevented or watered down. Nonetheless, in the context of a democratic order, it remains possible to negotiate with, and override through majority vote, objections from the right in order to push ahead with reforms which address harmful cultural practices, sexual and domestic violence, marriage laws and honour killings. This underscores how vital participatory politics is to the achievement of women’s rights. In Taliban-affected areas of the country where non-state actors prevent women from accessing schools, health care and the voting booth, there are no institutions, formal or informal, where women can make their voices heard to the same effect. The backing of state institutions is essential to protecting women’s right to political participation, and now the Election Commission of Pakistan and Supreme Court are pushing back against any collaboration by mainstream political parties with militants. As activists and women legislators point out, more women party members need to get tickets on general seats in order to increase their influence directly with constituencies and within their parties. Local bodies were important sites for grooming future women politicians, and when Musharraf introduced a 33 per cent quota for women at that level, almost 40,000 entered local politics overnight. Unfortunately, local bodies functioned erratically after the return to full civilian government, with provincial variation in seats reserved for women. This weakened the foundations of electoral politics and denied many women essential opportunities to develop as politicians. Now that the first transition between civilian governments has taken place with the 2013 elections, a landmark has been reached in

INTRODUCTION

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Pakistani politics. This is the moment to look back at the last 30 years of history and ask what have women activists actually achieved (Chapter 10). A partial answer to this question can be found through examining the WAF Charter as it was created in December 1990. WAF demanded the repeal of all discriminatory legislation against women, while the Hudood Ordinances have been reformed, and the Law of Evidence (1984) and Qisas and Diyat Act (1997) remain on the statute books. WAF called for the revival of the 1973 Constitution, signing of the Convention on the Elimination of Discrimination Against Women (CEDAW), a phased restoration of reserved seats for women, and the inclusion of women’s issues in the manifestos of political parties. All of these measures have been achieved, with the addition of strengthened government bodies to look after the interests of women and a stream of progressive legislation as women demanded. There has been no change in the core position of WAF, that women’s rights are human rights, as guaranteed under the Universal Declaration of Human Rights.9 There are additional changes in Pakistan’s development profile that further the goals of gender equity and modern citizenship, although they are not part of any deliberate progressive social transformative project by the state. Civil society organisations have matured and there are more horizontal and vertical linkages amongst development-related organisations than ever before. Human development indicators are changing, for example, lowered fertility rates, increase in educational opportunities and access to the media, and a burgeoning youth population could all potentially help to tip the balance in favour of women’s status. This book argues that the full achievement of women’s rights is crucial to attaining a peaceful, democratic and just political order. There are women who are active members of groups that support religious and political extremism, the disenfranchisement of parts of our population, inequality amongst citizenry, and the overthrow of democracy in pursuit of their vision of an Islamic state. Their vision of the state is not compatible with one in which, at a minimum, all citizens, including women, are equal and women are empowered in the full sense of the word. This is a critical position to articulate at the moment. Internationally, some Pakistani scholars have done extensive studies on religious political

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organisations, such as the Jamaat-i-Islami, Lashkar-e-Taiba, and Jamaatud-Dawa, and the Islamic academy for women called Al-Huda. With varying degrees of emphasis, they argue that participating women’s subjectivities, their experience of empowerment through participating in these organisations, must be acknowledged as exercise of agency even if it operates within an Islamist or Islamic framework. Just because their agency and vision of empowerment does not fall within a western liberal feminist framework does not make it less meaningful or fulfilling for these women, and to deny their experience is to succumb to western prejudice, or worse, Islamophobia. This book is not about women in these organisations, nor is it an examination of the manifold expressions of Islam in our culture and popular institutions that have grown in recent years.10 These pages do address the politics and vision for Pakistan exemplified by religious parties insofar as they have clashed with the goals of the women’s movement. I argue that the political project of women in these groups is anathema to the achievement of a just social order in which the rights of all Pakistani citizens are equal and equally protected, irrespective of sex, ethnicity, or religious affiliation. The feminists whose struggles I describe strive to create a different social and political order; they diverge from these Islamic organisations in terms of how justice, political voice and freedom from sexual violence can be achieved in our country. Central to this difference is whether the use of violence on our own people can be justified in the name of imposing Shariah, Islamisation, or any indisputable ideological agenda upon the citizenry. It is possible to condemn unjust US and western global imperialism, particularly in the Muslim world, support democracy and feminism, and at the same time reject the politics of women in religious organisations that undermine the goals of equal citizenship for all in Pakistan. In the context of increasing xenophobia in the west and faith-based politics in the Muslim world, the notion of an inclusive state has become less mainstream, almost radical. Women, and men, should not have to make political choices to the detriment of their own status and well-being.

CHAPTER 1 CONTOURS OF AN ISLAMIC PAKISTAN

Pakistan was founded as a state for India’s Muslims freed from British colonial rule in 1947. Very soon the new country began to take shape as an ideological state. Islam was ‘used to foster state formation and national unity’ and political forces such as religio-political parties, and eventually extremist organisations, used this positioning to their advantage.1 Religious parties put relentless pressure on successive governments, which responded with ambivalence and capitulation. This undermined the possibility of a more inclusive narrative developing into the national discourse, one that protected the basic rights and freedoms of all of its heterogenous population. This chapter focuses on key moments and decisions in the early history of Pakistan when the role of Islam in the emerging state was debated and debatable. Over the next few decades, religion became incorporated into successive constitutions, and Islam was invoked to justify or destabilise governments. This early history would make policy- and law-making for the advancement of women fraught with complication from the start and would lead to the exclusion of religious minorities from enjoying an equal role as citizens of the new state. Mohammed Ali Jinnah was a barrister who fought bitterly with the British colonial rulers of India and the Indian-led Congress Party to guarantee the rights of Muslims in a free India. He led the Muslim League party to win electoral support in Muslim majority states of India, based on a campaign for Pakistan. While it was not clear during this

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process what ‘Pakistan’ actually stood for, nonetheless religious rhetoric was used to arouse the emotions of Muslim masses and win their electoral support. Even the name of the country, translated as ‘land of the pure’, implied an origin of faith. Husain Haqqani writes, ‘The communal basis of partition, coupled with the religious frenzy generated by it, made religion more central to the new state of Pakistan than Jinnah may have originally envisaged.’2 When Jinnah gave his famous presidential address to the Constituent Assembly on 11 August 1947, three days before Pakistan was officially born, his words led many of his supporters to believe he envisioned a secular nation when he proclaimed that all citizens of the state would enjoy ‘equal rights, privileges and obligations . . . [And] in course of time Hindus would cease to be Hindus and Muslims would cease to be Muslims, not in the religious sense, because that is the personal faith of each individual, but in the political sense as citizens of the State.’3 The leaders of the Pakistan movement, Muslim elites who predominately also had a secular view of the new country’s identity, were joined only just before partition by religious leaders initially opposed to it. These religious leaders now called for the Islamisation of the new state. In the decades to come, the above quote from Jinnah’s speech would be expunged from official history due to the influence of religious leaders, but still quoted by human rights activists in countless meetings, statements and demonstrations. Soon after independence the state evolved an ideology based on religion, hostility to India and use of the Urdu language. All three elements were meant to unite an otherwise disparate, ethnically diverse, and linguistically divided country. Islamic unity was a barrier against the potential tide of ethnic nationalism that could undermine the integrity of Pakistan. People were led to believe that Pakistan was constantly under threat from India. ‘Demanding ethnic rights or provincial autonomy, seeking friendly ties with India, and advocating a secular constitution fell under that category of subversion.’4 The new ideology led to what Haqqani terms a policy tripod that characterises, even until today, how the state functions. This was: religious nationalism (i.e. Hindu India is a threat to Islam), confrontation with India (hence Pakistan requiring massive military might), and alliance with the west (for which we need US support for our military). The emphasis on Islam opened the door to religious leaders by

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creating a nexus between them and the military establishment, civilian bureaucracy and intelligence apparatus; the latter saw itself as the ‘guardian’ of the new state.5 What ensued was a relationship between the military and religious or ‘Islamist’ actors in which the former thought they were using the latter for their own political expediency, while the Islamists were advancing their political and social influence increasingly as the years wore on. The religious organisation best poised to step into partnership with the Pakistan military was the Jamaat-i-Islami (JI) founded by Syed Abul Ala Maududi in 1941 in Lahore. Maududi had worked as a journalist and published views controversial amongst mainstream religious scholars. In 1927, he wrote that the purpose of jihad ‘was to fight to establish Islam as a political ideology and then use jihad to forcibly spread the ideology to the whole world’. He also clearly condoned violence as a means to achieve political aims.‘Islam wishes to destroy all states and governments anywhere on the face of the earth, which are opposed to the ideology and programme of Islam regardless of the country or the nation which rules it.’6 Maududi was opposed to the idea of a secular Pakistan and came to believe that only JI would be competent to create an Islamic state out of the new nation.7 During the Pakistan movement, Maududi was a staunch opponent to Jinnah’s Muslim League, often attacking Jinnah personally. He issued a fatwa, religious edict, in 1945 banning all Muslims from giving him their vote. After Pakistan’s creation Maududi’s party actively manoeuvered to achieve political power and began to demand Islamisation almost immediately, campaigning that the task could not be left to the Muslim League.8 JI’s slogan was, ‘The country is God’s; rule must be by God’s law; the government should be that of God’s pious men.’9 The state made an early concession to this position by adopting Maududi’s slogan of ‘defense of Islam’ for propaganda use against ethnic nationalism and leftists, in an attempt to suppress dissent and equate it with subversion of Islam.10

Objectives Resolution The first formal step to institutionalise Islam into the fabric of the state was the Objectives Resolution, inserted as a preamble to the Pakistan Constitution of 1949 by the Constituent Assembly after passionate

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debate. It was to be the foundation of a future constitution, intended to guide its drafting. It read:11 In the name of Allah, the Beneficent, the Merciful: Whereas sovereignty over the entire universe belongs to God Almighty alone and the authority which He has delegated to the state of Pakistan through its people for being exercised within the limits prescribed by Him is a sacred trust; This Constituent Assembly representing the people of Pakistan resolves to frame a constitution for the sovereign independent state of Pakistan; Wherein the state shall exercise its powers and authority through the chosen representatives of the people; Wherein the principles of democracy, freedom, equality, tolerance, and social justice as enunciated by Islam shall be fully observed; Wherein the Muslims shall be enabled to order their lives in the individual and collective spheres in accordance with the teachings and requirements of Islam as set out in the Holy Quran and the Sunnah; Wherein adequate provision shall be made for the minorities freely to profess and practice their religions and develop their cultures. The Objectives Resolution continued with a few more lines guaranteeing fundamental rights, including freedom of faith and worship; promising to safeguard the legitimate interests of minorities and depressed classes; securing the independence of the judiciary; and safeguarding its territories. The phrasing of the resolution attempts to strike a balance between the sovereignty of Allah and the exercise of state powers through elected representatives of the people. Non-Muslim members of the Assembly objected to the first sentence in particular, arguing that Jinnah had envisaged a secular, not theocratic state.12 Non-Muslim members moved 17 different amendments, almost all of which suggested diluting the language of Islam in the resolution so as to accommodate other religions,13 but their views were ignored.14 The first shadow of exclusion had fallen upon the people. There was overwhelming support in the Assembly for the Objectives Resolution and not just because of pressure from the ulema.

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Even politicians who were close associates of Jinnah believed that it was congruent with his vision to achieve democracy, based on the belief that authority is vested in the people by God and is a sacred trust to be exercised in that spirit. They were optimistic that the interpretation of the resolution would not cause any ideological clash in the years to come, and neither would it mean that minorities would find their religious freedom curbed.15 Maududi was in jail while this debate was underway. He claimed his repeated arrests were due to his vociferous demand for imposition of Shariah in Pakistan, or possibly his position on waging jihad to win back Kashmir. After the death of Jinnah he was arrested and incarcerated for 20 months. He later wrote that the government had extended his detention time and again despite acceding to his demands by passing the Objectives Resolution and conceding that Pakistan would be an Islamic state.16 Hina Jilani, lawyer and activist, reflects, ‘All the state could think of to keep themselves a step ahead of the JI and other retrograde Islamic forces was that they had to be more Islamic to overcome them. Women started suffering at this point onwards.’17 Jilani believes this was not Jinnah’s intention, ‘I don’t think his conscience would reconcile to the fact that these kinds of retrograde policies and social messages should in any way constrain the progress of this country and the rights of people, whether they are women or anybody else.’ But by the time of his 11 August speech it was already too late.

Early women’s activism Muslim women in British India began to campaign for the right to education and freedom from purdah restrictions during the nineteenth century.18 In the years preceding Independence, their right to inheritance, long denied under customary laws but guaranteed under Shariah, became a key demand, and Jinnah was forced to join in their call. Elite women’s demand for inheritance rights under Shariah reflected the fact that they were part of a small minority of Muslim women at the time (10 to 20 per cent) who stood to inherit land at all.19 As his Muslim League gained support Jinnah managed to bring into the nationalist movement larger numbers of women who had never been

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active in the public sphere before. ‘The question of Pakistan and Muslim interests silenced the Muslim women as they were told by the Muslim League leadership not to divide the movement and their issues would be served after one goal was achieved first,’ says Jilani. ‘They used women for the Pakistan movement, brought them in the front but only on their agenda, not on a women’s agenda.’20 The creation of Pakistan divided women on the subcontinent, depriving them of the opportunity to campaign across the religious divide for their rights, as they had, to some extent, until then. Their commonalities became obscured by larger ideological questions about Islam, which, after all, had been the rallying cry to create a new state. Women who participated in the Pakistan movement continued to agitate for their rights in the new state. Two women in the first Constituent Assembly of Pakistan, Begum Shahnawaz and Naseem Musharraf, prepared a Women’s Charter of Demands in 1948, which led to the formation of the government’s first Women’s Rights Committee. It raised the issue of reserved seats for women and inheritance rights to all forms of property. These elite women fought against their feudal brethren to successfully have their right to inherit agricultural land recognised for the first time.21 Other major issues during the 1950s were purdah and polygamy, amendments to marriage laws, and female education (only 4 per cent at the time).22 There were heated debates amongst women belonging to different organisations,23 and within the All Pakistan Women’s Association (APWA), about how reserved seats in assemblies should be guaranteed, the extent to which women’s groups should be involved in politics, and whether women’s rights can be achieved through an Islamic framework or not. They were bold in ways that would be unusual today, for example, Zari Sarfaraz argued in the Constituent Assembly in favour of protecting prostitutes’ income and against the government shutting down Red Light districts.24 The results of their activism were limited. Women succeeded in getting their right to inherit agricultural land recognised in 1951. Polygamy was somewhat curtailed but not banned under Ayub Khan (see below). Political representation in the new 1956 Constitution was a meagre ten seats reserved for women, a crushing disappointment to those who lobbied hard for more (see Chapter 9). Women’s demands put them on a collision with the religious right that was asserting its vision of the

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new state, but in these early years the government thought it was able enough to balance these competing sets of interests.

Anti-Ahmadi campaign The first direct challenge to the government’s skills in this regard came with the 1953 anti-Ahmadi riots that convulsed Lahore and spread throughout Punjab. It served as a warning of what was in store if critical ideological and governance issues remained ambiguous. The Ahmadis in Pakistan are a self-identifying Muslim community who believe the message of the Prophet of Islam was completed by the teachings of Mirza Ghulam Ahmed at the end of the nineteenth century in Punjab.25 Mainstream Muslim leaders consider them heretical because they challenge the finality of Islam’s Prophet Muhammed and have been persecuted as a result. The riots were a prelude to similar events that would unfold in the decades ahead. The government briefly imposed martial law to restore state control in Punjab and set up a commission of inquiry into the disturbances. The Munir Commission Report26 eloquently captures this episode, when civilian, military and religious forces clashed and the outcome helped to shape the course of their relationship in the years to come. It examines whether Pakistan was intended to be, and should be an Islamic state. It quotes the national poet and philosopher, Muhammad Iqbal, denying this was the goal of independence. It exposes Maududi for initially opposing the Pakistan movement and declaring that if such a state ever existed, its government would have to be secular. Conveniently, he changed his mind soon after Pakistan was born, when he vowed to play an important role in the effort to build an Islamic state.27 After Partition, JI and another religious organisation called Ahrar found themselves disgraced with no support, but soon they discovered a critical route to access power and appeal to the public imagination. It was to manipulate the religious sentiments of the ordinary people by targeting a sect of Muslims whose beliefs were controversial. As early as 1949 the Ahrar held a meeting in Punjab demanding that Ahmadis be declared non-Muslim by the state. This was soon followed by the demand that Sir Zafarullah Khan, Pakistan’s Foreign Minister, should resign because he was an Ahmadi.

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The 1953 riots were the result of a campaign of increasingly hostile propaganda and attacks on Ahmadis that spread throughout the province and even to Karachi. Other religious parties joined in, sensing the growing momentum because they had a cause that could arouse public sentiment, which was easily swayed when Islam was invoked. Yet there were no clear instructions from the provincial or the central government on how to tackle the problem, despite numerous police reports describing their activities and requesting clear instructions for action. Prime Minister Khwaja Nazimuddin vacillated, but refused to give in to the religious leaders’ demands. The Punjab government could not control the ensuing riots in Lahore and on the second day the military was called in to put a stop to the violence. The Jamaat accused the Qadianis, as they call Ahmadis, of being communist sympathisers who tried to convince the government to impose martial law in order to stop the growing momentum of the ‘Muslim masses’ and to have them declared non-Muslims. Maududi was imprisoned for three years and his booklet, Qadiani Issue, banned for being provocative.28 Almost all of the ulema who appeared before the Munir Commission said their demands were religious and at least three argued that they followed as a corollary from the Objectives Resolution. For the ulema under question, Pakistan was an Islamic state in the making, Ahmadis were non-Muslim and therefore had to be removed from all government positions. It was a first step in a long process of creating their view of the ideal state and deciding who were to be excluded from equal participation. The Commission noted, ‘to appreciate the plausibility or otherwise of the demands is that in an Islamic State . . . there is a fundamental distinction between the rights of Muslim and non-Muslim subjects’.29 The Munir Commission rejected the emerging vision of religious leaders. It found that all of the ulema could agree that Ahmadis were kafirs, non-believers, but they could not come to agree on the definition of a Muslim, ‘if considerable confusion exists in the minds of our ulema on such a simple matter, one can easily imagine what the differences on more complicated matters will be’.30 It concluded that the ulema were on the wrong track and the people were being led astray. ‘Pakistan is being taken by the common man, though it is not, [to be] an Islamic State. This belief has been encouraged by the ceaseless clamour for Islam and Islamic State that is being heard from all quarters since the establishment of Pakistan.’31

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But even though the government had good reasons not to give in to the demands of the religious parties in 1953, it was guilty of doing too little too late. Despite such an open challenge to the state, no politician and no figure of authority wanted to risk a head-on clash with the ulema. The report exposed the differences between the ulema’s vision of an Islamic state and the secular state that thus far Pakistan had committed itself to becoming, and the incompatibility between the two. It found, irrespective of the ulema’s beliefs, the government did a grave injustice to the fundamental rights of Ahmadis and failed, or rather, feared, to act in time, giving the military its first opportunity to step in to control a situation. Maududi concluded from his jail cell that the government did not seriously wish to implement the Objective Resolution and make a true Islamic state, so JI increased its pressure. It demanded an Islamic constitution promulgated before December 1952, with Shariah declared law of the land.32 Pakistan’s second Constituent Assembly emerged with a constitution for the nation in 1956, after three drafts since 1949. It was a vision for a democracy along the lines of a British parliamentary system with some changes and it guaranteed fundamental human rights, including equality before the law. There was to be no discrimination on grounds of religion, race, caste, sex or place of birth; all forms of slavery, servitude, forced labour, torture, or cruel or inhuman treatment or punishment were declared illegal; and all citizens were eligible for state service regardless of religion, race, caste or sex.33 Nonetheless, it retained Islamic provisions that could be used by obscurantists for their own political purposes. The country was constitutionally named the Islamic Republic of Pakistan and the Objectives Resolution remained as preamble. The head of state had to be a Muslim. ‘Steps should be taken to enable Muslims to order their lives in accordance with the Quran and the sunnah.’ Article 198 stated that no law repugnant to Islamic injunctions would be enacted and that all existing laws would be considered and amended in light of this provision.34 At the time these provisions were not enforceable in a court of law.35 These measures would be retained and strengthened in subsequent constitutions. Jamaat-i-Islami went on to claim this as an Islamic constitution, Maududi’s great achievement and the fruit of their party’s struggle.36

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Ayub Khan, the conflicted reformer Despite apparently stabilising Pakistan’s path to democracy, on 8 October 1958, President Iskander Mirza dismissed the assemblies, abrogated this constitution, and proclaimed martial law. General Ayub Khan was appointed Chief Martial Law Administrator and then Prime Minister soon after. The Supreme Court, led by Chief Justice Munir, was called upon to uphold the validity of martial law. Even the fundamental rights stood suspended.37 The JI believed Ayub Khan smothered the nascent Islamic democracy and Maududi became an outspoken critic of his regime.38 Ayub appointed a commission to examine the causes of the failure of previous systems of government and submit recommendations for a stable and effective form of government in the future. Its 1961 Report with respect to the relation between Islam and state echoed the arguments made at the time of the adoption of the Objectives Resolution. ‘Those who talk glibly of secularism in Pakistan overlook the fact that by a mere change of expression one’s conduct does not change: if there is any chance of reforming ourselves it lies only in drawing inspiration from Islam.’39 It recommended retention of existing Islamic provisions in the previous constitution, and setting up a body to work towards creating unanimity of views regarding Islamic law. If Ayub Khan thought he could fend off the antagonism of the ulema with small ideological concessions he was mistaken. When he passed the Muslim Family Laws Ordinance (MFLO) in 1961, the first comprehensive and progressive set of laws for women postindependence, it aroused the wrath of religious scholars, begging the question as to whether a liberal interpretation of Islam would ever be acceptable as a basis for reforms in family law.40 The only other Islamic law Ayub passed was the Muslim Personal Law (Shariat) Act of 1962. It compensated for the weakness of the 1937 Act by extending women’s inheritance to agricultural land.41 (He also reformed the West Pakistan Auqaf Properties Ordinance (1959) to weaken the influence of traditional elites and ulema.)42 The trigger that led to the MFLO was the audacity of Prime Minister Mohammed Ali Bogra,43 who took a second wife in 1955 while still married to his first. At the time, personal laws for Muslims were based either on religion or custom in those days and not codified.

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APWA decided Bogra’s marriage was unacceptable. They used their elite position to create a furore and were called prostitutes by detractors for protesting. Yet they were unyielding. (These same women refused to attend weddings where dowries were exchanged, preferring to protest outside instead.) To avoid further embarrassment, the Prime Minister set up a commission to recommend legal and policy reforms for women. Conservative Muslims of both sexes, including Maududi, severely criticised the commission’s findings. As a result, when it fell to Ayub Khan to decide on their implementation he took a very cautious position. The MFLO is the result of a very narrow interpretation of Islamic law, but still it is considered a landmark for legislative progress benefiting women as it overrode other laws and customs. It gave men and women the right of choice in marriage, as had Muslim personal laws under colonial rule, and recognised a woman’s right to divorce. It did not recognise customary forms of marriage nor did it give parents and relatives rights in marriages. (This would create tensions with customary practices,44 as we will see, and open up opportunities for individual decision-making that would be later resisted.) It required all marriages and divorces to be registered at union councils, prescribing a small fine for failure to comply. Children of predeceased parents were permitted to inherit from their grandparents, which ulema believed in violation of Islamic law. The MFLO permitted courts to dissolve marriages and provided divorce procedures, allowing polygamy only with prior permission of an arbitration council. It raised the age of marriage to 16 for girls and 18 for boys, yet a girl’s marriage at an earlier age remained valid unless not consummated. MFLO is still considered one of the most progressive personal laws for women in the Muslim world,45 which is more a comment on their weak legal status than an accolade for the law itself. Jilani feels there were few teeth to the law; nonetheless, the religious right has kept the state on the defensive about its provisions. She says that the state has not managed to embed the law in a progressive social policy for women. Nonetheless, ‘a million women have had benefit of that law despite [its] limited scope . . . So this [the mullahs] couldn’t take.’46 As early as 1962, 60 MNAs, including cabinet ministers voted to introduce a bill to annul the MFLO. All six women MNAs at the time voted against the move and 36 other MNAs, including future

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Prime Minister Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto, opposed it as well.47 The MFLO has been challenged in the courts repeatedly and unsuccessfully as being contrary to Islam. Subsequent constitutions have specifically protected it, making it almost impervious to repeal.48 The second legacy of Ayub Khan’s effort to style himself as a modern leader allied with the west is Pakistan’s population programme. In the 1950s, a group of elite women set up the Family Planning Association of Pakistan (FPAP) to offer services to women in both East and West Pakistan. Opposition came from only two quarters – the religious lobby, led by Maududi, and the government. However, women working in FPAP had connections with officials and lobbied with them relentlessly. Finally, the spectre of over-population captured Ayub Khan’s imagination in talks with American and domestic economists in 1959 and he initiated steps to integrate family planning into the health programme with the help of FPAP, and requested APWA to help with awareness-raising. He launched Pakistan’s first government-run family planning programme in 1965,49 which served as a model to other developing countries when they initiated programmes of their own soon after. Consonant with the mindset of a military ruler, Ayub wanted to initiate a controlled form of democracy and provide some constitutional framework to his government. Here he was on less sure footing about how to deal with the religio-political parties. When he passed his own constitution in 1962, he tried to incorporate Islam in a manner of his choosing. Pakistan was named the Republic of Pakistan, i.e. the signifier ‘Islamic’ was dropped. A sentence in the Objective Resolution was changed to read, without the words, ‘the authority exercisable by the people [within the limits prescribed by Him] is a sacred trust’. Protests from the Jamaat-i-Islami and Jamiat Ulema-i-Islam forced him later to reverse both of these changes.50 The new constitution allowed for an Advisory Council of Islamic Ideology to be appointed by the president, based upon the expert advisory group envisaged in the 1956 Constitution. Its function was to recommend to government ways of enabling the people to order their lives according to Islam and to advise the legislative bodies, when asked, if a proposed law was in keeping with Article 6 of the constitution. However, its advice was not binding.51 Another body, the Islamic Research Institute, was to assist in the reconstruction of Muslim society

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on a truly Islamic basis and provide support to the Council. Lau suggests that this was a move to retake some of the ground for interpretation of Islam from the likes of Maulana Maududi, for it was accompanied by a crackdown on the JI’s charitable trusts and an attempt to dissolve the party.52 The constitution tried in other ways to strike a balance with the demands of the religious lobby. The president was required to be a Muslim. In the 1956 Constitution, the National Assembly had ultimate powers to decide which laws were repugnant to Islam. The same clause in the 1962 Constitution was revised to read, ‘no law should be repugnant to Islam’, with the legislature empowered to decide. The provision was not enforceable in the courts,53 thus reducing its import. Still, Maududi praised the new constitution as the outcome of his efforts and truly ‘Islamic’. Ayub appointed Dr Fazlur Rahman as a member and then director of the Islamic Research Institute during 1961– 8. Rahman was a renowned scholar whose book Islam54 and other writings were to make him a leading modern reformist Islamic scholar, one who tried to navigate a path between the modernists and traditionalists and find a way to revive Qur’anic interpretation, making it relevant to contemporary needs. His work aroused the ire of the right wing and became controversial within Pakistan. Ayub read some of the new book himself and was dismayed by the ‘adverse criticism fanned by the ignorant and politically motivated mullahs’. Ayub could not, or would not, stop the momentum generated by the JI and Rahman was forced to quit his position. Hounded out, he moved to the United States, thus one of the greatest Islamic thinkers of his generation was lost to his own country.55 Ayub Khan was not willing to give up the advantages to the military that he gained by positioning Pakistan as an ideological state. Haqqani explains that while he did not think highly of ulema and did not want them to have a role in governance, he nonetheless retained the use of an Islamic ideology to further the rhetoric of defence (i.e. Muslim Pakistan vs Hindu India) and weld different ethnicities within the country into some sort of unified whole. In effect, ‘he envisioned Islam as a nationbuilding tool, controlled by an enlightened military leader rather than by clerics’.56 To this end he manipulated the education curriculum; textbooks presented Pakistan’s history as linked with the arrival of Islam in the

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subcontinent and the history of Islam as a prelude to Pakistan’s creation. Hindu-Muslim relations were portrayed as intrinsically hostile, and the ability of the people to manage democratic rule was cast in doubt. The Ministry of Information and Bureau of National Reconstruction sent these same messages through radio, television, films, magazines, books and newspapers.57 Ayub could not accept that Pakistan was an Islamic ideological state and still deny Islamists their right to define the contours of that state. The disgruntled Jamaat-i-Islami soon allied itself with the secular parties opposed to Ayub’s rule. When elections were held in 1965, JI grudgingly supported the candidacy of Fatima Jinnah, with Maududi recanting his stance that a woman could not be head of an Islamic state.58 During the 1965 elections, Fatima Jinnah led the Combined Opposition Parties against Ayub Khan’s Pakistan (Convention) Muslim League and despite obvious shows of mass support, the government managed to engineer a victory for the dictator. The military unabashedly used Islam as the rallying cry for soldiers during the war with India in 1965. It gave calls to jihad and fed the public inspirational stories of martyrdom used to glorify the ‘soldiers of Islam’ who lost their lives in battle. This was combined with anti-US propaganda, since the latter did not come to Pakistan’s aid against India,59 and was partially blamed for the war’s disastrous outcome.

Jamaat-i-Islami and global political Islam JI only entered electoral politics in 1958 when it participated in elections to the Karachi Municipal Corporation and won more than a dozen seats. It never became a party that would attract the mass vote, as even its membership was tightly guarded. In 1957, it had only 1,271 members.60 In order to broaden its support base it began to build adult literacy centres, libraries and dispensaries. Although it did not believe in a democratic form of government, it accepted it as a short-term goal until it had achieved full control over the state.61 (In 1964, JI was temporarily outlawed and Maududi, along with dozens of other JI leaders, was arrested and later freed by the Supreme Court.) While JI may not have developed mass appeal, it grew in stature partly due to support from allies in the Arab world and its right-wing positioning that made it a friend to the US during the Cold War.

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Maududi was bolstered by his growing relationship with the Saudi royal family, which no doubt fuelled his confidence as a political actor in Pakistan. King Faisal was said to have personally praised his translation of the Qur’an and both he and his predecessor, King Saud, both financed the leader’s travel to and from the country. In 1963, Maududi organised for the cloth covering of the Kaaba (kiswah) to be made in Lahore rather than Cairo and he was closely associated with founding the Medina University.62 The emergence of its student wing was directly linked to JI’s place in the context of global politics. The Islami Jamiat-i-Tulaba (IJT) started in 1947 as a missionary (dawah) movement to create future leadership for JI, and ultimately the nation. Its administrative and organisational structure was helped along with the guidance of a major leader and ideologue of the Egyptian Muslim Brotherhood, Sa’id Ramadan,63 who lived in Karachi 1952–5. (Maududi’s thought was well known within the Brotherhood. His writings inspired young Sayyid Qutub its key ideologue in Egypt during the 1950s and 1960s, whom Nasser executed.)64 Ramadan taught the young IJT members to form study circles and hold all night sessions, a means of indoctrination and bonding used by the Brotherhood. Ramadan enjoyed good relations with the Pakistan government and travelled the world to give lectures, often with official support.65 In fact, the Muslim Brotherhood was a potent force opposed to the Arab nationalist leader Kamal Abdul Nasser, for which it received American backing. ‘In the battle against communism, they figured that religion was a force that US could make use of – the Soviet Union was atheist, while the United States support religious freedom.’66 Nasser stripped Ramadan of his citizenship, accusing him of receiving CIA funding, an allegation the Swiss government also held to be true.67 He eventually settled in Geneva, where with Saudi funding he set up the Brotherhood headquarters, dubbed Islamic Center of Geneva, in 1961. Funded by Saudi Arabia, Jordan and Qatar, Ramadan served ‘as the international mastermind of the Muslim Brotherhood.’ Over time, the Islami Jamiat-i-Tulaba (IJT) saw itself as a soldiers’ brigade ‘fighting for the cause of Islam against its enemies, such as secularists and leftists inside and outside the government’.68 Ayub’s government used it to fight the leftist National Student Federation and the labour unions in West Pakistan between 1962 and 1967. In 1969,

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the women’s equivalent of IJT, the Islami Jamiat Talibat was established in response to the creation of a women’s rights group at Punjab University. In 1969, Maududi himself told IJT members their task was to rid Pakistani’s universities of left as well as Bengali nationalists.69 IJT went on to play a major role in the nationwide disturbances that led to the overthrow of Ayub Khan in 1969 and Bhutto in 1977. In developing its pan-Islamic policy, the Saudi government nurtured close ties with the Brotherhood and Jamaat-i-Islami,70 but the intimacy between the two organisations is not common knowledge in Pakistan. In 1962, the Saudis launched the Muslim World League (Rabita al-Alam al-Islami), a charitable organisation with a mission to promote ‘Islamic solidarity’ around the world, while countering the pan-Arab nationalism and left-wing politics of Kamal Abdel Nasser.71 Muslim Brotherhood members exiled from Egypt were used to run MWL. Its founding members were the global leaders of political Islam: Sa’id Ramadan, Maulana Maududi, Hajj Amin al-Husseini, the Mufti of Jerusalem and Muhammad Sadiq al-Mujaddidi of Afghanistan.72 MWL funded missionaries, written material, and mosques to spread its Wahhabi mission and to counter Nasserism, secularism and communism around the world. It funded a research institute for JI in the United Kingdom to publish and disseminate its literature. The MWL served to strengthen JI’s ties with Islamic movements across the Muslim world and thereby its leverage with the Pakistan government. In 1963, the Saudi government set up the Muslim Student Association of North America and Canada, with close ties to MWL, followed soon by the International Islamic Federation of Student Organizations (IIFSO) and the World Assembly of Muslim Youth (WAMY).73 The latter is intended to promote Islamic solidarity amongst Muslim youth, and organise sports tournaments, youth camps, educational exchange programmes and opportunities to study Islam. These organisations would become linked with terrorist funding in Pakistan in later years (see Chapter 2) but during their initial growth they received tacit, if not direct US intelligence support.

Bhutto and the reassertion of the left The whole country was seized with anti-government protests in 1968. Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto had left government and formed the Pakistan

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People’s Party (PPP) on a socialist populist platform the year before. Former Air Marshal Asghar Khan denounced Ayub Khan and gave his support to the opposition, jeopardising Ayub’s continued support within the military. University students across Pakistan held demonstrations demanding his resignation and the army stepped in to quell rioting. Amidst a rapidly deteriorating situation in East Pakistan, Ayub Khan resigned and General Yahya Khan imposed martial law in March 1969. Yahya dissolved the assemblies, abrogated the constitution and made himself President. He held the first general elections on an adult franchise basis in 1970, but not without funding the religious political parties in their campaign to undercut the popular support of the secular and more socialist Pakistan People’s Party and the Awami League in East Pakistan. He used intelligence agencies to stir up a controversy about a book desecrating the Prophet, triggering riots that led to an excuse to postpone the fresh National Assembly opening on 1 March 1971. This was followed by the military assault on Awami League supporters a few weeks later.74 JI, along with various factions of the Muslim League, the Nizam-eIslam Party and JUI, who had all lost the elections to the Awami League in East Pakistan, agreed with Yahya’s accusation that its leader Mujib urRehman was guilty of treason. They formed ‘peace committees’ to gather intelligence for the military and even assisted as army death squads in its repression of the secessionists in East Pakistan.75 The well-known scholar Vali Reza Nasr believes JI did not really assist in the death squads and blames Bhutto for the break-up of the country.76 Yet even the official website of Jamaat-i-Islami states that during the 1971 war thousands of their Bengali members fought against the Indian army as well as the Bengali independence forces. IJT formed the paramilitary units Al-Badr and Al-Shams to counter the Mukti Bahini guerrilla force and serve as the army’s death squads, killing numerous intellectuals in East Pakistan.77 (For its role in the conflict, the JI is now charged by the state of Bangladesh for participating in war crimes. In 2014– 15, two Bangladeshi JI leaders were executed and the trials of others continue.) Bhutto led the Pakistan People’s Party to victory in the 1970 elections in West Pakistan on a liberal socialist agenda summarised as: ‘Islam is our faith. Democracy is our polity. Socialism is our economy. All power to the people.’ He struck a chord with rural voters and urban poor left out of Ayub’s economic policies that increased the wealth of a

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few and heightened inequalities in East and West Pakistan. He is credited with raising the consciousness of the disenfranchised in Pakistan, for being the first politician to support their entitlement to a better life. The 1970 elections brought women out in unprecedented numbers to vote for Bhutto even if their family members voted otherwise.78 His wife Nusrat canvassed directly with voters across the country. During Bhutto’s tenure, the PPP carried on with a generally progressive approach towards women’s issues.79 The 1970 party manifesto promised, ‘Women will have equal rights with men and will be eligible for every post of authority, including the posts of president and prime minister.’80 The MFLO came up for review after a ten-year period and despite strong opposition from JI and JUI the National Assembly confirmed them as law. Bhutto opened up all government services to women, barring a combat role for women in the military. He made a half-hearted attempt at land reform and initially outlawed the tribal system, only to reverse this decision halfway through his tenure. The tribal jirga, or council, continued to get official support as an institution in the province of Sindh, in continuation of British colonial law, thus further entrenching it into the modern political and legislative system.81 Thus Bhutto deliberately avoided conflict with his fellow feudal landlords, rendering his socialist platform hollow to his supporters on the left. This would have negative repurcussions for women’s rights in the long run, as we will see in Chapter 8. When Bhutto assumed power in a newly divided Pakistan in December 1971, he took a strategic decision not to humiliate the army or sever the close links between the military and religious parties forged during the recent war. Although he won on a secular platform, he still used the rhetoric of India as an enemy of Islam and Muslims in order to justify his national security policy. His caution and misreading of the motives behind the advice given to him from military and intelligence sources led to a series of decisions that were made to appease the religious right in quelling growing opposition to his rule. One of his earliest tasks was to galvanise broad-based political support for a new constitution. (This was passed unanimously in 1973, and was to become a symbol for political freedom in the long years of martial law that lay ahead.) It was an opportunity to lay to rest, or rather

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to resolve the core issue that made the state vulnerable to religiopolitical blackmail. He did not take it. The new constitution contained some provisions that related to religion. In return for the support of Maulana Maududi, Bhutto agreed to call the state ‘Islamic Republic’ of Pakistan. Legislators made other concessions – both the president and prime minister must be Muslim and that all laws passed be compatible with Islam. In their oath of office they had to swear they they believed in ‘the Prophethood of Muhammad (peace be upon him) as the last of the Prophets and that there can be no Prophet after him’.82 Islam was declared the state religion and all existing laws were to be brought into conformity with the injunctions of Islam as laid down in the Holy Qur’an and Sunnah. The Council of Islamic Ideology (CII) was reconstituted with the role of advising the assemblies on proposed laws and recommending how to bring existing laws into conformity with Islam. The constitution remained a resilient document despite these ambiguities. Much of its strength came from its affirmation of fundamental rights. All citizens were equal before the law and entitled to equal protection; there was to be no discrimination on the basis of sex alone, although the state was allowed to make special provision to protect women and children. The constitution forbade discrimination against a citizen appointed in services on the basis only of race, religion, caste, sex, resident or place of birth. It gave special representation to peasants, workers and women in elected local government institutions. The state was to ensure the full participation of women in national life, and protect marriage, family, mother and child. It was to ensure maternity benefits for women in employment (but mentioned women should not work in vocations not suited to their sex).83 In effect, the 1973 Constitution made a political and legal commitment to promote the equality of all citizens and it forbade discrimination. Bhutto’s socialist rhetoric worried the monarchies in the Middle East who were keen to stem the spread of leftist ideology.84 Throughout the 1970s, JI received steady funds from these countries. Its profile internationally rose in tandem, through its increasing role in the Muslim World League, which funded a JI research institute in the UK to publish and disseminate its literature. In May 1974, there were clashes between IJT students and Ahmadi missionaries in Punjab, leading to the first major capitulation of the

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government to the religious right. The disturbances led to renewed calls for the state to declare Ahmadis as non-Muslims, and signalled the IJT’s emergence as a force amongst student organisations as its campaign gained momentum.85 Bhutto constituted a Special Committee in the National Assembly to study the question and draft the bill. Perhaps he hoped PPP along with the secular National Awami Party (NAP) would find a way to avoid succumbing to pressure from the religious lobby, but the effort failed. In September 1974, the Assembly passed a constitutional amendment to declare Ahmadis non-Muslims, meeting a long-standing JI demand that was more successfully resisted when Pakistan was a younger and arguably more fragile state. The 2nd Amendment, as it became known, passed unanimously, without the stirring debate that accompanied the discussion on the Objectives Resolution years before. Yet in his speech to the National Assembly, Bhutto appeared uncomfortable with the move. He claimed this had been a difficult decision for the people of Pakistan, causing him a great deal of ‘anxious and sleepless moments’ and concern about its possible consequences. He mentioned the constitutional rights of all citizens to profess their faith and to protection by the state, alluding to the 1953 anti-Ahmadi disturbances. Yet, because the PPP’s first principle was ‘Islam is our faith’, the Ahmadi issue had to be brought before the National Assembly. He argued it was a religious decision but a secular one too, in that it affected the majority Muslims and was based on the secular constitution that protected the full rights of its citizens. He ended by reminding fellow politicians of their sacred duty to fully protect all communities and citizens.86 Since then, persecution of minorities in Pakistan has only grown in scope and severity. Bhutto’s regional and international political strategy made the Islamic ideological side of the Pakistani state continuously useful. Pursuing closer economic and financial ties with the Arab world, he hosted a hugely successful Second Islamic Summit Conference in Lahore in 1974, with Saudi Arabia’s King Faisal and Libya’s young Colonel Gaddafi as star attractions. This event immediately followed the antiAhmadi agitation. It has been alleged that on the request of JI and Majlis-i-Ahrar, King Faisal offered Bhutto economic aid in return for declaring Ahmadis non-Muslim.87 After the 2nd Amendment, Bhutto established the Ministry of Religious Affairs, headed by a former

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member of the JI, Maulana Kausar Niazi, who was believed to have close ties to intelligence agencies. The Saudi government gave Pakistan an interest-free loan of US$100 million after the Islamic Summit. It made ‘generous contributions’ to charities and for the building of mosques. When Pakistan faced a balance of payments crisis in 1975, Iran and Arab countries paid it $770 million, followed by almost $400 million more for specific projects, and a soft loan from the Saudi Development Fund of $30 million. In return for this support, King Khalid was invited to visit; roads, mosques and schools were named after the royal family. Pakistan began to export labour to the Middle East, which began a stream of foreign remittances into the country that rose from half a billion dollars in 1977 to 14 billion by 2012.88 Haqqani89 believes Bhutto had an opportunity to reopen the question of Pakistan’s national identity after the loss of East Pakistan, based on the relatively homogenous entity of the remaining half of the country that could have been ideologically reshaped into a secular democratic polity. However, he chose not to. Political parties, elected bodies and the bureaucracy were weakened during his rule; only the intelligence agencies and mosque-military alliance gained in strength. Bhutto let the military convince him that Islamists inside Afghanistan, such as Burhanuddin Rabbani and Gulbuddin Hekmatyar, who already had ties with JI and the Muslim Brotherhood, would be helpful to undercut their country’s interference in Baluchistan and the North-West Frontier Province (NWFP). He spent millions of dollars, which the country could ill-afford, to make Pakistan the first nuclear state in the Muslim world. Bhutto appointed General Zia-ul-Haq as his Chief of Army Staff, unwittingly signing his own death warrant. Zia was known to be personally devout and a JI sympathiser, and soon began Islamic reforms within the army. He distributed Maududi’s Tafhimu’l-Quran, a well known book of Qur’anic interpretation, amongst soldiers and officers. Although the army was traditionally an anglicised and secular institution, there were some who believed the loss of East Pakistan was due in part to the drinking and debauchery of Yahya Khan and other military officers and government officials,90 which generated some support for Zia’s initiatives. Bhutto did not object or interfere with Zia’s moves.91 Islam and Islamisation became rallying cries for the opposition when Bhutto decided to call for fresh elections in the spring of 1977. The new

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PPP Manifesto, in recognition of the mounting hostility, tried to boast that Bhutto’s achievements were ‘in accord with the substance and spirit of Islam’ and the new constitution faithfully reflected Islamic ideology.92 He had declared Islam the state religion, with the constitution permitting no laws repugnant to the Qur’an and Sunnah. Bhutto’s government, ‘Resolved the 90 year old Qadiani issue’ with the 2nd Amendment, convened the Islamic Summit, and declared Friday instead of Sunday as the weekly holiday.93 The manifesto even promised that if re-elected, he was ‘to give women their rightful place in our society in conformity with the teachings of Islam’, although the party had not linked women’s rights with religion during its first tenure.94 This was not enough for the opposition Pakistan National Alliance, which comprised a group of religious and secular political parties, led by Mufti Mahmood, a cleric and founder of JUI. (He had also been an active supporter of Congress, the secular nationalist party that led India’s independence movement, and opponent of Pakistan.) He was a key member of the Special Committee of the National Assembly which recommended that Ahmadis be declared non-Muslims in 1974. With an opposition led by ulema, not surprisingly when protestors charged that the polls had been rigged they also called for Nizam-eMustafa, a true Islamic system, to be imposed. Soon mosques began to be used as centres for organising the protests. Bhutto asked the army to help put down the protestors, but troops were reluctant to comply since religion had been invoked. Bhutto was in constant confrontation and engagement with religious political parties who led the opposition, alternately imprisoning and negotiating with their leaders. In a last-ditch effort to ‘sacraliz[e] the national political discourse’,95 Bhutto threw his secular, socialist garb aside, and in April, after meeting with Maududi96 announced that Shariah law would be enforced in six months. He declared prohibition on alcohol; a ban on gambling, horse-racing and night clubs; and the replacement of Sunday with Friday as the weekly holiday.97 His offer to reconvene CII with Mufti Mahmud as its chairman was rejected. In 1977, he formally apologised to JI’s Mian Tufayl for the maltreatment he and his fellow party members suffered in jail. That did not stop Tufayl from supporting General Zia’s execution of Bhutto two years later.98 Perhaps it is true that, as Nasr argues, the ‘un-Islamic ways of the People’s Party’s leaders never ceased to be a political issue’, rendering

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Bhutto’s twelfth-hour efforts ineffective. He concludes, ‘The seemingly implausible resurgence of Islam in lieu of socialism during the Bhutto era meant total victory for Islam and confirmed its central role in Pakistani politics.’99 He believes that Islam replaced populism and sealed the fate of Bhutto’s government. However, another view is that the PNA and PPP were on the verge of reaching a negotiated settlement towards calling fresh elections and ending the protests, which could have allowed the democratic process to continue. It is more likely that after the 1977 elections the nation was faced with a choice between the viability of a young democracy and the ever-present threat of a military takeover, and the religio-political forces sided with the latter to ensure their continued influence. Khalid Sayeed argues that Bhutto’s slogan of Islamic socialism did well to defeat the religious and conservative parties in the 1970 elections because his radical platform appealed to voters. Later, his government’s policies created sufficient class tension to alarm conservative forces, who felt his promised socialism and secularism ‘would strike at the very roots of Pakistan’.100 Lower-middle-class supporters of JI and Jamiat Ulemae-Pakistan (JUP) felt Bhutto was dangerous to Islamic ideology. Shopkeepers, merchants, middlemen and small traders all responded to their call. The army too, threw its weight behind the conservative movement and sealed Bhutto’s fate. The military’s plan was to reassure the industrialists, small business and landed elite that the new government would protect their interests, and to show the labour class and rural poor that any agitation on their part would be suppressed.101 Bhutto made the sorry task so much easier because of his own grave mistakes. He alienated the left within his own party, mistreated opposition, relied on secret intelligence forces to strengthen his power base instead of building up his own party cadre, demoralised the bureaucracy, nationalised industry, broke trade unions, and more. As a consequence, he could not mobilise enough street power in his defence just when he needed it most. On 5 July 1997, General Zia overthrew the elected government and declared martial law in a coup d’etat. In an interview, he acknowledged the ‘tremendous’ class and ideological tensions unleashed during Bhutto’s rule, and promised to end them. Zia soon began to denationalise major industries. He returned 297 cotton-ginning factories to their owners and imposed punishments of whipping

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or rigorous imprisonments for industrial strikes and trade union activities.102 Religio-political parties became partners of the new military regime to justify an undemocratic and retrogressive rule that deprived the people of Pakistan of their fundamental rights for the next 11 years, all in the name of imposing Nizam-e-Mustafa. *** The contours of Islamisation began to take shape in Pakistan well before Zia’s military takeover, as this chapter has shown. The combination of Islam as a useful binding force for the new nation was irresistible to early political leaders, despite Jinnah’s predisposition to building a secular state. However, it was the religious organisations, such as JI, JUI and the Ahrar, who displayed the most exclusionary and cynical use of Islam to develop a political role for themselves. Their ambitions dovetailed well with global politics during the Cold War, and the US and Saudi Arabia’s eagerness to support Islamist forces to defeat Arab secular nationalism and leftist politics in the developing world. These same forces were fundamentally allied with Ayub’s military regime, which although opposed to the more extreme rhetoric and actions of the religious right also used groups like IJT to stifle dissent and manipulated Islamic rhetoric to galvanise support against India. Nevertheless, the push towards political reform and free elections broke through by the end of the 1960s and the military and religious right found themselves on the wrong side of popular demand. They were weakened, however, not defeated and bided their time while the PPP struggled to deliver on its promises and made overtures to Arab monarchies for much needed economic support. As opposition groups began to organise on an Islamic platform, Bhutto’s secular-minded supporters watched him make concessions to the religious right, never thinking that these changes would be here to stay. In fact, a key lesson from Pakistani history is that political decisions made in the name of Islam are the least likely to be reversed in the long run, even if they are made for short-term political gain. Over the years, therefore, their effect has been cumulative, to the growing detriment of religious minorities and, ultimately, women.

CHAPTER 2 GLOBAL POLITICS AND ZIA'S ISLAMISATION

When Pakistan’s second long era of military rule began, the domestic compulsions of the new ruler coincided seamlessly with global politics and changes in the Muslim world. This chapter will highlight the context of Cold War politics, instability in Saudi Arabia and the rise of political Islam in the region to show how they helped to shape and strengthen General Zia-ul-Haq’s programme of Islamisation. The institutional and legal changes he brought about drew from the Saudi model and built on ties formed between the Kingdom and Jamaat-iIslami. This shaped the agenda of the subsequent women’s rights movement that arose in response to Zia’s actions.

The global context of political Islam 1979 was a year of turmoil in Iran, Saudi Arabia and Afghanistan. Its effects would be felt across the world as events spurred the expansion of political Islam and the deepening of sectarian identities in the Middle East and South Asia. In subsequent years, global power plays combined with the imperatives of authoritarian regimes to foster the growth of violent jihadi ideology, leading to the rise of Al-Qaeda, Taliban and Islamic State (ISIS). The global context had serious ramifications for the status of women in Pakistan, because it led to the consolidation of a regime which used an exclusionary Islamic ideology, modelled in many ways on Saudi Arabia

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and supported by the west, to justify its lack of democratic credentials. This section will outline those features of the context in the Muslim world that influenced Pakistan’s current socio-political environment which helped to shape the nation in these terms. Women have strongly resisted this process, as we will see in following chapters, but the terms of the debate was set by these forces, not activists themselves.

Iranian revolution In April 1979, Ayatollah Khomeini toppled the Shah of Iran, marking a successful Islamic revolution in the country. It launched an era of political Islam on the global stage and a defiance of United States hegemony in world affairs, which captured the imagination of other Muslim societies and political organisations. The US lost a key ally in Iran, and it was further humiliated when revolutionary activists stormed its Embassy in Teheran and took hundreds of its citizens hostages for over one year. The new Iran, with its successful Shi’a theocracy, posed a threat to Saudi’s own Sunni monarchy, which feared a revolution of its own and also struggled to maintain control over its own restive Shi’a population in the east. The fear of Shi’a uprisings and growing Iranian influence became a driving factor in the politics of insecure Arab governments throughout the Middle East. Iran and Saudi Arabia began proxy sectarian wars in Pakistan and Afghanistan from that point onwards, fuelling a new hostility against Shi’a minority populations in those countries. Inevitably, sectarianism in Pakistan deepened and the Sunni character of state religious discourse intensified. Having lost its old ally in Iran, the United States increased its military presence in the Middle East, deepening its strategic ties with Saudi Arabia, and supported Iraq in its eight-year war with Iran.

Saudi Arabia’s pact with the ulema The November 1979 siege of Mecca sparked a series of Islamic reforms within Saudi Arabia that had global repercussions. First, it led to the vast propagation of a reactionary Islam around the world, which would transform the religious discourse in much of the Muslim world.1 Second, it led to a series of Islamisation measures within the Kingdom that

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would be emulated by other countries seeking to enforce a Shariah system. Finally, its reforms to the educational curriculum were echoed in Pakistan when it took its own turn towards Islamisation during the same period. Further implications of these policies have since resounded in Pakistan and Afghanistan in the behaviour of extremist groups like the Taliban, as we will see in Chapters 3 and 7. The critical hold of Wahhabi Islam in Saudi Arabia is due to a history binding the birth of the nation with followers of this movement. When the Saud family ascended to power in 1932, they had a historical alliance with descendants of Abd al-Wahhab. Over the previous century the Sauds of Najd had agreed to support Wahhab’s followers in return for religious sanction2 of their military campaigns to occupy the Arabian Peninsula and assume control over the Muslim holy sites in Mecca and Medina. A strain between the royal family and Wahhabi ulema developed as the country opened up to western petro-interests and cultural influences. King Faisal, who ruled from 1964 to 1975, was a son of Saudi Arabia’s founder and a woman descendant of Abd al-Wahhab. He pushed through some reforms unpopular with the ulema, such as the suppression of slavery and introduction of female education, but managed to keep the clergy’s opposition under control through reliance on the Wahhabi doctrine of absolute obedience to the temporal ruler. Still, one reason for his assassination by a devout relative was growing discomfort about the extent to which he opened the Kingdom to foreign influences (including television, which caused riots in 1965).3 The tension became apparent again in November 1979 when a group of heavily armed disaffected young insurgents defied the Saudi royal family and laid siege to the Masjid al-Haram (Grand Mosque) in Mecca. They represented a neo-Wahhabi movement, inspired by the teachings of some of the most conservative religious scholars in the country at the time. Their leader Juhayman Al-Utaybi’s main grievance was that the royal family had strayed morally and ideologically from the path set by the clerics. Many members of the powerful Supreme Council of ulema were in tacit sympathy with their cause. Eventually, the King was forced to call in French mercenaries to help the Saudi army dislodge the insurgents. Riots broke out in parts of the Muslim world based on false rumours that the US or Israel were responsible for the attack. In Islamabad, Jamiat-i-Tulaba students

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organised a mob attack on the US Embassy, based on a news report that Ayatollah Khomeini declared the Americans were behind the siege.4 (General Zia-ul-Haq deliberately did little to stop the Embassy from being burnt to the ground.)5 The US government, with hostages still in Teheran, had no choice but to evacuate its citizens from Pakistan and the rest of the region, barring Saudi Arabia, in a humiliating admission that its presence in the Muslim world was untenable – at least for the moment. It is forbidden to use weapons inside the Grand Mosque, so the King needed a fatwa from the Council to sanction an attack. The ulema agreed to back the King but they needed him to make some commitments in return. King Faisal’s ‘social liberalisation’ needed to be rolled back, e.g. no more women on television and no more alcohol allowed in the country. They wanted the massive wealth earned through petrodollars to henceforth be put to the use of spreading their version of Islam around the world. Some princes later described the deal as the ulema getting the House of Saud to accede to Al-Utaybi’s demands in return for their help in capturing him.6 Six weeks later, the King asked the Supreme Council to issue another fatwa to authorise the beheading of the surviving insurgents, including Al-Utaybi. By this time, the Soviet Union had invaded Afghanistan and the global context had substantially changed. Both Saudi Arabia and Pakistan turned to the United States for protection from the enhanced Soviet threat in the region. The ulema, too, looked at the House of Saud as the only defence against communism and the Shia threat from Iran. They agreed the insurgents were guilty of a ‘heinous crime against the Islamic religion’7 and issued the fatwa. Eventually, the senior-most cleric of the Council, Abdel Aziz Bin Baz, issued a fatwa that jihad in Afghanistan to expel the Soviets was the religious duty of all Muslims.8

Islamisation inside Saudi Arabia As soon as the traumatic episode was over, promised reforms began. They included social restrictions, enhanced institutional powers for the ulema, and increased political repression. Cinemas, theatres, clubs and concerts were closed and music banned from the media. Stores and malls closed during prayer times. Women’s faces disappeared from television and they were barred from working in

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multinationals. (They were permitted to work in education and medicine, segregated from men.) Women had to be fully veiled in black in public spaces. They were not allowed to possess their own identity cards or passports without the permission of their husbands. Women could not open a bank account, buy property, work or travel without approval of a male guardian. Women were not permitted to drive. Doumato writes, ‘Separation of the sexes and control of women by their guardians blossomed over the next several years into key tangible indicators of what it means to be Muslim, and the Saudi political leadership got behind the task of enforcement.’9 The Wahhabi establishment enjoys extensive institutional support. It includes numerous government departments, religious education and a large proportion of school curricula, major Islamic universities, Ministries of Hajj and Awqaf (religious endowments), and zakat (religious tax). All judges are Wahhabi, their legal decisions based on Wahhabi interpretations of Hanbali fiqh. The government Commission for the Promotion of Virtue and Prevention of Vice gave more power after the Mecca siege to the religious police, mutawa’ah, to invade private homes, and enforce the law and extended its domain to western residential enclaves. They patrol the streets, looking for transgressors to arrest and have been known to beat some of them to death.10 They have also beaten Shia pilgrims at the Grand Mosques in Mecca and Medina.11 (In 2002, they earned local and international opprobrium when 15 girls died in a Meccan school fire after the mutawa’ah stopped their rescue because they were not veiled.)12 Wahhabi Islam is opposed to democratic reform,13 which suits the royal family well. Scholar Mai Yamani argues in return for supporting the monarchy, ulema demand a denial of the diversity of religious belief and ethnicity in their country. They stand in the way of democratic reform, which is viewed as a threat to their hegemony rather than progress. Reform is further complicated by ‘the politicization of ethnic, tribal and sectarian identities in the face of increasing levels of exclusion and repression during the three decades since Faisal’s death.’14 The extreme ideological positioning of the ulema combined with state support has led to the proliferation of Wahhabi websites, television channels in the Gulf and other propaganda calling for the murder of Shias; and reconciliation across the sectarian divide within the country has become unacceptable.15

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The Saudi education system Beginning in the 1950s, Saudi Arabia took in Muslim Brotherhood members purged by the secular leftist regimes in the Arab world. At the time political Islam was viewed not as a threat, but rather a trend for western powers and their allies to support as a foil for communism. The United States supported the Brotherhood, even members of their militant wing Hizb al-Tahrir (today branded a terrorist organisation), fleeing the secular pro-Soviet regimes in Egypt, Syria, Iraq and Algeria.16 For King Faysal the new arrivals were useful for the schools and universities he planned to build, and he gave them positions in the emerging educational system.17 Brotherhood scholars helped to write the 1971 Educational Policy of Saudi Arabia, which declared the ultimate target of Islamisation to be all aspects of knowledge and professional activity. They worked in the Education Ministry and even designed textbooks and syllabi. They became imams of mosques, teachers and university professors. This led to a blend of Salafist and Wahhabi thought in the education system, influencing local and international students who studied in Saudi Arabia at the time. The outcome of this blending was the internationalisation of Saudi Wahhabism. It produced the outward trappings of a Wahhabi Saudi, i.e. the dress, long beard, non-smoking, anti-music, adherent, who on the inside was closer to an adherent of Maududi’s Jamaat-i-Islami or the Muslim Brotherhood. Until 9/11 Maududi’s writings and those of Brotherhood ideologue Sayyid Qutub were required reading at all levels of Saudi education.18 The government published and distributed their work internationally, along with that of other Wahhabi and Sunni scholars. These publications lit a political spark amongst the ulema who began to look at the ruling royal family with a critical eye.19 While this phenomenon was an outcome of Cold War politics, the new Wahhabi-Salafi Islam had yet to provide its most useful service to the anti-Soviet cause. After the 1979 siege of Mecca, the government increased the religious content of the curriculum and allocated additional funds to build mosques and support missionary activities. Religious education programmes in the media increased, as did the number of religious colleges and universities. By the 1990s, one-quarter of all students were

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enrolled in religious institutions. The ulema were opposed to the expansion of female education, and as a concession to them the government gave them control over the General Presidency of Education.20 Doumato observes that the curriculum portrays Islam to be under attack from Christians (dating from the Crusades until the current western political and military threat), Zionists, secularism and socialism. Jihad is conceptualised primarily as a defensive act against those who would spread corruption, disrupt peace, or treat Muslims as their enemy. ‘Jihad is raising the word of God and driving away what is reprehensible and harmful, and eliminating injustice, and defending the sacred.’21 Textbooks warn students about the dangers of modernity and strive to arm them with an Islam that helps them to ‘man the barricades’. School texts are based ‘on literal readings of scriptural passages presented without historical context and editorialized so that scripture authenticates parochial custom,’ which is a characteristic common to fundamentalists of other faiths, too.22 Until 1993 schoolbooks condemned Shia and Sufi beliefs as bida (dangerous innovation). The term used for Shia was rafida, an insult, or mushrikeen, meaning polytheists or unbelievers.23 Shias and other religious minorities were not allowed to teach religion in Saudi schools. Sufis and liberal Sunnis from the province of Hijaz who visit shrines were portrayed negatively in religious lessons. Students were taught not to emulate non-Muslims, particularly Christians and Jews. As recently as 2003, some lessons instructed students not to wish ‘id mubarak’ [blessings on the holiday] to the kuffar [infidel], ‘because speaking these words is the same as validating worship of the cross, and more detestable than offering a toast with wine, committing suicide, and having illicit sex’.24

Exporting Wahhabism The official Islam in Saudi Arabia, pervasive as it is, nevertheless represents a minority of its population. Most Wahhabi adherents come from the province of Najd, where around 30 per cent (or 8.6 million) of the population reside.25 The total amount of people active in the proselytisation efforts that gained strength after the siege of Mecca numbers only in the thousands, even including the entire royal family

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and religious establishment. Yet the impact of their efforts upon the Muslim world, with an estimated 1.6 billion people, has been disproportionate due to the colossal finances at their disposal. The Saudi oil embargo of 1973 raised the price of oil worldwide and brought in unprecedented petrodollars to the Kingdom. Old and new organisations became overwhelmed with funding, including private donations from amongst royal family members from Saudi Arabia and amongst Gulf states. Private charities, especially the Muslim World League (see Chapter 1), played a growing role in disseminating Saudi Arabia’s official Islam.26 After the 1979 siege of Mecca, the King took the propagation a dramatic step further and issued a directive27 that no limit be put on expenditures for the propagation of Islam. Since then over $75 billion of Saudi oil wealth has been spent for this purpose by funding schools, mosques and charities throughout the Muslim world.28 King Fahd (who ruled 1982–2005) alone tapped a special oil account from which he set aside revenue for this purpose alone, spending $1.8 billion a year during the 1980s and 1990s.29 A 2004 estimate put the annual total spent by the Saudis officially and unofficially to spread Islam between $2 billion and $2.5 billion.30 The Saudi government invested in institutional development to further this mission. In 1993, it established a Ministry of Islamic Affairs, Endowment Call and Guidance, with an annual budget of $530 million led by a direct descendant of Abd al-Wahhab. By 2004 it employed over 50,000 people. The Ministry had offices attached to its embassies abroad, often with greater budgets than those of the diplomatic offices. It paid the salaries of 3,884 ulema and imams through these activities, while all the embassies worldwide had a total staff of only 650.31 Saudi private charities developed an important and influential role in shaping the views of Muslims living in the western diaspora,32 led by MWL and the World Assembly of Muslim Youth (WAMY).33 At first MWL worked to promote its religious education to migrant labour from within the region working in the Saudi oil industry, then expanded to follow Arab migrants in Europe to ensure they had a religious education. Soon it transformed into a vast network, with offices across Europe and North America, funding mosques, Islamic centres, and often collaborating in its activities with the Muslim Brotherhood. Today, it

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oversees 14 subsidiary organisations, including the well known International Islamic Relief Organization (IIRO). MWL has been termed ‘the quasi-official religious missionary and propaganda arm of the Saudi Kingdom’.34 Since 1962 MWL has received at least US $1.33 billion in Saudi government support. It has also played an important role in elevating Jamaat-i-Islami’s international profile. It funded JI’s Islamic Foundation in the United Kingdom to publish and disseminate its literature across the Muslim world.35 It also funded JI’s protest campaign in the west against Salman Rushdie’s book The Satanic Verses and channelled funds to the International Islamic University in Islamabad.36

Jihad in Afghanistan Afghanistan toppled its monarchy in 1973. In 1978, the Saur Revolution, led by one faction of the socialist People’s Democratic Party of Afghanistan, overthrew President Daoud. The PDPA vowed to bring progress for women, in the form of education and employment, and agricultural land reforms. Its harsh methods and radical ideas ignited opposition amongst mainly Pathans in the rural heartland. The Soviet Union invaded Kabul to back the communist government in December 1979. This led to the start of an Afghan jihad, a violent struggle to free the country from Soviet occupation that was fought mainly outside Kabul and ended only in 1989. The fighting led to 6 million refugees fleeing to live in camps in Iran and Pakistan. The Afghan jihad was funded largely by the United States and managed through the army and intelligence agencies of Pakistan. General Zia-ul-Haq’s collaboration with the US against the Soviets strengthened and legitimised his military regime. US covert support to Islamic mujahideen fighters resisting pro-Soviet communist influence in Afghanistan pre-dated the Soviet invasion, built on existing ties within the country and was coordinated by Pakistan’s Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI). Saudi Arabia, too, was invested in defeating the communists and saw its influence in Afghanistan as a means to counter Iranian hegemony in the region. It provided government financial support and funding through organisations like the Muslim World League and a network of private individual donors to the Pakistan government for the jihad.37 Pakistan and Saudi Arabia

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favoured supporting leaders who had established ties with ISI and proven anti-communist right-wing religious credentials. These leaders also held strong misogynistic views. The most powerful mujahideen leader, Gulbuddin Hekmatyar of Hizb-i Islami, was known for the practice of throwing acid in the faces of Afghan women students in Kabul who did not veil themselves properly – and this was before the Soviet occupation.38 His harsh dictates later circumscribed and restricted the movements of women housed in those refugee camps in Pakistan under his party’s control, preventing them from accessing jobs and health services.39 The CIA spent $2 billion supporting the Afghan resistance until 1989. Channelled through Pakistan’s ISI, over two-thirds of it went to Islamist groups. Saudi Arabia officially matched these funds and provided undisclosed further support, along with funding from private donations that may have amounted to $25 million per month.40 CIA and Saudi matched funding grew rapidly as the war progressed, up to a combined $630 million in 1987.41 The Afghan jihad was a windfall for JI. It played a critical role in formulating Pakistan’s Afghan policy, turning public favour in support of the Afghan jihad, and offered itself as a conduit for military funding. Millions of Afghan refugees, too, came under its ideological influence during their years of stay in camps along the Pakistan border regions with Afghanistan.42 Gulf funds, via government and migrant workers’ remittances, proved another source of steady support to JI, strengthening its influence and profile at home. Gulf remittances from former IJT members also made their way back into the student organisation. (JUI, while enjoying less direct policy influence, instead spawned hundreds of madrassas to train young Pakistani and Afghani boys for jihad.)43 CIA funds were used to prepare children’s textbooks for use in the refugee camps to encourage Afghans to become mujahideen. These books were written at the University of Nebraska, costing $51 million from 1984 – 94, to support education programmes in Pakistan and Afghanistan during and after the jihad. The Taliban were pleased to use the same texts when they came to power in 1996, but after their invasion of Afghanistan in 2001 American forces found the books ‘embarrassingly inappropriate’, because, ‘the primers were filled with talk of jihad’. US Agency for International Development (USAID) reissued

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the books to Afghan children after deleting as much of the religious material as they could, but UNICEF supplied the unrevised books for Islamic studies in its schools.44 Arab governments, Saudi charities such as Muslim World League and WAMY, the Muslim Brotherhood, and the proselytisation movement known as Tableeghi Jamaat all became involved in recruiting fighters for the jihad.45 During the course of the anti-Soviet resistance, about 100,000 radicals were to have contact with Afghanistan and Pakistan and be influenced by the jihad.46 Amongst the Arab fighters was Mohammed Azzam, a Palestinian who taught Osama bin Laden and founded a group that served as a precursor to Al-Qaeda. He had been a member of the Muslim Brotherhood and worked for the MWL. In the 1980s, he set up the Maktab al-Khidmat (MAK) in Peshawar to recruit jihadi fighters and channelled millions of dollars from Gulf and Saudi Arabian private donors and charities to bin Laden. These Arab funds were not subject to Pakistan army oversight, as were the CIA funds, but instead made it to the mujahideen through the auspices of the Brotherhood and Jamaat-i-Islami.47 After the Afghan jihad ended with the expulsion of the Soviets, Saudi charities continued their links with Arab fighters and were discovered to be embroiled in terrorist networks. Mohammed Azzam, a former colleague of Osama bin Laden during the anti-Soviet jihad, had first came to Peshawar under MWL sponsorship in the 1980s to head a relief agency which channelled Arab fighters into Afghanistan. MWL personnel in Bosnia and Kenya have been linked with Al-Qaeda.48 The Rabita Trust in Pakistan, a subsidiary of MWL, was de-activated under American pressure after 1997.49 In 2001, the US government froze MWL assets in the US due to its links with terrorism. After 9/11 the Saudi government tried to control its charities more closely. It set up the Al-Haramain Foundation, yet another government charity, as part of this effort, but it closed down in 2003 due to international exposure over allegations that it served as a conduit for terrorism financing. (While it was operational it had an annual budget of $40– $50 million and at least 3,000 missionaries operating in 50 countries.)50 The war in Afghanistan provided an opportunity for Saudi-backed Islam to develop an added dimension as jihadi groups from around the world assembled to fight. ‘[It] was the merging of this ultra-conservative and puritanical understanding of Islam with the socio-political ideology

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of Islamism that would go on to produce the most deadly concoction of all – takfiri Jihadism.’ For takfiris, anyone, even Muslim and noncombatant, who disagreed was an apostate deserving to be killed.51 This most virulent form of jihad has produced a culture of killing with impunity, most often through suicide bombings upon Muslims who stand accused of complying with US interests against fighters, such as the Taliban on either side of the Pak-Afghan border. The power and potency of these new warriors is manifest in the amount of apologists who have condoned their ideology and methods (see Chapters 6 and 7), amongst them the religious right in Pakistan that benefited so much from Zia’s rule and the war he fought.

General Zia-ul-Haq and Islamisation General Zia-ul-Haq staged a coup on 5 July 1977, promised new elections within 90 days and suspended the constitution along with fundamental rights. No court or authority was permitted to question the proclamation of martial law or any order, ordinance or regulation issued on its behalf.52 In his first speech he described himself as a ‘soldier of Islam’ and praised the Islamic spirit of the PNA opposition movement against Bhutto. ‘It proves that Pakistan, which was created in the name of Islam, will continue to survive only if it sticks to Islam.’ Zia promised to introduce an Islamic system, ‘as an essential prerequisite for the country’.53 In 11 years of rule he took extraordinary steps to ‘Islamise’ the nation. Zia drew on the ideological power of Jamaat-i-Islami and its international connections for much of the inspiration behind his reforms. Saudi Arabia, as it embarked on its own reforms after 1979, found Pakistan to be a willing first port of call for its unfettered export of Wahhabi Islam,54 and JI was a friend and partner to facilitate access for its emissaries to government institutions, mosques and communities. The fast-changing global political context further framed the pace and nature of ideological reforms, as the US stepped in to support Zia and suppress democracy in the name of Cold War interests. It also cultivated Saudi Arabia in lieu of its former ally Iran, turning a blind eye to its bewildering concessions to the ulema. Together, these actors nurtured and spread the ideology of jihad in Pakistan and beyond, with devastating consequences in future years for all of them.

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Zia maintained the policy structure described in Chapter 1, and, like Ayub Khan, he felt the country would be held together by the armed forces and not politicians; national unity would be based on hatred of Hindu India and love of Islam; and the US would underwrite the cost for its military and economic development.55 However, he went further than any predecessor to make Pakistan an Islamic state. His Islamisation programme began within days of assuming office and continued apace until it lost some steam in 1985. His reforms were inconsistent, targeted to affect the weakest in society, and amenable to political contingencies facing his government, rendering it incapable of inspiring the moral rejuvenation that he claimed was the basis for Pakistan’s formation.56 The regime enjoyed the same international support as Ayub Khan’s government, this time because Pakistan became a conduit for the jihad in Afghanistan. While the consequences for women form the subject of this book, there were others, too. The country’s arms and drug trade increased dramatically, particularly in the main cities and areas bordering Afghanistan. The political economy of defence continued to flourish, since the state now regarded both eastern and western borders as openly hostile, while investment in social and political opportunities of the people remained a low priority. The military became incrementally more involved in the running of the state, assuming charge of positions previously in the domain of the bureaucracy alone. The return to democracy was delayed as long as possible, causing enormous setbacks to the development of a healthy and progressive political culture.

Framing the ideology When Zia gave his major Islamisation speech in February 1979 at the National Assembly, he spoke as if that day was the culmination of a long struggle that had begun with the movement for the creation of Pakistan. It was clear from where he would be drawing his guidance for Islamisation. The newspaper reported a list of dignitaries from Saudi Arabia who attended the speech.57 At that time the name of Marouf alDawalibi on this list attracted no attention, and even until today it won’t be recognised, although it refers to someone who played an important role in how Islamisation was to affect women in Pakistan.

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Zia explained some steps had already been taken to build a true Islamic state, such as the so-called original declaration on which the movement was founded, ‘Pakistan ka matlab kiya? La il-Allah ha illa-Allah’,58 followed by the Objectives Resolution, and the emphasis on Islam in all the constitutions were drafted subsequently. It was his mission to complete this process. The speech was an important milestone in the creation of the new dominant state narrative, thus far confined to the ideologies of religious parties Zia praised Jinnah for creating Pakistan. Since Independence, prominent ulema had started an Islamic movement, he said, spearheaded by JI’s Maulana Maududi. Due to the ‘heroic struggle launched by the masses led by ulema’ Ayub Khan established an Islamic Advisory Council, but with limited powers. After a mass movement to overthrow the worst dictator in Pakistan’s history, Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto, Zia would fulfil his commitments by bringing Islamic reforms and establish his place in history as the soldier of Islam.59 Zia announced a Zakat and Ushr fund, to which each Muslim would have to pay a certain amount of income as donation for the poor, a religious requirement that Muslims usually fulfil without state interference or mediation. The initial contribution to set up this government-mandated fund was a grant of $225 million from Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates. At the time this was an extraordinarily large donation and dwarfed existing international aid packages to Pakistan. Non-Muslims and Shias were not eligible to receive support from this fund as they did not contribute to it. Maulana Mufti Mahmood of JUI and leader of PNA was delighted with the progress made. He said with the enforcement of Islamic laws the PNA had achieved its objective.60 The Amir of JI, Mian Tufail Mohammed, declared that finally the real Pakistan had come into being, with full credit to the ‘non-political government’ of General Zia. He also urged lawyers to implement the Shariah in its true spirit.61 The day after Zia announced his Islamic laws, newspapers reported that bars and brothels throughout Sindh were being shut down. All Pakistanis, including non-Muslims, were prohibited from drinking and only foreigners would be allowed to imbibe at posh hotels or within their homes.62 In the first years after prohibition, the police conducted home raids if they suspected alcohol was being served, usually to harass suspected opponents to the regime. Soon, a culture of illegal hard liquor

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consumption took hold amongst those who could afford the black market until it became ubiquitous in influential circles. Brothels, too, remained profitable and occasionally scandals erupted when religious leaders were caught using them.63 Almost immediately, Saudi Ambassador Riaz-ul-Khatib came to Lahore to preside over the annual convention of the Jamiat-i-Tulaba, JI’s student wing, and praised Zia’s initiative. He said, ‘the day was not far when Islam would be the main guiding force’ in Pakistan, presumably as it was in his country. Mufti Mahmood spoke too, saying those who criticised the government for supporting harsh punishments reflected western thinking, and that basic institutions of the country needed to be reoriented according to Islam.64 While Zia began instituting his reforms he was also preoccupied with stifling dissent. His Summary Military Court awarded lashes and rigorous imprisonment to protestors after the Supreme Court passed a death sentence against former Prime Minister Bhutto. Zia ignored clemency appeals from around the world, include Arab leaders, and carried out the execution in April, 1979.

Reliance on Jamaat-i-Islami During the first period of his rule it was the Jamaat-i-Islami whom Zia turned to for advice and political support. Maududi warmly described Zia’s Islamisation as ‘the renewal of the covenant’ between the government and Islam.65 JI leaders ‘wholeheartedly’ helped Zia formulate its details and held key cabinet positions, such as at the Ministry of Information and in the Planning Commission. When Bhutto was executed JI members distributed sweets in the streets. Zia made the complete enforcement of Nizam-e-Mustafa a prerequisite to holding new elections, initially scheduled for November 1979, but those parties with manifestos deemed antithetical to Pakistan’s ideology and Islam would not be allowed to take part. This effectively excluded secular parties. Meanwhile, he introduced separate electorates for Muslims and non-Muslims.66 General Zia argued that if the intent of the ruler is to enforce Shariah, it justified a coup d’etat and the people and ulema should nonetheless cooperate in good faith.67 He said, ‘The real concept of Islam is that it does not say through which manner you should come and assume power

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but what is important is that those who have assumed the responsibility of running the country, if their performance is in accordance with [the] Quran and Sunnah, the source is not challengeable.’68 He maintained this line of argument throughout his rule. After Zia cancelled the promised general elections JI suddenly realised the merits of democracy. They challenged his views that an undemocratic leader was justified if his aim was to enforce Shariah. Professor Khurshid Ahmad, member of the Central Executive Committee of JI, announced that democracy was in the spirit of the governmental system of Islam, which respected the will of the majority.69 This was a politically expedient change of position from Maududi’s view that democracy, as rule of the majority, was victim to depravity and would eventually lead a society to ruin.70 Zia’s honeymoon with the religious political parties was over. Although Zia had appreciated JI as an intellectual force that could serve the same function to him that the progressive left had for Bhutto’s PPP, he soon found they were unable to deliver support in ‘managing the machinery’ of the state,71 which gave him an excuse to distance himself from it. Launching a new phase of his rule, he announced, ‘Martial law will now be run like martial law.’ All political parties were dissolved, and their activities banned. The press became fully censored, the right of workers to strike revoked, and the process of Islamisation speeded up. Zia set up military courts and tribunals across the country. There were large scale arrests of political party workers and journalists, with floggings for participating in proscribed political activities.72

Prohibitions and controls Zia’s Islamisation was most dramatically visible when it took shape as a moral code and reinforced patriarchal norms already in place. At its broadest, it framed a project of social engineering originally envisaged by Jamaat-i-Islami. Although he did not enforce compulsory veiling, as the Saudis did, control over women became the key marker of the state’s adherence to religious norms. From the start there was a steady barrage of restrictions and humiliations for women to deal with.73 The government launched a campaign against obscenity, limiting the appearance of women in television advertisements, and holding lengthy debates on television programmes about what constituted obscenity.

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It also discussed how best to curtail women’s presence in public so as to reduce obscenity. (The television directives were relaxed gradually but not completely during Zia’s rule.) From 1979 to 1981 the government followed up on JI’s demands to plan a separate women’s university. Women were banned from participating in spectator sports. It decreed that women had to wear chadors in government offices, on television and in public schools. Zia began the practice of distributing chadors as gifts at official functions. His earliest speeches were replete with references to maintain the sanctity of the chador and chardiwari, suggesting that by keeping women in the home he was maintaining their honour and thereby the nation’s as well. Feminist Nighat Said Khan observed his promise to protect security of women in the home meant only ‘those women wanting to observe purdah would deserve protection’.74 He launched a media campaign to entice the public to participate in his mission and even police their neighbours. Men were urged to challenge women in the public sphere, and comment on their clothing and behaviour; as a consequence violence and harassment of women increased.75 Neelam Hussain recalls:76 One of my colleagues was in Anarkali, Bano Bazaar, and she was buying something and this man, oldish man, came and ordered her to cover her head. So she asked him to mind his own business and so he [said], ‘Then go ahead, take off your shalwar (trousers) too!’ She said, ‘I could have sunk, it was so embarrassing – and nobody said anything to him!’ Incidents like this cast an uneasy shadow over ordinary life for women, whatever their class. In 1981, Zia passed an ordinance prohibiting eating, drinking and smoking in a public place during the fasting month of Ramzan, making violations punishable by imprisonment and a fine.77 It helped to create an atmosphere of tension in public places during the month of fasting, with citizens of all faiths worried about getting caught. During Ramzan commercials with a large presence of females were forbidden,78 as if merely the sight of a woman would violate one’s devotion. Curtailing academic freedom was a major component of Zia’s programme to stifle dissent. Zia allowed the JI student wing a free run

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on university campuses.79 IJT students targeted teachers with progressive or leftist views, as it had under Ayub’s rule, and within only one year 39 either resigned or were forced to leave Punjab University.80 These academics instead turned to journalism, or set up non-government organisations (NGOs) in an attempt to recreate and foster an environment of open debate and discourse that was never to flourish again at universities. The IJT’s powerful role of controlling social interactions and leading social activism on campus attracted scores of students from middle- and lower-middle classes and rural areas into its fold. Their interest was ‘reinforced by the organization’s promise of political enfranchisement to aspiring students.’81 (The promise has held true, since much of the Jamaat’s recent leadership rose through its ranks.)82 IJT members became ‘the vehicles for a gradual, yet fundamental, process of cultural engineering – the crux of Maududi’s original program’, which had social and political ramifications beyond student campuses.83

Council of Islamic Ideology A few months into his rule, Zia declared a presidential system that was in keeping with the principles of Islam; reconstituted the Council of Islamic Ideology; and announced the denationalisation of flour mills and rice husking units. Hamid writes, ‘These measures indicated that the contours of the martial law regime were being shaped around Islamic ideology as the source of legitimacy, concentration of power in the hands of the head of state with small businessmen as a social support group, and the military including its retired personnel, as the core constituency.’84 Zia banned all political activities the following month. CII was a useful ideological mouthpiece. Zia used it to declare that political parties were un-Islamic and announced that the presidential form of government was the ‘nearest to Islam’, in response to the military leader’s request to formulate a plan of government based on Islamic principles and in accordance with the Holy Qur’an and Sunnah. It recommended the president be a true Muslim, at least 40 years of age, physically and mentally fit, ‘knowledgeable in Islamic matters’, keep himself aloof from sinful acts, and untainted by un-Islamic ideology.85

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CII became the source of Islamisation’s legal architecture. It produced the infamous Hudood Ordinances (1979), Execution of Punishment of Whipping Ordinance (1979), Law of Evidence (1984), and Qisas and Diyat Ordinances, all generating sustained opposition amongst human rights activists in the years to come. It also prepared draft laws for the prevention and elimination of lewdness and pornography (never presented), and had laws passed to mandate the payment of religious tax (zakat) to the state and preserve the sanctity of Ramadan (holy month of fasting). Upon Zia’s request, King Khaled bin Abdul Aziz of Saudi Arabia sent his special advisor ‘to provide guidance in the establishment of an Islamic society and formulation of Islamic laws in Pakistan.’86 The advisor was Dr Marouf al-Dawalibi, a two-time former Prime Minister of Syria in the 1950s pre-Baathist period, and Advisor to the Saudi King.87 He was an avid supporter of the Saudi approach to implementation of Islamic justice. In a 1972 speech, he said during his seven years of living in Saudi Arabia he had never heard of amputations carried out for stealing. ‘This is because crime is extremely rare . . . when this country became the Saudi Kingdom, the Koranic law was enforced, crime immediately disappeared.’88 But Dawalibi was more than a legal expert and retired politician. He was President of the Muslim World League at the time, ideally situated to export Saudi ideology. He was also a leading member of the Muslim Brotherhood in Syria who had seen the turbulent politics of Arab nationalism and anti-colonialism in the 1940s and 1950s, and was imprisoned twice.89 After the Ba’ath Party came to power in Syria in 1963, the Brotherhood was banned and Dawalibi joined other exiles in Saudi Arabia. General Zia and members of CII must have known the politics of the consultant who drafted the Hudood Ordinances for them in Arabic. The introduction of religious laws was selective and subject to revision if politically expedient. For example, Zia made the zakat (charitable) tax compulsory, in the form of a 2.5 per cent tax on accumulated assets and savings to be forcibly deducted from the savings accounts of Muslim citizens. The protest response from Shias, 12 per cent of the population, was explosive. Not wishing to create any problem with his volatile neighbour Iran, Zia quickly exempted Shias from the tax. Haqqani argues that this episode laid the foundation of sectarian

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conflict that eventually led to the creation of terrorist militias from both Sunni and Shias in Pakistan.90 These legal reforms were more palatable when they targeted populations without significant political leverage, such as women and non-Muslim minorities.

Hudood Ordinances 1979 CII worked on drafts of hudood and other Islamic laws since its inception in 1962, but these were set aside under the new Saudi influence. When Dawalibi presided over drafting the Hudood Ordinances, they were originally written in Arabic.91 Zia promulgated them on the birthday of the Prophet Muhammed on 10 February 1979,92 after his major Islamisation speech. They covered offences against property (theft), zina (in the forms of adultery, fornication and rape), qazf (false accusation), and prohibition (against intoxicants). The Hudood Ordinances prescribed punishments based on the Qur’an and Sunnah, for these crimes. For each offence there was a hadd (maximum) or tazir (discretionary) punishment. For hadd, the evidentiary requirements were either the confession of the accused or the testimony of two or four adult Muslim male witnesses to the offence. The punishments included amputations of hands or feet (in the case of theft), whippings and/or stoning to death. For tazir the courts could set the evidentiary requirements, and punishments included whippings, imprisonments, fines, or other practices agreed upon in a given legal system.93 Under British colonial law, adultery was defined as an offence in marriage committed by a man who had intercourse with another man’s wife without his permission.94 It was punishable by fine and imprisonment up to five years, and until 1979 only a husband could be a complainant. The new zina laws made sex outside a legally valid marriage, such as adultery or fornication, a criminal offence95 and anyone could be a complainant. In the case of a married adult Muslim man or woman committing adultery, the evidentiary requirement for hadd punishment (public stoning to death) was the testimony of four adult male Muslim witnesses of good standing witness to the act of penetration. In the absence of such witnesses, the tazir punishment was applicable, which was four to ten years’ imprisonment, as well as 30 lashes and a fine.

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In the case of simple fornication, the maximum punishment, with the same evidentiary requirement, was 100 lashes and tazeer was 30 lashes. The hadd punishment and evidentiary requirements for zina bil-jabr, or rape, were the same as for zina, effectively giving the crimes equal importance. Rape was defined as a person having sexual intercourse with another (to whom he or she is not validly married) either against his or her will, or with consent based on false belief of being married, or under duress. Zina and zina bil-jabr were made non-bailable and non-compoundable offences.96 The zina laws were framed as a moral milestone for Islamisation. Zia proclaimed, ‘Adultery is an evil which has been condemned by all world religions.’ The zina laws would apply to all forms of adultery, ‘whether the offence is committed with or without the consent of the parties’.97 As he clarified in his Islamisation speech, the new laws were meant to intimidate. ‘He said the philosophy of Hadood was not just to chop off hands and stone people to death. It was to create fear by imposing deterrent punishments.’98 The fact that it would be nearly impossible to prove zina with four witnesses was meant to temper the threat. The impact of the Hudood Ordinances was more far-reaching than anyone anticipated when they were initially promulgated. The key features leading to their enormous impact were that sexual intercourse outside marriage was criminalised; cruel punishments such as whipping and stoning to death were introduced with religious sanction; and women became vulnerable to double jeopardy.99 That is, if a woman accused a man of rape and could not prove it, then her accusation would amount to confession of illicit sex and she could be charged with zina. Any party, including the police, could file a charge. Thus, zina became a useful tool for those who wanted to be rid of their female relatives. An allegation of zina, however arbitrary and unfounded, would lead to a woman’s instant arrest and incarceration, often for years until she had the means to prove her innocence in court. False accusations, or qazf, was a punishable crime, but hardly ever invoked.100 Instead, thousands of women were arrested under charges of zina over the next 30 years and it became the most common reason for their incarceration (see Chapter 3).

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Figure 2.1 Chief Martial Law Administrator General Mohammad Zia-ulHaq inaugurating a display of records of court cases relating to Mohammed Ali Jinnah, Sindh High Court, Karachi. Photo: White Star.

Restructuring the judiciary In 1979, Zia gave the High Courts jurisdiction to examine and decide whether or not any law or provision of law was repugnant to the injunctions of Islam as laid down in the Holy Qur’an and Sunnah, and recommend changes. A Shariat Bench of three Muslim judges was set up at every High Court to make the necessary rulings, and appeals to the Supreme Court could be referred to a Shariat Appellate Bench of three Muslim judges of the Supreme Court.101 The following year he passed the Third Constitutional Amendment Order to bring all existing laws in conformity with Islam, as laid down in the Qur’an and Sunnah.

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In 1981, Zia promulgated an abridged version of the 1973 Constitution to meet ‘the threat to the integrity and sovereignty of Pakistan and its Islamic ideology,’102 although it was never specified from which quarters this threat was perceived. The abridged constitution came without fundamental rights. It also declared all the proclamations, laws, orders, martial regulations made since Zia took over to be valid and not challengeable in any court of law, and gave the president and chief martial law administrator the power to amend the constitution.103 Zia dissolved the Shariat Benches when he established the Federal Shariat Court (FSC) in 1983, to ensure all legislation conformed to Islamic injunctions and exercise appellate power in hudood cases. This marked the beginning of a parallel judicial system. The first FSC bench comprised of Muslim judges only who were appointed by the president, and included three religious scholars. The FSC had powers to review the validity of all laws on the basis of Islam, binding government to make them compliant.104 However, the constitution was exempt from this review, as was Muslim personal law and any law relating to the procedure of any court or tribunal. This restricted the jurisdiction of FSC, revealing Zia’s reluctance to bring in sweeping Shariah reforms. Since then FSC has consistently tried to expand its scope of powers. In 1991, it ruled land reform was un-Islamic, lending religious sanction to a controversial political issue in favour of the powerful elite. In 1992, it declared charging of interest by banks un-Islamic, although that has not been effectively translated into practice. Inspired by the FSC, some judges in the regular High Courts began to review laws on the basis of Islam, arguing that their jurisdiction was under no limit. (One of them was Justice Tanzil-ur-Rahman, a former chair of the Council of Islamic Ideology.) This was to impact future decisions pertaining to ‘morality’, or the sexual control over women, as we will see in Chapter 4. Critics have viewed FSC as a conduit for the military and religious lobby to exercise influence rather than deliver justice.105 Outspoken judges are transferred to the FSC as a means of silencing them, since the Shariah courts are not taken seriously as a part of the mainstream judiciary. When it first heard a case challenging a sentence of rajm, stoning to death, as un-Islamic, it declared the punishment repugnant to Islam and said the hadd punishment ought to be 100 lashes only.

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Religious groups were enraged. They lobbied with Zia to be represented on the FSC. He expanded the bench to include three ulema of his choice, and empowered the FSC to review its own decisions.106 It did so and found stoning to death the correct Shariah punishment, abiding for all times.107

Law of Evidence 1984 CII first proposed in 1982 to Islamise the colonial-era Evidence Act of 1872. The original draft of the new Qanoon-e-Shahadat, or Law of Evidence, stipulated any cases other than those covered by the Hudood Ordinances or any other ‘special law’, required two male witnesses to prove a crime, or else one male and two females. (In specifically female matters, involving menstruation or delivery, the evidence of two or even one woman would do.) In cases falling under the hudood or Qisas and Diyat laws (see below), women would be barred from giving evidence altogether.108 This draft law galvanised women to protest against its discriminatory provisions (see Chapter 3). In the revised 1984 version, courts were given power to determine the competence of a witness. The law now states, ‘in matters pertaining to financial or future obligations, if reduced to writing, the instrument shall be attested by two men or one man and two women, so that one may remind the other, if necessary, and evidence shall be led accordingly.’ It remains in force. Although the discrimination is limited to financial evidence, it has helped to perpetuate a widespread belief that in all legal matters the evidence of one woman is half that of a man.

Defining the excluded Zia made a great effort to clarify that Pakistan was a state intended for its majority Sunni Muslims, and through his and subsequent legislation and policies an impression has been created amongst the citizenry that it is threatened by its minorities. He took the unprecedented step of amending the constitution to include a definition of Muslims and expanded definition of non-Muslims; until then Bhutto’s 2nd Amendment of 1974 only included a definition of non-Muslims.

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‘Muslim’ means a person who believes in the Unity and Oneness of Almighty Allah, in the absolute and unqualified finality of the Prophethood of Muhammad (PBUH) the last of the prophets, and does not believe in, or recognize as, a prophet or religious reformer, any person who claimed or claims to be a prophet, in any sense of the word or of any description whatsoever, after Muhammad (peace be upon him).109 There were no other attributes of the faith included, although there is no dearth that ulema could have offered, as we know from the Munir Commission Report (see Chapter 1). It was clear from the phrasing that this definition was intended to exclude not just Ahmadis; it more broadly articulated who was an outsider in this Muslim state. NonMuslims were defined as Christians, Hindus, Sikhs, Buddhists, Parsis, Bahais, Ahmadis, and anyone from the ‘scheduled castes’.110 Zia took the exclusion of Ahmadis to its next inevitable phase by legalising discrimination against them in 1984 through an Ordinance.111 They were prohibited from using any epithets, descriptions, or titles reserved for holy personages or places in Islam. They were forbidden from calling their places of worship masjids, or themselves Muslims, or reciting the azan (call to prayer). Ahmadis were now prevented from practising, preaching and propagating their faith, punishable by imprisonment and paying fines. From 1987 to 1992, 106 Ahmadis were charged under the new law. Ruling on a legal challenge, the Lahore High Court argued that the activities of Ahmadis and the propagation of their faith had to be resisted by the Muslim ummah in order to keep the faith pure and to maintain its integrity.112 Pakistan inherited just three blasphemy laws from the 1860 British Penal Code, designed to avoid sectarian strife. One pertains to the injury or defilement of a place of worship, with intent to insult the religion of any class. Another refers to disturbance of a religious assembly; and the last covers the deliberate utterance of words with the intent to wound religious feelings.113 In 1927, an offence was added for blasphemy through the written word or by visible representation, in response to religious riots in India. All of these laws carried a penalty of one or two years in jail, or a fine, or both. Until Zia’s changes, there were only eight blasphemy cases in Pakistan. Most were dismissed in court, none were

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against non-Muslims, and they had nothing to do with profanity against the Holy Prophet nor defilement of the Holy Qur’an.114 Zia’s 1980 new blasphemy laws gave the impression Islam was under attack from non-believers or heretics, echoing the Saudi ulema response to the threat of western, or non-Muslim influence in their Kingdom. He added Section 298A to the Pakistan Penal Code, by Ordinance, to imprison and/or fine ‘whoever by words, either spoken or written, or by visible representation, or by any imputation, innuendo, or insinuation, directly or indirectly defiles the sacred name’ of any wife, family member, Caliph, or companion of the Holy Prophet.115 Punishment under Section 295A was also increased up to ten years in prison. In 1982, he promulgated Section 295B, prescribing life imprisonment for anyone who ‘willfully defiles, damages or desecrates a copy of the Holy Qur’an or of an extract therefrom or uses it in any derogatory manner for any unlawful purpose’. All of these referred only to Islam, without concern for the desecration of the holy books of any other religion, whose followers constitute a slim minority in Pakistan. It was unclear how key terms, such as ‘derogatory’, were defined, leading to hundreds of arrests based on accusations such as burning pages of the Qur’an, tossing in the garbage papers with the words of the Qur’an, writing Qur’anic verses on walls, and more, which carried harsh penalties for the first time. The next dose came in the form of Ahmadi-specific Sections 298B and 298C,116 promulgated in 1984. The first refers to the ‘[m]isuse of epithets, descriptions and titles, etc., reserved for certain holy personages or places’, which means that no Ahmadi may refer to any of the latter with any of the words used by Muslims. Although Ahmadis consider themselves Muslim, under Section 298C they are forbidden from proclaiming themselves as such or in any way inviting others to accept their faith. The punishment for either violation is up to three years’ imprisonment and liable to a fine.117 In 1986, the National Assembly added Section 295C, to punish with death or life imprisonment, and with a fine, the use of derogatory remarks about the Holy Prophet. This blasphemy referred to ‘words, either spoken or written, or by visible representation or by any imputation, innuendo, or insinuation’ and anyone who ‘directly or indirectly, defiles the sacred name of the Holy Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him)’.118 The move to

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specify a mandatory death penalty was partly motivated by an allegation of blasphemy against a woman activist, as we will see in Chapter 3. The blasphemy laws led to numerous unfounded accusations and vigilante murders, with few convictions of the killers. The number of blasphemy cases filed in the courts is increasing every year. Between 1987 and 2012, 247 cases were filed, affecting nearly 328 persons. An average of two persons per year (59 between 1990 and 2012) have been killed extra-judicially.119 Approximately half of those affected are non-Muslim, but given the tiny numbers, it is a staggering proportion. The laws have increased the vulnerability and insecurity of religious minorities and led to a steady stream of asylum seekers looking for sanctuary in western countries.

Re-conceptualising murder and bodily injury In 1980, the Council of Islamic Ideology first introduced draft laws to cover different forms of murder and injury. In Islamic law deliberate murder is a crime for which the victim’s heirs may demand Qisas (retribution) in the form of death or injury commensurate with the crime committed. Islamic law also differs in that it classifies more types of murder than British law. In cases of murder without intent to cause death, the victim’s heirs may ask for Diyat (blood money) as compensation. Islamic law also provides for compromise between parties on an agreed compensation/settlement in cases of murder and hurt. The offender may be pardoned by the victim or his/her heirs in such cases.120 The courts retain the right to award tazir, or discretionary punishment if the victim’s heirs decide to waive their right of Qisas.121 The new law to take CII’s draft forward, as ordered by the Shariat Appellate Bench was finally promulgated as an Ordinance by President Ghulam Ishaq Khan in 1990, who used his powers under the 8th Amendment to dismiss Benazir Bhutto as Prime Minister and install a caretaker government. To avoid the controversy of a debate in the National Assembly to pass a bill, the Ordinance was simply repromulgated over twenty times for seven years. Finally, when Zia’s prote´ge´, Nawaz Sharif, became Prime Minister he formalised it into law in 1997.122 The Qisas and Diyat laws have profoundly affected the criminal justice system, with serious repercussions for women (Chapter 8).123

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The state no longer has direct control over offences concerning person and property; instead, it is exercised by the victim or his/her heirs.124 The law has ‘privatized murder and bodily hurt’, undermining the fundamental right to liberty guaranteed under the constitution.125 The complainant in a murder case now ‘steers the course of justice’, and if he retracts his statement upon making a settlement the court cannot continue with a prosecution.126 The law applies to non-Muslims too; however, they cannot serve as witnesses. Compensation for murder of a non-Muslim is less than that for a Muslim. Under the old law all categories of murder provided for imprisonment, while under the current law, only one type of murder (unintentional murder, qatl-bis-sahab) is exempt and punishable by Diyat alone. Intentional murder is liable to a death sentence (Qisas) only if the requisite number of eyewitnesses to the crime can be produced, or if the offender confesses.127 There is no longer any category of murder caused by ‘grave and sudden provocation’, as that does not exist in Islamic law. If the court finds that the accused is a threat to peace, it can invoke the provision fasad-fil-arz128 (literally ‘mischief on earth’), and sentence him/her to death, overriding any settlement or forgiveness by the heirs. Offences relating to the human body are compoundable, meaning that the involved parties can settle the dispute outside of court. The heirs of a murder victim can settle for monetary compensation, i.e. blood money (Diyat) or retribution (Qisas). The minimum value of the former is equivalent to 30,630 grams of silver.129 In matters of bodily harm, a settlement of Qisas or Diyat is also possible, although the latter has never been implemented (i.e. an eye for eye, etc.). The court is almost always obliged to accept this settlement. Thus the law has increased the likelihood of rich offenders silencing victims through the payment of blood money. Certain categories of murder are not punishable with Qisas (and not even tazir) and only liable to pay Diyat. This is (a) when the offender is a minor or insane (b) if the offender kills his own child or grandchild, or (c) if any wali (heir) of the victim is a direct descendant of the offender. This means that if a man murders his wife who leaves behind their children, he cannot be convicted or sentenced to death, only given a lesser punishment of Diyat. If there is no settlement, the court may sentence him up to a maximum of 14 years’ imprisonment.130

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Incidents of murder increased dramatically with the changed law.131 In a study based on legal cases between 1981 and 2000 in ten districts of Punjab, the murder rate rose an average of 6.5 per 100,000 per year. Cases cancelled by the police without investigation doubled. Conviction rates at the trial stage dwindled, while compromise rates increased to 29 per cent. One in three murderers in these districts strikes a deal and walks free. The law puts women at an extreme disadvantage in numerous ways. While the heirs of the victim may forgive the offender, often a dissenting voice can be ignored (although waiver of Qisas is supposed to be unanimous amongst heirs) as usually it is the lone voice of a wife or daughter. Further, the mother of minor children is denied the right to decide on their behalf in matters of compounding of Qisas in qatl-i-amd (intentional murder), because that right belongs only to their father or paternal grandfather.132 Diyat, blood money, is disbursed in the same manner as inheritance within a family; therefore a man will receive twice as much as a woman.133 The Diyat for a dead woman is half that of a man. It has had a grave impact upon the incidence of honour killings of women, leading to increased murders with impunity and out-of-court settlements for honour crimes (see Chapter 8).

Referendum and elections Zia planned to hold some form of elections, but only if he would be able to continue as President in a civilian government. Thus, he decided to hold a referendum in December 1984 to get the ‘people’ to bless his continued rule.134 He used Islamisation, again, to justify his hold over power and delay Pakistan’s return to full democracy. The referendum asked if the people endorsed his process for bringing laws in conformity with the injunctions of Islam (as laid down in the Holy Qur’an and Sunnah of the Holy Prophet) and in preserving the ideology of Pakistan; also if they wanted the continuation and consolidation of that process and the smooth and orderly transfer of power to their elected representatives. ‘Yes’ meant another five-year term for Zia as President. Turnout was low, as major political parties boycotted. Still, Zia declared 98 per cent of voters favoured his proposal.135

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There was a partial return to civilian rule with elections in 1985. Beforehand, Zia created separate electoral rolls for non-Muslims in elected assemblies. (JI and JUI believed PPP won the votes of minorities because of their liberal views, and the new law was an attempt to split its vote base.)136 The Movement for the Restoration of Democracy (MRD)137 refused to take part in these elections because political parties were not allowed to contest on a party basis. Only JI representatives were permitted as reward for their support during the early years of Islamisation but won only a few seats in the elections. After the 1985 elections, the National Assembly138 passed the 8th Amendment to the Constitution, thus enshrining his exclusionary policies. The amendment protected and secured all of Zia’s acts under martial law and ensured he remained President. It inserted Article 2A into the constitution, which converted the 1949 Objectives Resolution from a preamble into a substantive and effective part of the constitution, with one change. It previously read, ‘Wherein adequate provision shall be made for the minorities freely to profess and practice their religions and develop their culture’, but it now omitted the word ‘freely’.139 The 8th Amendment gave the president power to dissolve the National Assembly, which General Zia did in 1988, and after him other presidents would do four more times. It increased the reserved seats for women from 10 to 20, until the holding of the third general elections to the National Assembly under the constitution.140 The Senate included some reserved seats for ulema, and the elected assemblies some seats for religious minorities. Eligibility to run for office was to be based on age, sanity, knowledge of Islam, abstinence from major sins, righteousness, and never having opposed the ideology of Pakistan. Similar criteria remain in place today.

A mission incomplete Just two months before he died in a plane crash in 1988, Zia promulgated the Shariah Ordinance to declare Shariah the supreme source of law in Pakistan and to cap his Islamisation programme. It defined ‘Shariah’ vaguely as ‘the injunctions of Islam as laid down in the Holy Qur’an and Sunnah’ and interpreted with respect to the personal law of any Muslim sect, mandated by the constitution. It empowered the High Courts of Pakistan to examine and decide

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whether any law relating to Muslim personal law, fiscal and tax matters, banking or insurance were repugnant to Shariah. The plan was to insert a group of ulema into all levels of the judiciary and the bar, Islamise the economy, education sector and mass media. The CII was directed to speed up its codification of Islamic laws. It is possible Zia intended to cultivate a new constituency amongst the legal profession he had alienated. He also needed to distract the public from his dissolution of the National Assembly earlier that year.141 The Ordinance lapsed after he dismissed the assemblies in 1988, but the idea didn’t die with him, since by then Islamisation was entrenched in national politics (see Chapter 5). *** This social engineering project enjoyed state support during the Zia period and after. Maududi died in 1979 and received a state funeral. Nasr writes that by the end of his life Maududi was disappointed with what he had created in the JI; there had been ‘a loss of innocence’.142 One wonders where the innocence ever lay. His early writing advocated propagation of an uncompromising Shariah state, disparaged democratic rule and undermined women’s freedoms,143 tenets faithfully adhered to in the party and state policy at the time of his death. Pakistan had changed dramatically since the inquiry commission into the Ahmadi disturbance of 1953, which challenged the ulema’s bigotry and mocked their inability to agree on a definition of a Muslim. Zia’s continued military rule and the influence of JI and other religious groups on state policy benefited directly from the changes in global context during the same period. The US believed it was in its interest to ally itself more strongly with Saudi Arabia in the aftermath of the Iranian revolution, and transform its distrust of Zia’s regime into a deep and well-funded alliance after it decided to use Pakistan as a conduit for the anti-Soviet jihad in Afghanistan. In both countries the suppression of democracy and the rise of a state-sponsored exclusionary Islamic ideology were overlooked to give, in the case of Pakistan, a new lease of life to a discredited pariah regime. The ideologues fuelling Islamisation reforms in Saudi Arabia and Pakistan were linked on different levels. While the Wahhabi ulema in Saudi Arabia were not identical to the Deobandi JUI or Maududi’s JI, they enjoyed ties through Maududi’s influence on the Muslim

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Brotherhood and its linkages with the Saudi regime and its policies. When the export of Saudi Islam, by then a hybrid of Wahhabism and Muslim Brotherhood influence, began in earnest after 1979, Pakistan was the first state to receive its full-blown impact. Zia’s policies and legal reforms displayed the same tendencies as Saudi Arabia to view non-Muslims as a threat, demarcate Shias as separate from the Sunni mainstream, degrade the status of women, and institute far-reaching educational reforms (see Chapter 4) to further these goals. His government, and those groups allied with its Islamisation agenda, received enormous financial support for their social engineering endeavour, through funds channelled to the state, madrassas, charities, religious groups, and the Afghan jihad. In the following chapter we will see how women in Pakistan began to organise themselves in resistance to this process, and this without the extensive financial backing enjoyed by the religious right. Subsequent chapters will show how activists found themselves repeatedly in conflict with an increasingly hostile state, but at the same time deeply reliant on it to deliver its promise of equal citizenship to all.

CHAPTER 3 THE WOMEN'S MOVEMENT: FIRST PHASE

The first phase of the movement locked women into a framework for their activism that was structured by the global politics and Islamisation discussed in Chapter 2, although all of it was not clear to them at the time. What was most obvious, of course, was their need to challenge the legislation in the name of Zia’s programme, which was a veil to cover the true face of this second attempt by the military to run the affairs of the state, stifle the populism of political parties and mould the judiciary to its purposes. Women confronted the regime bravely, and in the process found themselves face to face with Zia’s allies: religious parties, most prominent of which was Jamaat-i-Islami, and his institutional mouthpiece, the Council of Islamic Ideology. With the passage of almost 40 years, it is possible to take a fresh look at the early stages of the modern women’s movement in Pakistan and formulate a new understanding of some of its strengths, contributions and weaknesses. This chapter will introduce the women who started the Women’s Action Forum (WAF)1 and the main events during the start of their mobilisation against the military regime of General Zia-ul-Haq (1977– 88). There were contradictions in Zia’s policies regarding women. He first froze and then quietly restarted the population welfare programme when he understood its importance to national development outcomes.2 He established the first ever government body just for women, a Women’s Division within the Cabinet Secretariat with linkages to the provinces.3

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Still, in 1983 Zia set up the Ansari Commission to design an ‘Islamic political framework’. Fortunately, its recommendations were never acted upon. (The report recommended separate electorates for women and men.)4 He banned the report of the 1976 Inquiry Commission formed by Bhutto and although he established a second Pakistan Commission on the Status of Women, he never released its findings. Citizens did act, albeit sporadically, to resist Zia’s initial steps of Islamisation even though all political activity was banned. Principals blithely ignored the directive for all girls to wear chadors in colleges.5 Doctors refused to carry out amputations mandated under the new Hudood Ordinances even though by 1988 there were 26 convictions.6 There were even challenges in court that the new laws were un-Islamic.7 In protest against a death sentence handed down by the courts under the zina laws, a group of urban middle- and upper-class women formed an association called Women’s Action Forum (WAF) in 1981. The fundamental challenge that the case raised regarding a woman’s control over her own sexuality remains fiercely contested today, as evidenced by the countless court cases and honour killings decades later. An issue that almost split the movement was whether or not WAF would become political, i.e. ally itself with political organisations or parties, which were mostly banned, and thereby actively oppose the government. Another debate that was only put to rest as the first decade of WAF came to a close was around taking a position that it stood for a secular state. Related to this were debates about using an Islamic framework to counter the misogynistic vision of the government and build support amongst the people. WAF was not the only organisation that struggled with these questions, but it is one of the few remaining groups to stand by its decision to declare in its charter that it stands for a secular state. In the intervening years since the end of Zia’s rule, the atmosphere for political and religious debate has become fraught with more risk, such that these discussions are dwindling and can no longer be held with any confidence in public spaces. WAF’s internal struggles to resolve these questions remain an outstanding example of an organisation grappling with some of the most complex issues facing the nation. Key to understanding the women’s movement – and its courage in developing a secular position – is that it emerged as General Zia was destroying what remained of the trade unions and political activism of the left in Pakistan. The natural allies of WAF were those who held

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progressive views on the rights of women, which many leftist political activists and intellectuals did indeed hold, but they were dismantled as a force for change in the country. Many of the most long-standing, active and committed members of WAF today are those whose political consciousness stems from Pakistan’s brief history of socialist or leftleaning politics.

The early activists Kausar Khan recalls reading an article in the newspaper announcing new Islamic laws, which included a set of criminal Hudood Ordinances, and vaguely wondering how they would be used. Two years later, a tiny news item appeared in the daily paper in Karachi. It said that a woman, Fehmida, and a man called Allah Bakhsh had been found guilty of zina under the hudood laws. The woman was sentenced to 100 lashes and the man to death by stoning. Najma Sadeque read the item and made a historic phone call to friend and colleague Aban Marker, both members of a young feminist organisation called Shirkat Gah. Soon the first WAF meeting of about 30 women took place to discuss the brutal sentence. Among them were journalists, performers with Tehreek-e-Niswan,8 members of the leftist Democratic Women’s Association, and representatives of the All Pakistan Women’s Association (APWA), which is the country’s oldest women’s organisation.9 In that first meeting they all agreed to oppose the zina laws and to stand up for the rights of women. Fehmida, 18 years of age, was from a lower-middle-class family and fell in love with her school bus driver. She ran away from home on 1 January 1980, and went to live with him along with his first wife and children. When her furious parents failed to persuade her to return, they used a common recourse of filing a police report that she was kidnapped. The police eventually caught up with Fehmida and found she was pregnant. They demanded proof of their marriage, upon which they produced a nikahnama, or marriage certificate, registered a few days earlier. Their protestations that they had actually had a verbal nikah earlier in the year were rejected, Fehmida’s pregnancy was taken as proof of illicit sex, and they were charged with zina and sentenced to the maximum (hadd) punishment in 1981 under the new hudood laws.10

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The time was right for women from the middle and upper reaches of society to mobilise because they were already angry at the restrictions placed on them by General Zia’s Islamisation drive and the harassment it produced in the streets and at work. Members of the Majlis-i-Shura, Zia’s new name for parliament, even questioned women’s right to employment. Teachers, police and even ordinary citizens were growing more eager to enforce his suggested dress code, the chador, on women’s heads in schools and other public spaces by harassing women who did not comply.11 Until the end of Bhutto’s rule in 1977, educated, professional women believed it was only a matter of time until they would achieve their rights. Each government, even Ayub’s dictatorship, had nominally improved women’s rights and increased their participation in national development. But this time, the daughters and granddaughters of women who participated in the Pakistan movement were mobilising not as social welfare activists, but as citizens demanding their rights.12 Suddenly, along with emerging middle-class women who were leaving the home and entering the workforce for the first time, they stood to lose the rights and liberties they had come to enjoy. This is why Nighat Said Khan argues if it were not for the changes women enjoyed under Bhutto’s rule, there would be no WAF.13 Soon the group decided to call itself Women’s Action Forum. It functioned as a platform for organisations and individuals, offering safety in numbers against the hostility of the state. Within a year WAF opened chapters in Lahore and Islamabad.14 I asked founding members of WAF about their life trajectories, how they had developed as feminists, and their experiences with WAF. Almost all told me that their initial experience of gender injustice, which later grew into feminism, came from their personal lives, usually an injustice they had seen within their own homes. One WAF member spoke of her struggle to convince her family to allow her to study abroad just as her brother did. Yet another took the unusual step of seeking a divorce early on in an unhappy marriage. Rubina Saigol, scholar and activist from Lahore, told me: I joined it [WAF] because I felt that this would be something that would give meaning to my experiences. It would tell me, give me answers to why things were happening in Pakistan, the way they

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Figure 3.1 First WAF Convention Lahore 1982. (Outstretched) Lala Rukh, (1st row, from left) Ghazala Rahman, Khawar Mumtaz, Sultanat Bokhari, Hilda Saeed, Nigar Ahmed, (2nd row) Samina Rahman, Rukhsana Rashid, Farida Shaheed, Humaira Rahman, Fareeha Zafar, Nighat Said Khan, Aban Marker-Kabraji, (standing) Farida Sher, Najma Sadeque. Photo: Lala Rukh.

were. Answers that had come from my own lived experiences at home and seeing things in society around me with friends and cousins and all. So I felt that WAF would be an emotional, intellectual home for me, I’ll be able to relate.15 The personal and professional bonds forged amongst the founding members of WAF during these early years have largely continued since then. General Zia’s Islamisation agenda was a wish come true for the semieducated religious right. Tehmina Ahmed16 recalls reading the newspaper in her Karachi office at an advertising agency one day, which quoted Dr Israr Ahmed, a well known conservative scholar, saying that women must not work and should sit at home instead. She felt

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angry and insulted, but at the time she was leading a relatively isolated life without much of a broader social network and there was no immediate opportunity to act upon that anger. Not long after that a friend invited her to a WAF meeting; she soon joined the working committee, and her world changed. Ahmed met academics, journalists, artists, and more, all intent on resisting Zia’s programme. She states, It meant a lot to all of us. It was really kind of an anchor living in those days because it was just something to hang onto in that environment and something that made you feel you weren’t helpless, that you could fight back in some way or the other. And also what is very important is to know that there were other people who felt the same way. You have that connection and that’s what we got back out of it for whatever time, effort, energy that was put into it. The Karachi Working Committee has met almost every Monday since then. WAF chapters have maintained a non-hierarchal structure, with the decision-making process largely based upon consensus. Press statements were not issued with the name of any WAF member, to ensure that they would be signed in an illegible hand. Often journalists would grow frustrated with this approach and insist upon quoting one activist as ‘leader’ or ‘president’ of WAF. WAF members themselves belonged to other organisations, and those contacts were mobilised for events as needed. While the general body membership was open to anyone, the working committee was selfselected, comprising those who did most of the legwork in each chapter. The committee began as a central committee of endorsing organisations, including APWA, the Family Planning Association of Pakistan and Behbud, but these withdrew as WAF took on a confrontational stance with the regime. The early Karachi Working Committee operated in almost subversive fashion. Tehmina Ahmed remembers it was like a secret society, [B]ecause you had to be very careful in those days about who you talked to and what you did, whether the person was safe, not safe. You could get into very bad trouble. I mean I’m talking about Zia

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ul Haq’s Pakistan. [. . .] They had a system by which somebody came onto the working committee, they called you as an observer [and] everybody got to meet you and see what you were like and if there was unanimous agreement that you were okay then you’d be invited to become a member. Activists lobbied with decision makers, wrote for the press, galvanised new activists, all on their own time after work hours. It also took a lot of extra energy to work in a non-hierarchical fashion. Ahmed continues, ‘To get things done you needed like-minded people, you needed people who were on the same wavelength because you’re working with zero resources, you’re working with everything, you know all the odds kind of stacked up against you.’ WAF decided at the outset not to accept any form of funding from foreign aid agencies, or otherwise, beyond token contributions or the occasional donation from a local supporter. This limited its scope of activities to seminars, low-cost workshops, printing of pamphlets or banners, renting space for an event, or calling street demonstrations that could mobilise hundreds at best. This independence is still a source of pride for WAF, proof that the organisation is beholden to no foreign donor, multi-national, or other organisation. Some members over the years grew frustrated with WAF’s inability to have a larger impact, however, believing it was due to inadequate resources at its disposal.

Roots in the left While there was truth to the criticism that this early phase of women’s movement was largely limited to the upper-middle-class or bourgeois women, as suggested by academic Shahnaz Rouse, what is remarkable is its survival in an increasingly harsh and hostile context.17 The trade union movement was dismantled during Bhutto’s rule and many of the most committed leftists were purged from the PPP. Anis Haroon, among them, became an early founder member of WAF. General Zia enlisted the help of the Jamaat-i-Islami and its student wing to complete his decimation of the leftist student groups and trade unions.18 It was amidst the chaos of these days that women, many of whom had ties to the left, began to organise against the regime to fight for their rights, but their comrades either would not, or could not, be there to back them

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wholeheartedly. During Zia’s years, WAF members were arrested due to their affiliation with progressive political parties and the left.19 Farida Zafar in Lahore, a Maoist, set up her own Tehreek-e-Khawateen, which joined the WAF platform. Yet other WAF members, while not directly affiliated with the left, were part of the progressive political party Tehreek-i-Istaqlal. Khawar Mumtaz is one of the oldest members of Lahore WAF and now chairs the government-appointed National Commission on the Status of Women. She came from a protected family background in Karachi, attending first St Joseph’s School and College, then Karachi University. She was married six months after completing her Master’s, upon which she moved to Lahore. These were the years of the antiAyub agitation and the rise of Bhutto’s popularity. Her husband had returned from abroad fired up with leftist ideology and they both became part of what was known as the Professor’s Group in Lahore. She recalls that they used to meet every Tuesday and hold a study circle, where young people and socialists would gather and share ideas. She in turn started visiting a colony of railway workers to work with the women. After a trip to China with her husband, Khawar first heard that a group called WAF had been formed and there was a meeting to be held at the APWA College. She went and heard Farida Shaheed speak about the Fehmida and Allah Bakhsh case in Karachi and explain why WAF had been created, but found herself sceptical about whether it would take off. By this time Khawar had also noticed that in the left groups women were always seen in a supportive role, never as equal to men, so her scepticism extended to them as well. She was working at the Centre for South Asian Studies at Punjab University when dozens of professors were either transferred or terminated under Zia’s new regulations. She decided to join WAF, not sure where it would lead, but frustrated and angry at the new regime. Farida Shaheed recalls WAF’s initial goal was to mobilise both men and women to protest. But the progressive men had one of two responses. It was either, ‘This is Pakistan, the verdict [of hadd punishment] will never happen,’ or, ‘This is military rule and there is nothing we can do.’20 The sociologist Hamza Alavi wrote there was also little sympathy amongst men in the left for women who wanted to protest against Zia’s measures because they felt socialism should be a

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priority of political activism as it would overcome women’s problems.21 Younger leftists critiqued the women activists for being bourgeois and elitist and not worthy of their support. Shaheed believes that the left’s male leaders and trade unions were discontent because they were unable to dictate WAF’s direction; like men in most social movements they were used to controlling the women amongst their ranks.22 For activist Nighat Said Khan, the women’s movement spoke to her political perspective born out of a combination of convent schooling, Marxist conviction and personal experience. She recalls that many early activists were friends from their convent school years, taught to be acutely aware of the poverty around them, which she thinks led to many of them opening their own NGOs.23 She became a communist at 14 years of age and then studied at Columbia University during the tumultuous late 1960s, refusing to take money from her father (who spent his life savings to send her brother abroad), and worked her own way through. She returned to Pakistan alone, her own family having meanwhile migrated. ‘My revolution was here. And I came for the revolution.’ She went to her first Professor’s Group meeting of academics at Punjab University in 1971. To her disappointment, she found it supportive of the military government and reluctant to condemn the government’s action in East Pakistan at the time. She also noticed that women played a secondary role. Meanwhile, the political left decided to join the PPP thinking they had a future in that party but within two years Bhutto had purged them. Shocked and discouraged, Nighat returned to the US to pay off her student loans. Eventually, she faced Pakistan again, this time to teach at an Islamabad university, but fell foul of the government’s inability to hear criticism, even in the classroom. Actor, dancer and activist Sheema Kermani began her career working with trade unions in Karachi in the early 1970s. She recalls how inspired and motivated she felt after returning from her studies in the UK to put ideals into action through visiting factories and homes. We would talk about women in workplaces, their rights and what visions we had, what happened in the Soviet Union and what should happen here. It was also quite romantic and idealistic. Then when I started getting close to [this one man’s] wife, she

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once said to me that ‘he beats me’. . . . So we started taking these kinds of issues up and these men admitted to it. A lot of them changed drastically and they realized that this is – I mean I remember some of them saying ‘So, what is wrong with that?’24 This brought together women leftist academics, medical students and artists, and Tehreek-e-Niswan was born. Its modus operandi was simple. Women and girls would meet in small groups and discuss liberal or revolutionary ideas. They began to share their own writing. ‘Someone [from amongst the working-class women] would read a story and people would sit around and listen and chat and discuss that story, or poem,’ Sheema recalls. After Zia took over, Tehreek-e-Niswan tried out political theatre as a means of communicating its messages. Its first performance was a small play at a public bazaar depicting vignettes of women’s lives, followed by a discussion between the actors and audience. It did not attract attention of the authorities, and in this low-key way the group has continued to perform across Pakistan for over 35 years. Sheema also began to perform and teach Indian classical dance after Zia’s ban in 1979 caused many musicians and dancers to leave the country.25 A Tehreek-e-Niswan play or dance performance often accompanied a WAF event or celebration. Although it has become a well known cultural troupe in the country, it still regularly performs at venues for middle- and lower-income audiences in both rural and urban centres. In 1983, Sheema, aware of the risks, decided to take Tehreek-eNiswan to perform a play at Karachi University, with the well known actress Samina Peerzada in the cast. Kermani felt that as long as she kept her activities ‘under the radar’ usually the authorities did not stop her performances, and this one would be no different. However, when she arrived with her group on campus she was told that IJT would fire at them if they dared to perform. IJT’s ire derived from the fact that in the show boys and girls would appear on stage together and that was considered un-Islamic. Sheema and Samina peered inside the auditorium and saw it was packed with a few thousand girls. They decided no one would dare fire into such a crowd and went inside to do the performance. As they continued they heard the firing outside. Much later, a university student told Sheema that the leftist groups were doing their best to restrain the IJT to enable them to carry on. Sheema believes that it was

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after this episode that General Zia banned both students unions and cultural activities in colleges and universities. In Lahore, two sisters, Asma Jahangir and Hina Jilani, began their law careers grounded in first-hand experience of political activism. They saw their father, Malik Ghulam Jilani, an ex-civil servant, imprisoned several times for his opposition to Ayub Khan’s military rule. He contested elections against his erstwhile friend Bhutto in the 1970 elections, who incarcerated him later. He accused the Pakistan military of genocide in 1971 against the population in former East Pakistan. Hina remembers they were taught not to believe everything they read. So the whole question was that at that time the rationale behind the creation of the country, and the contradictions. That the people have welcomed in some ways the emergence of Pakistan, their expectations were that this would be the democratic country where the people will have freedom, not just religious freedom that was being emphasized at the time, but respect for minorities and respect for people’s democratic rights. These were the kind of people I was meeting since I was young. Then it wasn’t just talk, there was activism. My father was in opposition and during my childhood he stayed in jail most of the time I remember. [. . .] This country does not accept new ideas very readily. So anybody who is bringing in something that makes sense, but is not something that the establishment has accepted, is always a rebel. And a rebel’s life is never easy.26 After the coup and Bhutto’s arrest, Hina went with her father daily to the Lahore High Court to follow his trial, where she learned a valuable lesson. She saw how ‘the judiciary was totally playing the game of the military, in fact desecrating the name of rule of law’. She started visiting jails to search out political prisoners and in the process came in contact with another prison population, those who were incarcerated under the Hudood Ordinances. The injustice of the laws themselves were plain to see, but more complex were the ‘several hundred issues that these women faced – family issues, social issues, community issues, and their vulnerability and their powerlessness. This was what made me go into this area of taking up legal aid for women’s rights.’ The sisters set up AGHS, their legal practice for women

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in 1980 in Lahore, which has since become a leading voice for human rights in the country.27 At first, it seemed that the new movement might be an opportunity to reverse, perhaps, a failing of the left. As academic Shahnaz Rouse28 analysed at the time, the left had not fought for women’s rights per se because gender equality was second to issues of labour relations and the working class. Now, the zina cases had brought to light issues of both gender and class together, i.e. social morality as well as economic inequality. Here was an opportunity to launch a mass-based popular front of many women’s groups (which WAF appeared to be at the time), yet it would have to do without the support from the secular political parties since they were fighting for their survival. This would only be a success, Rouse argued, if WAF managed to turn itself into a mass-based organisation and expand into rural areas, set its own agenda (rather than only respond reactively to the state’s actions), connect with the wider movement for restoration of democratic rights and cease to call itself ‘non-political’. She said that such a position was absurd, as the demand for women’s rights was itself political and could only be achieved through political means.29 Hamza Alavi also saw the emerging women’s movement as a historical moment in Pakistan’s history. Women’s growing role in the urban economy had led to social changes within the family and in the division of labour, particularly in the middle and lower middle classes. More women entered the urban labour force, while education was opening up new types of jobs for them. Zia’s regime was threatening the newly gained freedoms of education and mobility, even more so than his Islamic laws. Alavi critiqued the left for believing that either socialism would be enough to overcome many of the problems women face in the country or, worse than Zia, dismissing the women’s movement as bourgeois elitist. He believed that the leaders of the women’s movement, who were educated and professional, were only ‘the tip of a huge iceberg, their sisters being for the time being submerged in an ocean of work’.30 It was these women who had exhibited the leadership qualities and had the time to respond to Zia’s ‘outrageous measures in the name of Islamisation’. His warning was similar to Rouse’s – the movement needed to move beyond a focus on discriminatory laws and broaden its base beyond the urban middle and lower classes.

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From dissent to movement WAF Lahore celebrated its first anniversary in October 1982 by holding its second jalsa, or public meeting, in the APWA College auditorium. Almost 1,000 women attended. The feminist poet Kishwar Naheed reported WAF’s main achievement was to prevent the repeal of the Muslim Family Laws Ordinance. Other women who would emerge as leaders in their fields took part: Tahira Syed sang, artist Salima Hashmi and actor Samina Ahmed performed skits.31 Future politician Mahnaz Rafi32 tabled a resolution to reject laws making women liable to punishments, but not rights, equal to men’s. WAF Lahore took the lead in protesting against the proposed Law of Evidence (Qanoon-e-Shahadat) in 1982 which sought to make two women’s testimonies equal to that of one man for proving a crime.33 WAF held meetings and seminars with experts to discuss the legal implications of the law and to debate whether it was truly Islamic. The issue brought women together for WAF’s first anniversary jalsa in Lahore in 1982. Then, in February 1983, the Punjab Women Lawyers’ Association and WAF women took out a protest march to the Lahore High Court to present a written memorandum against the proposed law. About 300 women gathered, representing six women’s organisations, with almost twice the number of police officers to meet them. The protest became a turning point in the consciousness of women activists in Pakistan and is worth recalling in some detail. Neelam Hussain had just returned from the UK and remembers the lawyers Hina Jilani and Asma Jahangir suggested protestors should meet at their offices on Mall Road.34 The press was waiting. Another WAF member from a political family had brought a group of working-class women, including prostitutes affected by the zina laws, from the inner city of Lahore. When she saw the numbers of police she rushed them home knowing they would be arrested first. The police cordoned off the area, blocking the march, so the protestors started a sit-in. The well known poet Habib Jalib recited the poem he wrote for WAF, which became known as its anthem: We will not accept a destiny thrust upon us Rather, we know well how to forge one of our own35

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People began to break through the cordon, surprising the police who began a lathi-charge with bamboo sticks and tear-gassed Jalib along with the women. Neelam Hussain recounts: Somehow I grabbed the bamboo stick of a flag and jabbed it at one guy and I think I got him in the groin! Poor man. So we broke on to the main Mall Road there and then I remember seeing Madiha Gauhar36 laying there on the road fainted. I shouted to get water for her and asked her if she’s well enough to run? She said yes, she was just avoiding a beating, she got up. . . . Then we all ran, the police was running after us. And it was quite funny because Farida Sher37 who was going like a hare stopped at one point and turned around towards the policeman and said, ‘Stop for a while’ and he also stopped! And she [said], ‘let’s catch breath for two minutes then we’ll continue running!’ . . . We were bundled into these police vans and I think at some point somebody swiped at my head because there was swelling on my head and I was also hit somewhere else too because my leg was cut, which I later discovered. That is when Asma and Hina said that wherever they take us to, we don’t let go of each others’ hands.38 The memorandum eventually made it to the LHC. In the process, 31 women were arrested for violating the prohibition on assembly of more than five people in public, and Jalib was badly beaten and many women injured too. Those who made it to the High Court were met by male lawyers with garlands.39 WAF filed a case against the police for attacking a gathering of peaceful women and the police filed a counter report saying the women attacked them. Newspapers ran the story despite heavy censorship. It made the cover page of Dawn with the understated heading, ‘Lahore women processionists lathi-charged’. Unfortunately for the government the story only grew bigger. The next day Dawn ran a larger headline, ‘Women’s honour to be protected at all costs.’40 Its owner Mehmood Haroon, also a cabinet minister, promised an investigation. (The BBC World Service radio station covered the demonstration, embarrassing the government.)

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Figure 3.2 WAF and women lawyers attacked by police during demonstration against proposed Law of Evidence, 12 February 1983. (Far left) Hina Jilani, (centre) Nadia Shah. Photo: Rahat Ali Dar.

There was furore in the Majlis-e-Shoora, Zia’s hand-picked representatives in Islamabad. A group of women, many highly placed and unused to being silenced, tried to move adjournment motions condemning the teargassing and lathi-charge. Begum Qamar Ispahani managed to speak out, ‘It is an unparalleled and shameful incident. [. . .] You don’t beat even donkeys like that.’41 To this, the religious lobby jumped in as Nawabzada Ansari ‘charged that the Lahore women’s procession had been instigated by elements who were opposed to the setting up of an Islamic order in Pakistan.’ Women representatives refused to accept this, but Ansari shouted, ‘There are two female witnesses in Islam. [A reference to the Law of Evidence Bill.] These women are opposed to Nizam-i-Islam!’ The maulanas in the Majlis-e-Shoora rose from their seats and applauded him loudly. Then, the women representatives inexplicably rose up together and withdrew their adjournment motions, wasting this opportunity to speak up for their rights. Ansari had the last word; speaking to laughter and loud applause, he said. ‘The main task assigned

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to the Majlis was the establishment of an Islamic system. The Lahore incident has proved that we have not worked hard enough for the propagation of Nizam-i-Mustafa. Our ladies must be informed about the true injunctions.’ The government-owned Pakistan Times reported, ‘renowned ulema . . . have described women’s protest against the Law of Evidence as a proclamation of war against God’s commands.’42 There were other press pieces in both Urdu and English claiming that the protest was sacrilegious, effectively shutting off the possibility for open debate about Islamic law. One read, ‘It is surprising that a small group of westernised women who cannot even read Arabic consider themselves qualified to interpret the Holy Quran.’43 After the demonstration, men from progressive political parties ‘woke up’ and began to step in with advice and instructions, recalls Nighat Said Khan. WAF came under a great deal of pressure. ‘We said sure, we get the beating and you stand in the back.’44 Tehreek-e-Istaqlal men offered guidance and support. Even men from the labour unions wanted to become involved and tell them what to do, such as take the lead in anti-government protests. The attention made many WAF members wary, reluctant to trust the politicians. After all, Zia’s policies were problematic for women because, in addition to being undemocratic, the government was using religion to restrict their rights. But Khan felt men only objected to the military regime. If anything their privilege was given state sanction. Our most liberal guys were using it. Suddenly a divorce is happening and they were saying that a six-year-old child can go to the father . . . They were anti-military but Islam never bugged them. . . . They could walk out in public, we had the problem. They could play sports, we had the problem. Same goes with zina ordinance, more women were arrested than men. . . . There was a bit of monitoring [of men] around praying, namaz, but nevertheless their freedoms were not controlled as far as Islam was concerned.45 In September of 1983, the pace of protests against the regime picked up when the Movement for the Restoration of Democracy (MRD) launched its coordinated efforts to force Zia from power. MRD was a coalition of centre-left political parties, under the leadership of Benazir

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Bhutto (still in exile) and her father’s Pakistan People’s Party. Its members included Awami National Party, Awami Tehreek, Pakistan Democratic Party, Tehreek-e-Istaqlal, Pakistan Muslim League (Khwaja Khairuddin group), Jamiat-Ulema-e-Islam and Mazdoor Kisan Party. Although the MRD would find its strength only in rural Sindh, and that only in its second phase (1986 – 8), its initial burst of non-violent protest resulted in thousands of arrests and many injured or killed. A jamhoori, or democratic, committee of around 40 women was formed to take out a demonstration on Lahore’s Mall Road. It included political workers, women’s rights activists (some from within and others outside WAF), members of the Punjab Women’s Lawyer Association, and Democratic Women’s Association.46 Hina remembers she and her sister did not initially plan to attend, as they were preoccupied with their father’s ill-health. The police soon baton-charged the demonstrators. News rapidly spread that the police had taken them to the Civil Lines police station. By the time Hina arrived Asma was already there with 18 other women, and hundreds of people outside the police station shouted antiZia slogans. Confusion ensued because the deputy inspector general of police did not want to arrest the women, probably wary of their connections, but the military authorities insisted. In a matter of minutes they constituted a military court within the station and a major appeared who held a brief trial and sentenced all the women to 14 years of rigorous imprisonment. Rubina Saigol recalls that they kept chanting anti-Zia slogans and the frustrated army major threatened to send them each to different jails to isolate them. Yet the women did not stop. Eventually, with the exception of Hina, they were all packed off to Kot Lakhpat jail. Hina went home to make calls and find out who could pull strings with the prison authorities to make sure the women would be treated well and not kept in the same cells as common criminals. She avoided sleeping at home until this job was done, and then returned to await her own arrest. In the morning at 4 o’clock, the doorbell rings and I know what happens because that’s how my father was always arrested. So this policeman comes in, very polite, ma’am I have arrested your father

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also twice, I said what an introduction. I wasn’t scared, my worry was for the arrangements, that we get our stuff, especially my supari.47 They come and keep asking me to sit in the car, the whole house was surrounded by police, . . . I said to them, look I am not going in your car, I will ride in my own car, so you have your policeman sit with me. That man was reasonable, so he rode in my car to the Kot Lakhpat prison. . . . [I was sent] to a B class compound which meant there is a longish room with bars but there is smaller courtyard. (And incidentally I suspect that is the same barrack where Bhutto was kept.) Anyway they took me there – there all these women were seated, having a good political discussion. I mean, this had become an opportunity for us, we had been so busy in our lives that there were few opportunities where we could sit down and have these discussions. The first night the group was in jail, they were kept in Class C along with criminals; this included women booked under the zina laws. The new arrivals were stunned at how many victims of these laws were incarcerated and listened to their stories, taking notes all the while, making promises that they would come back once they were freed and fight their cases in the courts. This later led to AGHS setting up free legal aid services as part of their law firm, and provided much material for the book Asma and Hina would eventually author on the hudood laws.48 The jail was full of political prisoners, mainly PPP, who took turns shouting anti-regime slogans around the compounds the whole day. Rasul Bux Palejo, a Sindhi nationalist leader, was in the next cell and cheered enthusiastically every time the activists shouted slogans and sang political songs. It was a time of inspiration and sharing amongst the women, but the jail authorities were increasingly harassed and didn’t know how to handle the pressure to free them. Soon international pressure mounted on the government to release them. Within jail the women faced the same conditions as other political prisoners, although they were spared difficult interrogations, barring one PPP activist who was constantly pressured to ‘inform’ on the others. They kept each other going through lengthy discussions about women’s rights and politics, although Hina doesn’t deny that over time the prison conditions could have worn them down. They were lucky to be released

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after just a few weeks. She remembers Rubina Saigol singing the poetry of Faiz Ahmed Faiz and Rehana Taufiq to keep their morale up through those long days. Street demonstrations, baton-charges, arrests and imprisonment had become synonymous with the fight for women’s rights. In 1983, one had to confront the regime first in order to seek the restoration of civil and political rights. This reality helped to bring WAF activists to a shared understanding of political engagement. Hina continues: And that is the contingent of women who then took WAF forward and convinced our friends that this is the way we fight this monster and we fought that monster. Women became the prime enemy of that regime at that time, which was a good thing for us because earlier women’s rights never got any importance and now we were foremost important, allied with the struggle for democracy, for progressive values. We were with the trade unions, were there as a very progressive democratic contingent of people representing different organizations. So that was how a movement should be. We were women from very different backgrounds, so . . . [this is] how a movement is built. The young movement benefited from the growing political momentum against Zia’s regime. Since women activists became some of his most outspoken critics and the world had taken notice, the regime became worried. Hina describes a particularly peculiar situation: Once YWCA put out an advertisement for a cake demonstration . . . a cake baking class, so they advertised for people to come register for it, but some martial law administrator sent his force to the YWCA, picked up the secretary of YWCA, brought her to the headquarters of the sub-martial law administrator of Punjab, which was on the Mall and told her that don’t you know that demonstrations are banned, how dare you. He harassed her and ordered her to cancel it; this was their level of intelligence. Anyway, this is how much they were afraid of women. To Hina this was a sign they were succeeding.

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Shahnaz Rouse wrote that it was not just in response to Zia’s measures, but also to overcome deep social inequalities that women felt the need to act.49 With so little experience of street politics, it was daring to challenge the state during such perilous times. But having done so, ‘it was as if an invisible barrier had been removed’50 and they showed no hesitation in coming out on the streets any longer. Women from trade unions, professional associations and other political organisations bravely came out to protest with WAF. Ghazala Rahman called Zarina Baloch, the well known Sindhi singer, poet, actor and one of the founders of Sindhiani Tehreek, to invite her to celebrate International Women’s Day with WAF in Karachi. ‘They accepted our invitation with great love and typical Sindhi tenderness,’ remembers Ghazala. ‘This is the first time you have invited us,’ Zarina said, ‘Adi [sister], don’t let it be the last time. We are also hurting under this same boot.’51 ‘I can remember my whole life revolving around WAF,’ says Shahnaz Wazir Ali, who was a teacher and young mother in Lahore.52 ‘We were all together, in all our meetings and places where we were trying to avoid the intelligence guys who would always hound us. We would plan to meet somewhere and we would arrive to find that it’s locked and we couldn’t hold the meeting. And sometimes we would have meetings on just open plots. I remember that also, because there was no place to go.’ They used a steel trunk to store their papers. ‘So that steel trunk would sit in somebody’s house and from there whenever the meeting was being held at some other place, things were taken out from that trunk and put back in there. Until Nigar Ahmed took a small flat right behind Lawrence Gardens in Lahore.’ This flat became the office of Aurat Foundation, which soon grew into a major NGO. In 1987, a group of Lahore WAF activists were suddenly seized with an inspiration. Artist Lala Rukh recalls they were fed up with Zia’s obsession with chadors (he would distribute them to women and girls at all school or college functions he attended). The press had recently reported the rape of two burqa-clad (fully veiled) women in Karachi walking with their father in broad daylight. (Although she loved chadors as a beautiful apparel, Lala had stopped wearing them out of protest.) One activist suddenly suggested they set their dupattas and chadors aflame. She took hers off and set it on fire, so Lala threw in her dupatta too. The moment is captured in a photograph, later turned into a WAF

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poster, with other activists and police looking aghast at this extraordinary display of rebellion.

Legislating sexual control The zina laws served as the symbolic linchpin of Zia’s Islamisation of Pakistani society. Over time, zina became the perfect charge to level against a woman by a family member in order to be rid of her for any reason at all. If a man wanted another wife without the first one interfering, he could charge her with zina. To deprive a woman of her inheritance, a charge of zina would land her in jail. The issue was more complex than a demand for the vote, for example, because zina laws engaged gender dynamics in the private sphere, making public debate

Figure 3.3 WAF activists burn their dupattas in Lahore, 1987. (From left) Lala Rukh, Neelam Hussain, Nighat Said Khan. Photo: Rahat Ali Dar.

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and legal reform difficult to pursue, particularly when Islam was used to justify the laws. Sex crimes became the main reason for the incarceration of women. In 1980, there were only 70 female convicts in all of Pakistan; 20 were involved in sex-related crimes. Once the new laws were implemented, the floodgates opened.53 The Federal Shariat Court heard 3,399 appeals in zina cases between 1980 and 1987, but only 43 qazf cases (pertaining to false accusations). The FSC went on to dismiss 1,174 of these cases.54 In 1987, only 53 women in prisons in Punjab were convicted. This begs the question as to the purpose of the law, if not to harass women in the first place. In a survey of 21 jails in Punjab, out of 657 women prisoners, almost half were charged under the offence of zina.55 Even though women would eventually be acquitted or given lesser, tazir, punishments under the zina laws, many years would pass while they languished in jail, usually too poor to afford lawyers. Once freed, they were ostracised in their communities due to the nature of the accusation. Years later, retired Justice Tanzil-ur-Rahman, a member of Jamaat-i-Islami and former Chairman of the Council of Islamic Ideology, admitted that the Hudood Ordinances were drafted in undue haste and badly implemented, ‘I agree it has been zulm (cruelty, oppression) for women. These judges are corrupt, inefficient. They don’t believe in humanity, let alone Islam.’56 Asma Jahangir recalls taking young filmmaker Sabiha Sumar to meet women imprisoned for zina, which became the basis for her milestone 1988 documentary, Who Shall Cast the First Stone?57 Political parties grew reluctant to discuss any changes in these laws, fearing the street power of the religious parties that flourished under Zia’s protection. Finally, it emerged over time that the zina laws reinforced customary laws, undermining the civil code and emboldening tribal and clan-based practices that silenced women and bartered their bodies to settle disputes, or punished them with death for marrying without family consent. Zia’s laws resonated with patriarchal norms across Pakistani society. The cases came up one after another and the legal aid firm AGHS was overwhelmed. During her 1983 incarceration Asma Jahangir had made a promise to women inmates. ‘When I discovered how many of them were there under the Hudood Ordinances [I said] don’t worry we will get you

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out.’58 AGHS began taking a lot of free cases of women prisoners and the full impact of the new laws sank in. Male colleagues were largely oblivious to the effect these laws were having on women. When Jahangir presented a paper on the topic at a lawyer’s conference in India,59 it received a great deal of press coverage and become controversial in Pakistan. She says the bar association passed a resolution to expel her, because they thought by speaking against the laws she had spoken against Islam. But there were also signs of support from men in the legal community. When they held the first international women’s lawyers conference in Lahore, Asma remembers that the well known civil liberties lawyer Mian Mehmood Ali Kasuri was chief guest, ‘He came [in] on a wheelchair and when he saw so many women lawyers, he was so over-awed and he got so emotional that he couldn’t read his speech; his son had to read [it] for him.’ Other bizarre events began to appear in the press and activists felt compelled to respond, in what they would later call a ‘reactive’ phase of the movement. In 1984, an incident was reported, which showed ‘the absolute power that feudal lords command over the people’.60 In Nawabpur, a small town in southern Punjab, a group of women and a nine-year old girl were stripped naked by a mob of men wielding guns and iron rods. Dragged by their hair, they were forced to walk down the streets. The mob acted because Akbar, a carpenter, stood accused of having an affair with a woman of a local feudal clan. She was the daughter of the chairman of the local union council, and he wanted to marry her despite many warnings to stay away. His proposal was the final straw.61 At least ten men sought revenge for this challenge to their clan’s status. They assaulted Akbar, broke his legs, cut off his fingers and then shot him in one leg before dragging his female relatives out of his home.62 A security guard posted at a bank managed to drive the attackers away. (He received an award later from the government for his bravery. The police only arrived ten hours after the incident took place.) There was public outcry. The Pakistan Trade Union Federation condemned the violence perpetrated by a local zamindar, or landlord.63 Prominent citizens expressed ‘anguish, grief and strong condemnation of the act of bestiality committed by hirelings of some influential people’.64 A military court quickly sentenced the culprits to lashes and

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imprisonment. One attacker got life imprisonment, because Akbar died a few days later.65 WAF declared 27 May a Black Day for women because of the increase in violent incidents, and demonstrated in Lahore with the families of victims. Then the government suddenly passed an ordinance providing the death penalty or life imprisonment for ‘assaulting or using criminal force against a woman, to strip her naked and in that condition expose her to the public’.66 WAF responded that the new law was inadequate since it did not apply to violence within the home and called for a halt to the Law of Evidence instead. The growing press coverage of violence against women raised questions that concern activists today. Does increased media reporting indicate a growing impunity and rate of crime, or is it a positive sign of growing awareness of the problem? Or, perhaps, does it reflect public demand for sensationalised news stories? In the 1980s, WAF believed the Nawabpur incident indicated violence was increasing because Zia’s policies were leading to a more misogynistic society and creating an environment of impunity. As Nighat Said Khan wrote, ‘All immorality, corruption and vice was attributed to women.’67 Feminist scholar and WAF member Afiya Zia analysed the patterns in press reporting on sex crimes, noting that Urdu and local newspapers tended to report them in sensationalist language that portrayed rapists as sex fiends, who had ‘stolen’ or ‘violated’ the virtue of women as if it was a material thing. Women were inevitably referred to in terms of their beauty, suggesting they had somehow caused themselves to be attacked. Only those crimes were reported in which a non-relative had attacked a woman, never a relative. Just a few English language magazines and newspapers, usually where women were the editors and writers themselves, published the rare investigative article that explored police cover-ups of cases.68 The Safia Bibi case in 1985 became a landmark nadir in Pakistan’s human rights record. Safia was 18 years of age,69 and virtually blind when her landlord and his son raped her in Sahiwal, Punjab. She became pregnant and the child died soon after birth. Her father then filed a case of rape with the local authorities, probably not realising that according to the zina laws if rape was not proven, Safia would be liable to charges of extramarital sex, her pregnancy proof of her guilt. That is exactly what happened. The judge thought he did her a favour when he sentenced her

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to 15 lashes, three years in prison and a fine. He said the sentence was lenient due to her blindness and youth.70 WAF Lahore helped to organise a legal appeal along with PWLA, APWA and other groups. It raised the issue internationally by inviting other women’s organisations to lobby against the verdict. The issue WAF brought to public attention was that Safia was sentenced for illegal sex on the basis of her own evidence. In response, the Federal Shariat Court took suo moto action even before the appeal was filed. They found that the mere fact of her pregnancy was insufficient to prove her guilt, and she ought to be due the same benefit of the doubt as the accused.71 Safia Bibi was acquitted. The alleged rapist, who became her co-accused for illicit sex, was acquitted too.72 The case proved a successful strategy of mobilising legal support, international and domestic action, and WAF chapter coordination in order to achieve a better, if imperfect, verdict in a sexual violence case. It also foretold what would become a pattern, that in cases involving discriminatory laws the lower courts were eager to be seen as adhering to Islamic legislation, while the higher courts were prepared to be circumspect and overturn bad verdicts. Activists would also rely upon the legal acumen of individually committed and high-profile lawyers to fight in the higher courts and draw public attention to the issue, although soon Jahangir and Jilani themselves would become the best there was. In 1983, Karachi WAF and other women’s groups filed a writ petition to challenge the zina laws in the Federal Shariat Court, represented by Rashida Patel, President of PAWLA, and Khalid Ishaq. By the time it was heard in 1985, Zia had incorporated the Hudood Ordinances into the constitution through the 8th Amendment and the petition was of no use technically.73 Women were disappointed, and some confusion set in about how it would be possible to undo his discriminatory legislation. In another high-profile case in Karachi, a young couple were sentenced to death by stoning, a hadd (maximum) punishment under the zina law. Shahida Parveen claimed to be divorced from her first husband and married to Muhammad Sarwar, but her first husband had not placed the divorce deed on record as required by the MFLO. Since Shahida and Sarwar admitted they were living together, they were accused of sex while knowing they were not validly married. (Sarwar was still married to his first wife, although polygamy alone was no crime.)

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Activists and lawyers campaigned hard against this 1987 judgement. Khalid Ishaq appeared on behalf of Parveen as appellant. Eventually both accused were acquitted after a retrial. Shahida’s marriage was found valid once the signature of her first husband on the divorce deed was confirmed.74 The second judgement,75 at the Federal Shariat Court which ordered the retrial, is striking for its thoroughness, restraint and excellent language. It shows the culture of the judiciary was not yet transformed by Islamisation and the promotion of sympathetic judges. In future years, judges would condemn the immorality of girls who dared to marry without the permission of their parents and offer their own interpretations of culture and Islam (see Chapter 8).

Taking positions The first phase of the women’s movement was characterised by their ‘activism in opposition to an adversarial state’, writes Farida Shaheed.76 It was a struggle to resist discriminatory laws and policies and prevent further such action by the state. The movement was reactive to issues as they came up, relying on street power, advocacy domestically and (to some extent) internationally, influencing the powers that be, to achieve its goals. ‘At that time it was very clear what you had to oppose,’ says Shahnaz Wazir Ali, in reference to Zia’s laws and policies. ‘All of us were in an active mode and there was a lot of clarity about what we wanted.’ The strategy to demand gender equality was framed to bring women together on a minimum shared platform. Soon, though, the demands expanded. ‘Then it became the rights of the womens workers and the women peasants and the women students and lawyers and intellectuals,’ explains Shahnaz, as the full extent of Zia’s clampdown became apparent. By the end of this phase a return to democracy and restoration of all civil and political rights had become integral to their agenda, although some activists always saw confrontation with the military regime as part of the same struggle. The core members of WAF described themselves as feminists, but it was not a given that all supporters would do so. Even though it was not a radical feminist movement of the kind espoused by some western feminists that some WAF members (not all) were aware of, WAF was considered by some in the educated elite to be a militant organisation for

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its day. Women who did not wish to come out into the streets were reluctant to join WAF at all. This phase was a learning period. For some, it was the first time they were exposed to any feminist literature, whether western or subcontinental. Others were learning how class, religion and ethnicity impacted women differently. WAF held meetings and open seminars on all these issues, debating topics the state had shut down through its repression of media and progressive politics. To some members,77 it seemed that this young movement was poised to build bridges and linkages across class boundaries and turn into a mass movement of its own, but they were deeply disappointed to find that this was not to be. Shaheed, though, would include in the broader women’s movement those other groups who took up these rights issues although their principal concern was not necessarily women’s equality. Building partnerships across these horizontal linkages formed a key strategy that was to define how the movement evolved during the 1990s. During the 1980s the movement remained small and intense, focused primarily on challenging the outcomes of martial law and, in the process, broadening their scope by demanding the human rights of disenfranchised groups such as minorities, peasants and labour. WAF on occasion attracted a few thousand women to its jalsas, or public meetings, but its core membership remained a few hundred only. The Lahore chapter had an active and argumentative membership that constantly debated issues. Karachi WAF soon became embroiled in the political unrest of that city. An ethnic-based political movement, Muhajir Qaumi Movement (MQM) was engaged in violent conflict with the state, beginning in the mid-1980s, thus WAF Karachi was confronted with ongoing security issues and the problems of women caught in that conflict. Possibly as a result, the Karachi Working Committee remained less open to new membership and discussion on issues. Those WAF members with ties to trade unions and political organisations would turn out to be amongst the most dedicated activists in the following decades. WAF attempted to broaden its base, but somehow did not coalesce into a sustained movement bringing together broad-based women’s groups, for example, the Democratic Women’s Association, as the women’s wing of the Communist Party brought workers to WAF meetings and public rallies. Tahira Mazhar Ali and Mumtaz Noorani were well known political leaders long before the

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agitation against Zia ever started. They remained active with WAF but the broader membership of DWA did not sustain its engagement. Zohra Yusuf recalls efforts to bring in other women, like those from the Fisherwomen’s Association, were short-lived. The core WAF activists remained a small knit community, yet the cases they adopted affected women amongst the most vulnerable groups. ‘These women would not have had the courage to stand up for themselves. I think whether they were westernised or English-medium educated or secular, I don’t think that should be an issue, it’s really what they are standing for and what they are struggling for. It doesn’t matter whether they speak English or they speak Sindhi.’78 APWA, with branches all over Pakistan, was the oldest women’s organisation with members mainly from the begumaat, or well-connected elite. Its endorsement of WAF’s position on discriminatory legislation was politically significant. APWA’s founder Begum Ra’ana Liaquat Ali Khan, wife of the assassinated Prime Minister, was pleased a younger generation of women was continuing the struggle for women’s welfare and protection of their rights. Her words, ‘We shall not surrender any of the rights already achieved,’ featured in Karachi WAF’s successful 1981 signature campaign to protest the government’s bar on women athletes participating in international competitions, threats to amend the MFLO and plans to segregate female education.79 As women’s dissent against Islamisation developed into open confrontation with the regime and WAF regularly took up street demonstrations, APWA’s public pronouncements and presence at meetings decreased. The limited size of its core membership has led to disagreement about whether a movement really took shape during this period. For those most closely involved, there is no doubt. ‘There has been a wonderful women’s movement in Pakistan,’ explains Sheema Kermani. ‘Where we are today, a lot is positive because of it. Women stood up against Zia and then [General] Musharraf when a lot of others did not. Our society has moved.’ She argues it has been bolstered by inevitable social change, noting that women have begun to live on their own, and are more assertive about choosing their spouses, despite obvious setbacks caused by the spread of religious extremism. A number of early activists were journalists, which is why WAF managed to have an impact that belied its numbers. Initially, editors did not take women’s issues seriously enough to fear that the government

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would crack down on their publications for printing their articles. Then in June 1981, Zohra Yusuf joined the weekend Star newspaper, originally an entertainment magazine published by the influential Herald group that also owned Dawn. She began to print regular contributions from activists, including Najma Sadeque and Najma Babar (staff at the time), Nuzrat Amin, Saneeya Hussain and Tehmina Ahmed.80 The editor of Dawn initially refused to publish WAF statements. Zohra recalls him saying, ‘This is a handful of western women and they have no connection with people and all that. He felt it was just a passing phase.’ Dawn journalist Zubeida Mustafa learned how to push the boundaries, though, becoming a pioneer in women’s journalism.81 Rukhsana Mashhadi, who was in charge of the women’s page of the paper which routinely printed fashion and beauty articles, slowly subverted the content by printing contributions from WAF supporters that her bosses overlooked. Dawn did agree to publish a paid advertisement put in by a few individuals who had formed a Committee to Repeal the Hudood Ordinances.82 The advertisement was a protest against the sentence of lashes under the zina laws in the Shahida Parveen case mentioned earlier. The Urdu-language Jang newspaper, with the largest circulation in Pakistan, also agreed to publish it. The next day groups of mullahs protested on the streets. Dawn refused to retract the advertisement, whereas Jang swiftly published an apology denying knowledge of how the advertisement had been placed and promising action against the culprits.83 Jang must have come under severe pressure from the regime because it could influence, even change, public opinion. English language press often enjoyed relatively lighter censorship due to its limited circulation. The English-speaking elite of Pakistan were soon reading about cases of women held unjustly under the Hudood Ordinances and women’s demands to have the laws changed; many quietly agreed. Nonetheless, Tehmina recalls that at WAF demonstrations in Karachi, there were still so few participants they were often outnumbered by police officers. Still, they were never arrested and they continued to write their articles and issue press statements in English, some of which appeared in the vernacular press if they were lucky.84 WAF printed their own documents in English and Urdu to distribute, in the form of newsletters containing updates on planned events, with poetry and coordinators’ contact details.

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Commercial advertisers sponsored some of their brochures, such as the programme of a Sheema Kermani play. They must have known their support signalled political dissent. From the start, the religious lobby, mainstream press and educated classes all labelled WAF members as westernised and corrupt. Rubina Saigol recalls an article alleging secular feminists were in collusion with US imperialism and she counters, ‘We were anti-US long before the mullah ever was. WAF was strongly questioning this whole USfunded jihad in Afghanistan long before the mullah.’ She points out the hypocrisy of men who use and love western technology, yet label women who demand their rights as agents of Zionism and the west. Because WAF women drank coffee, had short hair and some smoked, the label easily stuck. She laughs, ‘I am wearing shalwar kameez and this suited-booted man in a tie tells me these women are very Westernized!’85 The religious parties tried to silence WAF voices. In May 1986, a woman leader of JI, Nisar Fatima, demanded on the floor of the National Assembly that WAF be banned. She accused Asma Jahangir of blaspheming against the Prophet Muhammed in a WAF seminar held to oppose Zia’s proposed 9th Amendment to make Shariah the supreme law of Pakistan. She claimed WAF was a platform for anti-Islamic activities, in an effort to build momentum for the speedy passage of the Shariat Bill. The accusation was later disproved, but JI would not relent and it became one of the reasons for religious leaders to demand mandatory death sentence for anyone who made derogatory statements against the Prophet.86 During the debate in the National Assembly over Section 295-C, the proposed amendment to the blasphemy law augmenting the penalty, Nisar Fatima pushed her views zealously, arguing at one point that if the assembly adjourned without passing this important law she would stage a permanent walk-out. Others who spoke during the debate mentioned the allegations against Asma and demanded that a case be lodged against her. JI’s Maulana Gohar Rehman said blasphemous incidents would continue until its government changed its policies, suggesting it should not be deterred by ‘the few ladies who are westernized, colored in the civilization of Europe, who do not accept the veil, . . . [they] are less than one per cent of the population.’ Encouraged, and backed by some other women members of the Assembly, Nisar Fatima further accused Asma of trying to bribe the press to retract its

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reporting on the controversial seminar, and of being a non-Muslim herself.87 Some activists remained concerned about the allegations that they were westernised, which suggested they were alienated from an elusive and more Muslim heartland within the country. Farida Shaheed felt it would be a mistake to abandon a discussion about religion when engaging with communities. ‘We live in a cultural framework which is Muslim. Just as various faces of patriarchy are culturally different, so are the various responses culturally different.’ She took the view, ‘The people’s Islam is not the Islam of the state,’ and it was actually far more tolerant. Since throughout Muslim history there have been many versions of Islam practised, the people of Pakistan had ‘a right to decide for ourselves what we agree to be our culture and our religion’.88

Use of Islam There was never any consensus within WAF on how to tackle Islam strategically during the early years. Most WAF Karachi members were not interested in developing Islamic arguments, although they internally debated whether they were isolating themselves from a wider cross-section of society by not engaging with religion. Once, they invited Khalid Ishaq to come and speak, but quickly realised that while he addressed their flawed application he was actually upholding the Islamisation of laws. Najma Sadeque, who became a vocal environmental advocate in her later years, wrote a 1986 press article discussing Qur’anic verses. She said women who believed ‘the diabolic plotting of the peddlers of religious dogma’ thereby reducing women’s status through an ‘unrecognisable Islam’ had not been doing their homework and checking the Qur’an for themselves. She warned them not to be circumvented by religious claims ‘based on debatable or antiquated interpretations that themselves contradict one another or have vastly changed over the earlier centuries.’89 Efforts like these aside, soon Karachi WAF decided against engaging further with religious debates.90 In this first phase, WAF Lahore and Islamabad made a more extended effort to counter the austere and anti-women discourse of the state by building arguments that Islam does not undermine the rights of women.

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WAF’s press statement about the first lashing of a woman in Peshawar Central Jail in 1982 is an early example: The Prophet of Islam tempered all justice with mercy by invariably giving the least severe punishment. In Pakistan the opposite appears to be true. This is particularly so in the case of women who are often given severe punishments even in cases where the required level of proof has not been established. WAF strongly feels that in a country like Pakistan where women have as yet to get the equality prescribed by Islam, women cannot be given such inhuman punishments.91 WAF appealed to progressive interpretation of Islam here, based on the twin faulty assumptions that the government did not want to terrify the people through using draconian punishments and the people’s support could be mobilised by appealing to a more benevolent implementation of religious law. Throughout the 1980s and even into the next decade, more sporadically, these two WAF chapters continued this strategy. WAF held seminars inviting liberal Islamic scholars to explain their interpretations of the zina laws, to demonstrate that there is no punishment for zina in the Qur’an. Islamic scholar Riffat Hasan visited Pakistan often from the US and spoke at WAF seminars about re-interpreting controversial surahs (verses) of the Qur’an to show that it does not permit a husband to beat his wife. Some WAF members began to study Arabic and read the Qur’an closely so as to be able to challenge the influential ulema. Those who lobbied in the Majlis-e-Shura against the Law of Evidence studied the religious basis for the law, with the help of lawyer Khalid Ishaq. WAF initially felt it had to lobby with influential people, in the prevailing context these were religio-political actors. ‘If laws were being justified in the name of Islam,’ said Farida Shaheed, ‘we would provide an alternative view, but if there was no reference to Islam we would not make it either.’92 Lahore WAF decided to use Islamic discourse only when the government used it. Shaheed felt that under Zia – and even later – Islamic discourse was the only way to mobilise support; in contrast, the discourse of human rights seemed incapable of moving people in the same way.

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A short-lived sub-committee on Islamic Research in Lahore WAF met religious scholars to elicit their views on the rights and status of women in Islam. The main impetus was to provide counter-arguments for the draft Law of Evidence presented by the Council of Islamic Ideology. WAF rejected its stipulation that no financial or future obligations can be put in writing without a male presence. They argued that ‘future obligations’ was an ambiguous term and may not necessarily cover circumstances relating to debt or loan, as referred to in verse 282 (Surah-al-Baqra) of the Qur’an.93 They said the verse indicated an effort to include women in matters of financial transactions, from which previously they were excluded, and it is the only verse out of eight related to evidence in the Qur’an that makes a distinction between the sexes. They argued that the draft law fails to address the situation where a literate woman may be a more reliable witness than an illiterate man, particularly since the Qur’anic law allows for a single woman to be a witness in matters of oral transactions. Activists were forced to conclude that this law was an effort to further reduce women’s role in the public sphere, not to achieve justice after all.94 Members realised that the ability to quote verses to prove that Islam does not discriminate against women worked effectively in social situations, but ultimately the mullahs’ combination of religious and political clout was no match for scholarly readings of texts.95 The sub-committee was disbanded after the campaign against the Law of Evidence concluded. Still, all WAF members did not give up on studying Islam. In 1983, Islamabad WAF planned weekly classes in Arabic and Qur’anic studies, for ‘women must be prepared to fight their own battles’.96 Tahira Abdullah, now one of Pakistan’s leading women and human rights activists, looks back on those early years of intense debate and believes their efforts were useful.97 She learned that the word ‘rape’ is not in the Qur’an and the punishment for adultery is 100 lashes and exile out of Muslim majority lands, not death by stoning. Khawar Mumtaz explains, ‘At that point we all felt that we have to fight it from within Islam. Within a couple of years we discovered that is a dead end because they can hair split and we can’t. We are not knowledgeable enough and we can get tied up in knots.’98 The historian Ayesha Jalal has argued that delving into Islam was a tactical decision made by WAF and other women’s groups at the time, as

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‘they were reluctantly compelled to reiterate their fundamental loyalty to Islam and the state’ in order to make their demands more compelling to the government.99 She argues this was part and parcel of their related decision not to question the legitimacy of the ban on political parties and politics. She concludes that the activists privileged the concerns of their class over their gender interests, and challenges women to overcome the nexus between Islam and the Pakistani state by building cross-class alliances. The reality was more complex at the activists’ personal level, though, and her analysis at a broader level was not to prove correct over time as the full range of concerns the movement took up will reveal. The initial effort to work with the teachings of Islam in order to come up with feminist readings of texts was first a personal need amongst some members – not all – to reconcile their own faith with their emerging feminist consciousness. There were always activists who struggled with this dilemma, and continue to do so, although today they stand by the WAF Charter of Demands. It remains the case that Muslim women have an interest in knowing their rights in Islam, although most are not exposed to feminist interpretations. Khawar Mumtaz and Farida Shaheed acknowledged differences of opinion within WAF, yet argued in their 1987 book it was left with no option but to use this strategy. ‘In order to expose the proposed laws or measures for what they were and to divest them of religious sanction it was necessary to argue from within the parameters of Islam.’100 They believed that Islam was a cultural imperative that could not be ignored, and if the women’s movement wanted to raise consciousness and win support amongst wider sections of society it would risk being rejected as alien if it denied the reality of Islam in the lives of the people. At the 2nd WAF National Convention held in 1983 it was decided that as a first step WAF would endeavour to expose the differences between maulvis and Islam in order to raise peoples’ consciousness, and then as a second step it would explain the differences between progressive and conservative Islam. Only then would the movement consider asserting itself on purely secular grounds.101 Hina objected to the assumption that WAF’s positions needed to be justified based on Islamic injunctions, arguing that a new interpretation would not help. ‘This is not an Islamic issue, it’s not a religious issue. It’s a political issue because religion is being used for some kind of political

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control and power. So you fight it politically.’ In any case, people with dissenting religious views were forced out of the country. ‘So we thought this was a useless fight, it was going to tire us out.’ The difference in approach towards Islam was one of the reasons for a brief split within the Lahore chapter of WAF. One of the turning points came after Hina spoke at a function for International Women’s Day on 8 March, criticising military rule and WAF objected that she had spoken against its interests by raising political issues. In 1983, about ten WAF members, led by Hina Jilani and Asma Jahangir, registered an organisation called WAF (Democratic). Hina explains there were three main differences that led to the split. First, she felt there had to be an open membership to WAF because there needed to be a constant ‘feeding’ of the movement, over and beyond WAF’s penchant for setting up ‘study groups’. She, Asma and a few other members disagreed with the non-hierarchical, consensus-based decisionmaking amongst the working committee.102 Second, WAF’s activism entailed a political risk which would require more aggressive activism and reaching out to the democratic movement that members were reluctant to engage in.103 This issue was linked with a disagreement, or rather a misunderstanding, over whether WAF being apolitical was the same as being non-political. Sheema Kermani explains there was a rationale at that time for WAF calling itself non-political. ‘Because what would you do if you got arrested? Who would you fall back on? So we felt that WAF could be open, calling itself a non-political organisation which would give a cover to all these groups together.’ Some early activists understood that WAF meant ‘non-political’ in the sense of not having a political party affiliation, because if it had declared any allegiance it would have been banned and party workers were summarily incarcerated by the regime.104 Hina and Asma were adamant WAF must remain non-party affiliated but recognised that it was political. Hina says, ‘The fact that [the laws] had been promulgated under a military regime immediately made it a political question. You can’t do human or women’s rights without political consciousness of [the] context in which you are working. You can’t say you work for women’s rights but are not political – only fools or hypocrites say that.’105 WAF (Democratic) included all those ‘who understood politics.’106 They were outspoken in their statements against

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the regime and demand for democracy, such that by July 1983, Asma, Hina and Bushra Aitzaz were each put under house arrest for one month and constantly surveilled by the police once released. Third, if WAF was to use an Islamic framework to counter the government, what were the implications for non-Muslims? Hina and Asma’s view was that all citizens had to have equal rights based on a universal set of values. As Tahira Abdullah says today, ‘You cannot win against the mullah on his wicket. Therefore we must not play on that wicket. The only wicket we can afford to play on is the universality of human rights, the equality of humankind and justice for all humankind – women and men of Pakistan no matter what their religion.’107 Nighat Said Khan agreed with Hina’s stance on the use of Islam, and also agreed WAF should become more politically engaged, but wanted to resolve these differences internally.108 After the 1983 demonstration many newcomers wanted to join WAF, but its organisational structure did not have the capacity to involve everyone. WAF (Democratic) was also frustrated with the slow consensus-based decision-making process of the original group and WAF’s unelected working committees. They felt WAF needed strong leadership to develop as an organisation. But it was never a clean split. The activists realised quickly that it would not do to stand disunited before the challenges women were facing daily under Zia’s regime, and the two WAFs in Lahore remained in close contact and coordinated their protests together. It was not long before they began to figure out how the split could become a reconciliation. By 1986 it was over, with an agreement that WAF would fight its cause on the basis of human rights, demand the return of democratic rule, and declare itself as secular. *** From the early days of APWA activism, which did not challenge existing structures and systems, now a small group of women had come into conflict with the government for the first time. They were demanding their rights from the state, as well as challenging martial law and demanding a return to democracy at the same time. The drawback, as Shahla Zia put it, was that ‘it moved from welfare to rights without talking about movements, or people or women’s participation’. Without other social movements to join up with, over time the nascent women’s movement was bound to lose some of its momentum.109

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Since the movement in its first decade was shaped by discriminatory laws it was initially led by lawyers and dominated by the discourse of rights. Some activists see this as a drawback because it prevented WAF from using the momentum of the early years to broaden its scope and deepen its own stance as a feminist organisation.110 Instead, they retained what Saigol criticises as a mainly ‘reactive’ agenda until the 1990s, determined by what legislation the government was planning and dominated by lawyer activists. This held WAF back from evolving beyond its status as a liberal lobby, failing to develop a broader vision on issues such as globalisation and imperialism, and certainly in the first phase unable to produce substantial positions on a range of important issues. Still, throughout the first decade activists were learning what the nature of the beast really was. It took time for women to see the full view of the exclusionary Islamic state Zia was building. Martial law, suspension of the constitution and the arrest of political workers were easily identifiable as direct attacks on democracy. Full-fledged Islamisation of the laws, judiciary and curriculum was new territory, with only neighbouring Shia Iran and Saudi Arabia as models to follow. Zia appeared to be picking and choosing from the Saudi model as he went along, but most Pakistanis knew little about either and therefore were not prepared for what they experienced. The Hudood Ordinances, Qisas and Diyat Laws, and Law of Evidence were drafted by the Council of Islamic Ideology, with the help of Saudi Arabia, as mentioned earlier. The anti-Ahmadi laws, slipped in, furthered the state’s uncompromising view of which Muslims really belonged in Pakistan. The movement for women’s rights during this first phase also served as a creative forum. Leading women poets and writers showed their support for the struggle by performing their work inside and outside the country, drawing attention to the conditions women faced. Joining WAF’s platform were feminist poets Fehmida Riaz, Rehana Taufiq, Saeeda Gazdar, Zahida Hina, Kishwar Naheed and Attiya Dawood, whose presence and verses inspired many gatherings and helped to forge a powerful voice of women’s resistance to Zia.111 Hilda Saeed, a Karachi-based journalist and member of Shirkat Gah, recalled the heady days of WAF activism. ‘Those years were wonderfully enriching ones, with that shared struggle, in some cases despite family opposition. Many of us were newly married, or with little children in

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tow – but nothing deterred us [. . . .] we were determined to achieve justice for the countless women who were abused and denied their rights.’112 For the period 1981–91 WAF selectively ‘built up an effective counter-hegemony’113 to the increasingly harsh discourse served out by the state and its ideological drivers, but it could not undo the damage. Scholar Fauzia Gardezi believes that WAF ‘did not directly confront the increasing problem of state involvement in enforcing a particular type of religious ideology’,114 which grew with the increasing role of JI and military in the institutions of the state. I suggest, though, that WAF and much of the public did not understand the full extent of political and financial backing behind the religious ideology until it was so deeply entrenched that even elected governments post-Zia could do little to reverse it. ‘We let ourselves get less overwhelmed by the state than by the violence,’ recalls Farida Shaheed.115 JI women were so incensed by their protests, that Nisar Fatima told activists they ‘would be met at the gates of hell with hockey sticks’ and arrived at the next WAF demonstration wielding them. Certainly, activists could have challenged the religious organisations more aggressively about the foreign Arab funding they received and conducted in-depth research to uncover how much money was being pumped into the indoctrination of students through the new Islamic studies curriculum, yet they limited themselves to reacting to these threats. A 1984 WAF statement reads: ‘[T]hese past years have threatened women’s participation in all spheres of national activity and in some cases have actually curtailed women’s participation such as in the field of sports, culture, the media and the administration. When we add to this the atmosphere of vilification against women; the increasing sexual violence and the encouragement of viewing women only as sexual objects we can only say again that these 7 12 years are years for which the Nation must be ashamed.’116 WAF was to issue hundreds of statements against excesses by the state against women in the decades to come. As long as Zia was alive it was hard to measure the success of women’s efforts, legally or otherwise. Even after his death, it became more difficult to undo the damage, rather than less. Part of the challenge women faced was to maintain clarity – of purpose and priority. Protests, press statements and advocacy had achieved limited successes, one of

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which was that maximum punishments under the zina laws were regularly overturned in the higher courts. Activism had also delayed or amended some discriminatory legislation and put women’s issues on the national and political agenda.117 One significant encounter that was to positively influence future policies towards women took place upon Benazir Bhutto’s triumphant return from exile. (She was first imprisoned for leading the Movement for the Restoration of Democracy, until Zia exiled her two years before.) From her house, Shahnaz Wazir Ali saw the crowds assembling along the road to the airport as they watched Bhutto’s plane circling overhead before she landed at Lahore in the early morning of 10 April 1986, to a reception that swelled to three million people.118 A few days later, Shahnaz heard from a party member that Benazir wanted to have a meeting with women, and soon a group of over 200 teachers, writers, professors, party workers and activists assembled. Benazir spoke about her years in jail, and recognised that women’s rights activists and PPP workers had demonstrated together in the struggle for democracy. Shahnaz recalls that Benazir said, ‘So, I want you to come and work with me and give me your ideas for what we should do when we come into power. What should be part of the manifesto?’ Women engaged with the young political leader confidently and challenged her with questions, ‘We were so excited and it was a wonderful start’, Shahnaz remembers. Next, Benazir sent a message that she wanted women to prepare a working paper outlining what they saw as the important issues needing attention. Shahnaz took her the WAF Charter of Demands. Eventually Benazir met with WAF Lahore members and they had a frank exchange on what was needed to be done. Shahnaz soon joined a policy working group for the party. ‘So, I think that connection and that match was immediately there and was very clear. So, that’s how in the manifesto you begin to see the articulation of the woman’s rights agenda. It didn’t come just like that, it came because WAF had done so much work’ (see Chapter 9). When open elections took place in 1988 after Zia died, every political party including Jamaat-i-Islami had some mention of women’s rights in their manifestos. ‘We put women on the political agenda in Pakistan,’ says Hina. ‘This is WAF’s contribution, bringing women into this whole question of democracy, Pakistan’s politics, and Pakistan’s foreign policies, because from here only a movement of women generates.’119

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Zia’s discriminatory laws still exist, but as we will see the matter of women’s rights has been politicised and centre stage ever since. The initial forays by activists into what Ayesha Jalal dubbed ‘feminism’,120 with some scepticism, turned out to be plunges. The next 35 years would show that almost all of the original members of WAF have remained committed activists and professionally still work on women’s issues. They grapple with, and sometimes disagree, about theoretical issues emerging from their feminism. Yet their perspectives arise out of continued practice and engagement in a highly politicised, globalised and symbolically layered context that defines Pakistan today. When asked why more was not accomplished during this first phase, WAF members cite multiple reasons, including the fact that many raised young families during these years, held full-time jobs elsewhere or at their NGOs.121 They spent much time educating themselves on the realities of life for women in Pakistan. Research and information was sorely lacking and years of neglect were compensated for by a wave of field-based studies. Hina recalls this was the most painful period for women, shaking them out of their complacency and into resistance mode. ‘The disadvantage was that the period we could have spent in going further than what we had in the 50s and the early 60s, we were now spending that time to at least save that, and resist what was coming. So this was a long period of resistance which is lasting till today.’122 In spite of the growing threats to women’s status, WAF did not build new allies within the middle and upper classes where there were none naturally. It did little to win men over to the cause of women’s rights, although it did enjoy quiet support from those already engaged with other human rights issues. In fact, activists became more isolated within their class ranks as time went by when they could not claim obvious gains from the regime. WAF never became a chic or acceptable organisation in social circles, and to this day its most passionate critics are drawn from the upper classes. A poem by Karachi founding member Ghazala Rahman reads: Sunset Boulevard123 The issues are pathetic Nazo Zizi Rukshi But what’s worse is your indifference So entertain for a moment between that nail and eyebrow

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Between Agha’s and Slimtrim In your well-coiffed head delve Consider that your daughters just Might do better than lean With the grace of chiffon and gold chain As they tell the driver where to go. The words ring as true today as they were over 30 years ago. WAF’s existence posed a challenge to other educated women who did not engage in protests against the military government. Amidst their general acquiescence to the suppression of political and democratic rights, and the growing discrimination against women and religious minorities, the protests of just a few activists managed to be heard internationally and within Pakistan, with an impact that belied their numbers. If activists had thrown their lot in with organised political movements, it is possible that more women would have been jailed and for longer, or their demands subsumed within broader political demands for a return to democracy. Eventually WAF managed to insert the language of women’s rights into contemporary political discourse, despite conditions of extreme oppression, to disproportionate effect and mostly without ending up behind bars.

CHAPTER 4 GRAPPLING WITH THE DAMAGE DONE

There is a misconception that military rule somehow brings order to the country while civilian rule is accompanied by corruption and general disintegration of institutions. In truth, civilian governments are left to tackle the wreckage that the military leaves in its wake. This chapter will begin with a brief summary of the political context in which the elected dispensations enacted their policies on women. It will then show how activists and the general population appeared to diverge ideologically, pointing to a worrying polarisation that came to characterise society as a consequence of Islamisation. On the one hand, WAF was clear that if Pakistan was to become a functioning democracy that ensured rights of equal citizenship to all,1 it would have to be a secular state. The internal discussions behind WAF’s decision to declare itself secular will be explained in the paragraphs below. Political parties, however, were unwilling to use the term, or even attempt de-Islamisation in the sense of undoing Zia’s legislative and constitutional reforms. Eleven years of state-sponsored exclusionary Islamic rhetoric had infused media, education and public culture so effectively that the ideological machinery could not be reversed or even halted with the end of military rule. A close look at the content of the education curriculum provides us with an insight into how a combination of Islamic and jihadi rhetoric helped to create tacit acceptance for Zia’s reforms, and thereby colour WAF’s agenda with a radicalism that would become dangerous to articulate.

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Long military rule unleashed a culture of violence with impunity with severe consequences for women’s security, forcing activists to remain focused on sexual violence throughout the 1990s. Bose and Jalal write, ‘Unbridled violence in informal arenas of politics and the manipulation of biraderi or patrilineal kinship ties in the formal arenas of electoral representation were to be key features in post-Zia era of Pakistani politics.’2 Dominant men, often tribal or clan leaders, rose to political prominence, uninterested in expanding rights and opportunities for women. Women resisted the reassertion of patriarchal practices, often implemented in the name of custom or honour, by asserting their right to free choice in marriage. Activists supported their battles in court and through the media, with mixed success.

Political context Paula Newberg itemised the problems facing the state after Zia left the scene. There were ethnic disputes and conflicts about sovereignty and rights, and the distribution of scarce resources in the absence of a unifying political and economic ideology; the ongoing dilemma regarding the role of military, the instability of global and regional political context, and what she terms the inappropriateness of the constitution to the problems of the state. State institutions were also in disarray, having survived on a combination of cronyism, nepotism and privileging of army over civilian leadership at all senior levels of government.3 The political playing field had changed dramatically from the last civilian government under Benazir’s father in the 1970s. A series of elected but unstable civilian governments from 1989– 99 was ill equipped, despite popular support, to tackle these complex problems. There were two tenures of government each by Benazir Bhutto’s Pakistan People’s Party and Nawaz Sharif’s Muslim League. Zia’s handpicked successor, Nawaz Sharif, led the revived Muslim League. Throughout, the military watched from the sidelines, ready to step in and derail the democratic experiment again. The president, whose powers were only ceremonial before Zia’s military rule, now had the power to dismiss the elected assemblies under the 8th Amendment to the Constitution.

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The first Afghan jihad ended with the departure in 1989 of Soviet troops from Afghanistan, but civil war ensued and funds continued to flow to various mujahideen leaders as Arab states and Pakistan tried to retain influence over this unstable neighbour. Finally, the Taliban movement was born, an effort by the Pakistani intelligence to install a ‘friendly’ regime across the border and perhaps harness the jihadi fighters coming out of madrassas run by religious parties. Democratically elected governments floundered then flickered away four times. In 1999, the military stepped in once again, this time led by General Pervez Musharraf, who promised to be different from his predecessor. At the time of Zia’s sudden death in 1988 he was about to pass his Shariah Bill to complete the process of Islamising all laws. The country was stunned, then joyous at the prospect of free elections for the first time in 11 years. In 1989, Benazir Bhutto became the country’s youngest Prime Minister, aged 35, and the Muslim world’s first female head of state. The bruised and battered left, progressives, and liberals, including activists, leaders of minority groups and ethnic-based nationalist parties, waited to see when, not if, Bhutto would start to roll back the discriminatory laws Zia had passed in the name of his Islamisation. Yet nothing of the sort happened. During the 18 months that the PPP was in power (December 1988 to August 1990) until President Ghulam Ishaq Khan dismissed the government on accusations of corruption, party stalwarts admitted privately they wished to repeal the Hudood Ordinances but lacked the requisite support in parliament to do so. They argued that under the 8th Amendment to the constitution, Zia had ensured all of his laws were constitutionally protected and any changes therefore would require a two-thirds majority of votes, which the PPP and its allies lacked. Yet not only was there no bill tabled, but politicians did not even bring up the topic. They had become genuinely fearful of the empowered religious right, placing political expediency above the cause of justice in the eyes of many. Asma Jahangir and others did not believe that PPP’s stated legal position was correct. Instead they argued the Hudood Ordinances could be repealed through majority vote in the National Assembly and Senate alone. Asma charged that the ruling party was not just acting out of fear of the fundamentalists, rather they had ‘watered down’ their own secular party position since coming to power.4

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A powerful newspaper editorial, ‘What WAF really wants’, decries the elected government’s lack of initiative and courage. Many current legislators were men who had previously claimed to support the WAF agenda before their election. Today a defense of women’s rights is not an act of reform but dissent. Anyone who stands up and proclaims that women should be treated as human beings is pitted against the state and its constitution, a situation comparable to that of South Africa. Our irony is that votaries of democracy in Pakistan cannot agree whether those portions of the 8th Amendment that offend against human rights and women’s rights should be deleted. Women have to learn the lesson again: men who wish to enlist their support for political rights always draw the line a little this side of women after winning them. The struggle must go on.5 This same line also divided women activists from men within their own families and class. This meant that now women’s equality, as a political issue, was fraught with greater risk, not less, than during the time of Zia. PPP’s promised legal reforms did not happen. A PPP stalwart and former prisoner during military rule, Shahid Jabeen, resigned from her post of chairman of the Women’s Jail Committee in protest against the continuing incarceration of women under the Hudood Ordinances and the number of PPP political prisoners who remained in jail.6 Former WAF member Shahnaz Wazir Ali was special advisor to Bhutto, but critics alleged she, too, seemed to be going slow on tackling the many legal and other areas of much needed reform. Meanwhile, WAF members themselves were criticised for being more interested in attending junkets abroad sponsored through their NGOs than protesting against the sectarian and ethnic hatred engulfing the country.7 Bhutto did take some modest initiatives to improve the status of women. She upgraded the Women’s Division to the status of Ministry and created a First Women’s Bank to provide credit facilities to women. She released the 1985 Inquiry Commission Report that Zia had squashed and also instituted a minimum of 5 per cent quota of employment for women in government service. (The latter was never fully implemented.) She prepared a draft national policy on women. Activists were disappointed she could not restore the constitutional

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provision on women’s reserved seats in parliament, which had lapsed in 1988 (See Chapter 9). The President, acting upon powers that Zia had given himself, dissolved her government in 1990, less than two years after it was elected. During her second tenure (1994– 7) Bhutto took a few more steps for women’s progress, but her government was still too weak to roll back the discriminatory laws. In 1994, Bhutto established another Inquiry Commission on the Status of Women headed by a Supreme Court judge. She set up nine women’s police stations across the country, appointed women to the superior judiciary for the first time and increased the number of women in senior official positions. A National Consultative Committee was set up to recommend legal reform and measures to increase women’s political representation. Her high-profile participation at the 1994 United Nations International Conference on Population and Development in Cairo and 1995 UN World Conference for Women at Beijing helped to create an international image of Pakistan as a moderate Islamic state. The Pakistan delegations to both these conferences included a broad number of NGOs, whose representatives took part in lobbying and negotiations. The government ratified CEDAW8 in 1996, committing itself to ending legal discrimination against women, which was considered a landmark achievement for activists who had lobbied hard with political parties on the issue. By the following year every major political party had made women’s empowerment a significant part of their agenda or manifesto.9 Nawaz Sharif’s Muslim League government was in power twice in between the Bhutto tenures: 1990 – 3 and 1997 – 9. Sharif was obsessed with consolidating his power, protecting it from army interference while also maintaining his image as a devout protege of Zia’s. To this end he allied himself with the religious parties, which shaped his policies towards women and progressive civil society organisations. Human rights observers found the abuses under his government rivalled those of the military regime before him.10 One case in point was the arrest and torture of two PPP student activists in 1990, Rahila Tiwana and Shehla Raza, on fraudulent charges with an obvious motive to intimidate Bhutto’s supporters in Karachi. The case prompted an appeal from the UN Human Rights Commission, which noted with concern the allegations of torture against the women.11

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During his second stint he merged the Ministry of Women’s Development with the Ministries of Social Welfare and Youth Affairs, downgrading its importance in the federal government. A new law made the death penalty mandatory for the offence of gang rape; this was a response to public outrage, led by WAF, over a series of high-profile gang rapes in the country.

Building a Secular Stand Despite growing complexities in the socio-political environment, the end of WAF’s first decade culminated in its open declaration that it stood for a secular state. The internal debate had persisted amongst the chapters for years. In a sense, this move was just a continuation of secular politics that already had a long-standing history in Pakistan. The National Awami Party called itself secular, as did the PPP (when pressed), and of course the communist party before them and the Khudai Khidmatgar movement even before Independence. This was not deemed too paralysing a contradiction in the years before Zia, and only the Jamaat-i-Islami and its friends had ever complained about it in the National Assembly. The difference now was that NAP and PPP backed off from secular rhetoric and the political left had lost its voice in national politics, leaving groups like WAF quite isolated. WAF members were to varying degrees religiously observant in their private lives, but believed the state should be secular. Some activists felt it would be counterproductive to declare the fact and possibly alienate WAF from the religio-cultural context in which it operated (Chapter 4). Yet certain NGOs run by WAF members already declared their secular position, such as the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan, ASR and Simorgh. WAF as an organisation initially avoided use of the term ‘secular’ during public functions believing it would broaden its appeal. They argued against Zia’s Islamic laws on the basis that they were not congruent with a progressive or feminist interpretation of Islam.12 But the time came when WAF needed to clarify its position publicly. The written work that serves as a background to the discussion forms a significant part of the intellectual history of Pakistan. Nighat Said Khan13 argued in one essay that Islam and secularism should not be viewed as incompatible. Just as the ‘secular’ west remains grounded in its Christian heritage, so too is it possible for us to retain our religion

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and heritage while having a secular state. ‘Muslims should not feel that they will lose their faith in a secular and modern state.’14 The instrumentalisation of Islam led to the oppression of women and religious minorities during Zia’s era, and to prevent the state’s ability to do so does not affect the religion of its people. Western secularism has prevented the instrumentalisation of their faith. It has successfully created ‘an ideology which makes a people accept a faith and the parameters of the dominant faith without a consciousness that the underlying impetus for the ideology lies in Christianity’.15 Just as Christianity was compatible with modernity so, too, were Islam and Judaism. There are two aspects to the line of reasoning on the secular stance. The first is based on the political orientation of the activists themselves, who had the vision of a progressive modern Pakistan built upon the separation of religion from the state, adhering to universal human rights. Jinnah himself said Pakistan would not be ‘a theocratic State to be ruled by priests with a divine mission’. He added, ‘We have many nonMuslims – Hindus, Christians, and Parsis – but they are all Pakistanis. They will enjoy the same rights and privileges as any other citizens and will play their rightful part in the affairs of Pakistan.’16 His few statements in support of a secular state are often quoted, although others are used to support the argument that he envisioned a more Islamic polity. The second justification for declaring WAF’s secular position is the abounding evidence that the state had misused Islam for its own political purposes and should therefore not be empowered to legislate on matters of religion. WAF member and lawyer Shahla Zia17 in an internal note to the Islamabad Working Committee wrote, ‘[R]eligion has always been exploited by the state for its own political gains and motives, and this has invariably adversely affected women, minorities and the poor. Religious institutions have been and will continue to be the domain of the fundamentalist/orthodox lobby which will always result in laws and policies which are detrimental to women.’18 The state’s exploitation of religion meant that interpretation was always subject to arbitrary change, ‘which not only results in uncertainty and insecurity for the populace, but also makes a mockery of religion’. Here Shahla Zia cited the Qisas and Diyat Ordinance, amended overnight to accommodate a truckers’ protest against being liable to pay

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blood money in case of accidentally causing death. On another occasion, the Federal Shariat Court ruled the punishment of stoning to death was un-Islamic, which was not to Zia’s liking. He reconstituted the bench and secured a favourable judgement through a review. Over time, Islamic scholars with progressive interpretations of the law have been driven out of the country. The state’s instrumentalisation of Islam was an artificial process, put into play for political purposes, says Hina Jilani.19 The Islamification of our everyday lives was essential to this political goal. As a consequence, today many women no longer say, ‘We went to such and such place at 4 o’clock,’ preferring, ‘I went there at Asr’ because now they believe it is more virtuous to refer to a prayer time instead. Examples like these demonstrate that being secular is about a mindset as much as it is about a constitutional or legal framework for the state, she says, but clearly the state has an important role in creating a social environment either supportive or inimical to secularisation. The fact that religion is used politically means that it has to be fought politically too. Jilani believes this state-led instrumentalisation of Islam can be gradually undone over time if democracy is allowed to do its work. The democratic process will allow other interest groups to express themselves, not just religious ones, and government will be forced to address their demands. She believes the state never intended to solve the problems of the people. ‘Since ’47 we have always been pushed towards Islam by political elites because they had nothing in their pockets, nothing else.’ But the people’s demands are different, as reflected in spontaneous street protests over issues such as water and electricity supplies, inflation, police issues and sexual abuse. Shahla Zia acknowledged that although WAF members support the secular position there were those who felt the word may alienate new members or create the impression WAF was un-Islamic. She urged them to go ahead nonetheless, because, ‘a) it accurately reflects what we believe in, and after ten years of struggle we should clearly state it; b) it clarifies our position when we oppose bodies like the Federal Shariat Court and Council of Islamic Ideology but don’t take a clear secular stand; c) it saves unnecessary time in search of “favorable” Islamic interpretations and fruitless argumentation with orthodox lobbies; and d) WAF needs to make this declaration as the first organization to take up the struggle against unjust laws under a rigid martial law regime.’ She wrote,

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‘Why should it draw back from this most critical challenge – an issue which is ultimately going to decide our fate?’20 WAF holds that secularism is a precondition for a successful democracy, which in turn is necessary for achieving women’s rights. In the case of a country with a declared state religion, citizens of any other religion are not considered equal, as is the case with the Hindus or Christians in Pakistan and their status under Islamic laws. Equal citizenship, too, is a fundamental condition without which democracy cannot work.21 In short, secularism, democracy and equal citizenship are all interlinked and necessary for realising women’s rights. WAF’s secular stance has become more significant, given that over time even the avowedly secular and socialist political parties try to project an Islamic image. Its stand calls into question the morality of political parties having reversed their position for political expediency. Shahla hoped its courage would show future generations an option of not always having to frame or justify their lives in terms of religion. ‘As long as there is someone saying these things I think there are some doors open. So I feel it will have some validity in the years to come. It may not seem so today.’22 She believed the key question for women to ask themselves about a given law or policy was, ‘Is it bringing justice to the women of Pakistan? And if it’s unjust, whether you’re coming from within the Islamic framework or whether you are talking about a secular framework, if something is unjust it has to be thrown out.’ WAF’s contention that religion is a personal matter was not meant to be taken as a stand against Islam as such, nor prevent alliances with other groups fighting for social justice. WAF always had non-Muslim members,23 and it spoke for the rights of all women in Pakistan, irrespective of their religion. Still, it took a great deal of discussion to convince the general bodies in each chapter to support the move. (The decision was taken at the 1991 National Convention in Lahore, but the Islamabad Chapter needed extra deliberations and ratified it in 1993.)24 This discussion and debate was reflected in changes to the WAF Charter. In 1987, before it adopted a secular stand, it read: Women’s Action Forum (WAF) or Khawateen Mahaz-e-Aml is a consciousness-raising group aimed at enabling women to fight for their rights. It is also a lobby cum pressure group committed to protecting and promoting the rights of women by countering all

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forms of oppression. It is non-hierarchical, non-governmental, and non-political. It seeks to bring together individuals and organizations on a common platform for women’s rights. 1. WAF believes: Women have the right to life, liberty, dignity, freedom of movement and security of person. 2. Women are equal partners in the development of the country and should be recognized as such. 3. Women have the right to determine their lives according to their own aspirations. 4. Women have the right to education, to work, to free choice of employment, to just and favorable conditions of work, to protection against unemployment and the right to equal pay for equal work. 5. Women have the right to participate in recreational activities, sports and all aspects of cultural life. 6. WAF does not believe in the principle of enforced segregation.25 It promised to realise its aims through consciousness-raising amongst women and lobbying amongst relevant groups to counter adverse propaganda and encourage support for WAF’s stand. After the 1991 Convention, the new preamble read slightly differently, including this sentence: ‘WAF is committed to a just and peaceful society based on Democracy and to the separation of Religion from the State and Politics.’ It added another, ‘WAF does not accept funding from government, nongovernment or international agencies.’26 This at long last clarified WAF’s secular, political and prodemocratic, position while asserting that it was not partisan and independent from funding.27 Despite this declaration, there was still no unanimity about the role of Islam in advocacy efforts. New members were joining with their own ideas and older members did not always take the time to clarify WAF’s positions. There were instances when some women joined WAF but then left because they felt it was disrespectful to Islam.28 Even after WAF abandoned its efforts to come up with informed Islamic rejoinders to the government, members would still occasionally invite religious scholars to speak at seminars, in an effort not to give up on Islam. There were always those interested in hearing alternatives to the statist Islamic

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discourse. Islamic legal scholar Khalid Masud spoke more than once at WAF seminars in Islamabad during the 1990s on the compatibility between international human rights and Islam, different interpretations of Islamic law on abortion, zina and other topics. Dr Riffat Hasan, an Islamic scholar living in the US, also spoke often on her feminist interpretations of the Qur’an. WAF revised its Charter, and Statement of Demands, in time for the 1993 elections which it sent to political parties in order to evolve a ‘minimal level of consensus on women’s issues’ and push them to reflect these concerns in their manifestos. These Demands built on its position that women’s rights are human rights and they articulated a broader vision of what strong policy-making for women would look like. This included legal and constitutional reform to restore women’s rights, the state adopting CEDAW, budgetary prioritising of social sector development, support for women’s rights to work and access child support, effective family planning services, reform to law enforcing agencies, and the right of women to fully participate in cultural and sports activities.29

Islamisation of education WAF’s demand for a secular state was antithetical to the government’s efforts to de-secularise state and society. Religion was inscribed not just into the legal apparatus, but in the media and the education, social and even bureaucratic life of citizens. Success was predicated on the active support or collusion of groups that did not necessarily have religious agendas. Hence, we saw the forced compliance of citizens with the excommunication of Ahmadis – without declaring them non-Muslims it is not possible for any Pakistani to receive a passport. Incessant airing of the Qur’an in public places and government venues, preaching on television, and pushing the dominant discourse in textbooks all played their role in changing norms, so that the enforcer of Islamisation no longer needed to be the state.30 The following paragraphs describe how the dominant exclusionary discourse was disseminated through the public education system and traditional madrassas. As with the infusion of religion into the constitution described in Chapter 1, Islamisation of the mainstream curriculum increased incrementally. In 1947, the Minister for Education said as a priority the

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system should be ‘inspired by Islamic ideology,’31 although Jinnah did not use the term himself.32 The 1951 Jamaat-i-Islami manifesto may be the original source of the term, as it states, ‘Nobody should indulge in anything repugnant to the Ideology of Pakistan. Any effort directed towards turning this country into a secular state or implanting herein any foreign ideology (Communism and Socialism) amounts to an attack on the very existence of Pakistan.’33 A JI member of the 1962 Constituent Assembly next used the term during its proceedings. For JI, the ideology of Pakistan meant Islam.34 In 1959, a Report of the Commission on National Education envisaged two tiers of education, one for members of the ruling classes (e.g. those with superior intellect, male, policymakers, educationists) and another for the rest (e.g. poor, lower caste, female working class) who were meant to perform jobs that required lower intellect, such as agricultural or mechanical tasks.35 The purpose of female education was to make women better at their domestic duties, e.g. needlework and home crafts. Women who worked in agriculture or labour were ignored. When Home Economics Colleges were set up in the 1960s they became very popular as places to help women become better wives and mothers. Prior to 1970, textbooks were not full of hatred towards Hindus and India, and they included mention of other civilizations in the region that were not Muslim. Some even praised Indian leader Mahatma Gandhi and revealed that prominent ulema had opposed the Pakistan movement.36 When Bhutto assumed power in the 1970s he used religion selectively as a means to forge national cohesion and integration. His education policy stated the study of Islam (‘Islamiyaat’) as a subject would ensure its values ‘are woven into the entire warp and woof of our educational fabric.’37 He also allocated substantial time on television for Qur’anic recitation and translation. As a 1975 social science textbook declared, ‘The chief aim of our state is to make every citizen a good Muslim.’38 To consolidate his support base amongst the lower middle classes and religious leaders,39 Zia-ul-Haq went much further than his predecessors to use the education curriculum for social engineering. Reflecting its new-found influence with government, Jamaat-i-Islami assumed charge of the Ministry of Education. The curriculum was redesigned in consonance with ‘Maudoodi’s belief that Allah is entire source of knowledge and worldly knowledge must be in context of the revealed knowledge.’40

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Zia’s 1979 National Education Policy and Implementation Programme was a dramatic departure from previous policies, which he derided as western and foreign, and in its basic form remains unchanged until today. Its details reveal that Zia had social engineering in mind. Islam was to be the counterforce to the divisive power of ethnic identity politics in Pakistan. The plan was to Islamise the ideological direction of education and all state institutions ‘which inculcate and nurture individual and social action becoming of Muslim communities’. The curriculum was revised to reorganise ‘the entire content around Islamic thought’, ‘so that Islamic ideology permeates the thinking of the younger generation and helps them with the necessary conviction and ability to refashion society according to Islamic tenets’.41 This included glorification of the military. The final distortion was to reframe Pakistan’s identity as part of the Muslim Ummah that was framed by the Middle East and not the pluralistic and diverse South Asia.42 These changes reflect the reorientation of education away from ‘western infiltration’ and towards an increased emphasis on religious content, in tandem with similar changes that Saudi Arabia was undergoing at the time, as described in Chapter 2. More than Bhutto, Zia wanted to realign Pakistan’s identity towards an Arabised Islam, in keeping with his growing ideological and financial ties to the monarchy. Since Jamaat-i-Islami enjoyed preexisting contacts with Muslim Brotherhood educationists in Saudi Arabia, it was perfectly placed to oversee the necessary changes to the curriculum. Islamiyat became a compulsory subject at every education institution and all levels, no matter the student’s religion. Even the civil service entrance examinations required the subject. Government schools prioritised hiring teachers who displayed adequate knowledge of the Qur’an and Sunnah. A committee of religious scholars revised previous textbooks to remove offensive content.43 Textbooks were infused with a deep suspicion of science and secular knowledge, which worked well with the growing distrust of the west and its immorality that characterised religious political movements in the coming years.44 Teachers were required to present all material, even sciences, from an Islamic point of view. Nayyar’s study of middle school textbooks found that four core themes dominated: Pakistan is for Muslims alone; Islamic teachings are to be included in all subjects

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(even science) and taught to all students, irrespective of their faith; the ideology of Pakistan is to be internalised as faith, leading towards hatred of Hindus and India; and students should be urged to take the path of jihad and shahadat.45 Pakistan history was portrayed as the unfolding of an inevitable process of building a theocratic state. Pakistan Studies textbooks were revised to establish three so-called events in the nation’s history: the 1949 Objectives Resolution; the 22-Point programme submitted by 31 ulema in 1951 to government (this programme formed part of the Jamaat-i-Islami manifesto); and Zia’s Islamisation. Textbooks deleted references to Jinnah as a secular leader and replaced them with the claim that he wanted a theocratic state and that the ulema had worked hand in hand with him to create Pakistan.46 References to Bhutto’s secular politics, or even the movement that ousted him, were not deemed relevant. Secularism was portrayed as violative of Islamic ideology and treasonous. The new history expunged pre-Muslim Indus Valley and Gandharan civilisation from its narrative.47 The 1979 Policy upheld the division of public/private and gender roles already present in curriculum material, but placed extra emphasis on women as ‘guardians of tradition, culture and morals’ in opposition to ‘an immoral, threatening and intrusive West’. Women became the ‘markers of “national” morality’. (It was useful to portray them as guardians and protectors of the home front with Zia deeply engaged in a so-called holy war against infidel occupation of Afghanistan.)48 Textbooks deleted depictions of women and girls playing outdoor games. There was no more mention of them in popular public roles, such as the activities of Fatima Ali Jinnah, sister of Pakistan’s founder, who contested elections against Ayub Khan during the 1960s. Women were the weaker sex; they were warned to ‘beware the pernicious influences abroad’ and told to ‘preserve eastern traditions’ and not lose their balance.49 Civilian governments of the 1990s did not significantly revise the curriculum, although critics began to publish their views. Meanwhile, the ‘ideology of Pakistan’, had become a concept the militarised state placed beyond question. As a curriculum document stipulates, ‘The ideology of Pakistan be presented as an accepted reality, and be never subjected to discussion or dispute.’50

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The burden of indoctrination fell upon teachers. ‘In order to demonstrate a desire to preserve the ideology, integrity and security of Pakistan, the child [of Class 5] is expected to make speeches on jihad (holy war) and shahadat (martyrdom) in class. The child is also expected to proclaim his readiness for fighting against India.’51 This young holy warrior was expected to identify the forces working against the integrity of Pakistan, whether from Hindu India or closer, within the country. Rubina Saigol identified the practice of ‘othering’ in the curriculum, a means to identify these potential threats. Non-Muslim foreigners (mainly Hindus or Westerners) constituted a threat, somehow, as did Christian and Hindu citizens.52 The growing persecution of nonMuslims, facilitated by the blasphemy laws, served to reinforce the narrative that Pakistan was a majoritarian Muslim state which deeply distrusted non-Muslims.53 Antipathy against Hindus and India remains a prominent feature of textbooks today. Learning objectives for teachers include, ‘Hindu Muslim differences in culture’ and ‘India’s evil designs against Pakistan (the three wars with India)’. Textbooks assert, ‘Hindus have always been an enemy of Islam’; ‘The Hindu lived in small and dark houses’; and ‘The religion of the Hindus did not teach them good things – Hindus did not respect women.’54 Hindus are blamed for the break-up of Pakistan in 1971. ‘The same Bengali Hindu was responsible for the backwardness of East Pakistan. But, hiding the story of his two-century old sins, atrocities, and pillage, he used “Bengali nationalism” to punish innocent West Pakistanis for sins they had not committed.’55 Far-fetched as it seems that such a clumsy and cynical ideology was infused into Pakistan’s curriculum, the strategy succeeded because the educated elite looked the other way. Zia’s rule coincided with the bifurcation of the education system into a decaying and discredited public sector, including the decline of its universities, and a burgeoning private sector – the top end of which never used the Islamised curriculum. In the absence of impending social, economic, or political reform to threaten their interests, the upper classes had little reason to feel concerned. They did not protest against other peoples’ children being fed bigotry and prejudice in school.

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Madrassas The state nurtured a second, madrassa-based, educational stream to serve its ideological goals and sustain support for its jihad in Afghanistan. Madrassas, or religious seminaries, have a long history in South Asia. They originated as waqfs, or trust institutions, to train religious scholars and preachers, provide free Qur’anic teaching, and offer board and lodging to the poor. In 1947, there were only 137 madrassas in Pakistan; the number doubled in a decade. By 2003 there were 10,430.56 Religious parties firmly resisted Ayub Khan’s efforts to regulate madrassa funding and syllabi. Zia gave unprecedented government funding to these seminaries, with a goal to transform them ‘into an integral part of our educational system’.57 In a blow to higher education, Zia made madrassa certificates equivalent to university degrees, allowing graduates to qualify for government jobs even though their syllabi covered no subjects other than Arabic and studies of Islamic texts and jurisprudence.58 Since madrassa administrators and their patrons were allowed to resist tighter controls, it is hard to know how many exist today. A recent study (including both government-registered and an estimated number of unregistered madrassas) found a total of 32,272 madrassas nationwide with enrolment of over 2.25 million children.59 Most madrassas belong to one of five sectarian boards (although one is controlled by Jamaat-iIslami, a political party). Seventy per cent of madrassas are Deobandi, the rest are Barelvi, Shia, Ahl-e-Hadith/Salafi, or JI-affiliated.60 There is no standardised curriculum, with each providing its own interpretations of Islamic teachings.61 During Pakistan’s support of jihad in the 1980s, some madrassas were used as training ground for fighters – Afghan, Pakistani and otherwise. Funds were sent directly through charitable donations or channelled through the military’s Inter-Services Intelligence agency, which was responsible for running the insurgency against the Soviet occupation of Afghanistan. From 1979–95, almost 4,000 new madrassas were established, belonging mainly to Deobandi or Ahl-e-Hadith schools of Sunni Islam,62 whose leaders were the most avid supporters of sectarian violence, rigid Qur’anic interpretations and jihad. Zia allowed free entry to foreign students, mostly from Central Asia and Arab countries, with easy access to the Afghan border. Even

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post-Zia, the military patronised jihadi groups fighting in Kashmir and alongside the Afghan Taliban. Their affiliated madrassas were important recruiting grounds for jihadi groups Lashkar-e-Tayyaba, Lashkar-eJhangvi, Sipah-e-Sahaba, Taliban and Al-Qaeda. Student enrolment increased during 1989 and 1993, the period between Soviet withdrawal from Afghanistan and rise of the Taliban.63 During the 1990s funding continued to flow into madrassas, from sources within and outside the country. Even after the jihad in Afghanistan was over, foreign funding – mostly from Saudi Arabia – was estimated at $350 million annually.64 Civilian governments tried half-heartedly to introduce some reforms, but they were met with stiff resistance from madrassa associations and their political patrons. During Benazir Bhutto’s first term she tried to ban the entry of Arab students to madrassas, regulate their funding through stricter reporting, and introduce compulsory registration and auditing, but could not see these changes through. Nawaz Sharif announced plans to mainstream madrassas into the education system, but his overall approach to education reforms indicated he would not gamble with the support of religious parties.

Sexual violence and ‘crossing the limits of God’ While ideological indoctrination continued unchecked, during the 1990s an environment of impunity for sexual violence against women was established. Along with zina cases, there were a series of gang rapes, torture, acid attacks and even arrests for couples marrying against the wishes of their parents. The state came down on the side of reactionary patriarchal forces, with limited checks from the judiciary. The Lahore High Court (LHC) observed that the police began to misuse and abuse the law, breaking into people’s homes, checking on residents’ activities, all the while claiming that the law of zina permitted them to do so. Police sexually harassed and even raped women in police stations. Women who reported rape (zina bil jabar) ran the terrible risk of being charged for sex outside of marriage (zina) by police eager to arrest them.65 Arms of the state were pitted against sections of their own population, with the police being used by angry fathers, whether they were villagers or feudals or politicians, to hound women for exercising agency and violating social hierarchy. The zina laws made it easy for

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prosecutors to accuse women of illicit sex despite scant evidence. In the climate of women’s increased vulnerability and liability of being accused, honour killings increased even as a means to settle disputes within tribes.66 Activists became involved in a series of cases, which received extensive coverage both domestically and internationally. While the rights of a woman to choose a marriage partner was upheld in the courts most of the time, the judgements indicated that the judiciary was assuming for itself powers of ‘moral policing’, as the Taliban were to do just a decade later. In 1996, a set of cases in the LHC challenged the validity of marriages without the consent of the women’s parents. The charge against the women was that they had married without the consent of their wali, i.e. their male guardian. In Islamic law, wali refers to the woman’s father, grandfather, or another close male relative, although not all schools of thought agree on whether the wali’s consent on behalf of a woman of marriageable age is a legal requirement. There is agreement, though, that no such requirement exists for men.67 The LHC ruling covered two cases, those of Shabina Zafar and Ayesha Ijaz. Their fathers registered cases against them, alleging that since they had married without their wali’s consent they were not legally married and guilty of zina. Justice Cheema agreed and ruled that the police had been correct to launch investigations into possible charges of zina against them, as their marriages were considered void. He ruled that no marriage was valid without the permission of the wali.68 However, Pakistan follows the Hanafi school of Islamic jurisprudence, which allows women to marry without the consent of a wali. With his ruling, the judge ignored this option, and disregarded previous judgements from as far back as 198169 in favour of the woman’s right to choose her husband independently. He ruled that consent of the wali was essential because ‘a valid marriage ensures the existence of a solid society’.70 Earlier that year, the LHC had ruled favourably on another, more high-profile case, that of Saima Waheed who married her brother’s English tutor, Arshad Ahmed, and ended up in the AGHS shelter Dastak for fear her father would kill her. Saima was the daughter of Maulana Waheed Ropri, who wanted to marry her to his business partner, a Saudi sheikh 25 years her senior. She refused, so he tried to engage her to someone else. Meanwhile Arshad proposed, but her father

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turned him down. Saima married him in secret and returned to her parents’ home. When her father found out, he beat and locked her in a room for one month before she managed to contact Asma Jahangir.71 Saima alleged her uncle was a friend of judges at the Lahore High Court, who ‘had created the whole problem’. She won her case through a split decision, but there was grave damage along the way. Arshad went to jail for four months, while Saima stayed at Dastak for almost one year. After her victory, Saima told journalists, ‘I feel as if I am reborn . . . . That one can still get justice in Pakistan and that the rights granted to women in Islam and our constitution are genuine.’ Her lawyer, Asma Jahangir, was all too aware that the tone of judges did not bode well, ‘We just got through by the skin of our teeth. The next time we may not.’72 The extreme right had become emboldened and aggressive over the last 20 years and they wanted their view on these marriage cases to be known. Press reports emerged that some religious extremists backed Saima’s parents and demanded Jahangir drop the case. They sat in court, threatened her and once even broke into her house.73 A group of mullahs led a public demonstration in which they burnt an effigy of Jahangir’s body and symbolically buried it. Arshad’s family went into hiding and Saima’s life was in danger again.74 The LHC judgement revealed at least one of the judges was passing a moral verdict on Saima’s conduct. Judge Ramday sympathised with the families of daughters whose ‘secret affairs’ had culminated in ‘secret marriage’.75 To assess the validity of her marriage, he analysed at length Qur’anic verses and scholarly views on the role of women, marriage and consent in Islam. He decided, ‘Islam abhors establishment of liaison between men and women in courtships, pre-marital relationship, secret friendships and secret marriages are forbidden.’ Since invalidating a marriage has serious consequences, for the couple and their innocent children, and there was not doctrinal material to support it, he reluctantly concluded Saima’s marriage was valid without need for a wali’s consent.76 He nevertheless recommended that the state ‘consider the advisability of making such-like immoral relationships and secret marriages, etc., a penal offence’.77 In contrast, the second judge simply argued that the Federal Shariat Court had already ruled in 198178 that a Muslim adult can marry without the consent of her wali and its judgement was binding.

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Activists remained deeply concerned about the verdict. ‘One is left with the sickening sense that moral and social norms will take the place of law. If courts judge on morality, rather than on the basis of law, it will make justice relative to an individual’s point of view,’ said Hina Jilani.79 WAF rejected the judge’s claim to be ‘the custodians of the morals of the citizens and that women were the honour of their families, that it was the duty of parents to marry their girls at the earliest possible time’.80 WAF appealed to all parties to remember that the only important issue at stake was the right of adults to marry according to their own wishes. Amnesty International reminded the government that the judges were violating Pakistan’s constitutional guarantee of equality between the sexes and commitments under CEDAW by suggesting limits on freedom in matters of marriage.81 Where culture conflicted with the protection of these rights, it stood in need of modification. WAF decided to appeal the judgement in the Supreme Court. In 1997, the Supreme Court suspended the two contradictory LHC judgements until it had made its decision. Unfortunately for many couples, the status of their marriages was on hold for years until the apex court made its ruling. Finally, in 2003 came the real landmark decision in the form of a 26-page judgement declaring that Muslim girls can marry without their wali’s consent and a couple’s admission of marriage is sufficient proof of the same. The Supreme Court upheld the 1981 Federal Shariat Court decision, cited above, to decide the cases of Shabina Zafar and Saima Waheed, who by then had two children and lived with her husband in asylum in Norway. The judgement flatly disapproved of Judge Cheema’s disregard for the 1981 Federal Shariat Court ruling and numerous older cases from the 1980s that a sui juris Muslim girl can marry of her own accord without the consent of her wali. The Supreme Court held that the admission by a couple that they are married is sufficient proof of marriage.82 There was a palpable sense of relief amongst activists when this verdict came through. An editorial from the Daily Times put it thus, ‘The legal battles . . . evinced a growing trend towards a literalist interpretation of religious and cultural prejudices and norms.’83 In a sense this verdict came too late. The case of Humaira Butt84 brought into sharp focus the grim realities of state and patriarchal power in Pakistan, but became a

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landmark ruling in favour of women’s right to choose in marriage. Her father had wealth and a feudal background, which predetermined him to treat Humaira as a means to maintain his landed interests by marrying her within the family. He gained the support of Punjab’s political and security apparatus through the Prime Minister’s brother, Shahbaz Sharif, who was Chief Minister of Punjab and the Deputy Speaker of the Punjab Assembly. Humaira Khokhar met Mehmood Butt while she was a college student in Lahore in 1991. They fell in love, although they came from very different backgrounds.85 Hers was a feudal family and her father, Abbas Khokhar, an influential politician. Mehmood came from a business family with a grocery store in the US. Humaira’s father had already promised her in marriage to her first cousin, against her wishes. When Humaira told her parents about Mahmood she hoped they would approve. Instead, they locked her within the home and a terrible ordeal began. After she tried to escape, her parents put her into a hospital and had doctors wrap her legs, arms, head and neck in a plaster for two months to immobilise her. They had Mahmood beaten almost to death by a dozen men at a time while in a police lock-up in Punjab. Once Humaira was released from the cast she was imprisoned at home for six years and attempted suicide a number of times. The couple stayed in touch through furtive correspondence. In 1997, they married in secret while she was still living at home. Mehmood fled that year to the US. Her father then forcibly married her to her cousin and put her thumbprint on the document, backdated to a month before her wedding date to Mehmood. Finally, in October 1998 the couple escaped and spent four months on the run, travelling through the country hunted by the police. Humaira’s cousin filed charges against them saying he was married to her; the purpose was to render her marriage to Mehmood illegal and get her convicted of zina. Humaira took shelter at an Edhi centre in Karachi, but in December her own brother raided the refuge with a police force from Punjab. Humaira was taken screaming, ‘These people will cut me to pieces!’ Faisal Edhi, administrator of this well-known charity, recalled his helplessness, ‘We were in shock.’ It took the combined efforts of Humaira’s lawyer in Karachi, the well known legal aid and human rights activist Zia Awan, with the support of

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Figure 4.1 Activists challenge police in front of Governor House, after they forcibly remove Humaira Butt from Edhi Shelter in Karachi, 1999. (From left) Sadia Shah, Uzma Noorani, Nafisa Shah, Danish Zuberi, Anis Haroon, Seema Sheikh. Photo: White Star.

AGHS, Shirkat Gah, WAF and HRCP, to get the Sindh High Court to block her transfer back to Punjab because of the threat to her life.86 Mehmood’s family went into hiding. Humaira was ordered into a government-run shelter for women, known as a Darul Aman, for her own safety. The moment her lawyers obtained her release, the couple dashed to the airport to fly to the US. Before they were safely through check-in they were jumped by six unknown men, joined by a group of Punjabi police, and taken back to Lahore. An activist filed a petition that Humaira’s life was in danger and requested the court to direct the Inspector-General of Punjab Police to be personally responsible for her safety and ensure that she would appear before the court.87 For the rest of the proceedings, activists filled the LHC.

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The Deputy Speaker of the Punjab Assembly said in an interview, ‘In the Subcontinent, there is a tradition that a girl’s marriage is arranged by her parents, and once the arrangement is made, it cannot be broken. Humaira had been promised to someone else a very long time ago, and it was an understandable shock to her father when she ran away. It is his right to have her returned.’ As for the couple’s vivid descriptions of mistreatment, he scoffed, ‘These are very common lies of people who have committed wrongs against a family.’88 His words cast light on how the harassment and illegal detention of the couple took place with the full cooperation of the Punjab state apparatus. Humaira’s family filed multiple cases against her and Hina Jilani took up her defence at the LHC. One charge was that her marriage to Mehmood was illegal since she was already married to her cousin. By contracting a second nikah she had ‘crossed the limits of God’ and committed zina. The judge rejected this charge and found her nikah to Mehmood valid. Her cousin never appeared in court to testify to the veracity of his nikah.89 Judge Tassaduq Jilani also found that the police had behaved in a mala fide manner, in violation of the constitution, which requires each citizen to be treated in strict accordance with the law and the state to protect the marriage, family, and mother and child. They also violated the provisions of CEDAW. He gave a plea for an end to the culture that had led to Humaira’s case. ‘Male chauvinism, feudal bias and compulsions of a conceited ego should not be confused with Islamic values. An enlightened approach is called for otherwise an obscurantism in this field may break the social fabric.’90 After the judgement, the couple left for the US. In an interview ten years later, they reflected on the fact that Humaira’s family had sent her brother to kill her to recover their ‘honour’. They still lived in fear of being killed, although they had started a family of their own.91 The case of Samia Sarwar never made it to trial, but became a notorious honour killing, unusual because politicians were brought into the public debate surrounding her murder. The police refused to register a case against the accused, despite witnesses to the murder. The provincial government in what was then called North-West Frontier Province ensured that the culprits were guaranteed their freedom. Samia was the daughter of an affluent businessman whose wife was a practising doctor, both Pathans living in Peshawar. The family was

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educated and even well known – her father, Ghulam Sarwar, was President of the Sarhad Chamber of Commerce at the time. Samia was murdered on 6 April 1999, at the age of 29, in the office of her lawyer, Hina Jilani. Here, she sought legal counsel and shelter in her quest to divorce her abusive husband, who was also her first cousin. Married at 17 years of age, she had two young sons and was separated from her husband for four years. When she left him, she returned to her parents’ home and began to study law. Meanwhile, she met another man, Captain Nadir, and told her parents she would like to divorce her husband and marry him instead. While her parents had accepted the fact of her separation they would not permit the embarrassment and shame of a divorce, especially within the family. When they left the city to perform Hajj, Samia considered her options. She came to Lahore and arrived at Jilani’s office. Samia appeared unconfident and terrified her family may kill her.92 (It turned out later that her brother and sister both knew about the murder plan beforehand, and the brother was in favour of it.) She began to stay in their shelter, Dastak. Samia was too frightened to meet with any male member of her family to settle the dispute, even her father. Hina said afterwards, ‘You learn to believe what these woman say. I believed her. I always tell my colleagues: never think the woman is exaggerating her fears.’93 But when her mother offered to come to her with divorce papers signed by her husband, she agreed to meet in Jilani’s office. The mother, Sultana, arrived, limping and leaning on the arm of a man called Habibul-Rehman, saying she needed help to walk. As Samia turned to greet her mother, the man took out a gun and shot her in the face and stomach; she died instantly. He also shot at Jilani, but missed because she bent to press the panic button behind her desk. Sultana turned and calmly left the room. Outside, a paternal uncle of Samia’s waited with a gun. He grabbed a senior staff member of the law firm as hostage and they ran out of the building, the mother’s limp gone. The office police guard managed to shoot dead the killer. Sultana and the uncle bundled the staff member into a rickshaw and drove to the hotel where Samia’s father waited. He was told the job was done. The uncle, now relaxed, told the staff member as he freed her that the family had decided Samia’s end would be in front of the lawyer who had helped plot her escape.94

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Police filed a report the same day, naming Samia’s parents and uncle as offenders, but the accused obtained bail before arrest. Two days after her murder WAF held prayers for the deceased with 300 women on the Lahore Mall Road out of protest. Police were watching, but did not prevent the gathering. According to some press reports, some police even joined in the prayers. The case never stood a chance in court. Jilani petitioned the LHC against police failure to investigate, and an interim report was submitted. Samia’s family claimed that the killer acted on his own, in fact Hina had provoked him. (They even accused Hina of abducting Samia and having her killed and the police threatened to arrest her.) Samia’s parents and husband ‘forgave’ the killer, as permitted under the Qisas and Diyat law. The Supreme Court ruled Hina could not take the case because she was not directly involved – honour killings are family matters. Captain Nadir was discharged from the army for ‘immorality’ and now lives in Great Britain. Jilani believed the police were involved in allowing the culprits to leave the city immediately, delaying the prosecution and then accepting the falsehood that Samia’s mother was not in the room at the time of her murder.95 Public opinion did not favour justice for Samia’s killers and blamed activists instead. The Sarhad Chamber of Commerce and religious groups called for Jilani and Jahangir’s arrest,96 citing tribal and customary laws, and accused them of ‘misleading women in Pakistan and contributing to Pakistan’s bad image abroad’.97 Pakistan’s newspapers overwhelmingly sided with Samia’s family. Pathan commentators argued that since the killing was in accordance with tradition it could not be considered a crime, but conceded that the parents should have had the matter decided by a jirga first. A Peshawar daily ran an advertisement announcing a demonstration against ‘a dirty conspiracy against Islam, Pakistan family life as we know it’.98 Selected clerics gave fatwas, religious edicts, offering handsome rewards to have Jilani and Jahangir killed. Jilani and Jahangir were so concerned they moved the courts to prosecute for incitement but were ignored. Samia’s father, on the other hand, filed cases against them and two others, accusing them of abducting and murdering his daughter.99 Ultimately, these cases were not admitted.

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Politicians, even those who had joined the struggle for democracy, refused to condemn the murder. PPP’s Iqbal Haider was a lone figure struggling repeatedly to present a resolution in the Senate, but failed. Senator Ilyas Bilour, a Pathan with the erstwhile progressive ANP, said, ‘We have fought for human rights and civil liberties all our lives, but wonder what sort of human rights are being claimed by these girls in jeans.’ His colleague, the well known Ajmal Khattak, agreed there was no room for discussion on questions of ‘honour’.100 In an interview Samia’s father appeared at pains to explain that he came from a liberal, educated background, in which Samia had not been deprived of luxury and freedom.101 He said Jilani provoked the gunman during the meeting at her office, and Samia was caught in the crossfire. He also said that he would never have permitted Samia to divorce and would not condemn the practice of honour killing. ‘If women need help they should get help from their family members, uncles, brothers . . . [T]hey should not go out of the family . . . It is very embarrassing for the family.’102 Samia is buried in an unmarked grave in an unknown location.103 Victims of honour killing are traditionally not buried in regular graveyards. Even today, Samia’s parents retain their standing in Peshawar’s social and professional circles. In fact, UNDP in Islamabad invited Samia’s father, in his capacity as President of the Sarhad Chamber of Commerce, to attend a civil society consultation. This prompted strong objection from activist Saba Khattak, who raised the alarm amongst NGOs, and a public letter from UNFPA goodwill ambassador and film-maker/activist Faryal Gauhar. The invitation sparked a lively press debate, embarrassing the UNDP representative who denied responsibility for the invitation, and Gauhar resigned her role in protest.104 The complicity amongst government, elected representatives and the criminal justice system to deny a woman freedom of choice in matters of marriage (and divorce) continued with impunity. In the case of Fakhra Younus, victim of an acid attack after daring to leave her abusive husband, the Punjab government protected the accused because he was a prominent politician.105 Similarly, when Riffat Afridi married out of her kinship group and of a different ethnicity, the Sindh Chief Minister assured a tribal jirga that he would return her to her family. The government was clear that ‘the will of the fathers’ would prevail. ***

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These landmark cases, and the determination with which activists backed the women involved, were signs that Pakistani society was undergoing some turmoil. Whether or not judges, politicians, or fathers wanted it so, women were trying to exercise agency in more areas of their lives as their exposure increased. I.A. Rehman, journalist and human rights activist, eloquently posed a challenge to all: The crucial issue that needs to be debated is whether Pakistani society will be better off by adapting itself to the call of the age of human rights and freedom – or whether it is necessary and at all possible to legislate the maintenance of social attitudes that the current intellectual climate and scale of economic activity have rendered untenable. This matter does not concern one woman, or even just a few women. Nor does it concern Pakistani women alone. It is an issue that will determine the future of Pakistani society itself.106 It was increasingly clear that activists were caught in a quagmire. For the protection of women’s rights their primary interlocutor was still the state – and its most secular manifestations remained constitutional protections and the superior courts. But Pakistani society had changed, more politicians, press and even judges, seemed determined to enforce the ‘will of the fathers’ than before, ready to victimise, exile, or kill women who defied patriarchal norms. The return to democracy was not expected to unleash forces like this.

CHAPTER 5 ACTIVISM CHANGES FORM

It was not possible for activists and those supporting the strengthening of democracy to counteract the series of rights violations that marred the return to civilian rule. In this chapter I will explain how activism changed into NGO-funded advocacy, but nonetheless remained focused on many of the same issues that engaged WAF. There were major challenges from the state during Nawaz Sharif’s two tenures in power to restrict the working of these NGOs and complete Zia’s policy agenda, but activists successfully pushed some of them back. While it was a frustrating period for women, who felt that they were firefighting instead of making progress on achieving their rights, they managed to consolidate support for gains that would become more apparent in the next decade. The religious parties continued to enjoy influence disproportionate to their performance at the polls. They remained useful to intelligence agencies for maintaining the military’s strategic interests in Afghanistan, hostile posture towards India and devotion to a national ideology crafted only in Islamic terms. The powerful Inter-Services Intelligence agency, which had virtually single-handedly run the Afghan jihad, backed a group of madrassa students, trained in JUI’s seminaries in Pakistan, to form the Taliban in order to put an end to the civil war in Afghanistan that ensued after Soviet withdrawal. The PPP’s hesitation to confront the religious right while in power, and Sharif’s political alliance with them, further ensured their leverage over national affairs during the 1990s. The consequences of their continued influence made progress on women’s rights mixed, at best, and the reversal of discriminatory legislation virtually impossible.

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WAF and the rise of NGOs There was a deep sense of relief when Benazir Bhutto came to power – she was an educated person, who at the least would not promulgate any new measures against women. The Pakistan People’s Party (PPP) had a liberal and (tacitly) secular agenda that also supported women’s rights, so there was no cause for new concern and every reason to expect that Zia’s laws would be repealed. ‘Suddenly WAF members thought, oh our job is done,’ reflects Uzma Noorani.1 Activists expected Bhutto to repeal the Hudood Ordinances. When no such bill was moved in the National Assembly, they were angry and disappointed. The lack of delivery from the PPP became a wake-up call. ‘We came back into action soon after and realized you can’t just say goodbye,’ Uzma says. ‘The struggle goes on.’ But beyond this, within WAF there was no uniform response to the change in political context. Some women ceased their activism altogether, now that Zia was gone. Those with more leftist and political leanings stayed on. Some wanted to maintain pressure on the government to repeal the discriminatory laws and others were willing to give the PPP more time. Amongst women’s lawyers’ groups and even APWA, women faced similar dilemmas.2 Rubina Saigol feels that with the end of dictatorship they lost their way. ‘There was no specific, strong cruel enemy out there who could sort of mobilize us and make us angry and I felt that the level of anger, passion, rage lessened and that was a loss. . . . WAF began to lose steam.’3 During the 1990s, small numbers of younger women, some daughters of founder members, joined WAF chapters enthusiastically, but were disappointed to find no clear agendas or priorities for action. Older activists were unable to serve as mentors and keep these younger women engaged with WAF. There was an unwillingness to open discussion and debate on issues deemed settled within WAF, such as the position on Islam or the revised Charter. In Islamabad, WAF became a stepping-stone for some women starting their professional careers, who used it to establish their credentials as rights activists and then secured jobs with donor agencies or international NGOs. WAF’s feminism, therefore, did not evolve further conceptually beyond the liberal framework it established during its first phase, although some individuals would develop their own thinking independently.

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It is both a regret for some and mark of pride for others that women’s activism spawned or nurtured a number of women’s organisations devoted to development, research and advocacy issues. WAF Working Committees formed subcommittees to tackle issues in more depth during the 1980s, and some of them evolved into NGOs in their own right. One such example is War Against Rape, which was established in Karachi in 1989 in order to provide legal and medical assistance to rape victims at a time when there was a growing incidence in the city alongside a reluctance to report it due to the zina laws. The organisation’s work includes spreading awareness about sexual abuse, advocacy for legislative reform, alongside providing crisis intervention, legal aid, counselling and medical assistance to survivors. It has handled at least 200 cases over the last 25 years, but can only boast of a small number of successes in the courts.4 Simorgh was founded in Lahore in 1985, first as a part-time then as a full-time feminist organisation in the mid-1990s, devoted to the ‘research and dissemination of information that will enable women and men to challenge the dominance of ideas that support social and economic divisions on the basis of gender, class, religion, race and nationality’.5 It is responsible for publishing some of the most challenging and important feminist research out of Pakistan. During Zia’s period of tumult and political repression, activists formed the first Human Rights Commission of Pakistan in 1986. Amongst its founding members were Asma Jahangir, Hina Jilani and Anis Haroon; other WAF activists would soon join.6 The overlap in agendas and strategies was already clear – to seek from the state enforcement of fundamental rights as guaranteed by the constitution and international law and demand a democratic government. By this time, no activists, at least in private, would deny their agenda was political. Ultimately, it was a question of semantics – and also an issue of financing. HRCP was set up as a non-government organisation (NGO), open to receive donor-funds. Western donor organisations, the United Nations and international NGOs all stepped in to fund women’s organisations and continue to do so, with varying periods of enthusiasm depending on their government’s politics. The nascent organisations whose growth began just before or alongside WAF’s, such as Aurat Foundation, Shirkat Gah and Applied Socio-Economic Research (ASR) grew into the largest women’s research

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and advocacy institutions in the country. They opened branches in Lahore, Karachi, Islamabad and Peshawar, hired large numbers of women and men, and designed projects that sustained advocacy on many of WAF’s platform issues for the next 20 years. They still exist,7 mostly still run by the activists who established them, and they remain the most influential organisations advocating for women’s rights in Pakistan. NGO advocacy did take up some issues at the core of WAF’s agenda – sexual violence, restoration of reserved seats in elected bodies, increasing women’s political participation, repeal of discriminatory laws and protection of minority rights.8 Hina Jilani and Asma Jahangir, in their capacity as lawyers with AGHS and founding members of HRCP, fought cases of women charged under the zina laws or victim of sexual violence, defended victims of the blasphemy laws and resisted other discriminatory anti-minority measures. Aurat Foundation took the lead in advocacy with government, parliamentarians and political parties to gain support for the restoration of reserved seats for women. Their Legislative Watch newsletter monitored closely the progress of all legislation under consideration that could affect women, as well as activist efforts to prevent detrimental laws from being passed. War Against Rape in Karachi provided free legal support to rape survivors, of which there was a growing number during the 1990s, even though they hardly ever won a case in court. Shirkat Gah expanded into research, community projects, and advocacy both domestically and at the international level, helping to build networks with women across borders. ASR hosted groundbreaking conferences for women from across the country, forging linkages amongst those from rural and urban backgrounds never made before. It also began to hold regular residential workshops to introduce women to feminist history and theory, which many, including myself, credit with having changed their thinking forever and shaped their work as activists up to today. The NGOs grew rapidly, Aurat and Shirkat Gah opened offices in the major cities; they started projects that were in some part donor-driven, i.e. in areas more of interest to the financiers than the activists, and hired more staff as a consequence. NGOs held numerous workshops locally to train staff and raise awareness on issues related to their projects, and senior staff began to travel internationally to attend conferences and seminars in the region and beyond. Pakistani feminists developed linkages and friendships with South Asian women activists, grass roots

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workers and development practitioners for the first time. They also formed networks with women in Muslim countries, such as Shirkat Gah’s engagement with Women Living Under Muslim Laws, to share experiences and advocate for the rights of women affected by Islamisation in other contexts. It was a decade of landmark international conferences, requiring unprecedented preparation on the ground – for NGOs and the government. It began with the 1993 World Conference on Human Rights in Vienna. Next, Benazir Bhutto attended both the 1994 International Conference on Population and Development in Cairo9 and the 1995 World Conference on Women in Beijing. To all of these events, women’s NGOs such as Shirkat Gah, Aurat Foundation and ASR helped the government to prepare its reports, and they led in preparing shadow reports from the NGO sector. The learning curve was steep, but the results were gratifying. Pakistan played a positive role as a moderate Muslim country at these events, and on the urging of these groups Bhutto signed CEDAW in 1996. After Pakistan committed itself to the Beijing Platform for Action, women’s NGOs became closely involved in helping the government design a National Platform for Action to serve as a comprehensive policy to reflect its new agenda for gender equality. The government held back on endorsing the new policy, frustrating donors and NGOs alike. Next, the recommendations of the 1997 Inquiry Commission on the Status of Women, along with the new obligations under CEDAW, seemed almost impossible to fulfil. Their implementation would have required at a minimum a review of all laws affecting women. CEDAW raised key issues, such as the right to co-education, and equal rights of inheritance and evidentiary status that remain unresolved.10 Increasing budgetary commitments and reinstating women’s reserved seats in elected bodies looked a bit more doable, so NGOs continued to lobby for these reforms. But ultimately it became clear that women, even backed by donors and working through NGOs, were not perceived as an interest group with sufficient political backing to merit concrete policy commitments. Post-1995, western donors began to insist that NGOs featured their names on programme, research and advocacy materials. ASR never agreed to do that and lost some financial support as a consequence.11 Women’s NGOs began to run their advocacy campaigns as projects, for which they received specific funding from donors. Those NGOs working

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together on issues such as the Shariah Bill (see discussion below) were in disagreement about the merits of accepting funds from donors for lobbying, particularly in Lahore, but ultimately the practice continued. This helped to confirm the suspicions held by government and many politicians from Nawaz Sharif’s Muslim League, that these organisations served a western agenda. Generous donor funding, amounting to hundreds of thousands of dollars at a time, went to projects on gender – as linked to rights, health, education, political participation, environment, communication, research, community development and advocacy. It fell upon women’s NGOs to justify receiving these funds, as if it were less valid than spending on mainstream services in health or education, which no one would contest. ‘Capacity-building’ was the operative phrase, for there was an urgent need to train men and women on gender issues for projects. This money was sometimes not used effectively, due to neglect and bad management, a failing for which both donors and NGOs were culpable. It was also difficult to measure the tangible benefit to women in communities ‘targeted’, especially if money was spent on conferences and research. The irony was not lost on anyone that western governments were, on the one hand, supporting General Zia, and the ideology of jihad in Afghanistan, while on the other they were encouraging (albeit a small group of) women and their NGOs whose position it was to resist his Islamisation. Most contentious amongst the women’s NGOs was the question of whether to accept funds from the US. Its support was directly contingent upon Pakistan government compliance with its policies, and aid was regularly cut off at short notice when the country did not comply, as in 1998 after it conducted nuclear tests. Some NGOs, such as ASR and Shirkat Gah, never accepted US Agency for International Development (USAID) funds, while Aurat Foundation accepted funds to expand its programme to encourage women’s political participation (see Chapter 9). Amongst the development community and political activists, the 1990s became known as ‘the NGO-isation’ or ‘de-politicisation’ of the women’s movement. Politicians eagerly pointed this out, for it gave them a way to pour scorn on the defiant women of the 1980s who had stood up to General Zia. Erstwhile supporters of WAF, even amongst the secular parties and progressive groups, joined in the criticism for

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different reasons. They suggested now that activists were being paid for their advocacy, it somehow diminished the ethos and political core of the women’s movement. Some within WAF felt strongly that the amount of time women increasingly gave to their NGO work prevented the women’s movement from going into the next phase of expanding to include women from broader sections of society.12 Rubina Saigol argues that without donor funding the movement would have retained its more political and leftist character.13 The women’s movement became more oriented to a development and human rights perspective during the 1990s, she claims, in line with donor priorities, and was therefore ultimately depoliticised.14 Farzana Bari was initially a part of WAF Islamabad and then left the country during the remainder of Zia’s rule. She says it was because of donor funding that NGOs were never able to take on the government very strongly, in terms of public protests and political actions. Instead, they evolved into service delivery and advocacy outfits, whose rhetoric was based on rights alone and therefore grew weaker in impact over the years.15 No doubt the dynamic of activism changed when the high energy street mobilisation of the 1980s gave way to a more subdued advocacy – in which activists found themselves addressing parliamentary committees, lobbying with political leaders directly and writing technical reports on women’s issues for the government to use at international meetings. Still, Hina Jilani reminds critics that all the NGOs that engage in this kind of work have roots in WAF or preceded its formation, such as AGHS and Shirkat Gah. ‘As NGOs our own interests might conflict at times, but when it comes to women’s rights, we all become WAF. Then there remains no conflict of interest as different organizations, then there’s no fight.’16 She does not believe this stopped the women’s movement, it just changed the form of its advocacy. Activists had less time to work on developing WAF as an organisation during the 1990s because of their growing commitments to the NGOs that they had founded, either before or during the first phase of the movement. Shahla Zia explained, ‘Many of us felt very legitimately at that time that we are doing the same kind of work now within our organizations, whereas earlier we’d had to put in extra time [for WAF].’17 WAF continued to hold seminars, issue press statements

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and call for demonstrations that attracted only small groups of concerned citizens along with NGO staff whose work supported the cause at hand. It was no longer the lead group on rights-based activism, since NGOs were doing more high-profile work on some of the same issues. Uzma Noorani, who never joined an NGO, felt abandoned. There was still considerable work to do at WAF, especially regarding cases of sexual violence. ‘Who was going to handle all these women who had been told about their rights?’ While other WAF members were pursuing their activism with donor funding, WAF continued without any funding at all. New issues arose which needed attention but were too political for NGOs to pick up, such as the ethnic strife in Karachi in which thousands were killed and many families displaced. WAF Karachi became increasingly involved in supporting women affected by that conflict and raising awareness about their needs: going to jails, military courts to follow cases, and tapping into philanthropic funds to help

Figure 5.1 Nigar Ahmed and Shahla Zia, co-founders of Aurat Foundation, nd. Courtesy: Zia Family.

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families of the disappeared and arrested. Their agenda broadened to include lobbying for peace in Karachi, as did HRCP. WAF’s ties to these affected communities continue today. Nazish Brohi joined Karachi WAF during the late 1990s to work on cases of sexual violence. She counts WAF’s financial independence as one of its major long-term achievements. It remains a volunteer organisation despite the ‘overall atrophy of volunteerism in Pakistan’ outside the philanthropic sector.18 A tension prevails between funded organisations and volunteer organisations that engage with civil society, and for WAF to have survived in this environment is one of its outstanding accomplishments. But crucially, the leaders themselves remained the same, whether they were founders of WAF or these NGOs. Farida Shaheed believes it was the best way to reach out and be sustainable. ‘We could not have done this without working in civil society organisations, unless we were organised as a political movement. Attempts by friends to have a social democratic movement didn’t last because all of us were unable to match the social or political activism to bring about a political movement.’19 During internal meetings, WAF members debated joining political parties or trying to start a women’s party, but they lacked the resources and roots in constituencies to become viable electoral candidates. With much of the rights-based work supported with donor funding to NGOs, WAF could have simply fizzled out. That, too, did not happen. Instead, they spent much of the decade firefighting, busy with their day jobs, and then reacting to one crisis after another as WAF. This would be either the latest crime of sexual violence, proposed legislation or government plan to shut down their NGOs. Nawaz Sharif’s first government was a right-wing conservative coalition called Islami Jamhoori Ittehad (IJI),20 cobbled together with funds from the military’s Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI) agency.21 Its platform with JI as a member confirmed Sharif’s status as heir to Zia’s legacy. This put the government at ideological loggerheads with WAF and the NGOs with which their members were involved. Their activities were seen to be directly antithetical to the political agenda of the day when Sharif was in power, in contrast to the PPP-led governments when WAF members enjoyed greater access and dialogue with government officials.

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The government’s growing hostility during Sharif’s tenures22 deepened in response to the NGO’s new strategy of building alliances and coalitions, called ‘Joint Action Committees’ (JAC), in order to coordinate better as issues arose. (WAF often spearheaded or joined in these JACs.) Joint statements, press briefings, seminars and publications from multiple NGOs had a greater impact on public perceptions. Government tried various tactics to silence the growing dissent from civil society; one tactic was to make it more complicated for donors to channel funds to progressive NGOs. In 1994, it put forth an NGO bill to further control their functioning and regulation. Judging by the government’s behaviour, the NGO’s work was certainly perceived as political in nature. Meanwhile, NGOs organised a national coalition to resist the government’s NGO legislation, an effort that brought together progressive NGOs such as Sungi, Bedari, the Sustainable Development Policy Institute (SDPI) and the Pakistan Institute of Labour Education and Research (PILER), along with women’s NGOs involved with rights issues. WAF was involved in drafting the terms of reference for the coalition, which proposed that NGOs address the government challenge that they were not transparent by developing an accountability forum of their own, to hold public hearings whenever charges or complaints were levelled against their members, and internally settle disputes within the NGO community.23 One of the first challenges to this new effort by the NGO community to establish accountability within itself arose in Islamabad during a dispute within the management of Bedari, an innovative NGO founded by women activists to raise awareness about violence against women and children. Parties appeared before a panel of NGOs to air their sides to the dispute, but the panel members were unable to mediate and resolve the problem amicably and Bedari eventually split. The episode was a warning to civil society groups that being on the same side of an issue was not sufficient to keep them united, and that governance issues needed to become a priority if they wanted their organisations to be sustainable. Senior officials accused women’s NGOs of following a western and anti-Muslim agenda by advocating women’s rights and criticising Islamic legislation. The Punjab government, run by Nawaz Sharif’s brother Shahbaz Sharif, took a particularly hostile view. Its Social

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Welfare Minister decided to scrutinise all NGOs receiving funds from abroad, with the exception of religious groups and madrassas that received unaudited Arab funds which were never scrutinised. Intelligence agencies began to visit NGOs to find out which ones had participated in the anti-Shariah Bill protests (see below) and were associated with HRCP. In articles by journalists suspected of being paid by the government, the press singled out the Ajoka Theatre group, Shirkat Gah and the Institute of Women’s Studies Lahore for specific mention.24 These were blamed for financial corruption, the failure to bring up the rights of Kashmiri women in their work, lack of patriotism, and indulging in lesbian behaviour behind closed doors. WAF members and NGO representatives retaliated by resigning from government working groups and committees, where they provided much needed technical input for policies and programmes. The government stopped registration of new NGOs and required existing ones to give a written pledge that they were not involved in ‘anti-state, anti-government, and anti-religion activities’. A minister accused one leading NGO of ‘brainwashing young women and making them pursue a course that clashed with government policies’.25 By May 1999, 1,941 were shut down in Punjab and 3,000 remained under scrutiny because they were suspected for indulging in anti-state activities, including those who had led oppositon to the Shariat Bill.26

Opposing the Shariat Bill Just before Zia died he promulgated the Shariah Ordinance 1988, declaring it the supreme source of law in Pakistan and requiring all policies and laws be referred to the Federal Shariat Court to ensure their compliance (see Chapter 2). The Ordinance lapsed after his death, and it stayed that way until Nawaz Sharif decided to revive it when he came to power. A main character in the story of bringing Shariah to Pakistan is Maulana Sami ul-Haq, a Deobandi religious leader who heads the Darul Uloom Haqqania madrassa at Akora Khattak, founded by his father in 1972. It received substantial funds (the amount is unknown) from Zia’s government and Arab sources during the anti-Soviet jihad. It was the madrassa where many Taliban leaders studied, including the Afghan movement’s founder Mullah Omar. Sami ul-Haq heads his own faction

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of the Jamiat Ulema-i-Islam (S) and served as an MNA under Zia and later Senator until 1997.27 He attained notoriety not for how well he served Zia’s purposes during the jihad, but for his hypocrisy that was exposed while attempting to fulfil Zia’s dream of enacting the Shariat Bill.28 Sami ul-Haq and Qazi Abdul Latif first drafted the Shariat Bill passed by the Senate under Benazir Bhutto’s first government, where the PPP did not have a majority but Nawaz Sharif’s supporters did. (The PPP-dominated National Assembly subsequently rejected it.) The Human Rights Commission of Pakistan (HRCP) closely critiqued Sami ul-Haq’s proposed bill; and WAF along with progressive NGOs used their arguments to lobby with politicians against it. The HRCP arguments are worth recounting in detail, because they have been used in other contexts when the need to present an argument against imposing Shariah laws arises.29 First, the draft bill was based on the assumption that the Objectives Resolution, having conferred supremacy on the Shariat in Pakistan, had been incorporated as a substantive part of the constitution, and therefore its purpose was to ensure Shariah’s enforcement. HRCP disagreed, stating that nowhere in the Objectives Resolution is supremacy conferred on the Shariat, and quoted at length from the resolution to demonstrate. The bill was to make Shariah the supreme law in Pakistan, giving courts jurisdiction to examine, if asked, whether a law was repugnant to Shariah. This would have included those relating to Muslim personal law (thus far protected by the constitution from interpretation by Shariah) and constitutional provisions. HRCP argued that legislatures would be disempowered if courts had the powers to examine laws on the basis of uncodified Shariah laws. The judiciary would be forced to enlist the help of ulema to examine existing laws. However, ulema were untrained in the law and were to be appointed by the president himself. This meant that the president would exercise undue influence on the courts, and only appoint judges who were qualified in both law and Shariah. According to the bill, government directives, too, could be subject to challenge in the courts if deemed repugnant to Islam. The media was to promote Islamic values and those that did not were to be forbidden. Islamisation of education was to continue in full force, but, as a caveat, the government’s international financial obligations would remain

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unaffected by the new Shariat Act. HRCP concluded that if the bill passed it would serve as a means for the ulema to gain political power ‘through the back door’ and the elected legislatures would be rendered helpless. All branches of government would be forced to keep the ulema on their side if they wished to remain unchallenged in the courts. Nawaz Sharif’s IJI coalition made campaign promises to the ulema that he was compelled to remember when he replaced Bhutto after the next elections. He sponsored a revised version of this Shariat Bill. WAF strongly opposed this bill and in June 1991 launched a national campaign along with other organisations to lobby parliamentarians to vote against it.30 WAF chapters led the formation of Joint Action Committees in Lahore, Islamabad and Karachi to lead the protests. The Lahore JAC comprised 26 NGOs, including HRCP, AGHS, Society for the Advancement of Higher Education (SAHE), Strengthening Participatory Organization (SPO), two Christian NGOs and labour groups.31 WAF collected over 30,000 signatures, which were delivered directly to the Prime Minister’s office. Islamabad members lobbied directly with MNAs, giving letters and position papers to them personally in an effort to explain the damage the proposed bill would cause to the constitution, fundamental rights, judicial independence and democracy. JACs held public meetings to explain how the rights of women and religious minorities would be curtailed with this type of Islamisation. Activists engaged intensively with journalists to brief them on the consequences of the bill. The bill would have given Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif sweeping powers over government and the judiciary. In response to the growing coordination amongst politicians, the media and NGOs to resist the move, he accused them of anti-state and un-Islamic activities. His critics shared a growing sense that the real purpose of the bill was not to complete the process of Islamisation, but to enhance executive powers to permit Sharif to construct the controversial Kalabagh Dam.32 WAF members attended two weeks of National Assembly debate on the proposed law, visiting with MNAs at the cafeteria during breaktime and issuing press statements, constantly advising against its passage. WAF’s position received broad and regular newspaper coverage. Since the content of Sharif’s bill was not made public, WAF and the JAC could only critique the Sami ul-Haq version. Activists asked politicians how

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they would decide whose interpretation of Islamic law would prevail. They raised concerns that its passage would endanger the MFLO, further discount women’s power to give evidence and limit the rights of minorities.33 After pointing out that the bill endangered parliamentary sovereignty and constitutional supremacy by making way for the ulema to legislate, a WAF statement concluded, ‘The vague and careless wording of this Shariah Bill will not only destroy the rights of all the vulnerable sections of our population, but it will also undermine the process of democracy in Pakistan for which the nation has fought so hard.’34 Sharif bulldozed the bill through parliament and had it passed within two weeks, after inserting some amendments in response to these criticisms. The revised version promised to protect fundamental rights of citizens and ensure justice without discrimination, protected the existing political system from being challenged in any court including the Supreme Court and Federal Shariat Court, and gave some assurances to minorities and women. According to the new law, ‘The Shari’ah that is to say the Injunctions of Islam as laid in the Holy Qur’an and Sunnah, shall be the supreme law of Pakistan.’35 It directed the state to continue Islamising the educational institutions, economy and mass media. Its most specific legal measure was to provide that in the interpretation of statute law, the one most consistent with Islamic principles and jurisprudence should prevail. Where two or more interpretations are equally possible, the one which advanced the Principles of Policy and Islamic provisions in the constitution was to be adopted.36 Husain Haqqani, Press Assistant to Sharif at the time, proudly issued a statement that the 45-year debate about national ideology and the Islamic state now stood resolved!37 Sharif addressed a national ulema convention telling them he had done his job and now it was time for them to play their part in enforcing Shariah. He said, ‘My entire government and its machinery is now at your disposal. You should launch a movement to force those opposing it to retreat and repent for their mistake.’38 This was a direct reference to activists who had lobbied hard against the bill. Legal scholar Martin Lau argues that the act has had no significant impact on the country’s legal system and in fact it excludes existing contractual obligations of the government from Islamic jurisdiction of

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courts, thus protecting business interests opposed to such interference.39 Newberg found the act functioned ‘as an informal theory of the state’, in effect creating a mess for the judiciary because it was rife with procedural inadequacies.40 The government was interested in passing the religious law primarily for show – there was high absenteeism amongst parliamentarians on the day of the voting, and little protest to Sharif’s last-minute amendments. Senator Sami-ul-Haq (JUI-S) and Jamaat-i-Islami, among others, were dissatisfied with the act and planned to pressure the government to further amend it. Clerics immediately began to use the new law to strengthen their own positions. Some demanded certain sects be declared non-Muslims; others called for cabinet minister Abida Hussain to resign (because she was a woman). The NWFP Assembly introduced a bill to force women to wear purdah, and ordered a ban on 21 television commercials for ‘conflicting with society mores’.41 But their plans were foiled in part by a scandal that erupted in December the same year, triggered by the revelations of a brothel owner in Islamabad regarding her elite clientele. It worsened when Madam Tahira disclosed that Senator Sami ul-Haq, the very man whose proposed bill sought to ban obscene material from the media, enjoyed her favours and was particularly zealous in the days leading up to passage of the bill. She claimed to have photographs of him in action, and rumours circulated that the intelligence agencies had material to prove she was right. ‘Sandwich Sammy’, as he became known, was disgraced and for many years disappeared from the forefront of pushing for Islamisation and a larger role for the religious right in the country’s politics.42 (That is, until it emerged after 9/11 that his madrassa was a key training ground for the Taliban and he became known instead as ‘Father of the Taliban’.) It appeared that Sharif was firmly trying to discredit and at least temporarily sideline the more extreme religious political elements and also distract the nation from a series of corruption scandals that plagued his government. A series of decisions followed the Shariat Act that worried Sharif’s government. In October 1991, the Lahore High Court ruled that under Article 2A of the Constitution, Shariat (and not the constitution) was the supreme law and it had jurisdiction to enforce it. This immediately raised the question of the courts’ power to enforce Islam and possibly to strike down articles of the constitution. In March 1992, the FSC ruled

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that the country’s banking system was to be replaced by an interest-free system in line with Islamic provisions banning usury.43 This decision was believed to be a move to scare away the foreign investment with which the government was seeking to keep the economy afloat at a time when the US had suspended all aid.44 Next, it appeared that Sharif’s commitment to Islamisation was wavering at a political level when he retired ISI Chief Hamid Gul, who fostered the radical Afghan mujahideen, and instead supported the UN peace plan for Afghanistan. In May 1992, Jamaat-i-Islami left the coalition, accusing him of betraying the mujahideen and failing to Islamise Pakistani society sufficiently.45 So why did Nawaz Sharif bother with yet another Shariah Bill after his re-election in 1997? It was actually consistent with his strategy of using all means, constitutional or not, to strengthen his political power. His new Shariah law was intended to consolidate political powers with the executive in the guise of Islamisation.46 The new legislation, known as the 15th Amendment, proposed inserting Article 2(b) in the constitution to make Qur’an and Sunnah the supreme law. It would give the federal government full powers to enforce Shariah and ‘to prescribe what is right and forbid what is wrong’, and even take action against state functionaries for non-compliance. It was intended to diminish the power of legislatures and make the executive free to overrun the judiciary with directives rendering the constitution virtually meaningless. Those who voted in favour of it were PML (N) and FATA representatives, while the MQM abstained. There were only 16 opposing votes, by those ANP and PPP members who bothered to be present.47 Sharif wanted to take the vote to the Senate the following year, by which time he hoped to have the twothirds majority seats required to amend the constitution. General Pervaiz Musharraf’s coup of October 1999 effectively stopped the plan. The coup was triggered by Sharif’s pattern of overreach that alienated the military. During his tenure Sharif bulldozed through parliament an amendment to end horse-trading of politicians and breaching of party discipline by having violators removed from the legislatures. He managed to do away with the powers of the president to dissolve legislatures that Zia enshrined in Article 58(2)(b) and was used to dismiss four earlier governments.48 This was followed by a clash with the judiciary over a series of issues, including the setting up of antiterrorist courts and the process of selection of judges to the Supreme Court. In a bewildering confrontation aired on television, PML (N)

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workers broke through the gates and stormed into the Supreme Court as it heard a contempt of court case against the government. The President resigned out of despair at the conflict between the judiciary, executive and legislature thus triggered. And upon the increased tensions with India after both countries’ nuclear tests in May 1998, the next President, Rafiq Tarar, declared a state of emergency, suspending all constitutionally guaranteed fundamental rights. The last straw before the coup was Sharif’s denial that he had any role to play in the military’s unsuccessful incursion into Indian-held Kargil, located in the disputed area of Kashmir, and rumours that he intended to replace Musharraf, Chief of Army Staff. Nawaz Sharif’s handling of the Shariah Bills reveals that due to his dependence on the legacy of General Zia and military backing for his political legitimacy, he relied on Islamisation as a tool to retain the support of the religious right and used Shariah as a means to consolidate his control over the state. His understanding of democracy and the importance of citizen’s fundamental rights was limited to their utility to keeping him in power, and the consequences for citizens, particularly women and minorities, of manipulating Islamic ideology were not relevant to his political agenda. He did respond, however, to the pressure from rights advocacy groups, including WAF, to water down the Shariah Bill somewhat, but not enough to change course altogether. He failed to retain military support, however, and in the end, he did not get to declare himself Amirul Momineen, leader of the faithful, as planned after passing the bill.49 Just over a decade later it was ISIS leader Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi who would assume that title.

Tackling the blasphemy laws There has been one significant amendment to the blasphemy laws since Zia.50 Under Nawaz Sharif’s first tenure the death penalty for blasphemy became mandatory, in line with a decision of the Federal Shariat Court in 1990. When the government failed to act on this ruling by amending the Pakistan Penal Code, it became de facto enforced as of 1991. (In 1993, another bill was introduced to widen section 295C and include the Holy Prophet’s companions and family members, but it was never pursued.)51 WAF argued that Sharif’s new law called into question the integrity of all Pakistani citizens and undermined their freedom to think, question

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and express themselves. WAF argued in a long letter to a newspaper that the laws sanctioned increased violence against women and religious minorities and created an atmosphere in which such injustices could be perpetuated.52 A case in point was the false accusation of blasphemy against Dr Akhtar Hameed Khan, founder of the world-renowned Orangi Pilot Project, a community development project in Karachi’s slums. Khan had earned the enmity of urban mafias for his innovative work in providing water and sanitation facilities where the state was absent. WAF also pointed to instances of Ahmadis killed by vigilantes without fear of state reprisals. Its words were prescient, as over the next few years extremists would feel that the state had empowered them to charge blasphemy against fellow citizens. During her second government, Benazir Bhutto wanted to amend the blasphemy law so that formal authorisation was required by a judicial magistrate before a case could be registered or an arrest made. She directed district magistrates to release people accused of blasphemy until proper investigation had taken place into their cases. However, her government failed to follow through. After the President dismissed Bhutto in 1996, Nawaz Sharif overturned her order. It may have been politically easier to make a change in the 1990s rather than today, but already it was evident how deeply Zia’s changes had limited politicians’ sense of what was possible to achieve.

Saving the MFLO The Shariah courts and religious right have consistently questioned the Islamic credentials of Ayub’s Muslim Family Laws Ordinance and activists have been forced to focus on defending their very existence rather than lobbying for their improvement. Sections 4 to 7 of the MFLO are the most challenged – these provided for the ability of grandchildren of predeceased parents to inherit; the registration of marriages; the restriction on polygamy; and divorce procedures. In 1988, the Sindh High Court (SHC) declared the MFLO repugnant to Islam, declaring it had jurisdiction to rule on these matters. On appeal, in 1994 the Supreme Court overturned the SHC judgement that Section 7, requiring registration of marriage and divorce, was repugnant to Islam, but it did not refute that the judgement was within the scope of the High Court’s jurisdiction.53

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As chair of the Council of Islamic Ideology, Justice Tanzil-ur-Rahman invalidated parts of the MFLO in 1988.54 The potential unravelling of the system stopped only in 1992 after a Supreme Court decision that only the FSC had the power to invalidate the law or the constitution on the basis of Islam, not the other courts.55 Once again, the MFLO was saved. Momentum against the laws picked up again in 1999 when the Federal Shariah Court heard 37 petitions challenging various substantive sections of the MFLO as violating Islam. It declared Section 4 repugnant, stating Islam does not provide for direct inheritance by orphans from grandparents. It found that divorce should take immediate effect upon pronouncement, while iddat, a mandatory period a woman has to wait before remarrying, could be observed subsequently, in effect striking down the MFLO’s attempt to restrict easy divorces.56 Shirkat Gah submitted its own argument to the FSC in defence of the MFLO, explaining that the constitution (Article 35) obliges the state to protect the marriage, the family, the mother and the child.57 It pointed out that Bangladesh had also inherited the MFLO but improved upon it by strengthening the penalties for non-registration of marriages and divorces. Shirkat Gah warned of the dangers to a woman or a couple who could not prove that they are either married or divorced, because written documentation of marriage amongst a largely illiterate population did not exist. It argued that according to Article 2A of the Constitution, the authority granted to the people of Pakistan through Allah is a ‘sacred trust’, enjoining the state to guarantee fundamental rights, including social justice. It would be a breach of this ‘sacred trust’ if the state were to withdraw from its responsibility to regulate the institution of marriage. By the time of the FSC decision in 2000, civil society was quick to organise its response. A Joint Action Committee in Lahore said the FSC was an unnecessary branch of the judiciary and consistently biased against the rights of women. It only increased the exploitation of peasants, religious minorities, women and children through its judgements.58 The MFLO was one of the few pieces of legislation that offered protection of women and children within the family. HRCP agreed, ‘There is no doubt that Pakistan’s orthodoxy has decided to pursue its bigotry policy and continue to remain a

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thorn in the side of the rights of women. Every now and then they instigate a confrontation by making all sorts of efforts to subjugate women.’59 The dream of improving upon the MFLO, strengthening its provisions and acting upon the numerous recommendations of the Inquiry Commissions for Women (1975, 1985 and 1997) seemed more distant than ever after the FSC decision. Yet the issue did not disappear; and after Pakistan acceded to CEDAW it only drew more attention to gaps in the law in Pakistan. Eventually, legislative reform slowly began in other areas, as we will see in Chapters 8 and 9, but MFLO remains impervious to reform.

Saving the First Women Bank Benazir Bhutto’s first government took an innovative step in 1989 to set up the First Women Bank (FWB), to improve women’s access to capital by providing them with small loans without the need for collateral. FWB was to operate as a regular commercial bank while simultaneously encouraging women to run their own trade and industries. A group of public sector banks and the Ministry of Women Development invested in the new FWB and hired women who had been mid-level professionals in banking to form its management team, all within a few weeks. Soon, FWB had provided more loans to small borrowers than any other bank in Pakistan’s history. But suddenly, after a foreign exchange speculation, FWB suffered a major loss which wiped out its capital base in 1996. Nawaz Sharif’s Muslim League government decided to privatise the bank as part of ongoing efforts to sell banks and other public assets to service its debts. WAF filed a petition with the Lahore High Court to stay the privatisation, arguing that FWB was an initiative for the economic development of women and as such was protected by the Principles of Policy in the constitution.60 This was not easy to prove in court, though, until finally an early speech by Prime Minister Bhutto, a letter of hers to the President of FWB, along with a copy of a cabinet memo, were all accepted as evidence of the ‘development’ mandate of the bank. A chaotic intra-government dispute followed, pitting the Minister for Women’s Development against a fellow party member of the Privatization Commission,

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exposing the government’s lack of clarity on the policy behind setting up the FWB in the first place. WAF’s efforts led to a judgement that retained the FWB’s original mandate. It was never privatised, although its investor banks were. Today they remain small shareholders and the government retains 80 per cent holdings of the country’s first commercial microcredit bank and the recipient of numerous national and international awards for its innovative practices. FWB now boasts that it is an example of the government’s commitment to the 1995 Beijing Platform for Action and other women’s empowerment policies, glossing over this episode.61 Almost all of the FWB board of governors, including a prominent activist,62 over half its employees and most of its management are women. The FWB, by virtue of its services and sheer survival is an achievement.

Addressing sexuality The international human rights discourse embraced the language of sexual and reproductive health and rights at the International Conference on Population and Development in 1994. Amongst the WAF activists who worked hard to convince Pakistan to adopt to the Platform for Action and endorse the language were Khawar Mumtaz and Hilda Saeed, who had already begun to work on reproductive health at Shirkat Gah. Attiya Inayatullah, who led the Family Planning Association of Pakistan for many years, pushed to ensure Pakistan played a moderate role amongst Muslim states during the ICPD. But WAF as a platform did not lead the way or represent the most progressive thinking on sexual rights – either then or now. Instead, it is the second generation of rights-based organisations such as Aahung, Rozan, Bedari, and Sahil, which work almost exclusively on these issues, including the protection of women and children from sexual violence and abuse. WAF’s initial reluctance to take up sexuality issues contrasted with the confident approach of earlier activists. In 1931, women in India argued that men should be fined for going to prostitutes, instead of punishing the women. During the period of the Constituent Assembly, Zari Sarfaraz talked to prostitutes in Lahore’s Red Light district when the government threatened to shut it down. She returned saying that

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their business should not be closed because women were arguing they would lose their livelihoods. Even in 1982, as Nighat Said Khan recalls, women from the Red Light district joined in WAF’s protests against Islamisation and there were links with the community.63 But after that she feels activists became complicit in silencing their voices.64

Reaching out for peace As part of their growing ties with women developed through their NGO and professional work in the region, WAF decided that the women’s movement in Pakistan ought to take a stand on the violence committed by its army against civilians during the 1971 civil war that gave rise to the formation of Bangladesh. The subject is almost never discussed openly in the media and it is commonly believed that the figures cited by Bangladeshis quoting rapes of women by the West Pakistani soldiers in what was then East Pakistan are highly exaggerated. WAF took the first step and issued an open letter of apology to the women of Bangladesh in 1996, endorsed by other rights-based NGOs. ‘Continued silence on our part makes a mockery not only of the principles of democracy, human rights, and self determination which we lay claim to, but also makes a mockery of our own history.’ The systematic rapes of women and mass killings by soldiers marked ‘a period in our history for which we stand ashamed’.65 Women activists became leaders in a citizens’ initiative to build peace between rivals India and Pakistan, which gained momentum during the 1990s and which continues, despite ongoing hostility between the countries. Salima Hashmi, WAF activist, painter and daughter of eminent poet Faiz Ahmed Faiz, began to take artists to Delhi in the 1980s. ‘There was no information there on the other side of the wall about Pakistan,’ she explained. ‘For art, we needed to have a physical engagement.’ Shirkat Gah sent a delegation of women environmentalists to study the Chipko forest conservation movement, followed by the first India-Pakistan Conference on the Environment in Pakistan, with participants from civil society and governments of both countries. In the spring of 1990 prominent Indian and Pakistani citizens spoke out for a political solution to ongoing conflicts between the countries, which led to the formation of the Pakistan India Peoples’ Forum for Peace and Democracy (PIPFPD) in 1994. After both countries tested nuclear

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devices in 1998 and Pakistan’s failed incursion into Kargil the following year, PIPFPD meetings gained new momentum.66 A women’s peace bus, led by Indian activist Nirmala Deshpande, crossed the border into Pakistan. Asma Jahangir received the delegation in Lahore to extensive media coverage, although some newspapers criticised the effort as ‘un-Islamic’ and ‘anti-Pakistan’. Next, Asma led her own bus trip of Pakistani women to India in 2000 and went to meet Sonia Gandhi, then leader of the opposition, in Delhi. She explains why women activists continue to pursue citizen’s initiatives between the countries: I don’t think that democracy in Pakistan can sustain without peace in the region, because there is a connection. If you don’t have peace in the region, you will continuously have a very powerful army. And the powerful army will limit democratic spaces and when it limits democratic spaces then our space also gets limited in many ways. It will encourage those forces, more and more nationalistic and security minded, which are bound to be conservative.67 Sheema Kermani and Madiha Gauhar are deeply involved in PIPFPD events, organising theatre performances and exchanges across the border divide and emphasising the need for cultural understanding when building peace between the countries. But both Indian and Pakistani governments continue to view these efforts with suspicion, and stringent visa restrictions limit people-topeople contact from developing more fully. Journalist and activist Beena Sarwar writes that the media has played a double-edged role regarding regional peace. Social media and the worldwide web have enhanced the value of citizens’ interactions, but positive coverage remains limited to the English press, while vernacular media more closely represents the position of their respective governments.68

Time to reflect During the 1990s, activists were well aware that WAF had not turned into a grass roots force, but nevertheless they had developed unprecedented knowledge and linkages with women through their NGO work. The reports and publications produced by their

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organisations are the backbone of feminist intellectual contributions in Pakistan, representing the knowledge production that should have come out of universities, if they had fostered freedom of intellectual thought. The space offered by their NGOs allowed activists the opportunity to theorise about their feminism in various ways. ASR, led by Nighat Said Khan, espoused a socialist feminism based on the belief that class and patriarchy are the two main contradictions in society. Simorgh, founded by Neelam Hussain, focused on deconstructing the masculinist and fundamentalist discourses evident in the institutions of Pakistani state and society. Shirkat Gah, led by Farida Shaheed and Khawar Mumtaz, published extensively on women’s status in law and society. It advocated working within the cultural framework prevalent in society, particularly during the early years. AGHS, as a legal aid organisation led by Hina Jilani and Asma Jahangir, maintained a strong human rights framework. Their writings provide evidence, as Rubina Saigol has argued, that activists’ feminism is grounded in Pakistan’s context and not a simplistic appropriation from abroad.69 They grappled with difficult questions about the breadth of issues they must be willing to re-examine, from class to nationalism, state, ideology, ethnicity, war and politics. The WAF Charter and Statement of Demands, which grew in length over the decade, reflects this range of concerns as well. Another strain in Pakistani feminist discourse developed during the 1990s was the utility of the human rights framework. Asma Jahangir and Hina Jilani often led the charge when cases or proposed laws arose, framing their responses as such. When they had time to write, it was about pushing the limitations of the human rights framework in Pakistan’s context. Based on her extensive experience with zina cases, Jilani argued in 1994 that both formal and informal laws were created for the benefit of the powerful and often lead to injustice. In a patriarchal society, women were controlled under both laws. However, only formal laws were somewhat conducive to reform due to advocacy pressure from women.70 For this reason, she believed it was imperative for the human rights movement to change its apologetic stance for traditional institutions, such as jirgas, in the name of championing cultural specificity, and to recognise that human rights were universal and indivisible. It took some persuasion before the human rights movement finally responded. ‘There was a realization that only those value systems would be adopted which

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did not contain contradictions between one’s values based upon being a woman, one’s cultural identity and basic universal norms of social justice.’71 This decision ruled out the possibility of accepting any resort to cultural relativism to condone jirgas and their power to make decisions that lead to honour killings, forced marriages, exchange of girls to settle disputes – all were issues highlighted during the 1990s. This position firmly placed Pakistan’s feminists and human rights activists on the same side of the controversy about how to tackle these customary practices, while it left the government, aid agencies, politicians and religious parties still undecided about how far to go in condemning them. Their ambivalence continues until today, as we will see in Chapter 10. The question of culture, and how best to speak to that part of women’s identity, remained a preoccupying issue for Shirkat Gah. In a retrospective piece, Farida Shaheed concluded that activists had failed to appreciate how important religion was to women as an essential marker of identity. Although WAF had declared itself to be secular, it had failed to realise its obstacle to solidarity was elsewhere: ethnic, rural, class, as well as religion. There had been little room for reflection in the movement; its focus was on laws and state initiatives, whereas rural women were the least affected by Zia’s discourse and most women’s lives were ruled by custom anyway. ‘The activism of women’s groups in Pakistan fails to provide women at large with comparable participation in a meaningful alternative framework, without which women are unlikely to abandon willingly the self-affirmation and social participation that religion urgently provides.’72 Disentangling the significance of religion from custom and individually to women, remains a challenge for Pakistani feminists today. *** The last Inquiry Commission on the Status of Women was convened under Bhutto’s government in 1994; it included WAF members Shahla Zia and Asma Jahangir, as well as feminist scholar Shaheen Sardar Ali on its panel. It submitted its comprehensive and frank Report on the Status of Women with recommendations to repeal discriminatory laws, increase women’s political participation and establish a permanent commission on the status of women. The Sharif government did not take any

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meaningful steps to address these recommendations before it was deposed in a coup d’e´tat. A decade of unstable democracy came to an end in October 1999. For many, the experience was a grave disappointment and politicians were discredited for being corrupt, ineffective and reneging on their promises. Zia’s legacy was not reversed, it lived on, and in fact the religious right drew strength from the failures of the mainstream parties. It hardly seemed possible that activists could feel a sense of relief when another general stepped in to assume command over the tumultuous country, but some, not all, did.

CHAPTER 6 MAULANAS AT THE HELM

Due to growing differences between the Sharif government and military establishment, Chief of Army Staff General Pervez Musharraf took power through a coup d’etat in October 1999. He appointed himself President in 2002 and passed a Legal Framework Ordinance (LFO) to amend the constitution and sanction his regime. He held general elections the same year. His new political party, Pakistan Muslim League (Quaid), won the elections and formed a coalition government with the ethnic-based group Muttahida Qaumi Mahaz (MQM) and an alliance of right-wing religious parties. Both Nawaz Sharif and Benazir Bhutto were in exile. Musharraf’s rule marked a reassertion of Haqqani’s ‘policy tripod’ discussed in Chapter 1, which characterised state functioning in terms of religious nationalism, confrontation with India and alliance with the west, although there were problems he needed to rectify before it was firmly in place again. Musharraf had led a failed military attack on Kargil in India while Nawaz Sharif was Prime Minister, which by most accounts was not cleared with the civilian leadership and defied Sharif’s efforts to build bridges with its neighbour. After the 1998 nuclear tests with India, Pakistan faced sanctions from the US. The military needed to re-assert its standing and dominance over national security predicated on enmity with India, which was accomplished by the coup. Next, Musharraf needed to fix relations with the US. The terrorist attack of 11 September 2001, provided the opportunity, as he chose to assist the superpower in its ensuing ‘war on terror’.

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Musharraf played the extremist card to strengthen his position against the mainstream political parties and bolster his new-found international support. Islamisation, though not his explicit policy, took an untempered form in parts of Pakistan when a coalition of religious political parties came to power in the North-West Frontier Province (NWFP) with his backing. Instead of religious parties wielding influence from behind a regime, as during Zia’s era, or in coalition government, with Nawaz Sharif, they now enjoyed almost unfettered power over a whole province. This chapter will show how their imposition of Islamisation confirmed women’s worst fears about the abuse of religion for political gain. Musharraf’s double game spun out of control by enabling the rise of non-state extremism, culminating in an army operation to quell the Lal Masjid insurgency in Islamabad towards the end of his rule and leading to the consolidation of the Pakistani Taliban (Chapter 7). The women’s movement was powerless to stem the overwhelming political and social impact of the ensuing rise in extremism and violence. This chapter will show in detail that Islamisation as implemented by the maulanas was draconian and misogynistic, as they had warned, drawing inspiration from models in Saudi Arabia and Afghanistan in an effort to complete Zia’s unfinished agenda. Once again, a military government owed its international legitimacy to a rapidly evolving geopolitical context, and allowed the religious right illegitimate power in order to strengthen its hand with the west. The negative impact on the rights of women was deemed an acceptable price to pay. *** General Musharraf was at pains to show that he was not a military dictator in the mould of his predecessor, Zia-ul-Haq. He promised a policy of ‘enlightened moderation’, suggesting that liberal interpretations of religious doctrine would prevail and the rights of women and non-Muslims would not be further eroded. Farida Shaheed recalls the abject relief of non-Muslims at a Joint Action Committee (JAC) meeting after his takeover. (Musharraf pledged to repeal the blasphemy laws, although he later backtracked.)1 Many liberals thought perhaps the new regime would usher in an era of calm, after the turbulence of unstable governments during the preceding decade.

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There was heated disagreement amongst activists at that meeting about how to respond to the usurpation of democracy. Nighat Said Khan refused to condone the takeover, arguing that even though her own NGO stood to gain from less government harassment now that Sharif was gone, the only acceptable way for a government to change was through the polls. But out of the 36 organisations that were JAC members, only Simorgh, HRCP, AGHS, ASR and WAF explicitly condemned the coup.2 From the outset, Musharraf incorporated key NGO figures into his government as a way to gain civil society support and benefit from their technical expertise.3 Shirkat Gah and Aurat Foundation continued to work with the government as many of their projects called for public/ private partnerships and it would not have been easy to disentangle their engagements. These developments appeared to confirm critics’ perception that NGOs were depoliticised, in the sense that they lacked political convictions. Even many members of the press, artists and literary figures were positive about Musharraf’s takeover. A common argument was that Nawaz Sharif would have irrevocably damaged the country with his 15th Amendment, he was bent on disrupting the work of NGOs,4 and had displayed tendencies to accumulate excessive executive power himself. Then in 2001, NGOs came together again to respond to the US invasion of Afghanistan and Musharraf’s support for the war on terror. WAF was quick to condemn the invasion, as were most JAC members with the exception of HRCP, which took the position that the Taliban in Afghanistan were sufficiently grave a threat to merit the intervention. The US-led war on terror extended into Pakistan, putting Musharraf under pressure to withdraw any support, direct or indirect, for extremist elements that protected Al-Qaeda or the Afghan Taliban. This did not work, of course. Pakistan’s tribal areas became a sanctuary for Al-Qaeda fighters fleeing US troops. Civilian deaths and destruction hardened anti-US positions amongst Pakistan’s religious political parties and civilian populations along the border. WAF took a position against the ‘war on terror’. It condemned the Taliban regime but argued that the Afghan people should not bear the brunt of the US quest for revenge against Al-Qaeda or be subjected to the goals of US imperialism. WAF warned that the war would only bring the Taliban into Pakistan and strengthen its

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support within the country. This tragically did come to pass, as we will see in Chapter 7.

Maulanas in power through the front door Musharraf called elections in 2002, which led an unlikely coalition of religious political parties to victory in the North-West Frontier Province (now renamed Khyber Pakhtoonkhwa); and they formed a broader coalition government in Baluchistan. The religious alliance was called Muttahida Majlis-e-Aml (MMA). Its dominant party was Jamiat Ulemae-Islam (Fazal-ur-Rahman group) or JUI (F), whose founder had tried to Islamise NWFP when he was Chief Minister in 1973, and whose madrassas trained the Taliban and Afghan mujahideen.5 MMA politicians had strong links with sectarian militant groups, even those banned by Musharraf after 9/11, such as Lashkar-e-Jhangvi, Tehreek Nifaz-eShariat-e-Mohammadi, Sipah-e-Sahaba Pakistan and Harkatul Mujahideen, many based in southern Punjab. Despite their ideological differences, the parties came together on a platform to enforce Shariah in Pakistan and oppose the US war in Afghanistan. Although these parties were allies of the Americans in its efforts to suppress leftist politics under Ayub, and directly benefited from US support during the anti-Soviet jihad in Afghanistan, they now styled themselves as the only voices willing to speak out against US policy in the region. The MMA benefited from Musharraf’s strategy of sidelining mainstream political parties to promote his new faction of the Muslim League, known as PML (Quaid-e-Azam). Benazir Bhutto and Nawaz Sharif together commanded up to 80 per cent of the vote-bank in Pakistan but they could not return to fight elections out of fear they would be arrested. Many potential candidates for assembly seats from mainstream parties were disqualified by Musharraf’s new rule requiring all candidates to have a graduate degree to run. Madrassa certification was equated with a graduate degree, which allowed the religious political parties to field numerous candidates while more secular political contestants were disqualified. Public rallies and demonstrations for mainstream parties were banned during campaigning, but religious parties were permitted to use mosques and hold gatherings. Musharraf’s National Accountability Bureau also arrested

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numerous second-tier leaders of mainstream parties on charges of corruption, but Azam Tariq of the (now) banned extremist sectarian organisation Anjuman-e-Sipah-e-Sahaba was allowed to contest elections and sit in the Assembly. European Union observers declared the 2002 election process flawed; many analysts believed the votes were rigged to help Musharraf win with his new party at the centre. As one PPP leader said, ‘The MMA’s formation and victory in certain areas was facilitated to brandish to the West the threat of Islamic extremism and to show the United States that the only alternative to military rule is the rule of the mullahs.’6 Musharraf supported Maulana Fazal-ur-Rehman of JUI (F) to lead the opposition in the National Assembly, even though PPP had 81 MNAs to MMA’s 63.7 In a feminist analysis of the MMA years in power (2002–5), Nazish Brohi warns against viewing the coalition’s rise as simply the result of manipulation by intelligence agencies to suit Musharraf’s political imperatives. The MMA secured only 11.1 per cent of the popular vote in 2002, but the issues they raised resonated with a section of voters. The hypocrisy of US policy supporting extremists during the anti-Soviet jihad, and their about-face after 9/11, created a new support base for MMA amongst the most socially conservative, disempowered and idealistic voters longing for change. The US invasion and destruction of Afghanistan and the occupation of Iraq; its bad treatment of prisoners in Shiberghan, Guantanamo Bay and Abu Ghraib; outrage over Israel’s maltreatment of Palestinians; and the Danish newspaper cartoons mocking Islam were all cited in the campaign.8 Most of MMA’s seats came from ethnically Pakhtundominated areas in NWFP and Baluchistan provinces, but it also won in constituencies in Karachi and parts of Punjab where JI and extremist organisations had support. Brohi lived in NWFP and observed how the MMA also manipulated a domestic political crisis, characterised by extreme diversity and disparity within society, unequal development, and an accelerating exclusionary and insular tendency amongst the western-enamoured elite. MMA re-packaged it ‘as a religious and morality crisis’, acknowledging their supporters as stakeholders and thereby granting them ‘a legitimacy, language and means for challenging power, however limited its scope’.9 Through rallying students from madrassas, and wielding a book as an

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election symbol, MMA promised a new moral order to resist the worldwide conspiracy against Muslims. A new groundswell of support for Islamisation had emerged.10 MMA used a rhetoric of ‘us’, a moral community of pious Muslims who followed their interpretation of religion, ritual, dress and distaste of arts and culture, versus ‘them’, a shifting, nebulous group of nonMuslims and/or bad Muslims. MMA offered a utopian vision, similar to other revivalist movements, and promised a return to a golden age of early Islam. They explained the subordination of Muslim countries not in terms of economic or military weakness, as nationalists and socialists argued, but as a result of the undermining of Muslim religion and culture. MMA’s strategy to retain its relevance was through launching ‘a cultural offensive’, by targeting women and religious minorities. Brohi says they were starting from the periphery of society and moving inwards, to complete a project nothing short of social engineering.11 The ruling party made immediate concessions to the MMA at the centre. They held a debate in the National Assembly on Council of Islamic Ideology rulings and invited MMA input into the structure, composition and procedures of this controversial body.12 The MMA returned Musharraf’s favour and voted for his 17th Amendment to the Constitution13 that validated his coup d’etat, centalised political power and allowed him, as Chief of Army Staff, to continue as head of state.14 In 2003, when Musharraf held local bodies elections, MMA also performed well. And in a challenge to the secular ethnic-based MQM domination of Karachi, from 2001– 5 JI’s Naimatullah Khan was elected mayor of the city. Soon after MMA assumed power in NWFP it vowed to implement long-standing Council of Islamic Ideology recommendations on the Islamisation of law and society, and it set up a Nifaz-e-Shariat Council for this purpose. Not to be left behind the Saudi rulers and Afghan Taliban, it established a ‘Ministry for the Promotion of Virtue and Prevention of Vice’ to ‘help’ the citizens of NWFP become better Muslims. It forced the closure of businesses during prayers, shut down music, cinema, video, and dance outlets, and enforced the segregation of women in health and education sectors. This was part of their ‘gradual approach’ to ‘total Islamization’ of society.15 MMA made clear that it would only protect those women who conformed to its image of domesticated females. In MMA ideology,

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women function as moral markers of society, thereby justifying its push to isolate women within the home.16 A Minister for Women’s Development, at pains to end fears about flogging women and chopping limbs, said they would use persuasion, not force, to encourage women to follow an Islamic code of behaviour. Regarding formal education, he clarified, ‘Women must take upon themselves as much of a burden as they can deal with. They must acknowledge their limitations, physically and intellectually.’17 Their anti-obscenity drive attacked anything linked to male lust. They proposed a bill in 2005 to prohibit indecent advertisements, with one-year imprisonment for using female models. Female mannequins in shops were destroyed, women’s faces on commercial billboards blackened out, their television appearances restricted. MMA banned male doctors and technicians from performing ultrasounds on women, forcing them to leave NWFP for treatment. In some areas, women were banned from working in public call offices because they aroused immoral urges in men who saw them. Working women came under pressure to don hijab. The only crisis centre for women in the province was shut down on charges of promoting obscenity. Aurat Foundation, which ran the centre, was vilified for being a home-breaker and inciting women to lewd behaviour.18 Women members of MMA coalition parties firmly supported and justified the usurpation of women’s rights and freedoms in the name of preserving morality. As JI leader Qazi Hussain Ahmed said, ‘The west is conspiring to destroy the very basis of the Muslim family unit in the name of women’s liberation and gender equality in order to weaken and degenerate our society.’19 JI women led a campaign for the revival of Islamic culture and civilization, launching banners in Peshawar urging people to adopt Islamic ways and shun the western way of life.20 They demanded MMA enforce a dress code to require all office-going women and college/university girls to wear headscarves.21 Kauser Firdaus, Secretary-General of the Women’s Wing of JI at the time (and a medical doctor), announced that the state population welfare programme was part of a global effort to promote sexual waywardness in the country. JI women demanded a ban on advertisements and billboards promoting family planning, alleging that the government was paid millions of dollars to ‘inject indecency amongst the youth’. MMA, in its campaign against obscenity, torched condom posters, and JI’s

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Siraj-ul-Haq22 asked all women to resist family planning because it was a tool to curtail the Muslim population of the world. Many chemists in Peshawar, out of fear of reprisals, stopped stocking contraceptives. Inevitably, MMA tried to curb the activities of NGOs deemed un-Islamic and pro-western, including Khwendo Kor, Aurat Foundation and other NGOs working on health and education for women. Ostensibly this was ‘because of grassroots concerns about a hidden agenda that could undermine Islamic values and culture traditions’.23 MMA claimed it was not opposed to female education per se, only coeducation. As Maulana Noorani said, ‘Thirty lakh bastards are born in the UK every year, this is because of co-education.’24 Qazi Hussain Ahmed claimed women themselves demanded the segregation of educational institutions. MMA also supported the idea that women sit in separate elected assemblies ‘to put forth their issues’.25 Although MMA was opposed to women in politics in principle, in practice they allowed women party members to sit on reserved seats in the elected assemblies since it added to their strength (see Chapter 9). It was a saving grace that the National Assembly had the power to reverse legislative moves at the provincial assembly level, one reason why MMA resorted to more cosmetic measures of reform.26 But this did not stop them from trying to do more. The NWFP Assembly passed the Hasba Act in 2003 to facilitate its implementation of Shariah. It planned to set up a parallel system of policing to enforce the Islamic propagation of virtue through creating positions for religious ombudsmen (mohtasibs) at the provincial, district and municipal level, who were empowered to summon citizens to explain their acts and punish them when they behaved immorally. The decisions of these ombudsmen would not be challengeable in any court of law. The sitting members of the Council of Islamic Ideology even rejected the bill, arguing it would promote sectarianism, and eventually the Supreme Court struck it down as unconstitutional. Although the bill did not use the word ‘women’ it was nonetheless used to severely curtail women’s mobility and freedoms. The mohtasibs were given the powers ‘to deal with those found to be disobedient to their parents’. As Brohi points out, forced marriages, prevention of love marriages, along with customs such as bride price and exchange of girls as a means of conflict resolution, all depend upon the decision-making power of the male head of household. The Hasba Act simply reinforced

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the power of the patriarch, backed by mohtasibs. During this period, Brohi, Rukhshanda Naz of Aurat Foundation, and Bushra Gohar, then Director of the Human Resource Management and Development Centre, attended a public hearing of 700 men and raised their voices against the proposed legislation. ‘There were three of us sitting there and shouting, so we managed to do some interesting things at that time,’ recalls Brohi with a wry smile.27 The Hasba Bill episode was one of a few critical junctures which turned the MMA against Musharraf’s government. The government turned to the Supreme Court after the NWFP Assembly passed the bill in July 2005. The Supreme Court blocked its implementation in August, declaring the powers of the mohtasib contrary to the constitution. It found the bill ‘vague, overboard, unreasonable, based on excessive delegation of jurisdiction, denying the right of access to justice to the citizens and attempting to set up a parallel judicial system’.28 The Supreme Court declared that the Hasba Bill violated Article 8 of the Constitution, which read, ‘any law, or any custom or usage having the force of law insofar as it is inconsistent with the fundamental rights is void’.29 In 2006, MMA tried out a new version of the bill, but the Supreme Court stayed it again. Finally in 2007, it declared only those parts pertaining to the definition of ‘mohtasib’ and ‘religious scholar’ required modification, but the bill was effectively dead. MMA introduced the 2006 Apostasy Bill in the National Assembly in an effort to enforce it nationwide. The bill defined apostasy as ‘backing out of any Muslim from Islam including requisites of Deen (faith) which also embody the finality of prophethood of Hazrat Muhammad (SAW)’. It did allow for an apostate to show ‘penitence’ and return to Islam.30 To commit the sin of apostasy, the offender had to be adult, sane and have willingly sinned. Adulthood was defined at age 18 for males. Females would be liable at age 16 or physically reaching ‘the limit of maturity’, whichever occurred first. Based on the evidence of two adult witnesses, punishment would have been death for male apostates from Islam and imprisonment until penitence or death for females. The government had the right to revoke the property of anyone accused of apostasy and remove children from their custody. (ISIS has implemented a similar apostasy law in parts of Syria and Iraq.) All key MMA parliamentarians signed the bill, which fortunately never made it to the vote before the parliamentary term expired in 2007.31 There was

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no discussion in the National Assembly about the religious debate within Islam regarding an apostasy law.32 Meanwhile, M.P. Bhandara, a Parsi businessman on a seat reserved for religious minorities, sought to make blasphemy illegal against Jesus Christ, Buddha and other religious figures, in an effort to protect nonMuslims in an increasingly hostile environment. But MMA and the Federal Minister for Parliamentary Affairs immediately rejected his bill. Minister Sher Afghan Niazi said, ‘the sacredness of our way of life that is more than mere religion must not be touched upon by anyone. This is the parliament of an Islamic State, not a secular one. No one can dare to present a bill here which hurts the sentiments of Muslims.’33 It was not even sent to the Standing Committee for review. After the National Commission on the Status of Women called for the repeal of the Hudood Ordinances, MMA countered with a bill to ban media from covering zina cases, the rationale being to discourage sympathy for those who indulged in illicit sex. MMA even organised the first ever demonstration in Pakistan in favour of the hudood laws. Women JI activists picketed outside parliament to say the laws were divine and therefore could not be repealed or amended.34 MMA also strongly opposed a law against domestic violence in the Punjab Assembly, which was defeated in 2003, and opposed a National Assembly bill against honour killings.35 MMA claimed to be opposed to honour killings and other customary forms of violence against women, such as swara and vani36 that were ‘un-Islamic’. Yet Brohi documented instances when honour killings took place in NWFP and the MMA government took no action. In numerous other cases of violence, too, it refused to step in, even though it claimed to be a government that protected women and children. In a case of public stripping and rape in Mardan, the provincial law minister defended government inaction, arguing the victim’s brothers had asked the government to let them handle it, and that revenge was a family matter. When an MMA local councillor was raped she went to party leaders, including Qazi Hussain Ahmed, for help but received none.37 The disinterest in sexual violence against women was a consistent position. Samia Raheel Qazi, head of JI’s women’s wing, said in a 2004 rally that if women observed hijab they would not get raped in the first place. MMA was the only major political organisation that did not

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condemn the rape of Mukhtar Mai or offer her support (see Chapter 8). A woman MMA senator suggested instead of pleading her case amongst the public and in court Mai should pray to Allah for justice instead.38 There was nothing disingenuous about MMA minister Siraj ul-Haq’s statement that, ‘In NWFP, women are enjoying the status of queens and the male members of their family are always at their beck and call, complying strictly with all their orders.’ He said the actions of his government were testimony to its commitment to protect and champion women’s rights. These were the words of politicians who were firmly committed to maintaining patriarchy in their context and also projecting whatever myths they needed to in order to confuse and undermine women who sought justice. But when three young boys were raped in a local school, the MMA immediately had the teacher transferred.39 The MMA government confirmed all the fears and reservations of human rights activists about what unfettered Islamisation, with political mullahs at the helm, would look like. Religious parties were fundamentally allied with undemocratic forces, particularly their supporters in the military, on whom they relied to gain power. With the opportunity to effect Islamisation, they hotly pursued an exclusionary agenda, framed in terms of imposing an ‘Islamic’ culture, a morality code, and excising women from public spaces. They were both active and tacit supporters of terrorism and militancy, too, and under their watch more innocent lives were lost to vigilantism and suicide attacks than at any previous point in the country’s history (see Chapter 7).

Lal Masjid challenges the state The Supreme Court pushed back against some of the worst MMA bills, protecting constitutional rights even as Shariah was being invoked. However, Musharraf did not anticipate how sorely he would be challenged by non-state forces. These forces cared little for the jurisdiction of the courts or legitimacy of elected representatives. In the most blatant challenge to his government to date, armed proprietors and students of Lal Masjid, a prominent Islamabad mosque and madrassa complex, tried to occupy the streets of the capital just a mile from parliament.

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Lal Masjid was a major Deobandi mosque, founded by Maulana Abdullah, a fan of General Zia and avid support of the jihad in Afghanistan. Flush with support from unnamed sources, it grew into a popular centre for radical Islam, conveniently located close to the headquarters of the Inter-Services Intelligence agency which oversaw the jihad. After its founder’s assassination in 1997, his two sons took over. Maulana Abdul Aziz ran the Jamia Fareedia madrassa with 7,000 students and Maulana Abdul Ghazi oversaw Lal Masjid. In the months before the full-scale confrontation between militants and the state in July 2007, a bizarre scenario unfolded. Some of the most unsettling images were women students (from the female madrassa affiliated with Lal Masjid called Jamia Hafsa) shrouded in black coming on to the streets and into the busy markets wielding sticks to force video and music shop owners to close their ‘un-Islamic’ businesses. Along with male colleagues they abducted three women from their homes, accusing them of prostitution, and later kidnapped a group of Chinese women from a massage parlour. They rejected a government plan to demolish all illegally constructed mosques, and out of protest occupied a nearby children’s library. Copying the Taliban, they formed their own ‘department of vice and virtue’. They issued dress codes to Islamabad’s residents, and warned them not to sing or dance.40 They instructed the government to impose Shariah within one month, otherwise they would launch suicide attacks. Lal Masjid set up its own Shariah court and invited people to come to them for dispute resolution. They gave the government one month to shut down all brothels. The Jamia Hafsa women, believed to be armed, vowed to die for their cause; and for two months masked students allowed no one, not even the police, near their premises. During the stand-off, a journalist made her way to Jamia Hafsa and met Umm-e-Hassan, the wife of Maulana Aziz, along with her students (some as young as aged five) who openly welcomed her, exuding enthusiasm for their mission and decrying their misrepresentation in the media. They told her that they wanted to end the exploitation of women and to uphold women’s rights, social equality and democracy. They blamed Pakistan’s ills on the creeping westernisation and liberalisation encroaching into society, particularly the immorality amongst women. This is what they intended to rectify and lay down their lives for if necessary.41

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Mainstream Islamabad society was in a panic of the opposite sort, aptly termed ‘the creeping Talibanisation’ at their doorstep. An emboldened group of militants had recently encroached into the frontier town of Tank, adjacent to the tribal areas, this despite the peace deal the government had made with their leader Baitullah Masood the year before. There was a pervasive sense that the government was uninterested in asserting the writ of the state over elements that sought to replace the social and legal order through violent means. Eventually, General Zia’s son, considered an acceptable interlocutor by the militants, was sent in to negotiate a settlement but failed. WAF viewed the growing Talibanisation as part of a process begun with General Zia, who was supported by the US and Saudi Arabia in return for his role during the Afghan jihad. Referring to the women of Jamia Hafsa, its statement read, ‘The sight of political Islam hiding behind black shrouds is the stuff of nightmare and a frightening preview of a dark and savage future for Pakistan. Was it for this that the Quaid-e-Azam fought for this country for which he clearly declared to the Constitutent Assembly in 1947 that “religion is not the business of the state”?’42 Lal Masjid was further evidence to WAF that a secular state was the answer, ‘for any single interpretation of religion is bound to pit religion against religion, sect against sect and people against people.’43 In May 2007, more than 20 women activists were arrested and manhandled by the police when WAF held a demonstration outside the house of Chaudhry Shujaat Hussain, a leader of Musharraf’s political party PML (Q), over government negotiations with Jamia Hafsa. WAF said these arrests revealed that the government had surrendered before terrorists and had now turned to tormenting peaceful citizens.44 On 19 April 2007, thousands of women activists and members of civil society organisations held rallies across Pakistan to protest against Talibanisation of society, the mullah-military alliance and events at Lal Masjid. Hundreds of protestors marched to parliament demanding an end to terrorism in the name of religion and calling on the government to act against the Lal Masjid militants, both men and women. ‘How dare the mullahs threaten to throw acid on women who don’t cover their faces? How does the government allow anyone to set up a parallel court? Why [do] our rulers feel helpless in acting against these people who kidnap a woman and label her as prostitute?’ asked Farzana Bari.45

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Figure 6.1 Khawar Mumtaz (foreground) with WAF at anti-Taliban protest, Lahore 2007. Photo: Lala Rukh.

In Karachi a coalition of 30 civil society organisations organised a protest rally at Jinnah’s mausoleum and also demanded government protect the basic rights of its citizens and help to create an atmosphere of peace and tolerance. WAF led the protests in Lahore, and they were joined by artists, lawyers and some politicians. Asma Jahangir, then chair of HRCP, said mullahs were opposed to democracy and the military used them for its own interests.

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The bravest protestors of all were the women who assembled in Peshawar from four different tribal agencies. Representatives of the Tribal Women Welfare Association, Aurat Foundation, Action Aid, and political parties (ANP and Pukhtoonkhwa Milli Awami Party) attended a rally call by WAF to register their opposition to Lal Masjid activists who ‘were trying to set up a state within a state by forcing the people to accept their brand of Islam’.46 WAF held a protest outside the offices of the Jamaat-i-Islami in Karachi and urged the party to denounce the extremists at Lal Masjid, but failed to get JI to budge. In 2007, it held Karachi’s biggest demonstration against the Taliban, at a time when to speak out against them was to risk death, and protestors from the PPP and MQM joined in.47 Analysts believed that outlawed groups such as Jaish-e-Mohammed and Harkatul Mujahideen had set up base in Lal Masjid. Two years earlier, security forces had tried to enter the mosque after the 7/7 suicide bombings in London but Jamia Hafsa women with sticks deterred them. The mosque leaders protested against government plans to demolish illegal mosque buildings; called for the return of missing militants and their families detained by security forces; and led protests in Pakistan against offensive Danish cartoons depicting the Prophet Muhammed.48 At the beginning of the stand-off, Musharraf had sent 700 police personnel to free the library but they were forced to withdraw when the maulanas told the male students to die protecting their sisters in case they were forced to leave.49 The government’s reluctance to challenge them more firmly defied the public’s comprehension. Musharraf was under American pressure to forcefully reign in Al-Qaeda and the Taliban, both accused of launching attacks on NATO troops in Afghanistan from Pakistani soil. One measure of proof was to streamline the network of 20,000 madrassas across the country that the US believed was nurturing a culture of intolerance. The maulanas wanted to block that plan.50 Musharraf’s political opponents accused him of using the stand-off to divert public attention from the judicial crisis and pressure from the US to hold elections in October. If true, his use of the extremist card showed a cynicism beyond even Zia’s.51 When the inevitable army operation to clear the complex (aired as a live event on television) was over after a week, it left more than a hundred dead. The army’s Special Service Group fought fiercely, many felt too brutally, to kill the armed militants and destroy the hidden

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tunnels and bunkers fortifying the complex; 1,300 women and children surrendered peacefully, but the number killed is unconfirmed. Militants, amongst them a group of Uighur fighters, allegedly used women and children as human shields. Maulana Ghazi died and his brother Aziz was caught when, disguised as a woman in a burqa, he tried to escape. In his purse, along with lipstick, there was Pakistani and Saudi cash. Musharraf later said negotiations with the brothers broke down because they demanded safe passage for the foreign fighters.52 The Lal Masjid militants believed that their martyrdom would trigger an Islamic revolution throughout Pakistan, but it did not. It did lead to the unification of disparate extremist groups into a formalised Pakistani Taliban network, Tehreek-e-Taliban Pakistan (TTP). It also led to further ideological polarisation amongst the public, fuelled by sympathy for innocents killed by the army and the government’s obvious attempts to avoid disclosure. MMA declared three days of mourning in NWFP and launched a movement to save Jamia Hafsa from demolition. JI accused the government (not the Ghazi brothers) of scuttling mediation efforts and spreading anarchy, all to please the Americans and imperialists who sought to defame and damage Islam.53 Instead of defending its position, at least politically and ideologically, the government began a damage control campaign to stem the protests, promising to repair and rehabilitate the complex in only 15 days. General Zia’s son, Minister for Religious Affairs, went again to appease religious leaders. Some PPP and Muslim League politicians even demanded compensation for Lal Masjid militants. Maulana Fazlullah of Swat (Chapter 7) declared jihad against the government after the military operation against Lal Masjid and attacks started within days. What complicated the situation was the movement to reinstate the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, led by lawyers and judges, and the reality that many of these actors were themselves sympathetic to the religious right. While they protested against Musharraf’s unconstitutional removal of the Chief Justice in March 2007, many judicial activists had also supported his coup and were not committed to the democratic process. In Karachi a group of lawyers held funeral prayers on a road for the victims of Lal Masjid. A bench of the Supreme Court took suo moto notice of the Operation and demanded an accurate count of the dead and injured. It instructed the government to provide medical care to the newly widowed and hospitalised Umm-e-Hassan.

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Later in the year, it directed the government to reopen the mosque, return it to Maulana Aziz’s management and reconstruct Jamia Hafsa.54 The government complied. WAF protestors were briefly arrested for demonstrating against government inaction during the mosque stand-off. After the operation, activists condemned the law enforcement agencies and the militants both for the failed negotiations and ‘senseless killings’; but ultimately they held the latter responsible for the deaths of ‘brainwashed’ students in its charge. Just months later, WAF found it necessary to remind the emotionally charged media and public about the crimes that the militants had committed. They had encroached upon government land, stockpiled illegal weaponry, taught students anti-state ideology and given them military training. They had illegally taken possession of a children’s library, kidnapped and humiliated local and foreign citizens, caused a sector of the capital to shut down, set fire to a government building, forcibly closed shops, and threatened suicide bombings to make government enforce Shariah.55 Television channels had gone quiet on the subject, there was little follow-up in the press. It was as if the country shared in a collective guilt that innocent lives, inside the mosque, had been lost. Unbelievably, in 2013 Aziz was acquitted from the last of 27 cases against him, in part because witnesses refused to testify against him. Revived and reinstated, he was emboldened. Ghazi’s son pressed the police to investigate Musharraf for his father’s ‘murder’56 and that of Ghazi’s mother, and a case was finally registered. Back in the pulpit, Aziz called Osama bin Laden a hero and inspiration for his students and said the Taliban in Afghanistan were a model for governing Pakistan. In 2014, while the government was fighting TTP in the north, the Education Minister opined that madrassas like Lal Masjid provided an important alternative to state education and support for Osama amongst its 5,000 students did not prove that extremism was being taught. Hence, the government had no plans to intervene in any of Ghazi’s madrassas.57 Aziz refused to condemn the worst terrorist attack in Pakistan’s history, the Taliban’s massacre of over a hundred schoolchildren at the Army Public School in Peshawar in December 2014, even when the public and media seemed united in their grief for the first time. Another series of civil society protests against Aziz erupted across the country. He was eventually

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charged with delivering hate sermons. Aziz was chillingly unrepentant, saying that protestors lighting candles for dead schoolchildren should have felt pain instead for those killed at Lal Masjid and in military operations against the Taliban, ‘They too are Pakistanis.’58 In January 2015, when Jamia Hafsa girls uploaded videos on the internet in Arabic pledging their allegiance to ISIS, Aziz refused to deny or condemn the act, even when it aired on national television.59 Independent politician Jibran Nasir and journalist Khurram Zaki both filed cases against Aziz after the video was released, charging him with incitement to violence, mutiny against the state and hate speech against other sects.60 When warrants for his arrest were issued he again threatened suicide bombings and repeated his call for Shariah to be implemented. While most politicians were too scared to speak out, Aziz said, ‘It is strange that the state prepares jihadis for the prosperity of Islam, and when those jihadis demand that the Islamic system be imposed in the country, it is taken as a challenge to the writ of the state.’ Ultimately, he came under enough pressure from security agencies to cooperate and he decided to openly forgive General Musharraf for the death of his relatives in the Operation. Among the civil society protestors risking their safety to be heard were students, selected politicians, women and human rights activists, and NGO workers. The Taliban threatened Nasir and told him to end his protests over the Peshawar school massacre, but he did not desist. Zaki was murdered in May 2016 in Karachi after receiving death threats for his stance on Lal Masjid. Another activist was Sabeen Mahmud. She ran T2F, a community centre that promoted open dialogue and progressive social/cultural change, and led rallies in Karachi against Lal Masjid. Militants assassinated her in April 2015, triggering an outpouring of condemnation from around the world. Finally, in January 2016 an intelligence report released to the government made it clear that Lal Masjid was linked to the Taliban and the reorganisation of its militant wing.61 The police have now booked Aziz for murder, and the connection with Sabeen’s death is not lost on the Counter Terrorism Department handling the case. These may be indications that the security establishment is rethinking the value of maintaining ties with jihadi groups, which may embolden the criminal justice system to actually put him on trial one day.

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Activists have not succeeded in persuading the state to close Lal Masjid or even to replace its leader, which underscores the government’s fear in tackling extremism in the name of Islam. As long as Lal Masjid students are not openly bearing arms, it seems, they can continue operating. Meanwhile, away from the glare of television cameras and far from the capital, other Pakistanis felt the force of unbridled militancy and had to pay the price of the government’s reluctance to tackle it. *** Activists acutely felt their lack of voice and influence over the course of the nation’s development. WAF’s street demonstrations grew sparser and public events became limited. Like much of the liberal intelligentsia, many members were enticed by Musharraf’s promise of ‘enlightened moderation’ and did not anticipate that he would play such a dangerous game with extremism by nurturing MMA to scare the world into supporting his continued rule. General Zia had stated his ideology from the outset, for the world to see, but it took time for the people to understand Musharraf’s double game and feel the full impact of the political forces he cultivated. Musharraf’s usurpation of the democratic process had forced him to come up with leverage to re-establish his credibility with western powers, and the war on terror provided him with the opportunity he needed. By brandishing the spectre of Islamic extremism before the US and its allies, he offered himself up as their best ally, just as Zia had done before him. But to retain that leverage the danger of extremism needed to remain ever-present, just apparent enough to push into the shadows exiled political leaders like Benazir Bhutto and Nawaz Sharif, who held legitimate popular claims to rule the country instead of him. He let loose the religious parties and Taliban to live out their fantasies of Shariah and indulged the Lal Masjid insurgency just until he had no choice but to act. The new face of extremism, given impetus through a manipulated election, was further proof that having the military in power could never be good for women in the long term. Farida Shaheed recalls that when MMA came to power, they thought of reviving WAF, ‘because we thought here we see a real tsunami [. . .] and nobody seems to be doing something and for a change we should be prepared. But the younger women were just not interested.’62 WAF’s weaknesses as an organisation became demoralising. Activists wondered if perhaps they

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had failed – the movement had not grown, nor had it expanded enough and new members were not joining its chapters. Out of a sense of growing despair, Nighat Said Khan reprinted a volume of articles called Up Against the State (originally published during the Zia period) to warn the next generation what lay in store if they did not bother to mobilise against a state that continued to work against their interests.63 Events at Lal Masjid and the emergence of Pakistani Taliban were overwhelming and violent episodes, though, and it became evident that mobilising against militancy would come at great cost to the personal safety of activists, as the death of some has borne out. Still, the disinterest of younger urban educated women in activism stood in contrast to the energy Shirkat Gah encountered amongst women in affected communities. ‘There is a huge resonance and desire for rights there. And there is a huge feeling of injustice in their life.’64 Shaheed found that amongst young women leaders from less urbanised and educated communities working with local groups ‘there is a real response to having a dialogue or being part of a movement or standing up for your rights.’ But building upon this energy to help consolidate a grass roots movement against the politics of religious extremism was too steep a challenge when communities faced a constantly growing threat of suicide bombings and violence.

CHAPTER 7 SWAT AND THE TALIBAN ASCENDANCY

It was far beyond the powers of activists to reverse what they called ‘Talibanisation’, that is, the spread of extremist views and violence that grew apace after MMA came to power in NWFP. Islamisation was no longer directed (only) by the state, as the Lal Masjid episode demonstrated. The MMA provincial government along with Musharraf, who controlled the centre as well as the army, were unwilling or unable to stop the growing phenomenon of Taliban militants taking over large swathes of state territory. By the time Musharraf ceded office, Pakistani Taliban had assumed control over much of the federally and provincially administered tribal areas in the north-west close to the Afghan border. This included the beautiful Swat valley, home to young activist Malala Yousafzai, who gained international fame for resisting Taliban efforts to curb girls’ education. Swat became a vivid example of what the rest of the country stood to lose if the Taliban were to win their war against the state.1 This chapter will explain first how the Taliban took power in tribal areas surrounding NWFP. It will then turn to a detailed discussion of how a militant group Tehreek-e-Nifaz-eShariat-e-Mohammadi (TSNM) in one specific area, Swat, rose to prominence and became part of the Taliban movement. It will explain the impact of their rule and activists’ efforts to respond effectively.

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Rise of the Taliban in tribal areas The spread of militancy in Pakistan’s ethnically Pathan tribal areas bordering Afghanistan is due to a confluence of factors.2 The structure of governance and justice dispensation in the tribal areas is different from the rest of Pakistan and lends itself to disruption from non-state actors.3 The tribal areas are governed by an antiquated throw-back to the colonial period when they were left under the control of tribal leaders operating under the authority of a Political Agent (PA) who represented the British Raj.4 After independence, the state failed to incorporate tribal areas into the formal system of governance and thereby excluded these areas from the benefits of democratic rule. A wave of influences led to a strengthening of political Islam. The tribal structure of society combined with the Islamic faith of almost all the people who live in this area to produce a culture known as Pakhtoonkhwa. This was somewhat altered by the rise of Deobandi Islam from the late nineteenth century that replaced earlier, more syncretic and Sufi-inspired religious practices. During the 1970s, outmigration to the Gulf and Saudi Arabia exposed many Pathans to Wahhabi Islamic doctrine, which led to support for religious groups at home. Their new strength undercut that of the maliks,or tribal elders, and other traditional power structures.5 Under Zia, the state funded Pakistani mujahideen to fight against the Soviets in Afghanistan. Their power grew unchecked and transformed the border region into a world centre for the trade and production of weapons, as well as a heartland of the cultivation and sale of poppy used to fund the conflict. The same myopic security paradigm of the state and intelligence agencies that refused to disengage from cross-border politics supported the rise of the Afghan Taliban during the 1990s and the Kashmiri insurrection in India. Hence, direct and indirect funding by Pakistan’s intelligence services, the CIA and Arab sources to jihadis over the decades made militancy a viable career option. Religious leaders maintained their links with Arab Islamists in Afghanistan and grew emboldened by the emergence of a theocratic state across the border supported by Pakistan. Soon madrassa students in the tribal areas turned to Afghanistan for inspiration.6 After the US-led invasion of Afghanistan in 2001 jihadi and Al-Qaeda militants fled coalition forces and took refuge in Pakistan’s tribal areas, which

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increased the economic and fighting power of the emerging Taliban groups within Pakistan. Their wealth increased with the support of Arab patrons. Their 2008 budget, according to one estimate, was no less than 4 billion Pakistani rupees (US$ 36.1 million at current rates) and a Taliban fighter could expect between 6 to 20,000 rupees per month (US$ 54 to 180), depending on his rank.7 When the state came under international pressure to shut down militant operations after 9/11, it was slow to give up its mutually beneficial relationship with them.

Rise of TSNM in Swat and Malakand Swat, neighbouring Chitral, and Dir were three independently princely states bordering North-West Frontier Province in 1947, but after the abolition of their independent status a period of legal and administrative ambiguity replaced the old order.8 A system of indirect rule through the NWFP provincial system followed, instead of full incorporation into its political structure and administration. The authoritarian rule of the prince, or wali of Swat was replaced by a system in which the dispensation of justice by the courts was seen to be corrupt and delayed. Meanwhile, a small middle class emerged in Swat and money began to trickle from the Gulf. Ideological influences from the Afghan jihad became particularly noticeable wherever madrassas under Saudi and state sponsorship proliferated, shaping the emerging brand of militancy.9 In the early 1990s, the first new ‘political mullah’10 emerged here in the form of Maulana Sufi Mohammed. Educated in different madrassas in Saidu Sharif and Swabi, he participated in the Afghan jihad, answering the call of JUI to join in the anti-Soviet resistance.11 He was elected councillor from Dir in 1987 on a Jamaat-i-Islami ticket. Disillusioned with what he termed JI’s ineffective strategy to bring about a Shariah dispensation through participation in constitutional/democratic politics, he established TSNM in 1989 to achieve Shariah in Malakand Division through directly mobilising the population instead.12 His preachings took on a more Wahhabi tone, in contrast to his comparatively moderate Deobandi training. He became increasingly antagonistic to the state after 1994, when the Supreme Court revoked PATA regulations and he saw an opening to demand the imposition of Shariah.

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Sufi Mohammed’s madrassa background, experience with the Afghan jihad, and Jamaat-i-Islami history provided him with extensive links to other militant groups and intelligence agencies. For example, he addressed a large crowd in Mingora in 1992 alongside Maulana Masood Azhar (founder of the terrorist group Jaish-e-Mohammed and jihad fighter in Kashmir), promising ‘to wage jihad against the infidels’, and one of the jihadi training camps went on to provide TNSM with arms. The dissolution of PATA regulations without a proper replacement and the collusion of TNSM with the local administration also facilitated TNSM’s growing influence.13 Sufi Mohammed claimed to seek justice for the poor and was initially well received in Malakand. His first major success was a sit-in of hundreds of people along a major highway to demand Shariah in Malakand. TNSM activists went on to occupy government facilities and a local airport, and to attack police stations and civilians. In return for a promise to suspend violence, the government promulgated the Nizam-eShariat Regulation in December 1994, establishing qazi courts based on Shariah. In October 2001, he led up to 10,000 followers across the border to join in the fight against the US occupation of Afghanistan. Once the Afghan Taliban fell, he returned to Pakistan to face arrest and a ban on TNSM, but tragically many of the young boys who joined his call never came home. While Sufi Muhammed was in jail, his son-in-law, Maulana Fazlullah, took over as TNSM leader. He saved the organisation from becoming irrelevant by using it to provide relief work in the aftermath of the devastating 2005 earthquake in the region that killed 75,000 people. Fazlullah set up an illegal FM radio station and preached every Friday from a mosque, using it to galvanise his own support base. Fazlullah convinced many women to support Shariah in Malakand and with their contributions of money and jewellery he built his own madrassa in Swat’s capital, Mingora. Women believed his promises; he even spoke about their rights. He pledged to provide religious education to both sexes, and ensure social mobility to their sons. Initially, people expected Fazlullah to provide speedy justice and local conflict resolution, bypassing the cumbersome and corrupt courts and administration and undercutting the influential elite.14 His men were popular because they supported the Afghans against US occupation. People contributed to his madrassas, or abstained from music and

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television. Women were not recruited to fight, in keeping with the militants’ view of women’s proscribed roles within the domestic sphere only, but pressure increased to donate.15 Fazlullah raised an armed militia, offering an attractive salary to fighters and up to Pak Rs 300,000 compensation to families in case of death. Many petty criminals joined the movement to serve as mercenaries,16 as did poor, illiterate and unemployed youth.17 Buoyed by his growing strength, Fazlullah began to enforce the piety he preached. He forbade women from public spaces and banned barber shops. He shut down shops selling videos and music. He condemned contraceptives and polio vaccinations, inciting the murder of health workers. He threatened girls’ schools, accusing them of violating Islam, and forced hundreds to shut down out of fear of reprisals. During radio speeches, he read out the names of girls who quit school as a tribute.18 As his men began to abuse the power they assumed for themselves, they lost much of their initial support. During their stint in power (2002– 5) the NWFP MMA government saw Fazlullah as ‘a reflection of the enhanced power of the political mullah’ and they enjoyed a symbiotic relationship.19 In fact, plenty of MMA legislators supported him. The MMA itself was so obsessed with controlling obscenity that it became hard to see where it drew the line between its own politics and those of the militants. Using their common front of positioning themselves against the west’s war on terror, the religious political parties facilitated the free functioning of the Taliban and their abuse of citizens. Violence spiked in 2003 as Taliban from FATA launched attacks on police checkpoints and killed scores of civilians in tribal areas and even within NWFP. In Swat, Fazlullah set up parallel government in 59 villages to impose Shariah. The Frontier Constabulary was sent to restore order but with little success.20 In a half-hearted measure, some schools and health workers were provided police support, but unbelievably the government did not shut down Fazlullah’s radio station. The MMA and federal government came under international pressure to bring the situation under control and they persuaded a captive Sufi Mohammed to sever his links with Fazlullah.21 Musharraf’s unsuccessful policy of negotiation with the Taliban continued once civilian governments assumed power, relying on religious parties such as JUI (F) to act as go-betweens. In July 2007, the

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government made yet another peace deal after the Taliban takeover of Mohmad Agency in FATA, which fell apart when direct confrontation with the military broke out in October. By this time, the militants, who had joined with Uzbek, Tajik and Chechen fighters, had taken over more territory. In Alpuri district the local police fled without resisting. After the 2007 Lal Masjid episode (see Chapter 6), the militants’ political confidence and anger against the state only deepened. This was one cause for the unification of 40 extremist groups from around the country under the umbrella name Tehreek-e-Taliban Pakistan (TTP). The groups had a shared objective to expel US and NATO forces from Afghanistan and enforce Shariah in Pakistan.22 The other factor triggering this association of groups was the arrival of Al-Qaeda members in the tribal areas fleeing the US onslaught in Afghanistan in 2006. Hundreds of supporters from FATA, including foreign Muslim fighters, joined Fazlullah in Swat by the end of the year. TTP Swat, formerly TNSM, was dubbed the first ‘popular, local and fully tribally supported Al-Qaeda franchise in the world’.23

Taliban governance In their quest for political control throughout the tribal areas, militants directly attacked traditional institutions of power in the region. They killed hundreds of maliks and khans (local tribal leaders) and attacked the properties of the landed classes. Hence, some scholars characterised the Taliban movement as a class struggle, which is even how it appeared to be to some locals initially as well.24 Fazlullah’s version of Shariah grew more brutal (2007– 9) when he assumed complete power over Swat with the support of Taliban militants from other tribal areas. Until that point he had never tried to put into place alternative dispute resolution mechanisms nor attack the class power of khans, although both were promised. But after the military came back, attacks on khans and informers of the ‘infidel army’ proliferated. Anyone who threatened their new power was subject to exemplary and brutal punishment, causing any influentials and even middle-class business people to flee the area if they could. Landowning families and government officials fled if they could, while the TTP government took control over police and judicial functions of the district.

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By 2007, when Fazlullah had established Taliban control over Swat valley, his radio station was used to issue threats to storekeepers, barbers, video and CD vendors to stop their businesses. They isolated local communities through banning television and the internet. ‘Every facility that is bestowed upon humanity by the modern sciences was condemned by the Taliban, every discipline, every modern system, to them was anti to the soul of Islam and hence was deemed to be rooted out, annihilated.’25 As businesses shut down, men and women were forced out of work, farming productivity reduced, and inevitably livelihoods suffered. Swat lost the revenue from its once-popular tourism industry. Those hardest hit were women-headed households. One teacher refused to quit her job as she was the sole breadwinner for her family and was killed by the Taliban.26 Senior commanders and their fighters based in North Waziristan, Pakistan’s tribal areas, came into Swat to reinforce Fazlullah. Policemen and their relatives, along with soldiers, were beheaded or had their throats slit. The terror campaign rendered the local administration and law enforcement incapable of resistance. Amongst the new fighters were even Uzbek militants and affiliates of the terrorist group, Lashkar-eJhangvi.27 During Fazlullah’s reign, the army did have a presence in the area with check posts visible to the people, but it did not take decisive action to stop the violence. Fazlullah’s radio broadcasts continued unchecked. Later, residents interviewed did not recall any militants being killed during military raids. By July 2009, after launching another operation, the military took back control of Swat, but the Taliban leadership escaped into the tribal areas. The Taliban had gained ascendancy over the population through a reign of terror. They wore masks as they roamed the streets, killed traditional religious leaders to stifle dissent and used exemplary punishments such as beheadings. Fathers were rendered helpless as the Taliban took their sons and put them to death or recruited teenage boys to become suicide bombers.28 They killed suspected informants. They punished men for shaving or not having the right length of beard, failing to attend group prayers, or wearing their shalwars (baggy trousers) too long. Many were forced to join the Taliban against their will.29 National press reported on the practice of hanging the dead bodies in the centre of Malakand’s capital city Mingora, which soon became known as khuni

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chowk, or bloody square. Fazlullah announced one Eid day that ‘twolegged animals would be sacrificed’ (a reference to the ritual slaughter of goats on the religious holiday). Male notables, khans, particularly if they belonged to the Awami National Party (ANP), pirs and any suspected opponents to their rule were killed and their dismembered bodies left in public for villagers to see. The Taliban certainly killed more men than women, the former directly targeted while less than ten women died at their hands, although figures are difficult to ascertain.30 Women were publicly shamed by having their hair cut if they failed to wear the full burqa, which replaced the traditional chador worn by women in the region. There were incidents of rape and the kidnap of women from within their own homes. If the Taliban discovered girls who had reached puberty but were still unmarried, they forced them to marry a militant.31 A dancing girl, known as Shabana, was shot, her body left at khuni chowk, as a lesson to all associated with the music and entertainment business to force them to cease their activities. Her sister later recounted that the family tried to flee Mingora in 2008 when the Taliban entered the city, but could not do so in time. One night the Taliban broke into the house, searching for Shabana. They stole gold and cash as they left, promising to release her if she took a Qur’anic oath to quit her illicit profession. But the next morning, as her brother walked to the city centre he saw her dead body on the street. The impoverished family did not even bother to file a police report.32 Women were not allowed to leave their homes unaccompanied by a mehram, male family member. They were banned from offices, bazaars and restaurants. They could no longer visit graveyards, shrines or attend funerals. Women were prohibited from spaces traditionally permitted to them, such as fields for agricultural work, riverbanks to wash clothes and collect water, and forests to gather wood. The result was a tremendous increase in the workload on men, who had to perform these tasks in addition to their existing duties. One male member of a family would be forced to stay at home in case a woman needed to fetch something from the market or perform some other task in a public space. Men resented the additional burden of work and decrease in power, as the Taliban assumed greater patriarchal control over their households.33

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Effect on health care Both men and women displaced by the conflict reported that the Taliban’s effect on health care was one of the most devastating consequences of their rule.34 Fazlullah told the people that polio vaccinations contained the urine of George Bush and forbade children from being vaccinated.35 People recounted being unable to step out of the house at night to access care or call for help as male doctors were not permitted to attend to women. In those homes where men were absent, women simply could not access any care at all. There was a shortage of drugs and medical equipment, too, and trained staff could only attend patients of the same sex. The conflict itself became the cause of selfreported symptoms amongst internally displaced people, such as depression and insomnia amongst women, and persistent fear amongst men.36 The frontline of primary health care in Pakistan is a network of Lady Health Workers (LHWs) – 100,000 community-based workers whose primary tasks are to provide family planning counselling services, antenatal screenings, health education and treatment for minor illnesses through regular home visits. At the time of Fazlullah’s ascendancy, they had recently begun administering polio immunisation drops to children. The Taliban in tribal areas and Swat started to threaten and harass LHWs, causing them to fear for their lives.37 The Taliban issued three fatwas, or religious edicts, against LHWs. One declared that their presence in public spaces was indecent and immoral, which forced LHWs to find males to accompany them on their rounds. It stated that it was the duty of Muslim men to kidnap LHWs during their home visits and either marry them forcibly or use them as sexual slaves. Maulana Fazlullah declared LHWs wajibul qatal, liable to death, sanctioning their murder. The second fatwa declared it was against Islam for women to do paid work, and the third fatwa declared LHWs ‘men’ for travelling in the streets unaccompanied, making them ineligible to enter women’s homes. Fazlullah used the radio to discredit LHWs, naming individual workers as prostitutes and American servants. The Taliban visited LHW’s homes and threatened their male family members with beheading if the women continued working. The Taliban opposition to LHWs stemmed from many causes – their abhorrence to family planning and a belief that the community health

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programme was an American NGO. Since Americans were guilty of killing Muslim children in other countries they could not be trusted to care for local children. They also believed polio drops were a disguised form of contraception. In consequence about 15 per cent of LHWs either fled Swat to safety from the Taliban or simply resigned. The programme began to collapse and maternal health and polio indicators worsened. Many people stopped using contraceptives and the rate of induced abortion increased.38

Attacks on education The people of Swat and the neighbouring tribal areas were conservative, but they overwhelmingly demanded education, including that for girls. The demand for education is the most progressive social current in the country, say education experts Tahir Andrabi and Asim Khwaja, which has fuelled a flourishing private sector.39 Men and women who fled conflict-affected areas cited the destruction of schools as one of the most devastating impacts of Talibanisation.40 Aping their counterparts across the border, the Pakistani Taliban started to bomb schools in 2007, alleging they were part of a plot to westernise the population. At a girl’s high school in Dara Ademkhel, close to the Afghan border, a note was found, ‘We have decided to bomb the school building. If any student shows up and is killed as a result, she will be responsible for her own death.’41 The MMA provincial government requested women teachers and students to wear a white burqa ‘as opposed to the fashionable black burqa’, as if that would stop the militants. Teachers, activists and political analysts were all mystified by the government’s lukewarm response to the growing threat to educational institutions and the fact that security agencies were not arresting the extremists responsible. Even girls’ schools in Peshawar began to operate under threat, often closing their doors altogether.42 The Taliban first restricted girls’ education in Malakand until Class 5, before they banned it. Girls quickly began to avoid school, fearing for their lives, and over time hundreds dropped out altogether in the area. The Taliban went to boys’ schools to recruit them for the jihad in Afghanistan. The Taliban destroyed one-fifth of all girls’ schools in Swat,

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alleging that the buildings were used as bases by security forces. Another figure quotes 182, mostly girls’, schools destroyed by January 2009.43

Failed peace deals and displacement Popular sentiment for the Taliban in FATA and PATA waned and disillusionment with MMA grew. In the 2008 elections after Musharraf’s resignation, religious political parties only won a single seat in the National Assembly. The newly elected ANP government in NWFP struck its first peace deal between militants and the state in April, which led to Sufi Mohammed’s release from prison, but broke down because of the rift between him and Fazlullah. This was followed by a second peace deal in May marred by ongoing violent attacks on civilians and security outposts.44 Desperate to end the escalating cycle of violence, the government used Sufi Mohammed to negotiate a third and final peace deal (named Nizam-e-Adl) in February 2009 with Fazlullah. After the deal quickly fell apart, in the next army operation to liberate Swat, 1.2 million people fled the region.45

Figure 7.1 Asma Jehangir demands police stop violence against lawyers, political activists and media personnel, Lahore 2007. Photo: Tanveer Shahzad/White Star.

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Each peace deal gave the militants further space to continue their onslaught against girls’ education and health services and to capture more boys to use as fighters.46 WAF opposed these peace treaties and criticised the government’s policy of declaring war against terrorism on the one hand and giving in to the demand of enforcing Shariat in Malakand on the other, in the violation of people’s fundamental rights.47 ‘WAF demands that every effort be made for peaceful resolutions of conflicts both within the country and in the region in which human and women’s rights are not bartered on the grounds of expediency.’48 Responding to activists’ concerns, the National Commission on the Status of Women studied the impact of the Nizam-e-Adl deal. It concluded that the deal was ‘against globally accepted principles of justice and humanity, and is principally aimed at depriving women of their freedom and rights’.49 Bari writes that the government and security forces projected themselves as saviours of women whose rights they were only too happy to concede when they made peace deals with the Taliban, despite strong protests from activists who said women’s rights were being sacrificed for the sake of political expediency. Nizam-e-Adl set up qazi courts to dispense justice based on religious law. Judges could be ordinary judicial officers with some Shariah training for work in the courts, as well as museleheen, specially appointed (male) officers to facilitate out-of-court settlements and arbitration councils to decide minor cases. The latter was designed along the lines of a traditional jirga, in which women enjoy neither representation nor voice. The NCSW report called for ‘strategies to be drawn up to counter the propaganda, political influence, and widespread connection of religious lobbies in order to safeguard women of Pakistan’.50 By mid-2008 almost 2 million people were displaced by the armed conflict between the Taliban and military forces in districts Buner, Swat and Dir. Many were living in camps originally built for Afghan refugees 30 years earlier. Aid agencies and the government struggled to provide health and security to the displaced, mainly women and children. Thousands more unregistered and unreachable displaced families lived with host families spread across NWFP.51 It was an emergency that at its peak displaced 85,000 people per day from affected areas, the fastest movement of people since the Rwandan genocide of 1994.52 This human disaster was entirely avoidable if the militants had been stopped earlier.

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Displaced women expressed support for a military ground assault.53 When the army operation started, though, it was ordinary people who suffered the most because they were forced from their homes due to the fighting. While most respondents Bari interviewed said they did not support the Taliban, they cited their experience of forced migration as a significant juncture in turning them against the militants. Respondents also held the government responsible for Talibanisation, and mentioned its failure to effectively address poverty, unemployment and the dispensation of justice as reasons for its ascendancy. They also blamed the security forces for not effectively fighting the Taliban and did not trust their intentions. It became clear to activists that displaced women were most affected by the military operation. Bari writes that out of 3 million forced to flee all conflict zones in the tribal areas, 80 per cent lived outside camps.54 Those in camps experienced numerous gender-based obstacles to accessing support. Those without male family members, such as single mothers or widows, could not access food supplies directly or receive compensation packages from the government. There were insufficient reproductive health facilities for pregnant women. Lactating mothers suffered malnutrition, there were inadequate contraceptive supplies, and even sanitary towels were not provided. Due to the severe restrictions of purdah, women could not roam about the camps freely, register or access services effectively.55 There were reports of sexual violence in the camps, such as the incident of a woman who said that a security guard forced her to have sex with him before giving her food.56

Activists challenge the Taliban It was an enormous challenge for development workers, rights activists and even some journalists to convince the broader public in Pakistan that reports of Taliban brutality were real. Political parties and even political analysts/commentators were reluctant to condemn militancy and risk coming across as either supportive of US-led action in Afghanistan and Iraq or opposed to Shariah law. As a consequence, media and politicians initially ignored much of what transpired when militants took control. Sectors of the establishment, too, supported the Taliban: retired military generals steeped in jihadi ideology, religious political parties, influential individuals from the media and government

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institutions – it was no secret who was sympathetic. The so-called mainstream parties such as PML-N and Tehreek-e-Insaaf (Imran Khan’s fast-growing political party) refused to speak out against the Taliban, implicitly condoning their violence. Activists raised the alarm on the consequences of refusing to tackle religious extremism and tried to document the effects of ‘Talibanisation’, but they were unable to turn the tide of events or public opinion. The deeper forces, including intelligence agencies intent on maintaining the status quo, were not yet willing to rethink their strategy. The powerful electronic media supported this approach, sensationally reporting violent attacks but slow to condemn their politics. Although it was the more secular political forces demanding a return to democracy and the movement for an independent judiciary that succeeded in ending Musharraf’s rule, nonetheless the voices for a moderate and inclusive society that remained seemed more marginalised than ever. WAF linked this outcome with the military’s policy of creating the very enemies that held it hostage. ‘The military’s role in instigating and supporting non-state actors in neighbouring countries as part of its policy of “strategic depth” has boomeranged to the extent that the military itself is at the receiving end of the Taliban threat.’ The military was also responsible for preventing democracy from taking root, and that followed by ‘General Zia’s policy of Islamisation set in motion a process that has led to a existential threat to Pakistan itself.’ WAF said in 1982 they had warned that Zia’s Islamisation would lead to sectarianism and turn Muslims against one another, causing conflict and violence. ‘There is general consensus now that this has unfortunately happened and the very basis of a Pakistan that honours and respects diversity and pluralism and the universality of human rights is at stake.’57 Women’s and human rights groups were the first to raise the alarm on the growing Talibanisation of Pakistan. For example, details were provided in an alternative report on the Beijing process in 2000, but the government failed to take serious action. There was no disputing the reality on the ground, as described in the beginning of this chapter. Yet in the initial years, with MMA in power in NWFP and Musharraf playing his double game, there was no effective government response. Activists grew to realise that without political backing the Taliban would not be able to carry out these crimes.

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As early as 2006, the WAF National Convention took a stand against Talibanisation and predicted that events in Afghanistan would eventually have an adverse impact on Pakistan.58 In a 2007 alternative report on the government’s compliance with CEDAW, endorsed by over 20 organisations, Shirkat Gah wrote, ‘Growing Talibanisation is reversing progress in girls’ education, obstructing the access of girls and women to health facilities, impeding women’s job opportunities and political participation, and actively promoting discrimination against women and non-Muslims.’59 It criticised the state for neither educating people about their rights nor protecting them from non-state actors. By not taking effective action, ‘the state helps bolster their influence, thus increasing the vulnerability of groups supporting women’s empowerment and human rights’.60 It warned the government against allowing the country to be held hostage to a small number of armed militants. The Taliban’s politics of violence challenged WAF’s most valued principles. It opposed militarisation and the growing role of the military in running the state. But in the current context the question was how not to defend oneself in the face of Taliban daily attacks, which now included mosques and churches. The Taliban’s goal was to eliminate the constitution, elected assemblies and judiciary, all without winning an election. It was impossible to tolerate a system worse in every way for women and all citizens in the long run.61 But because the Taliban acted in the name of Islam, media, politicians and significant chunks of the population were intimidated and hesitant to publicly condemn them. For speaking out against the Taliban, activists found themselves accused of siding with the imperialists. Nazish Brohi recalls that intellectuals used to argue that the Taliban were essentially a land or peasants’ rights movement. ‘You can only say that if you are sitting in Lahore or Islamabad, or maybe without going to Swat, because once you go into Swat you see exactly what happened.’62 Women activists therefore did not oppose military operations in FATA and Swat against the Taliban, but they were doubtful about the long-term effectiveness of army intervention. Conflict areas needed ambitious initiatives to bring their communities into the mainstream political and governance institutions. The military never fully ceased its support to some jihadi groups even though they were increasingly being called upon to protect their own people from the militants they had

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fostered. WAF often stated that democracy was for all Pakistanis and the military should not be allowed to ‘circumvent, challenge or impede the democratic process. The nation cannot be held hostage to military ambitions and adventures; the agendas of “intelligence” agencies or “security” interests that threaten the future of Pakistan.’63 A suicide bomber assassinated Benazir Bhutto in December 2007, just before she was to contest elections promised by a beleaguered and unpopular Musharraf. Her untimely death just months after a triumphant return from exile dealt a severe blow to the struggle for democracy. She had displayed unusual courage in speaking out against the Taliban, promising to integrate FATA into the mainstream governance structure of the country if she returned to power. The Pakistan People’s Party was considered one of the last secular political organisations, despite its history of catering to the religious right, and was likely to win the next election. But when leader of the TTP, Baitullah Mehsud, claimed responsibility for her death, it seemed that no major political leader remained to stand up to extremists. Activists were grief-stricken. They had criticised her often for not repealing discriminatory legislation when in power, and WAF never formally called on her when she was Prime Minister, to avoid appearing partisan. Allegations of corruption against her and her unpopular husband Asif Zardari had undermined her obvious courage as a leader. But now her death brought into stark relief the choices facing Pakistanis. WAF said, ‘Above all Benazir Bhutto instinctively and with great passion and eloquence stood for a secular, democratic and pluralistic Federal Republic of Pakistan – as Pakistan was envisioned by the founder of the nation.’64 Her death was deeply discouraging. WAF recognised Benazir’s unique contributions in ‘that she reached out to the poor, women and minorities and represented a secular worldview. She was also the most vocal politician against extremism and against the militants.’65 WAF called for Musharraf to step down and hold free and fair elections. Activists also lent their voices to demands for an investigation into her death, since Musharraf himself was under suspicion because he ordered the crime scene washed before it could be properly examined. A UN investigation into Bhutto’s death concluded that the President and intelligence agencies together impeded the investigation into her killing.66 To date, the people do not know the exact circumstances of her

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Figure 7.2 Benazir Bhutto’s return from exile in October 2007 to Karachi, before a suicide bomber attacked the convoy, killing 150. (From left) Bhutto, Qasim Zia, Qaim Ali Shah, Sherry Rehman, Aftab Shaban Mirani. Courtesy: Pakistan People’s Party.

assassination and whether the Taliban acted alone or with the concurrence of intelligence agencies who wished to end her dominance over the country’s politics. The civilian governments post-Musharraf have inherited and struggled to cope with a constant Taliban insurgency. Women’s rights groups have been consistent in their opposition to compromises and equivocations with extremists. In May 2009, civil society organisations launched a campaign called ‘NO’ to appeal to the government to stop the march of the Taliban. Sheema Kermani and her dance/theatre troupe Tehreek-e-Niswan performed a dance drama to celebrate the ancient city of Mohenjadaro, alluding to a more peaceful era in the region’s history and reminding the public about a pre-Islamic past that extremists were intent on destroying. WAF launched a signature campaign at the Karachi Press Club by sending letters to the President, Prime Minister,

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Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, and Chief of Army Staff, appealing to them to uphold the constitution and have one set of laws for all of Pakistan. By this point there was a well-established Taliban presence in the city of Karachi and episodes of violence had begun.67 There was donor complicity to contend with as well. Foreign aid organisations decided to adapt to the ground realities and become more culturally sensitive, as if the Taliban represented a traditional belief system. Faith-based groups began to receive donor funding to deliver basic services. This incorporation of Islam into development activities also led to donor support for madrassas, as if modernisation of their facilities would somehow neutralise the politics inherent in their sectarian and exclusionary rhetoric. Afiya Zia argued that this ‘theocratic development path’, signified an identity crisis amongst donor agencies.68 The US Agency for International Development (USAID) ran a project called ‘Respecting the Veil’ for the economic empowerment of home-bound women as part of its support to women entrepreneurs. The project design was based on the deployment of husband and wife teams; wives were to operate within their homes and husbands interacted with the outside market. Zia writes that the husband/subcontractors were strengthened at the expense of the women embroiderers, whose income was below the minimum wage. ‘The informal sector was further entrenched under the banner of cultural/religious sensitivity.’69 The UK international aid agency, the Department for International Development (DFID), for its part, worked with the MMA-led NWFP government, despite its ‘gender-apartheid’ policies against women. (The DFID strategy ultimately failed when the MMA was not reelected in 2008.) Afiya Zia argued that this development path highlighted the contradictions amongst western liberal donors and Pakistani NGOs, which sought easy band-aid solutions to structural failures of the state.70

The Chand Bibi flogging Two unique incidents of violence became symbols for the misogyny the militants represented and served to rally protests around the country. Until that point, women activists had been unable to shake the public and elicit sufficient indignation to enable them to be heard. The

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powerful television news channels remained ambivalent about militancy, reporting Taliban’s attacks and misrule but also hesitant to condemn their so-called Islamic agenda. In the cases of Chand Bibi and Malala Yousafzai, however, it would prove difficult to downplay their brutality. In April 2009, a short mobile phone video of a young woman’s flogging in a village in Malakand appeared on YouTube and aired on three television channels in Pakistan, shocking viewers across the country. The newly elected ANP government of NWFP, which replaced MMA, had just agreed to the Nizam-e-Adl peace deal in February.71 Musharraf’s successor, the PPP President Asif Ali Zardari, had yet to sign the deal. Samar Minallah, an anthropologist, film-maker and women’s rights activist received the video anonymously and released it to the media.72 Other activists had also received the video, including Tahira Abdullah from WAF and Mariam Bibi from the NGO Khwendo Kor in Peshawar. Maulana Fazlullah quickly issued a fatwa against all three women, calling for their deaths. Samar Minallah and her children went into hiding until the furore subsided. Tahira recalls that two men came to her home one night to find her, but she had moved to a friend’s just in time.73 Again, WAF issued statements and activists held demonstrations to protest against the incident, even in interior Sindh. Protestors attested that the Taliban had misinterpreted and misused Islam, and they rejected the government’s willingness to make agreements with the militants.74 Immediately, the NWFP government went on the defensive, alleging that the video was a conspiracy to sabotage the peace process and malign Pakistan’s reputation internationally. Interior Minister Rehman Malik said, ‘Sometimes anti-state elements make fake or artificial footage or images to bring disrepute onto Pakistan.’75 Soon the girl, identified as Chand Bibi, gave a statement denying she was flogged.76 Federal officials defended negotiating with the Taliban, arguing that the whipping took place well before the peace deal.77 A local shopkeeper said to a reporter, ‘It’s inhuman. If that’s their Islam, sorry to say but I don’t want it.’78 The Taliban became eager to confirm the incident was real. Spokesman Muslim Khan said that the girl’s crime was that she had emerged from her house with a man who was not her husband.79 It became evident that the punishment had taken place after the peace deal.

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According to Minallah, the Taliban deliberately circulated the video to terrify people in Malakand’.80 The President and Prime Minister asked for a report, embarrassed by the outcry perhaps. Sherry Rehman, who was Information Minister at the time, requested a special session of parliament to discuss the incident. ‘Such brutalities . . . cannot be allowed to take place under the leadership of a democratic government.’81 When the government launched its next military operation against the Taliban, it was in the name of protecting women like Chand Bibi from further violence. Women led the public response. The National Commission on the Status of Women, together with civil society groups protested in Karachi against the flogging, demanding the government act to arrest the perpetrators. Anis Haroon, chair of NCSW at the time, spoke out against further violations of women’s rights by the Taliban, such as the case of a woman whose throat was slit on charges of illicit relations and the cases of several women beaten for attending the public market. She rejected the violation of women’s rights in the name of religion or tradition. WAF activists, and representatives of the Pakistan Women’s Foundation for Peace, Aurat Foundation, Shirkat Gah, Hisaar Foundation, War Against Rape (WAR), and even the Pakistan Medical Association, all joined in to demand the writ of government in all parts of the country, with equal rights for women in all provinces.82 Political parties gave a mixed reaction. Only the secular and avowedly anti-Taliban MQM planned its own protest event. Radical political groups, trade unions and others demonstrated across the country, many condemning the government for striking a deal with the Taliban in Swat and criticising the role of the media in glorifying them. Most religious leaders on television said the flogging was un-Islamic. However, religious parties with a history of ties with militancy, such as members of the former MMA coalition, played it down. ‘We should talk about drone attacks, not minor things,’ said the Amir of JI, Munawar Hassan,83 referring to the US practice of drone strikes on militant targets in the tribal areas. The high-profile chief of JUI (F), Maulana Fazal-urRehman, said NGOs were making a great deal of noise about nothing, yet they remained unmoved when women and children were killed by drones and fighter jets.84 These leaders repeated over and again their defence of the Pakistani Taliban, that the militants were primarily engaged in combatting US influence in Afghanistan and Pakistan’s tribal

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areas and would continue to undermine any efforts by the Pakistan government to support the US. The judiciary stepped in to remind everyone that citizens were entitled to human rights. The newly elected Prime Minister had just restored Chief Justice Itikhar Chaudhry of the Supreme Court of Pakistan to his seat, following his illegal sacking by President Musharraf and an unprecedented activist lawyers’ movement. The court order said the flogging constituted a serious violation of fundamental rights as guaranteed by the constitution. ‘No person can be deprived of life, liberty without due process of law. The dignity of person is inviolable. No person can be subjected to torture or other cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment/punishment. Punishment of whipping is prohibited by law.’ The Supreme Court ordered a separate investigation to ‘meet local notables to ascertain the possibility that a fake CD might have been made to malign the people of Swat who were demanding enforcement of religious laws’.85 Now the government was forced to cooperate. Provincial Minister Mian Iftikhar contradicted his initial statement and told the Court that Chand Bibi was married and could not have been featured in the video. The Chief Justice Iftikhar concluded the video was a fake, possibly to prevent President Zardari from signing the peace deal.86 The Court then considered the issue closed and an opportunity to uphold the fundamental rights of Swatis was lost. Thus the Court avoided the controversial question it had raised regarding the legality of whipping as a punishment, and considering its place in Islamic law. The longstanding problem of how to enforce religious law while upholding the fundamental rights of citizens, too, did not need to be tackled. The people of Swat had their own stake in the peace deal and they did not react well to the outcry raised by activists. Their priority was ending the violence. Hundreds of people protested in the streets in Mingora, saying the video was a tool to derail the fragile peace agreement. At the time of the flogging story, an estimated 1,200 people had been killed in the valley and at least 250,000 had fled since the start of hostilities.87 Some felt that the military intervention was already too late. The chief of the Peshawar High Court Bar Association testified to the Supreme Court, ‘Swat has gone, despite [a] military operation, the presence of 30,000 troops and air cover.’ There was no writ of the government and fundamental rights of the people were violated

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every day. He said hundreds of people had been killed, policemen had deserted, and the peace deal was actually a treaty of surrender.88 Asma Jahangir said the problem would spread, ‘The Taliban are forcing their brand of Islam on us, and we have to resist that.’89 One year after the video, Samar Minallah challenged those who denied the flogging. She reminded ‘Taliban apologists’ in educated Pakistani society about the crimes committed against men and women, ‘cutting throats, hanging body-parts in public places and executing people without any judicial process.’ She exposed the flogging case to the world at risk to her own safety, not to sabotage the peace deal. Minallah asked, ‘If this was not the “right time” to raise a voice in support of the Pakistani girl who was flogged, can someone tell me when is the “right time” to do such a thing?’90 Nazish Brohi decided to visit Chand Bibi’s remote village, where she discovered the family living in extreme poverty. They were ostracised by their community, who accused Chand Bibi of bringing disrepute to their village for being in public with a man and getting lashed. By this time Chand Bibi’s life was in danger from further Taliban or communityinstigated violence against her. Brohi helped her move to Peshawar and find work in an undisclosed location.91 Since then two other women have come forward to say the Taliban flogged them on charges of illicit liaisons.92 The new information about multiple cases raised the question about how many more such episodes took place after Maulana Fazlullah took over. It also confirmed fears that more cases of violence were to come.

Malala Yousafzai On 9 October 2012, Fazlullah’s men attacked Malala Yousafzai as a message to the military that the Taliban’s presence in Swat was still strong. The incident took place after peace was supposedly restored by the military in the valley and exposed how the Taliban still managed to threaten the population even with an ongoing army presence. Malala was shot in the head and two other girls injured when two gunmen attacked their school bus in Mingora, Swat’s main city. Since Malala was already a well known critic of the Taliban’s policy against girls’ schooling, the event made domestic and international headlines. A local jirga, formed to support peace in the valley, held a news conference immediately. ‘We

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Figure 7.3 Malala Yousafzai at her school in Mingora, Swat, 2011, the year before the Taliban attacked her. Photo: Kohi Marri.

invite the entire nation to stand with us against terrorists. We have made countless sacrifices for the restoration of peace and we are ready to render more for maintaining peace in our region.’93 As Malala lay in a hospital in Britain, outrage from foreign governments and international human rights organisations grew. The Zardari government’s inability to bring peace to the troubled area was exposed for the world to see, and the army came across as impotent despite its military operation. The government announced a day of national prayer for Malala, but the call was met with ambivalence amongst the media and public. The attack on this young schoolgirl was the catalyst which exposed how deep ran the current of support for the Taliban. The mainstream political parties and a group of 50 ulema were united in their condemnation for the attack. But the religious parties were unwavering in their tacit support to the militants. Maulana Fazal-urRehman said, ‘The hands of people condemning the attack on Malala are soaked with blood, since they never condemn bombing of a mosque’, referring to those who did not condemn the drone attacks. Munawar Hassan likened the attack to the ‘fake video’ of Chand Bibi’s flogging,

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which he said was used as an excuse for the army’s next campaign. Some political leaders, such as Imran Khan and Shahbaz Sharif94 refused to use the word ‘Taliban’ in any of their statements condemning extremist violence, even this attack.95 Again, the Taliban felt compelled to respond to the extensive coverage. A TTP spokesperson justified the attack, writing that Malala had violated Islamic and Pathan codes of conduct by spreading propaganda against mujahideen and Muslims, giving interviews to men, supporting the western system of education, and more. Her puberty made her liable to punishment of death, since she was deemed an adult under Islamic law.96 Another statement said she was not attacked for raising her voice for education, but for opposing mujahideen and their war. She was also accused of advocating secularism and enlightened moderation (a term Musharraf had coined to describe his own approach to Islam).97 In a document co-authored by the Islamic Movement of Uzbekistan, the Taliban said there was a war going on between faith and kufr (unbelief). Malala belonged to the side of kufr, and therefore she must die. The media, by covering her shooting, was prostituted to the Americans.98 The event became mired in the debate about the US-led war on terror and the righteousness of Muslims who dared to defy them. It was almost impossible to express support for Malala in public and private circles without seeming an apologist for US atrocities or Islamophobia. Members of the westernised elite, although themselves products of the secular education so hated by the militants, fabricated excuses for their crimes. For example, one theory doing the rounds was that the CIA had shot Malala (deliberately so as not to kill her) to trigger anti-Taliban sentiments and public support for the war on terror. As Malala grew in international stature, at home this apologist discourse strengthened in response to negative coverage of Pakistan. When Malala addressed the General Assembly of the United Nations she made no apologies for the Taliban and denied any religious justification for their violence. ‘The terrorists are misusing the name of Islam and Pashtuns society for their own personal benefits. Pakistan is [a] peaceloving democratic country. Pashtuns want education for their daughters and sons. And Islam is a religion of peace, humanity and brotherhood.’99 Her words should have resonated with Pakistanis, instead they confirmed to many she was a pawn in western hands.

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By the time Malala received the Nobel Peace Prize in 2014 her international fame was at a peak and so were her detractors in Pakistan. But the government so feared militant reprisals that it hardly acknowledged the honour. It had similarly disowned the only other Nobel laureate from Pakistan, Abdus Sattar, who shared the prize for Physics in 1979 but was ignored because he was an Ahmadi. The PTI coalition government in KP disallowed a launch of Malala’s autobiography at Peshawar University and private schools have banned her book from their libraries. The crescendo of diatribe reached such a peak that the government’s media-regulating authority finally issued a censure against one television channel for airing ‘hate speech’ against Malala. The ruling reminded the channel that accusations of blasphemy could endanger lives and was banned under the constitution.100 It was an unusual move to stem extremist rhetoric and did not have much influence on media discourse. Activists were dismayed that international voices from the left disparaged Malala. Parvez Hoodhboy, an outspoken and brave critic of the Taliban, wondered at the patronising remarks of leading icon Arundhati Roy, who referred to Malala as ‘a kid’ who ‘cannot be faulted for what she did’, adding, ‘the great game is going on [. . .] they pick out people [for the Nobel Prize]’. Hoodhboy defended Malala’s bravery, quoting a young Pakistani woman, ‘We know better than anyone else what life under the Taliban is like, and should be honoured that Malala came from our country.’ He argued even if her struggle coincided with a western agenda, the latter could sometimes be intelligently leveraged for ‘furthering what is important for peoples everywhere: education, peace, female emancipation, freedom of thought and action, labour rights, and all that the Left holds important.’101 Malala’s courage inspired many in Pakistan, even though they were not the most prominent voices in the media. Girls in Swat spoke of how she had changed their lives. ‘When Malala’s picture was being printed in the newspapers, everybody in my family used to say it’s a conspiracy against Islam. But I liked her from the beginning,’ said a young woman who was inspired by Malala’s example to challenge her husband’s family and go back to school after an early marriage.102 The story of Malala is not over, but the most recent episode demonstrated again the difficulty of getting justice. In 2015, an AntiTerrorism Court acquitted eight out of the ten men accused due to lack

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of evidence. The trial was held in secret at a military internment centre in Swat, so the verdict came as a surprise. After some confusion about the whereabouts of the acquitted men, security officials said they remained in custody due to other terrorist charges against them. Media and police had no access to the court, so the facts could not be verified. Lawyers and human rights groups criticised the decision, to little effect. The main accused, Ataullah Khan (the alleged gunman) and Maulana Fazlullah, are still hiding in Afghanistan.

After the Taliban During the peak of Taliban power, activists asked each other whether it was not too late to break the mesmerising hold that Talibanisation seemed to have over the public imagination, to create a counter-narrative to the project of exclusionary Islam, whose adherents made their voices heard over all others. Worse, the government has not been able to guarantee the safety of affected communities even now. Taliban tactics evolved from directly targeting school buildings to killing the children inside them. On 16 December 2014, in the most inhumane terrorist attack in the country’s history, militants came to an Army Public School in Peshawar and massacred over 100 children. One year later they moved on to murdering students at a university in KP province (former NWFP). The events made the state appear utterly incapable of protecting its citizens. In the absence of effective state support, NGO workers have been left to look after themselves. In May 2012, a former MNA from MMA in Kohistan, Maulvi Abdul Haleem, issued a fatwa that any woman working in an NGO would be forcibly married off to a local. He would stop any women from civil society groups from influencing local women in the name of empowerment. Offices of Shirkat Gah and Aurat Foundation were made to cut back on staff and visibility in KP. A young woman, Farida Afridi, who set up her own organisation in FATA to work for women’s access to schools and health facilities became known as a voice for women’s empowerment. The Taliban assassinated her in Peshawar in 2012. Media and fellow activists praised her as a fallen human rights defender, although her killers have not been brought to justice. In 2013, women from KP and FATA organised an event to commemorate National Women’s Day and distributed awards to women

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politicians, journalists and activists who had played a role in defending human rights during the past difficult years. They presented a charter of demands, including security for human rights defenders, and called for an end to government stigmatising of women’s rights activists.103 In a manifesto for the 2013 general elections, WAF said all political parties shared responsibility to stop militants’ assaults on women’s rights. The government should ban fatwas and monitor khutbas (sermons) from mosques to ensure they were not inducing hate crimes. It called for emergency protection to educational facilities and girl students under threat from militants. ‘Prevention of women’s equal right to vote; attend school; access to public services and participation in cultural activities are all violations that create conducive environments for extremism to be successful.’104 It rejected ‘laws that are based on selective interpretation of religion and culture rather than universal equal rights’.105 The MMA and the Taliban’s disruption of NGOs has made existing programmes for women inadequate in the face of the mounting needs of communities displaced or convulsed by violence. Rozan, based in Islamabad, is an NGO stretched to capacity. It has been overwhelmed with demands to do more to help communities terrorised by militants. Ambreen Ahmad says, ‘We are a traumatized society. How to work with survivors of bombings and traumas, and also natural disasters and displacement?’ She finds that violence and intolerance has spread so far across Pakistani society that combatting it must become a focus of their work. A key place to start is schools, where children are taught to hate. She has noticed a change, particularly after the Peshawar school massacre, now that people are less afraid to speak out. ‘I think people have now realised this is our war, we’ve got to fight it so that has been a positive change in some ways.’106 The government began a process to reform the outdated system of governance in Pakistan’s tribal areas in 2011 in order to address some of the causes of initial support for the Taliban. Efforts to integrate the tribal agencies with the KP government and administration have not gone beyond the planning stage. Takra Qabaili Khwenday, an association of women from the tribal areas, demanded women should be included in the reform process and that protests against tribal laws to be heard. WAF agreed, saying the new order should guarantee constitutional equality for all and not, as suggested by mainstream politicians, maintain tribal laws by codifying the jirga system. ‘Why are women in FATA being

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sacrificed to the customs and traditions of the old, unjust patriarchal order? Why is the Pakistani state not giving women equal access as full citizens to justice as the rest of the country? Women’s rights must not be bartered at the altar of political expediency for either side.’107 The government would do well to pursue a more inclusive policy towards its citizens as it struggles to cope with the consequences of fostering religious extremism and militancy. Taliban rule destroyed the local rural and urban economies in affected areas. The direct and indirect cost to Pakistan’s economy due to incidents of terrorism instigated by militants was estimated at US$102.51 billion over the period 2001–14.108 Over 50,000 people died between 2003 and 2017, almost half of them civilians. Surely no state security agenda or political interests are worth this price.

CHAPTER 8 SEXUAL VIOLENCE AND THE NEW ACTIVISTS

See, I did not get justice. From a victim I had to turn myself into a survivor even though all the doors were closing for me and there were lies and deception at every step. [. . .] Those who have been victims before me or those who come after, I want to raise my voice Shazia Khalid for them.1 A set of landmark sexual violence cases gripped the women’s movement at the same time that Talibanisation was taking its toll on society. These cases were not new in type, but now the call for justice was led largely by women survivors themselves. Their leadership, the media coverage and international support it generated pushed the government to promise reform to strengthen the laws on rape and honour killings. President Musharraf was able to deliver somewhat on his platform of ‘enlightened moderation’, but he did so reluctantly and under great pressure. As a result, the hudood laws did undergo some limited revision, proving that religious legislation can be subject to review if the right set of circumstances exist. This chapter will describe in detail how the government ensured institutional, political and public backing before attempting reform. Still, the scope and quality of changes to zina and honour killing laws were limited by the intransigence of the religious lobby. This makes the case stronger for attempting to reverse discriminatory legislation while also complicating the assumptions activists hold about the impact they can have.

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The rate of honour killings has increased under cover of impunity from the criminal justice system, which encourages out-of-court settlements.2 In the landmark rape cases discussed below, victims’ quest for justice was stymied by a lack of sufficient evidence and undue political interference in the investigative and legal process. The continued role of jirgas helps to perpetuate the practice of honour killings and compromises the power of elected legislatures to act against them since many male politicians serve on jirgas themselves. This chapter will show how state actors with tribal loyalties overriding their commitment to formal laws facilitated honour crimes. The problem is complicated further by the role of religious parties in blocking legislative reform if it attempts to touch Islamic laws of Qisas and Diyat, while activists argue that honour killings must be prosecuted outside of that framework.

Rape and the law In women’s experience of the criminal justice system, courts grant one acquittal after another in the few rape cases that go to trial. Politicians, judges and law enforcement officials are often directly engaged in protecting the accused. Even high-profile cases publicised by civil society organisations and media rarely survive the arduous process and are more likely to be settled out of court. A worker in a leading NGO supporting rape survivors told me, ‘If someone asked me whether it is worth it to file a case of rape, my 18 years of experience would make me have to say no, definitely not.’ Until 2002 it was still the norm for rape victims or survivors to be silent, or if they did demand justice, allow their lawyers or activists to take a lead in the public domain. Some women survivors then began to command acknowledgement from the state and articulate their demands to the media directly. They led pickets, gave interviews to television and newspapers, and doggedly pursued their cases in the justice system, eclipsing the civil society lawyers and activists who initiated their cases. These survivors powerfully argued they were fighting for all women of Pakistan in the hope that such crimes would not be repeated.

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High-profile rape cases Mukhtar Mai, an illiterate woman from a low-caste tribe in southern Punjab, was gang raped in 2002.3 The local jirga in her village sentenced her to rape as punishment for the alleged sighting of her younger brother, aged 12, alone with a woman from a higher caste. (Men from the more powerful Mastoi tribe had raped the boy the month before and wielded the accusation to silence his family.) The jirga allowed the rape of Mai to restore the lost honour of the Mastois. Custom demanded that she commit suicide, which was the course a girl in her neighbouring village took when she was raped just a week after Mai.4 Instead, she became one of the most famous women in the world by going public with her demand for justice. Her quest began when a sympathetic mullah encouraged Mai to register a complaint with the police, just a week after the event. It was already late to collect the medico-legal evidence required, but she did not know that. A local reporter wrote about the rape, attracting the attention of Pattan, an NGO working in southern Punjab, and activist Farzana Bari came to meet Mai. Soon, one of four alleged rapists was arrested. Pattan organised a rally in Multan on 8 March, International Women’s Day, and invited Mai to be the chief guest. Mukhtar was too overwhelmed to speak clearly. The event was a success, attracting over 7,000 supporters. Pattan later arranged for prominent democratic activist, Aitzaz Ahsan, to serve as Mai’s lawyer pro bono. Bari recalls Mai was unusually strong and could take the pressure imposed on her by the public attention and legal proceedings, unlike most other victims.5 Early press coverage led to public protest and the Supreme Court took notice, demanding an explanation from the Inspector-General of Police in Punjab. The government promised justice and Minister for Women Development Attiya Inayatullah gave her a check for 500,000 rupees (US$ 4,500 at current rates). ‘I would have committed suicide if the government had not come to my help,’ Mai later said.6 She used the money to build one school for boys and another for girls in her village Meerwallah, saying that education was the best way to achieve social change, even enrolling herself. Nicholas Kristof, journalist for the New York Times, began to write regularly about her case, drawing international attention to her plight.

Figure 8.1 Mukhtar Mai, gang raped by order of a jirga, took her assailants to court. Photo: White Star.

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But the courts could not deliver swift justice despite Musharraf’s promise. First, an Anti-Terrorism Court sentenced the six accused to death by hanging and acquitted another eight on lack of evidence. Upon appeal, in 2005 the Lahore High Court overturned that verdict and acquitted five of the accused, giving the single guilty man a life sentence instead of death. The government decided to appeal. Protests and demonstrations across the country stirred up strong reactions. A petition at the Lahore High Court accused activists (such as WAF members, Farzana Bari and Tahira Abdullah) of disgracing the court. Mai did not relent, she publicly appealed to the government to rearrest the accused as they continued to pose a threat to her life. She still refused to leave her village. ‘I will stay and fight for the rights of the women and men of my village and will continue to run my school to spread the light of education.’7 She asked activists and media to continue their support. Seventeen organisations, including the Pattan Development Organization, Aurat Foundation, Progressive Women Association and WAF, jointly protested against the LHC acquittal decision, demanding legal and social justice for Pakistani women.8 To everyone’s relief, the Supreme Court stayed the previous orders, and issued bailable arrest warrants against the 13 acquitted accused. Prime Minister Shaukat Aziz promised Mai government protection, but it was qualified. He said, ‘government was committed to ensuring that women played their rightful role in society in keeping with religious, social and cultural values’, as if to reassure conservative segments of the public that justice for Mai was not to be equated with freedom for women.9 After all, the influential Jamaat-i-Islami always maintained that sexual violence data were exaggerated as part of a western conspiracy and/or NGO propaganda to malign Islam.10 Party Amir (head) Munawar Hassan, speaking on television to denounce the rape-focused activism, said it was in the best interest of women rape victims to refrain from filing a police report (FIR) if they could not produce witnesses.11 Floods of international condemnation for the slow pace of justice poured in, along with accolades for Mai’s tenacity regarding the case.12 When Amnesty International invited her to speak in the US in 2005, Musharraf stopped her exit, concerned she would ‘malign Pakistan’s image’ abroad.13 By trying to take charge of the investigation and prosecution, the government thought it could control the fallout from

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bad publicity. The Prime Minister even funded a women’s crisis centre in Mai’s village. But slowly other politicians entered the fray, calling for the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court to take suo moto action to protect Mai, now that so many accused were free, and to abolish discriminatory laws.14 The Mastoi clan, it later emerged, exerted influence of its own. In 2008 (by this time an elected PPP government had replaced Musharraf’s), a senior minister told Mukhtar to drop charges against the accused, otherwise he would not ‘let’ the Supreme Court decide in her favour. He became a suspect when the electricity supply to her school and shelter was suddenly disconnected. In 2009, as the Supreme Court continued to delay its hearing, Mai married the police constable assigned to protect her, becoming his second wife. In 2011, the Supreme Court acquitted all but one of the 14 accused rapists, with a sole dissenting judgement. The only convict, Abdul Khalid, found his sentence commuted from death to life imprisonment. Activists and supporters sat stunned in the courtroom. Some media representatives clapped, another act of hostility in a trial during which Mai had to face humiliating treatment from defence counsels and judges.15 Human Rights Watch, the National Commission on the Status of Women, the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan and NGOs called the judgement a ‘re-victimisation’16 of Mai. They criticised the long delay in dispensation of justice, and the unrealistic burden of proof upon the survivor’s shoulders. They said that women’s lack of representation in a patriarchal criminal justice system had led to this disappointing outcome.17 It felt like a terrible setback to the struggle for women’s rights. If a world-famous courageous gang rape survivor could not get justice, not even acknowledgement that there were multiple rapists, then how would other survivors ever find the courage to go to court again? Bari believes the Court would have freed all the accused if the sole man who was sentenced had not admitted sexual intercourse with her. In his defence, he claimed to have had a nikah, or marriage, with Mukhtar, but was unable to provide the documentation. It later transpired that since he had already served so much time in jail during the years of the trial, he was released soon after. When the government tried to take control over the case it spelt ruin, according to Hina Jilani. She says that Musharraf and his ministers tried

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to push NGOs and advocacy groups away from helping in the case. The technical strengths of the case were weakened and the judges could not be faulted for recognising these flaws although they failed to see the government’s manipulation.18 Mai appealed against the Supreme Court decision despite her obvious distress and increased insecurity.19 Television channels aired a mixed reaction to the verdict. When Mai appeared on a show hosted by the popular Mubashir Luqman, she expressed disappointment in the judicial system. He mocked her, insinuating that Musharraf was right when he asserted that women allege rape to make money and asked if she felt any sympathy for her rapists. Mai walked out of the recording. Luqman’s insulting comments about the rape and the organisations which supported her infuriated activists. Fouzia Saeed wrote, ‘It is pretty ironic that every time there is a human rights violation, people in media ask, “Where are the NGOs? What are you doing about it?” as if it is only our responsibility to prevent all offenses. And, when we do speak up, just as every citizen should, to make this system accountable, the media claims that we are paid to besmirch the honour of our nation.’20 Mukhtar and Bari subsequently filed a defamation case against Luqman. The case that began with so much optimism, promising to be a landmark in curbing sexual violence, turned into a distressing reminder of ground realities in Pakistan. Timely investigation and medico-legal collection of evidence was almost impossible. The burden of proof remained on the victims, yet their evidence was not central to a case. Media and elected representatives were unresolved about how to respond to women who spoke out, even after years of awareness-raising. The courts still treated rape cases lightly. Extended delays meant that women waited years for a rape verdict, yet the Supreme Court was quick to take suo moto notice of countless other social ills and politically motivated cases. But in the process of fighting for justice, Mukhtar Mai became a role model and local leader in her community. She continues to run her schools, shelter and a vocational training institute, although local authorities frequently harass her and disrupt her programmes. Bari believes that although the courts have disappointed, the people of Pakistan – through their support to her cause – have given her justice.21 After seeing how much domestic and international furore a rape trial could cause, the government felt a better strategy would be to prevent

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cases making it to court in the first place. In the 2005 rape of medical doctor Shazia Khalid, allegedly by an army officer at an oil company in Baluchistan, her employers stalled the investigation and let crucial evidence be lost.22 The event was fraught with political consequences. It worsened the tension with nationalist insurgents in Baluchistan, in conflict with the state over its exploitation of provincial resources, and deepened hostility against the military for its unbridled violence towards the people. A nationalist and tribal leader, Nawab Akbar Bugti, declared his intent to avenge the attack on Shazia and his men fired rockets at the oil plant. The incident triggered a renewed military operation to quell the insurgency. The military killed Bugti in 2006, which was a turning point in the eventual demise of Musharraf’s government. Against Shazia’s will, government functionaries bundled her to London, preventing her from pursuing the case. Shazia said, ‘I became a thorn in the government’s side, and so the easiest thing was to send me and my husband abroad so that the controversy would die down and people would forget about it.’23 President Musharraf then gave an interview to the Washington Post, ‘[Rape] has become a moneymaking concern. A lot of people say if you want to go abroad and get a visa for Canada or citizenship and be a millionaire, get yourself raped.’ He added that every second person now wanted to allege rape ‘because there is so much of finances.’ He suggested that Shazia’s case was the same. ‘She is again talking all against Pakistan, against whatever we’ve done. But I know what the realities are.’24 WAF organised protests to demand Musharraf’s apology. ‘He must withdraw his remarks if he really thinks he is a liberal and a moderate,’ said one activist. A group of NGOs said his statement was a ‘sheer insult and utter humiliation of the entire nation.’ Mai added her voice, ‘Nobody does it intentionally. A large number of women are molested and insulted in the country. How many of them have made money? Such thinking about women is not good.’25 The interview generated so much domestic and international outrage that Musharraf was forced to deny his words. Activists tried to support a traumatised and terrified Shazia to push for an investigation by a special tribunal, but they believe that intelligence agencies kept up the pressure, forcing Shazia to leave behind her son when she left Pakistan.26 Later she said, ‘[These women] have

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given me support to rebuild my strength and without them I would be broken and unable to gather my thoughts or feelings.’27 Amnesty International helped her file an asylum application from London. Supported by her husband, Shazia added her voice to a growing number of rape survivors speaking out. This crime is committed against all kinds of women, uneducated and poor women as well as educated middle-class women. The perpetrators feel that women can be silenced and suppressed. But how many such women will they silence? . . . If they try to silence a woman like Mukhtaran Mai then a Dr Shazia will rise up. If they try to silence me, then many other women will raise their voice on my behalf.28 In a direct response to the rising pressure on Musharraf’s government to repeal the hudood laws and opposition from religious parties, she added her outrage: I want people to write to the Pakistan government to demand the repeal of the Hudood law. What kind of law is this? If a woman has been raped, she is supposed to produce four eye-witnesses to corroborate her story! What do they expect? Is the criminal supposed to confess to the crime and is that the only way they will investigate the crime? There should be proper investigation and collection of evidence.29 Shazia’s words resonated with those from the women’s movement, reinforcing its messages and transforming her into a role model. But the establishment’s determination to protect its own, especially the military, ensured her case never concluded. To date, the accused rapist remains free and protected. The government’s manipulation stood exposed before the public and it urgently needed to reclaim some moral high ground.30

Reforming the rape laws Activists believe it was the bad international publicity over his handling of rape cases that led Musharraf to amend the zina laws and underscore

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his progressive social views. The government sponsored the 2006 Women Protection Act (WPA) with the support of PPP, MQM and ANP, colloquially referred to as the ‘secular’ parties. He wanted to time the bill with a planned trip to the US, to bring evidence for his international backers that he was a believer in ‘enlightened moderation’ despite his controversial comments about rape. The government ensured key institutions were on board first. Critical among these was the Council of Islamic Ideology (CII), which Musharraf had staffed with qualified and progressive religious scholars. Khalid Masud, Chairman of CII, prepared an extensive report arguing for their reform from within the Islamic framework. Masud argued for taking the tazir (lesser) punishment for zina out of the hudood laws and placing it into the Pakistan Penal Code, thereby leaving only the maximum punishment (hadd) under the Islamic law. This argument helped to increase support amongst nervous politicians in the face of stringent protest against any amendments from the religious parties. The National Commission on the Status of Women, which Musharraf had established through Ordinance in 2000, also issued a review report, but recommended complete repeal of the hudood laws.31 Activists and NGOs joined in the advocacy efforts, with WAF consistently demanding their repeal.32 Shirkat Gah and Aurat Foundation both published pamphlets to share them with legislators, explaining why repeal was the best option. Shirkat Gah also prepared written explanations based on Islamic scholarship to provide sympathetic legislators with arguments they could use within their parties. The newly privatised television channels aired discussions on the question of reforming the hudood laws in the months before the bill was presented. The young and dynamic Mir Ibrahim Rahman, co-founder and CEO of Geo, the most widely viewed channel in the country, organised a campaign, ‘Zara Sochiye’ (‘Just Consider’). It posed a question to viewers, ‘The Hudood laws are presented as divine laws which cannot be touched. Do you agree?’33 For the first time, a public debate about the laws’ religious content took place before a vast audience, giving space to progressive scholars such as CII’s Javed Ahmed Ghamdi to present arguments.34 The campaign prepared the public for the possibility of amendments and educated them about alternative interpretations of Islamic law. Some commentators suspected that Musharraf himself or

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foreign donor organisations were behind the campaign, but Rahman denied the accusations.35 Musharraf’s Attorney General, Makhdoom Ali Khan, is credited with drafting the new law. He met with activists and lawyers for their input and even worked with Ghamdi on the new bill.36 During the run-up to the vote, MMA almost sabotaged the proposed amendments. Details reveal the intense political manoeuvering behind the bill’s passage.37 PPP’s Sherry Rehman led the campaign for repeal within the National Assembly, ‘They are such flawed laws and so poorly executed and drafted, that you are left with very little if mere amendment occurs.’38 Political considerations lay behind timing of the vote. Musharraf wanted to present it in the National Assembly just days before MMA was scheduled to hold a no-confidence vote (on 29 August) against Prime Minister Shaukat Aziz on charges of corruption. The ruling PML (Q) made a deal with the PPP to move the Hudood amendment bill to an all-party select committee for review, but bypassing it from the MMA, so as to have it passed before the no-confidence vote. This may have succeeded, but in the interim Musharraf made one of the worst political decisions of his tenure when security forces launched an attack on Baloch leader Nawab Akbar Bugti killing him on 26 August. MMA’s no-confidence move gained new momentum, riding on the wave of national indignation over the assassination of Bugti. Its leaders declared they would resign from all of their provincial and National Assembly seats if the government went ahead with amending the hudood laws. Shaken at the thought of the collapse of two provincial governments and the threat of early elections, PML(Q) agreed to set up an extra-parliamentary ‘ulema committee’ to invite MMA input into the bill, despite protestation from other parties, activists, the CII and NCSW that it was succumbing to blackmail. In an aside to US Embassy officials, who were concerned the amendments would be shelved, PML(Q) leaders said they hoped to split the main MMA parties (JUI-F and JI) during talks and neutralise their opposition. But after a few weeks of unsuccessful negotiations, PML(Q) concluded that MMA was toying with them and would never agree to amending the laws in any form. The government announced a tactical retreat on 18 September, admitting it failed to reach a compromise with MMA and would reintroduce the bill after the President’s US visit.

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The government suspected, correctly, that MMA would not make good their threat to resign from the assemblies. They were enjoying the perks of power too much, particularly in NWFP. They were also awaiting a long-delayed Supreme Court decision on the question of whether madrassa education could meet the educational requirements for elected representatives, which Musharraf had introduced. Musharraf had the option to signal to the Supreme Court to further delay its decision if MMA supported the WPA, or else invite a verdict sooner, leading to the potential disqualification of numerous MMA representatives from holding office.39 During the impassioned debate at the National Assembly preceding the vote, there was no doubt how the ideological battle lines were drawn. Liaquat Baloch, a Jamaat-i-Islami member of MMA, argued that the bill was not intended to protect women’s rights, but rather it was the product of western pressure and foreign-funded NGOs seeking to repeal it. Maulana Abdul Ghafoor Haideri (JUI-F) termed the bill ‘a direct assault on Allah and his Prophet’, an insult to the founding ideology of the nation, La-illah-a-il-allah (‘there is no god but Allah’), and contrary to the Qur’an and Sunnah. Even Nawaz Sharif’s PML(N) was opposed to the bill. Khwaja Saad Rafique alleged it was part of a conspiracy to stop the process of Islamisation, and that anyone who supports it ‘wants to see Pakistan become a secular state, wants to make it a godless state.’ He said if the bill was passed then consensual sexual relations would no longer be a matter of state concern.40 Sherry Rehman (PPP) refused to accept these arguments: I am sorry to say the impression is being given that women’s equal rights and equality and the women’s movement is something unIslamic, which is very unfortunate. Because I believe that this is a denial of Islam, and its spirit of tolerance. To mix religion with politics in this way is to play a political game. But in Article 25 of the Constitution it specifically says that the state shall do everything to protect its women and women shall be equal under the Constitution of Pakistan.41 The people will never know exactly what transpired behind the scenes, but in the end MMA was forced to let the WPA pass, with only some of their input taken, and give up its threat to resign from the assemblies.

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On the day it was put to vote in the National Assembly, MMA boycotted the proceedings and PML(N) abstained from voting, in a gesture to its conservative support base.42 The episode confirmed that the religious right was not insusceptible to outmanoeuvering if the government was determined to do so. The WPA amended laws pertaining to zina (adultery/ illegal sex) and qazf (false accusation). The offence of rape (zina-bil-jabr) has been moved from the Hudood Ordinance back to the Pakistan Penal Code. A complaint of rape may no longer be automatically converted into a charge of zina if there is no evidence for rape, nor the other way around.43 The offence of zina is not liable for hadd, or maximum punishment under Islamic law. Instead, tazir,44 or lesser punishment, is removed from the hudood laws back to the Pakistan Penal Code and a complaint may be lodged with a magistrate if the act was seen by two male eyewitnesses. Failure to fulfil the evidentiary requirements for zina accusations lead to qazf punishments of lashes and fine. Finally, the WPA makes a husband’s false accusation of zina grounds for a woman to seek divorce from the courts. Another, less discussed change is the new clause that implicitly acknowledges marital rape by removing from the definition of rape ‘the exception of marriage’ phrase, providing the option to recognise rape within marriage as a punishable offence. Further, if a girl below the age of 16 is married, with or without her consent, it is to be considered rape and liable to punishment.45 The WPA also remedies the contradiction of zina laws co-existing with the MFLO. It is now sufficient for a woman to believe she is validly married to avoid a charge of adultery.46 Religious parties refused to accept the WPA, declaring it un-Islamic. JI Women’s Wing leader, Samia Qazi, said that the Hudood Ordinances were devised by highly qualified ulema and beyond question, and suggested the new law was part of an American agenda. ‘This is not the act of a sovereign parliament . . . It’s a military dictatorship imposing its will on the people.’47 (On the contrary, CII had argued the laws did not come from the Qur’an and could therefore be amended.) Ultimately, WPA represented an accommodation with the religious lobby, echoing the compromise made by Ayub Khan with the MFLO many decades before. Nonetheless, the fact that the amendments were debated in parliament and in the media represented a weakening of their control over Islamic legislation and discourse. Not giving up, Samia Qazi moved a private bill to repeal the WPA, but it failed.48

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The political risk of amending the hudood laws immediately paid off for women. Before WPA was passed, 1,500 women, possibly more, were in prisons under charges of zina and about 200,000 cases were in process.49 (Another estimate is that 80 per cent of females in prison were awaiting trial on charges of zina at the time.) Five hundred women were immediately released upon passage of the law. By 2011, the number of women in prison in Pakistan fell to 300, most of whom were jailed for murder (40 per cent) or drug-related offences, instead of zina.50 Activists admit that the zina laws were effectively ‘defanged’ by the new legislation. They caution that the story is not over and full repeal is still the best way forward. Other provisions under the Hudood Ordinances, such as the offences against property and prohibition ordinances also violate human rights and remain contentious.51 Despite winning the political battle to reform the Hudood Ordinances, the government remains constrained by the existence of two parallel courts – Shariah and civil courts – and religious political parties continue to exploit the turf battle between them as they resist reform. The Federal Shariat Court (FSC), in an effort to entrench ‘its power to shape national discourse about Islam’,52 held that it was the only court which could examine laws or provisions related to hudood crimes, and moving zina into the Pakistan Penal Code and out of exclusive FSC jurisdiction violates the constitution.53 Responding quickly, activists promised – unrealistically – to launch a nationwide movement to dismantle the Zia’s parallel judicial system, arguing it undermined the constitutional jurisdiction of the High Courts and Supreme Court.54 The federal government has appealed against the FSC decision. Justice Majida Rizvi, former NCSW Chair, says the biggest benefit of WPA was that it broke the myth that hudood laws could not be touched. And while a dictator originally promulgated these laws, the reformed law was the product of a democratic process.55 Khawar Mumtaz, current NCSW Chair, says WPA contains some glaring weaknesses. It failed to revise the puberty-based definition of an adult female, which contradicts the MFLO; it still discriminates against non-Muslims whose status as witnesses is not equal to that of Muslims; and it retains the option of corporal punishments. Problems remain, since there are other legal avenues available to put women away. Two sections of the law on trafficking and prostitution are

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now used instead of zina to register false cases against both sexes,56 and there are anecdotal reports that kidnapping of women has increased as well.57 Police at Adiala Jail in Rawalpindi said the new WPA law ‘encouraged immorality’ and now women are killed because they can’t be sent to jail.58 The change in the law has not yet led to a reduction in the rate of rapes, either. Over a seven-month period in 2013, police registered 32 gang rape cases and 113 rapes in the city of Lahore alone. HRCP called upon the government to help raise a voice against this violence and end impunity for perpetrators, not simply reform laws that remain unenforced.59 Efforts to improve the law continue. In 2013, PPP senator, Syeda Sughra Imam, introduced a bill to amend the rape law with specific penalties for disclosing the identity of a victim; make rape punishable by death or life imprisonment; and require a trial to conclude within six months. Her bill passed in the Senate, but lapsed in the National Assembly. Women legislators later introduced other bills to make DNA testing mandatory in rape cases.60 CII, under its new chairman Maulana Sherani (JUI-F), proclaimed that DNA could not be used as primary evidence, only to supplement the evidence of four witnesses. He also rejected WPA and said the Hudood Ordinances were adequate to deal with the crime of rape. The HRCP and lawyers challenged his statement and CII was forced to reconsider its position.61 PPP Senator Farhatullah Babar finally moved the much-awaited Anti-Rape Bill 2016, which was unanimously approved at a joint session of parliament.62 It was intended to address lacunae in the WPA to improve conviction rates and punish failure to launch or conduct criminal investigations according to procedure. It makes the rape of a minor or disabled person punishable by death or life imprisonment, and the disclosure of identity of a victim a criminal offence. The medical examination of the accused and victim is mandatory, including DNA testing. Punishments for rape can extend from 10 to 25 years in prison, with fine, or death. Women’s groups appreciated the positive changes in the law, particularly the inclusion of DNA testing. Its implementation will prove formidable, since the city of Karachi had no DNA testing facility despite its population of over 20 million.63 Sughra Imam, on whose bill the law is based, said it should function as a deterrent. ‘Laws are

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supposed to guide better behaviour, not allow destructive behaviour to continue with impunity.’64 While reform, however piecemeal, is necessary it would be more useful to legislate for further comprehensive reforms. The new law fails to define rape and identifies it only as a crime committed by a man against a woman. Activists, specifically WAF, oppose the law’s death penalty provision, even for rape, arguing that harsh penalties do not necessarily lead to successful prosecution.

Honour killings and the law Establishing the exact rate of honour killings has always been difficult, since so much violence against women goes unreported, particularly within the family. Government figures revealed that from 1998 to 2004, over 4,000 men and women were killed, 67 per cent of them women. While a good proportion of cases were registered, half of those were ‘compromised’, i.e. settled out of court, without going to trial.65 According to data compiled from media reports, in Sindh alone, 376 cases were recorded during 2002 (134 men) and 278 (all female) in Punjab. Police reports from NWFP indicated between 1990 and the end of July 2002, at least1, 844 women were killed for honour. The perpetrators were most often brothers, husbands, fathers or sons. The courts acquitted almost all cases.66 During 2012 alone, 918 women in Pakistan were murdered in ‘honour killings’.67 As Nafisa Shah explains, British colonial administrators permitted tribal elders to retain control over customary practices, such as honour killings, and then later sanctioned them in codified law.68 Members of the same loyal elite continue to engage in the politics of mediation and settlement of honour crimes, as tribal elders, judges, administrators or legislators today. Lawmakers in the elected assemblies are known to sit on jirgas and allow murderers impunity through settlements in their constituencies, safe in the knowledge that the law of Qisas and Diyat can be used in the courts to support this practice.

High-profile honour killing cases Activists and the media together have raised and sustained public awareness about the high rate of successful and attempted honour killings, or karo kari. The reasons for honour violence include couples

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marrying or divorcing out of their own choice, and even suspected flirtations, illicit sex, blackmail or other disputes between families, all of which serves as a convenient excuse to settle scores.69 Shaista Almani married Balak Sher Meher in Sindh in 2003, triggering a feud between their tribes which continues today. Their love marriage indicated changing social trends. They were both educated; he worked in local government and she was a teacher at a local college in Sukkur district. Their match challenged tradition that a girl from a Baloch tribe cannot marry a man from a Sindhi one, but still their parents gave permission. As Shaista said when she was forced to hide in a shelter, ‘We have committed no crime, we both are adult, educated and have married. Religion and law does not stop us from marrying each other.’70 However, a jirga of elders from Shasta’s tribe announced the couple should be sentenced to death. Previous court rulings upholding a woman’s right to choose her marriage partner held no ground in this context. They fled to neighbouring Punjab province, but the police caught and returned them to face a jirga in Sindh. In an attempt to save them from murder as karo karis, some locals alerted Aurat Foundation and the HRCP, who in turn contacted WAF. Hina Jilani, on behalf of HRCP, filed a petition at the Sindh High Court demanding the police produce Shaista Almani because her life was in danger. The judge subsequently requested WAF to keep Shaista in a safe place.71 As media attention on the case mounted, the Chief Minister of Sindh, from the Meher tribe, said the couple had acted against tribal traditions and values, but he would try to get the matter resolved ‘amicably’.72 It was evident that political figures were closely involved and some of them were going to privilege the informal justice system over state laws. The Chief Minister’s brother was both district nazim73 of Ghotki, and the tribal chief (sardar). His constituency was embroiled in complex tribal power tussles that were exacerbated by the couple’s liaison. The local administration and police were serving the interests of local sardars, which is why they dragged Shaista back to face the jirga. The nazim took personal custody of her husband, pressuring him to divorce Shaista, a move that precipitated her emotional collapse and drove her into hospital in Karachi. Other political actors stepped into the fray – MQM leader Altaf Hussain threatened his party would quit the Sindh coalition government

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if Shaista was not provided with effective security.74 Baloch tribal leader and politician Nawab Akbar Bugti and other Baloch sardars all supported the Almanis, in contrast with their support for Shazia Khalid mentioned earlier. Almani tribesmen kidnapped three women as retribution and threatened to kill a Meher tribal leader if Shaista was not returned. Thus violence began that continued to threaten the relatives of the couple.75 President Musharraf called for protection for Shaista, which temporarily calmed sentiments. In March 2003, the Sindh High Court heard a habeas corpus petition jointly filed by HRCP, Aurat Foundation and WAF, which pleaded that the couple were being kept in illegal confinement. The Court declared the couple sui generis, legally competent, and free to decide their future themselves.76 The combination of activism and attention stirred up in the media saved the couple from illegal confinement by their tribes and death by jirga. The government tried to provide the couple employment and a safe place to live in Karachi. The President even ordered legal action against anyone who harassed Shaista, in an acknowledgement that she remained under constant threat.77 Eventually, the Governor of Sindh, an MQM leader, stepped in and arranged for the couple to get political asylum in Norway, where they remain. Throughout this episode the relative weakness of state institutions stood exposed. Police and local administration only upheld the law when their political leaders permitted. The Sindh High Court’s support of the couple’s right to be married and to protection from coercion was only enforceable through the personal backing of key politicians, including the President. Politicians were divided, entering the debate to suit their broader interests, thus exposing their selective commitment to criminal justice procedures. Activists successfully lobbied for protection and a fair hearing in court for the couple, but in the complex socio-political context this could not stop similar episodes from emerging over and over again. The 2003 murder of Shazia Khaskheli and her husband Hassan Solangi illustrates the same forces being played out, but ending in tragedy.78 Shazia, aged 19, was the daughter of a bank officer in Karachi. Her caste was of a higher standing than that of her neighbour’s driver, Hassan Solangi, but nevertheless she eloped with him. Khaskhelis are disciples of Pir Pagara, the spiritual and political leader of vast tracts of rural Sindh who wields enormous

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power over his followers. In the town of Sanghar, which is his stronghold, all official government appointments, including the police, are made through his peoples’ recommendations. Most disputes are resolved through his representatives by decisions taken at jirgas with selective recourse to formal justice mechanisms. Shazia’s father filed a police report accusing Hassan Solangi of abducting his daughter. Confident of their socio-political backing, his relatives threatened the Solangis with dire consequences if they did not cooperate and return her to them. A district police office in Sanghar persuaded the couple to return home. On their way to meet him, the couple were kidnapped. Hassan’s limbs and back were broken and he was sodomised, while Shazia was also beaten and blinded in one eye. A crowd gathered and the police, although aware of what was happening, did not appear on the scene. Eventually they were both shot dead. The manipulation of the police had made a mockery of any official legal protections the couple thought they enjoyed. Soon, the maternal uncle of Shazia ‘confessed’ that he had murdered her out of rage because she was already betrothed to his son. Shazia’s father was briefly arrested and a case of murder registered against three people, but the father was released after this confession. It was widely expected that the father would ‘forgive’ Shazia’s uncle for the murder, as he was allowed to do under the Qisas and Diyat law, and the matter would end there. The Chief Justice took suo moto79 notice of the case, saying, ‘It was shocking to know that a man and woman, who were married of their free will, were shot dead by a firing squad on the order of a jirga.’ The police denied to the Supreme Court in January 2004, that the murder was linked to a jirga decision, but the Chief Justice was not satisfied and another hearing was set.80 The Supreme Court was prepared to confront informal justice practices, risking the ire of political influentials. (The Chief Minister of Sindh was implicated in the jirga that condemned Shaista Almani and her husband to death.) Hassan Solangi’s family told the court that police had refused to let them file a report, although they were well aware who was responsible for the killings.81 Eventually, they managed to get a police officer to cooperate, but observers did not expect that the extremely poor family would be able to resist the pressure on them from the Khaskhelis to

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withdraw all charges. The Court ordered a re-exhumation of the bodies to determine the actual injuries caused to the dead couple. Dissent and resistance to this impunity was spreading, even within prominent Sindhi feudal families. Sassui Palejo, a woman member of the Sindh provincial assembly, said, ‘The sardars [tribal leaders] actually encourage karo kari.’82 She pointed to a political economy of these killings, whereby a jirga is motivated to meet to decide on the fate of a couple because they will take a cut of the compensation that is awarded to the aggrieved party. Since all the big sardars supported Musharraf, she feared government would do little to curb honour killings.

Strengthening the law against honour killing Eventually, public and political pressure to reform the law and prevent honour killings prevailed upon Musharraf to take the matter seriously and propose some acceptable legislative reform. In April 2000, General Musharraf launched a national human rights campaign, with a special focus on honour killings, saying, ‘Such acts do not find a place in our religion or law.’83 This was widely seen as part of his effort to reduce the country’s isolation internationally, before 9/11 turned Musharraf from a pariah to a western ally in the ‘war on terror’. The courts had begun to point the way in tackling the complexities of these murder cases. In 1999, the Supreme Court referred to the fundamental rights of an honour killing victim, declaring no one may legally or morally take the law into his own hands to take the life of anybody in the name of ‘ghairat’, or honour.84 The following year it heard another case involving a review of a sentence for honour killings. It ruled that punishment under Section 302C (rigorous or simple imprisonment, up to 25 years) would not apply with reference to the issue of grave and sudden provocation in the case of honour killings, prescribing Section 302 (b) punishments of death or life imprisonment instead. This ruling was a turning point in the judiciary’s treatment of honour killings.85 Next, the Lahore High Court made use of its broader powers under the Qisas and Diyat law to pronounce a death sentence in an honour killing case, even though a compromise had been reached between the parties. It could exercise such discretion because in Islamic law if the crime is found to have a broader disruptive impact on society

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‘fisad al-arz’ the judge may override any settlement. ‘A murder in the name of honour is not merely the physical elimination of a man or a woman. It is at a socio-political plane a blow to the concept of a free dynamic and an egalitarian society.’86 The Court further observed that honour killings were linked to ‘a certain mental outlook, and a creed’ to deprive women of their equal rights to marry or divorce, as protected by both Islam and the constitution. In their 2002 election manifestos, some political parties pledged to address the problem. The following year the Sindh Assembly prepared a draft bill and the issue was raised at the National Assembly.87 Human rights organisations proposed amendments to the penal and criminal codes, which could form the basis for a new law. The bottom line was that under the current law many categories of close relatives were exempt from Qisas (retributive punishment demanded by the victims’ heirs). Further, compromises between parties were allowed and there was no minimum penalty for murder. The proposed amendments were shared with political parties and concerned legislators in their individual capacity. Still, efforts to debate honour killings in the assemblies were met with extraordinary opposition.88 After the murder of Samia Sarwar, politicians in the Senate and assemblies, some from secular political parties, refused a lawmaker’s attempt to introduce a resolution condemning her murder, saying they would not tolerate criticism of centuries-old cultural practices. The first draft bill on honour killings emerged from a consultation between Shahla Zia of Aurat Foundation, with Justice Majida Rizvi, Hina Jilani, Iqbal Haider (PPP) and Anis Haroon. This draft law made the murders non-compoundable, i.e. not subject to settlement out of court, nor the waiver of Qisas, or blood money, to compensate for the murder. Sherry Rehman of PPP first tabled a private member bill to end honour killings based on this draft, but it was withdrawn upon causing a furore in the house. Finally, Musharraf’s government passed a bill in 2005. Women legislators from his party had worked hard, but unsuccessfully, to get amendments ending the provisions for retribution and compensation removed from honour crimes.89 However, the experience proved that women across political parties were willing to collaborate for legal reform and use support from activists to help win over men within their

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parties. The new Honour Killing Act 2004 increased the tazir imprisonment for honour killings from 14 to 25 years and declared invalid the custom of offering girls as compensation in dispute resolution.90 Still, under the new law men who kill women for honour ultimately enjoyed impunity; sentences remained limited and confusion reigned about the availability of judicial discretion and the option of death sentence by the courts. The main obstacle to removing impunity, i.e. making honour killings non-compoundable, as activists wanted, was perceived as undermining Islamic law. No government was willing to risk the political confrontation with the religious right, and even the public outcry this would likely provoke. As we saw in Chapter 2, Zia’s Qisas and Diyat law privatised the crime of murder, such that the aggrieved party, not the state, is the complainant in a legal case. Under Islamic law the victim’s heirs may forgive the accused, demand retribution, or compensation. The job of the court is to facilitate that decision rather than punish the accused. This law has led the courts to believe their job is done once a compromise is reached between parties, even though the system has failed to provide justice for victims.91 Religious parties view the Qisas and Diyat law as a bedrock of Islamising the legal system and will not entertain any efforts to amend it. Activists rejected the new law, but there was little more to be done without cross-party support from men. Just a few PPP (from the Parliamentarians group) and MQM members of the National Assembly opposed the bill. The critics of the bill, led by Aurat Foundation, argued that punishment for honour crimes must be made mandatory, the provision of waiver or compoundability had to be removed, that individuals who encourage or validate such killings (such as through jirgas) need to be equally liable to penalty under the law.92 Fed up with the political resistance to tackling the problem comprehensively, Hina Jilani said, ‘In fact there is no law. Laws that exist are not implemented, mere lip service is paid to the rights of women from official quarters, there is impunity from justice for those with influence or money and the holding of more and more tribal jirgas also indicates a breakdown of the existing legal system.’93 In 2005, the Sindh High Court declared the jirga system illegal. The implication of this move for subduing honour crimes could have been significant, but it was not effectively implemented.

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Undeterred, a national consultation of civil society organisations, including WAF and NGO coalitions met in Islamabad to start their own national campaign against honour killings and demanded the requisite effective changes in the law. They added that the state must assume full responsibility for the registration, investigation and prosecution of honour crimes and suggested that publicly elected representatives who defended these murders in assemblies should be disqualified. They dedicated the annual 16 Days of Activism against Gender Violence to women martyred (shaheed) for so-called honour.94 Aurat Foundation found that the prevalence of honour killings rose from 475 women killed in 2008 to 604 the following year; the impunity continued unchecked.95 Then the press reported another sensational set of murders – five Baloch women killed, possibly buried alive. One version of the story claimed that the dead were three teenagers, unmarried, and two older women helping them marry men they had chosen themselves, not by family decree. A brother of a provincial politician, belonging to their Umrani tribe, was involved. After the girls were shot, they were thrown into a ditch and buried. When the two remaining women, one of whom was a mother of one of the girls, protested they were allegedly buried alive.96 A woman politician from Baluchistan, Bibi Yasmin Shah, tried to raise the story for discussion in the Senate, but it met with little interest. In fact, a Baloch Senator, Mir Israr Ullah Zehri, claimed that the event represented age-old traditions and helped to stop obscenity. (He later became a Minister in the PPP Cabinet in 2008.) The Acting Chairman of the Senate suggested to Shah that she verify the story before raising it for debate. Finally, because the press refused to go away, the ruling party ordered a report on the incident to be submitted in days.97 WAF linked the Baluchistan murders with growing challenges to state writ and Taliban attacks on girls’ schools, which deny rights and narrow the spaces for women the state was obligated to protect. WAF said the elected representatives must be held accountable for the prevailing situation.98 Human rights activists demonstrated in Karachi and Shirkat Gah started a letter-writing campaign to senior political figures demanding impartial investigation into the murders and justice for the victims.99 In 2014, PPP’s Sughra Imam submitted a bill to rectify the existing law. Using data from Aurat Foundation to show that hundreds of women

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were killed each year, she argued, ‘Addressing the loopholes and lacunae in the existing laws is essential in order to prevent these crimes from being repeatedly committed.’100 Her bill proposed to make murder in the name of honour non-compoundable, i.e. not subject to settlement with the victim’s family outside of court. She submitted this bill at the same time as her proposed Anti-Rape Law 2014 in the Senate, where both were passed without much trouble. However, when they were put before the National Assembly for approval, they stalled due to opposition from the religious parties and eventually lapsed. The issue gained new momentum after two developments in 2015: an Oscar award-winning documentary by film-maker Sharmeen ObaidChinoy, and the high-profile honour killing of social media star, Qandeel Baloch. Chinoy’s film, A Girl in the River: The Price of Forgiveness, featured the true story of a young woman, Saba Qaiser, who married without her family’s approval. Her father and uncle shot her for ‘dishonouring’ them and threw her in a river to die. Unbelievably, she survived to tell the tale. Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif was forced to acknowledge Chinoy’s international accolade for her work and promised to pass a law to stop honour killings. Still, he stalled, wary of taking on the religious right.101 While activists waited, an even bigger story broke. Qandeel Baloch was a rising model and starred in fashion and videos. She gained a huge following in Pakistan in 2013 when her audition for Pakistan Idol went viral. She came from a humble background, and worked her way through odd jobs and schooling to become highly successful – enough to financially support her parents and siblings. Through her online posts, she spoke openly about the challenges and hypocrisies that women in Pakistan had to face. In the summer of 2016, she met with a mullah to discuss questions about religion and posted pictures of her meeting with him on Facebook. The religious establishment was infuriated. Mufti Abdul Qawi was suspended from the government’s Ruet-i-Hilal committee, responsible for fixing official dates of religious festivities in the country. Baloch began to receive death threats. Next, her ex-husband spoke to the press about their marriage and young child. Her real name emerged and the press discovered her family’s identity and where they lived in southern Punjab. Within a few weeks, Baloch was found dead at her parents’ home, strangled by her own brother, who said she had brought shame upon the family.

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This time, it was not just rights activists who expressed outrage at the murder – social media followers and leading talk-show hosts all joined in. For once, even conservative media voices appeared to sympathise with a woman who had so brazenly flouted gender norms. Women parliamentarians also spoke out, and Sherry Rehman echoed the thoughts of many when she wrote, ‘Qandeel Baloch was untypical in both her courage and her chosen path of irreverent resistance to the cloying misogyny that defines many shades of Pakistani gray. Her choice not to conform was itself an act of defiance against the claustrophobia of her culture.’102 Qandeel’s parents took the unusual step of filing murder charges against two of their sons, who were arrested. The police also opened an investigation into the Mufti’s possible motive for involvement. The international press began to monitor the case, bringing the government unwelcome attention from celebrities and political figures. The Prime Minister’s daughter, Maryam Nawaz, announced the government would soon table the stalled Honour Killing Bill after finalising some amendments to the draft.103 Activists held vigils around the country, television commentators continued to cover the case, and pressure was mounting for the government to control honour killings. The government became party to the case against the accused brothers, diminishing their chances of being released any time soon. The draft Honour Killing Bill came before a parliamentary committee comprising representatives from all political parties, but JUI (F) steadfastly refused to consider make honour killings noncompoundable offences.104 Activists tried in vain to follow the negotiations, but the government kept their draft secret. The bill passed, with enhanced punishment of 25 years’ imprisonment for murderers if it was determined the crime had been committed out of reasons of honour. This could be ascertained either by the culprit confessing his honour motive or the judge’s determination. Therefore, if the culprit denied a crime was one of honour, or the judge did not make an independent confirmation of the honour motive, the case would remain compoundable under the Qisas and Diyat law. 105Once again, a law against honour killing passed, but retained the same loopholes. In its reaction WAF Lahore repeated, ‘the State must resume its full responsibilities as the primary guarantor of security of person in the country which has been undermined by the introduction of the highly problematic Qisas and

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Diyat provisions. All crimes committed in the name of so-called honour, must be duly prosecuted by the State leading to convictions and sentencing so as to eliminate the impunity with which women and girls in Pakistan are daily murdered and mutilated.’106 Activists pointed out other flaws in the new law. There is no legal definition of what constitutes honour crime. It remains technically possible to kill one’s wife or sister for reasons of honour, but claim it was for another reason and get away with a settlement if the judge permits. This motivates families simply not to register a death as an honour killing at all. ‘Despite the coalitions for change on the ground, the resistance put up by powerful elites vested in rightist privilege still has anchor,’ wrote Sherry Rehman.107 Still, some women believe incremental improvement in the law is better than none at all. Nafisa Shah feels that legal reform has to continue through engaging with the religious parties, and outside advocacy efforts need to avoid excluding them, thereby setting the stage for a fight. Passing a bill involves constant compromise and negotiation with the mullahs. As long as they have a presence in parliament, she says, ‘You have to take them with you.’ The result is an honour killing law that is less than ideal but nonetheless a step forward.108 *** The media furore and pressure on government died down after the 2016 bill was passed. Qandeel’s parents still refused to withdraw the charges against their sons, despite growing pressure from their community. Their poverty deepened; WAF arranged for donations to keep their household going, and found them a pro bono lawyer. Activists asked themselves whether they could have done more to protect Qandeel. Qandeel was a lonely figure who openly defied the boundaries set by a traditional society – without any ‘sisters’ by her side. Many had never heard of her until she was murdered. The struggle to curb or control honour killings through legal reform is an important example of how difficult it is to touch any laws brought into the statute books by Islamisation. The law of Qisas and Diyat is used to murder with impunity, thereby actually increasing honour killings in recent years. Shah’s research uncovered the political economy of this violence. Today, it is ‘a cultural practice that exists within the colluding powers of the elite and the state and derives equally from law and

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custom,’ she writes.109 The criminal justice system and politicians have become implicated in this practice, too, entrenching it deeply within the social fabric of contemporary Pakistan. The breakthroughs in legislation on rape and honour killings did reveal that if government puts the right policy support measures in place and has a degree of political commitment it is possible to neutralise the opposition from the religious right to some extent. There is a new synergy between activists and women parliamentarians, who collaborate across the mainstream parties. This helps in challenging entrenched patriarchal instincts amongst male politicians to push them to support progressive law-making for women.

CHAPTER 9 WOMEN IN POLITICS AND THE PROMISE OF DEMOCRACY

The rise of religious political parties and militant extremism had a negative impact on the security of millions in Pakistan’s north-west (Chapters 6 and 7). As Taliban-sponsored violence spread further into the country it dawned on the public that perhaps Pakistan had reached a point of no return. The women’s movement struggled to develop an effective response to dealing with non-state extremism, finding itself in the position of demanding the state assert its control over a situation it had cultivated itself. Women rallied with more effect around survivors of sexual violence (Chapter 8) even when the perpetrators were protected by the state and operated with impunity, thus forcing the government to demonstrate some commitment to justice for women despite its obvious ambivalence. Women benefited from the other side of Musharraf’s double game, the one that wanted to show the world he was a moderate and progressive leader. As he tried to develop a democratic system, albeit under his control, an unprecedented number of women entered political life. This ushered in a wave of legislative reform that continued after Musharraf’s resignation in 2008. This chapter will explain how this process unfolded and argue that women’s political participation is proving to be an indispensable part of developing Pakistan into a more inclusive state and strengthening its fledgling democracy. The wave of reform gained momentum over the next few years. Musharraf resigned in the face of popular protest after the death of

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Benazir Bhutto, whose assassination the Taliban claimed in December 2007. In 2008, the PPP came to power after general elections and became the first civilian government to complete its full tenure (2008– 13) in the history of Pakistan. Subsequent successful elections in 2013 proved that smooth democratic transition is possible. Elections have diminished, but not erased, the influence of religious political parties on national affairs. In the 2008 elections, they lost NWFP to the ANP and won only a handful of seats in the National Assembly.1 This led to the break-up of the MMA coalition. Tahira Abdullah observed, ‘The people of Pakistan did not vote any religious political party into power [at the centre] ever in 68 years. So do the voting masses of Pakistan know something you and I don’t?’2 Their electoral weakness notwithstanding, the religious right tried at every stage to block efforts by legislators to make pro-women laws or liberalise the discourse on religion. The discussion below begins by introducing some of the institutional building blocks Musharraf put into place that helped to reinforce support for progressive legislation on women. It follows with a look at the positive impact of his restoration of reserved seats within legislative bodies, and gives a detailed explanation of the legal reforms that followed. It ends with a cautionary comment on how militants’ efforts to block women’s political participation at the local level are undermining their legislative gains.

Institutional reforms Musharraf did not think through the consequences of all of his policies. Thus, in attempting to demonstrate to the educated elite within the country and the outside world that his government was not anti-women and was indeed progressive in matters of religion and social policy, he made some institutional reforms that appeared counter to his patronage of the religious right. These moves became the building blocks that supported initially the momentum for legislative reform. Firstly, Musharraf set up the National Commission on the Status of Women (NCSW) in 2000. NCSW was a key recommendation of the 1997 Inquiry Commission on the Status of Women,3 and its formation was a major achievement of the women’s movement. NCSW’s role is to review government policies, programmes and laws and to assess how

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they affect the status and rights of women in view of the constitution and Pakistan’s international commitments. However, it only has advisory power and cannot block the laws or policies that it finds discriminatory. The NCSW is an outspoken voice for women’s rights within the establishment and has mostly been led by activists. The first Chairperson of NCSW, retired Justice Majida Rizvi, undertook a comprehensive review of the hudood laws and recommended they be repealed (see Chapter 8).4 Anis Haroon of Aurat Foundation became chair in 2009. (Out of a total of 18 members, some others were women’s rights activists e.g. Fouzia Saeed, Khawar Mumtaz and Nasreen Azhar, a long-standing WAF activist and member of the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan.) It is an indication of the high professional regard in which so many women activists are held, even by some of their detractors in government, that feminists Shaheen Sardar Ali, Anis Haroon and Khawar Mumtaz have chaired NCSW.5 NCSW faces resistance to the expansion of its role and effectiveness from the government bureaucracy. Anis Haroon recalls that during her tenure as Chairperson of NCSW a main obstacle to its effectiveness came from within the bureaucracy itself,6 even though it enjoyed support from Fehmida Mirza, Speaker of the National Assembly; Shahnaz Wazir Ali, Special Assistant to the Prime Minister on Social Sector; and other women politicians who backed a law to strengthen its power and independence in 2012.7 Khawar Mumtaz believes that since the 1980s the religious right has infused the bureaucracy with its ideology, so much so that today they need constant reminding that equality of citizenship is enshrined in the constitution.8 A second institution Musharraf tackled was the Council for Islamic Ideology. For the only period in recent history, he staffed it with highly qualified religious scholars. His predecessors usually appointed maulanas from religious political parties to the Council, who were ideologically driven and not as expert in Islamic jurisprudence. Under the guidance of Professor Khalid Masud, an internationally renowned scholar without political party affiliation, Musharraf’s CII prepared a review of the hudood laws.9 Musharraf wanted to encourage religious debate in support of his stand of ‘enlightened moderation’. Scholar Mohsin Naqvi recalls his time on the CII during this period, ‘We all believed Islam is not a static religion, it should address the problems of society. It is only possible

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when we believe in internal movement and dynamism of thought. For us ijtihad means looking at Islamic teaching according to the needs of society so that we can address the needs of society.’10 Third, Musharraf privatised the radio and television stations, allowing dozens of private channels for the first time, even some from India. The explosion in news and entertainment revived a public bored by decades of censored state-run media. A new cultural freedom imbued the airwaves and it seemed as if long-held barriers were coming down. Yet at the same time, news anchors were often subject to the influence of intelligence agencies and political lobbies and the politics of each channel soon became clear. Electronic media became an important vehicle for the religious right and their supporters in government to propagate their views on political and social matters. Anchors and their guests defended militants on air and uttered hate speech against women and religious minorities, without subject to effective censure. This highlighted the contradictions in Musharraf’s strategy of supporting the US-led war on terror while nurturing political forces that supported religious extremism.11 Finally, Musharraf instituted major political reforms as part of his devolution plan. He decentalised government administration and held elections, but these moves were mainly used to strengthen his own grip on power and bolster his new party’s standing in the assemblies. A key part of the reforms was the restoration and enhancement of reserved seats for women in all elected bodies. No one, even activists, could have predicted the high level of engagement and persistence in the pursuit of progressive legal reform that elected women would consistently demonstrate.

The history of women’s quota in elected bodies The contest for access to the legislative arenas was one of women activists’ first demands in a new Pakistan. In 1947, the first two women legislators in the Constituent Assembly proposed a quota of 5 per cent reserved seats for women. This led to a provision in the 1956 Constitution of ten seats in the National Assembly, but no elections were ever held under it. Under these early provisions, the reserved seats would have had a territorial basis, obliging women to seek votes from within that constituency, which would have given them valuable political experience.12

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Next, Ayub Khan’s 1962 Constitution provided six reserved seats for women through indirect elections by the Provincial and National Assemblies, a mode of election that remained in subsequent provisions.13 Bhutto’s 1973 Constitution provided 5 per cent reserved seats for women in the National and Provincial Assemblies, also through indirect elections. The mode of indirect elections did not sit well with women participants in the 1975 Pakistan Women’s Rights Committee, which contained recommendations for fuller integration of women in political party activities and offices, and raised questions about the effectiveness of women in assemblies who lacked a popular constituency.14 The 1985 Inquiry Commission on the Status of Women recommended a 20 per cent reservation, through a mode of direct election, and a mandatory 20 per cent women membership in all political parties.15 General Zia’s interest in reserved seats contrasts with the later reluctance of civilian governments to restore the provision. His broader strategy was to build a political constituency for himself, to counter the populist support enjoyed by the PPP. Zia appointed a 287-person handpicked Majlis-e-Shoora, or National Assembly, in 1981, including 20 women whose views would support his ‘mission’. In 1985, he held nonparty elections, with 20 reserved seats for women in the National Assembly. He also introduced separate electorates for religious minorities.16 In 1988, although martial law was officially lifted and political parties were revived, Zia dismissed the Assembly after differences with the Prime Minister.17 The provision for reserved seats lapsed in 1990, after the elections which first brought Benazir Bhutto to power, and its restoration became a key WAF demand. This was part of a broader campaign to bring women into politics through improving women’s voter turnout, increasing their share in tickets on general seats and developing the role of women’s wings in political parties. The campaign envisaged a quota for women at the local council level, where women could enter politics and effect change in their constituencies more directly and gain experience to enter higher levels of representation later. For 12 years there were no reserved seats for women at all, even under the new civilian-led democracies (see Table 1). WAF and NGOs, led by Aurat Foundation, lobbied untiringly with political parties, their women’s wings, and sitting governments to gain support for a 33 per

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cent reserved seats quota in all elected bodies. They encouraged political parties to understand the potential advantages of having women in legislative and local government positions. In 1993, WAF added the demand that reserved seats for women in the Senate be fixed at 20 per cent and local government should ensure women’s involvement. Next, WAF reversed an earlier suggestion that women should be allowed a double vote (for reserved seats as well as general seats candidates), instead suggesting the immediate restoration of the earlier reserved seats quota that had expired, to be followed by a revision in the Political Parties Act to mandate that they field 10 to 25 per cent women candidates. It went even further the following year, suggesting measures to ensure a 50 per cent representation of women in elected bodies.18

Table 9.1 Reserved seats provision and number of women in National Assembly 1947 –2013.19 Number of women legislators elected Assembly tenure

Legal provision

1. 1947 –54

0/30 in Constituent Assembly20 21 0/80 2. 1955 –58 3. 1962 –65 6/156 4. 1965 –69 6/156 5. 1972 13 /313 (7 East þ 6 West) 6. Mar –July 1977 10/210 7. 1985 –88 20/237 8. 1988 –90 20/237 9. 1990 –93 0/217 10. 1993 –96 0/217 11. 1997 0/217 12. 2002 –7 60/342 13. 2008 –13 14. 2013 –18

60/342 60/342

Reserved

General Total

–

2

– 6þ2 6 6/144

0 0

0 0

0

6

1 2 4 2 4 6 12

10 22 24 2 4 6 73

16 9

76 70

10 20 20 – – – 60 þ 1 non-Muslim 60 60 þ 1 non-Muslim

250 Table 9.2

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Legislative Representation of Women 2002.22

Assemblies National Assembly23 Senate24 Punjab Assembly25 Sindh Assembly NWFP Assembly Baluchistan Assembly Overall

Female members

Male members

Total members

Female percentage of total

(12 general/ minority) Total 73 (1)18 (6)73

269

342

21.3%

82 298

100 371

18% 19.7%

(4)33 (1)23

135 101

168 124

19.6% 18.5%

(1)12

53

65

18.5%

938

1170

19.8%

(25 general/ minority) Total 232

In 1997, the Inquiry Commission on the Status of Women, which included WAF members, said that a women’s quota could change the nature of politics in Pakistan. It said that reserved seats were ‘a prerequisite for effective and genuine democracy’, a necessary step towards meeting the ultimate objective of mainstreaming women in the political system.26 Still, civilian governments did not reinstate reserved seats, although they made many of the international and policy commitments linked with equality.27 In 1989, Benazir Bhutto’s government moved a bill in the Senate, but her government was dissolved before it could be presented in the National Assembly. In its manifesto for the 1993 elections, the PPP promised to restore reserved seats, although it did not during its second stint in power that decade.28 During Nawaz Sharif’s tenure (1997–9), his government rejected another PPP attempt to present a bill, even though restoration of women’s seats was a campaign promise. It was with justifiable frustration that activists watched the decline in women’s legislative representation (see Table 2) during this decade. Musharraf wanted to restore reserved seats out of a combination of compulsions. Most important, he benefited from creating an expanded

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cadre of supporters in the three tiers of elected bodies which he revived through non-party polls, as had Zia before him. Next, he was at pains to demonstrate to hostile international critics that he was not an antiwomen dictator, like Zia. Feminist scholar, Saba Khattak, suggests his openness on the issue is in part due to the essential modernist inner culture of the military, as far as women are concerned. It is therefore not opposed to women’s representation in the political arena, within its own patriarchal understanding of how they can best serve the national interest.29 (Zia represented a conservative and ultrareligious strain within the military, matched thus far by none of his successors.) The reasons military regimes restore reserved seats is also related to why civilian governments do not. The civilian governments of the 1990s were weak and concerned with avoiding military intervention. They struggled to control disparate factions and biraderi-based alliances within their own parties and were therefore reluctant to upset the balance of power through raising contentious issues. Under civilian governments the elected assemblies are considered a more effective seat of power. During military rule, local government bodies are cultivated as constituencies for support on a non-party basis. Musharraf’s restoration of reserved seats was the largest and most comprehensive such move in Pakistan’s history and nearly matched the activists’ demand.30 His Legal Framework Order (LFO) granted women 33 per cent reserved seats at all three tiers of local government (districts, tehsil and union) and 17.5 per cent in the legislative bodies (Senate, National and Provincial Assemblies). The 2000– 1 local bodies elections and 2002 general elections brought more women into the political arena than ever before, as candidates on both reserved and general seats. Twenty years of consistent advocacy finally bore fruit and women were eager to take advantage of the new opportunities.31 Table 2 shows the total participation of women in the 2002 assemblies, with the figure for those on general seats shown in parenthesis.32 Of the 73 women in the National Assembly, 60 were on seats reserved for women, 12 on general seats33 and one on a seat for non-Muslims. MMA put aside their ideological stance against women holding public office, to benefit from their increase in numbers, too.34

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The greatest gain for women was in local bodies, where almost 40,000 women entered on reserved seats in the 2000– 1 elections, held on a non-party basis. Local government involves three tiers, district, tehsil, and local council. Not only were the largest proportion (33 per cent) of reserved seats granted at the local government level, but a joint electorate of men and women voted for the women candidates. At the other levels, women were elected indirectly; that is, local council members elected the tehsil council, whose members in turn voted for the district council. NGOs stepped in enthusiastically to train women to be effective local councillors. It was an exhilarating period for activists and local communities. The infusion of women in the local bodies introduced, ‘a whole political mass of women who are aspiring to be politicians’, Farzana Bari recalls.35 Pattan worked in South Punjab and formed a local councillors women’s organisation. ASR trained women councillors to access resources they could use, understand the budget-making process, and build their confidence. Aurat Foundation also trained councillors, mobilised women voters, and evaluated the performance of elected women. It came as a shock when Musharraf abruptly decided to halve the size of union councils in 2005, just before the second round of local elections. The number of reserved seats for women fell from six to four per union council,36 shrinking their total to 24,528.37 He may have had too much of a brush with grass roots democracy for his own liking, or perhaps it was local influentials who disliked sharing their council seats with less privileged representatives, which many of the new arrivals were. Local government remained functioning until the PPP returned to power in 2008, after which this tier of democracy has unfortunately been put on hold and local bodies elections almost universally suspended. The focus of women’s role in politics thus turned to the provincial and national legislatures, as the only remaining arenas for women to be politically active.

Elected women’s performance When critics of reserved seats, sometimes women themselves, argue that inexperienced and indirectly elected legislators cannot truly effect change to benefit women, they ignore evidence to the contrary. Khawar

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Mumtaz’s study of the first 50 years of Pakistan’s assemblies reveals that women’s contributions added a significant dimension to proceedings. She found that women on reserved seats historically expressed more concern on women’s issues than those elected directly on general seats, despite the constraints of being more beholden to their fellow party representatives for their presence in assemblies.38 When Musharraf held his first elections under the reformed system, over 95 per cent of all reserved seats for women were filled. The women’s wings of political parties were involved, to varying degrees, in selecting candidates. Women elected to local bodies were mainly novices, but eager to perform and determined to find creative solutions despite the disadvantages of having less education and resources than men in their communities. The changes that some women managed to bring about are dramatic and contradict the stereotype that women councillors lack the means to effect change in their communities.39 The suspension of local bodies in 2008, post-Musharraf, was a major setback to the campaign to increase women’s political participation. Women in the provincial and national elected assemblies have also demonstrated a high degree of engagement and commitment, even though they are elected indirectly by (mostly male) representatives from their parties. Women on reserved seats have been, in fact, more active than those elected directly to general seats in raising issues.40 During the first National Assembly with restored seats (2002– 7), they attended sessions more regularly than men. Their interventions far exceeded their ratio. In fact, they moved almost half of the private member bills and a third of the resolutions.41 In the next National Assembly (2008–13) the trend continued. Women submitted individually or with male colleagues over a dozen bills on issues of governance, human rights, democracy, and political development. They contributed to almost half of the agenda, three times the proportion of their representation in the two Houses in one year.42 Their performance remains consistent despite their claims that male colleagues do not take them seriously and that they are hampered by a lack of independent financial resources. During discussions, men contest the legitimacy of their presence much of the time and women report being ignored by their Speakers. Their resolutions are rarely adopted, due to lack of support within their own political parties. In the NWFP [now KP] Assembly they are faced with overt discrimination.43

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Women on reserved seats face a frustrating lack of real political power because they are not directly elected and have no popular constituency of their own. Nafisa Shah, herself a member of the National Assembly elected through the reserved seats quota, terms them ‘lesser equals’.44 She believes that unless the reserved seat experience leads to a ticket to contest a general seat, women will not emerge from under the wing of men who dominate political parties.45 If the long-term goal of a quota is to increase the numbers of women elected on general seats there must be internal party quotas for women, especially in ‘winning constituencies’ where it is less of a risk to field a woman candidate. So far the quota in elected bodies has not encouraged an increase in women running successfully on general seats. In the 2008 and 2013 elections, no more than a dozen women were elected to the four provincial assemblies.46 This has led to some doubts about the long-term effectiveness of the quota. Rubina Saigol believes direct elections to the assemblies is ultimately a more democratic process because filling an assembly with a large proportion of reserved seats makes it less democratic in nature.47 However, for the time being reserved seats are still the best method to ensure women have some voice in the legislative process.

The Parliamentary Women’s Caucus Activists envisioned that women legislators would be more effective if they worked as caucuses across party lines. They floated the idea during discussions with party politicians during the 1990s, but it was only when the democratic system became more stable that it was put to the test. In 2008, the new National Assembly established the first Women’s Parliamentary Caucus, led by the first woman speaker of the National Assembly, PPP’s Fehmida Mirza.48 The non-partisan Caucus, on its website, refers to itself as a legacy of icons Fatima Jinnah, Raana Liaqat Ali Khan and Benazir Bhutto. It dedicates itself ‘to all women rights activists, who have remained in the forefront of women’s movement in Pakistan’.49 The Caucus, as expected, brings women together across party lines to work on legislative issues affecting them. It provides training opportunities to women parliamentarians, many of whom are political novices. One of its goals is to provide oversight on Pakistan’s international commitments to women’s rights and monitor progress on

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its development goals. Provincial Caucuses are now in place, too, as most legislative work was devolved to the provinces post-18th Amendment (see below). The Caucus’ effectiveness depends on dynamic leadership and adept handling of political constraints. Nafisa Shah, its first Secretary, recalls initially the Caucus was proactive on issues and served as an important check on male misbehaviour.50 Sherry Rehman, briefly Minister for Women’s Development, was disappointed in its handling of the Chand Bibi flogging case. She expected the Caucus to issue a strong statement condemning the violence, but instead Speaker Mirza avoided giving a condemnatory statement from the Caucus, saying that the flogging was a law and order matter and not for her comment. Rehman feels the Caucus members were more interested in attending donor-funded meetings than standing up for women’s rights in a politically charged environment.51 Others believe the Caucus has pushed through important changes, i.e. strengthening NCSW, establishing the National Human Rights Commission and backing pro-women laws.

Legislative reform Pakistan has entered a new phase of pro-women legislative reform that was initiated during Musharraf’s tenure. Before he held elections, he indicated his amenability to progressive laws for women outside the Islamic framework. His legal initiatives include establishing NCSW, amending the citizenship law for women to pass on Pakistani citizenship to their children,52 and amending the Family Courts Act to simplify divorce (khula). The new law allows for marriage, maintenance, custody and charges of violence to be settled together in one court case and within six months. Meeting a long-standing demand of health activists, he passed an ordinance to protect and promote breast-feeding. He increased the punishment for the trafficking or kidnapping of women and children in 2002 (but without addressing the problem of internal trafficking within national borders). After elections, in 2006, he promulgated an ordinance to give women accused of any crime the right of bail, barring crimes of terrorism, financial corruption and murder.53 Musharraf did not expect, when he filled the National Assembly with seats to swell the ranks of his own party, that women would take their

Figure 9.1 Nafisa Shah, Secretary, Women’s Parliamentary Caucus and Fehmida Mirza, Speaker, National Assembly of Pakistan, 2008 –13. Photo: White Star.

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responsibilities so seriously and propose so much legislation.54 In fact, the most compelling evidence for the quota’s effectiveness was that they launched the first serious legal reforms to benefit women in a generation.55 First, they laid the foundation for a ‘new wave of genderbased legislation’ by lobbying for reform in the zina, rape and honour killings laws discussed in Chapter 8.56 They moved dozens of private members’ bills, too, on issues such as equality of opportunity in employment; domestic violence; repeal or amendment of the hudood laws;57 amendment to the citizenship law; protection of inheritance rights; and economic stability of women,58 but these did not progress. Activists from WAF and the leading women’s NGOs helped women representatives to draft and lobby for these bills with political parties.59 (MMA women legislators moved bills too, e.g. to prohibit the marriage of a woman to the Qur’an, restrict dowry expenditure, effectively enforce the hudood laws, and improve women’s economic condition.) The process of legal and institutional reform gained momentum after the rupture caused by the Taliban’s assassination of Benazir Bhutto in 2007 and Musharraf’s resignation.60 PPP rode a wave of popular sympathy and came to power at the centre and in Sindh province 2008 – 13, supported with ANP provincial governments in KP and Baluchistan. NCSW and activists, with support from donor agencies, maintained their pressure to continue improving women’s legal status. Their resolve was strengthened by knowledge of the direct negative impact that bad legislation, such as the zina laws, could have on the status of women and the immediate relief afforded by making better laws. It helped that a number of WAF members or sympathisers were in key positions,61 and women from Musharraf’s party continued their efforts despite the new government.62 National Assembly Speaker Fehmida Mirza was essential to facilitating passage of these bills. Although PPP supported pro-women legislation, it did not continue Musharraf’s effort to turn CII into a moderating force for Islamic discourse. In 2008, it added 12 new members, all of whom were muftis, political appointees qualified in local madrassas. The new chairman was Muhammad Khan Sherani, leader of JUI (F) in Baluchistan, with a long record as an MNA and senator since the 1990s. The political appointees caused a great deal of ‘turbulence’ at CII, leading to the departure of the scholars along with their moderating influence.63

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This move revived CII’s old reactionary role. PPP appeared willing to concede to religious parties how Islamisation should be shaped, risking its own plans to improve women’s rights. WAF protested to President Zardari, ‘The stewardship of the CII in the hands of religio-political parties would negate any gains Pakistani society has made, and ensure that civil society groups remain enmeshed in defending status quo instead of catalyzing progressive changes.’64 When PML (N) came to power in 2013, it retained a similar composition and included JI Women’s Wing leader, Samia Qazi, as a member. As expected, CII has tried to prevent all of the laws discussed below.

18th Amendment to the Constitution A later wave of legislation for women became subject to the political dynamics within each province, since most areas of legislation were devolved to the provinces after the 18th Amendment to the Constitution. The PPP government (2008–13) decided to undo some of the damage caused by extended military regimes and began a formidable process of reviewing the constitution to address imbalances in power between the centre and provinces.65 WAF supported this process in the belief that grievances of the smaller provinces led to some of the gravest problems the state ever faced. Senator Raza Rabbani, who led the process, invited input from civil society groups, including HRCP and WAF and the National Commission on the Status of Women. WAF reiterated its demand for a secular state and suggested that all international agreements ratified by the state should be incorporated into the fundamental rights of the revised constitution; also that their implementation should remain the responsibility of the federal government. Activists insisted upon the repeal of the 8th Amendment, which protected all the orders, decisions, martial law regulations and ordinances passed during General Zia’s tenure.66 WAF suggested revisions of the 1973 Constitution clause by clause. In 2010, the 18th Amendment passed unanimously and political experts acknowledged this as an historic step towards institutionalising democracy and strengthening its hold in society.67 The President voluntarily surrendered to the Prime Minister the powers granted to him to dissolve the elected assemblies and Musharraf’s 17th Amendment to

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the Constitution was repealed. Any future suspension and holding in abeyance of the constitution became a form of high treason, which can no longer be validated by any court, including the Supreme Court and High Courts.68 Any proclamation of emergency rule has to be approved by both houses of parliament separately. Fundamental rights were enhanced to include the addition of the right to education (free and compulsory between the ages of 5 to 16); and the right to access information in all matters of public importance. In cases of arrest and detention, every citizen also now has the right to a fair trial and due process of the law. The 18th Amendment further removed any restrictions on the right of association. The changes did not undo the privileged place of religion in the constitution, as the right of freedom of speech and expression remains subject to restrictions in the interest of Islam or the security of the state. As Saigol argues, this freedom is circumscribed where contestation is actually needed ‘to move public discourse forward’; neither national security nor religion should be above the law.69 The 18th Amendment also upholds the requirement that a member of parliament be a knowledgeable and pious Muslim. Non-Muslims may not seek the office of president or prime minister, although their right to practise their religions ‘freely’70 has been restored, undoing some of Zia’s damage. However, it does not repeal the 2nd Amendment declaring Ahmadis as non-Muslims. With respect to the status of women, the 18th Amendment acknowledges Pakistan’s commitments under CEDAW. Article 25 (2) of the Constitution now states there shall be no discrimination on the basis of sex, eliminating the word ‘alone’ that followed. (Article 1 of CEDAW declares the principle of equality of women and defines discrimination as ‘any distinction, exclusion or restriction’ on the basis of sex.)71 With devolution, the Federal Ministry for Women Development handed its role to the provinces, raising questions about which department would be responsible for reporting to the UN on Pakistan’s adherence to CEDAW and how to prevent anti-women legislation in the provinces.72 This was resolved when the Federal Ministry for Human Rights became mandated to report on all of Pakistan’s international human rights commitments, including CEDAW.73 Most legislation is now primarily devolved to the provinces. Almost all federal laws affecting women apply only in

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the Islamabad Capital Territory. Provincial law-making takes longer and is subject to varying political influences. Where a provincial government is more progressive, such as in Sindh (with a PPP government since 2008), further legislation for women has been possible. In KP, laws on domestic violence and prevention of acid crimes have stalled (see below). Recent experience has shown that a minimum combination of personal political initiative, technical input, donor support and lobbying by activists has been critical to achieving progressive legislation. Even then, CII and religious parties see these efforts as an affront to the status quo and try to stall or water down proposed laws.

Domestic violence laws The political contestation over creating a law on domestic violence was generated by the challenge it posed to men’s control over the private domain by permitting intrusion of the state, although the religious parties had no anxieties about state intrusion when it came to matters of zina. Because the domestic violence law has no reference to Shariah we can also view it as exercising a secularising influence over personal laws, and perhaps for this reason a source of additional wrath from the religious right. The process of law-making on domestic violence has, therefore, stalled in those provinces where the latter enjoys more leverage. The first drafts of domestic violence legislation emerged on the scene as private members’ bills, and like most progressive laws they were not initiated by political parties. Sherry Rehman (PPP) and Mahnaz Rafi (PML-N) initially each moved private members’ bills, referred to a committee in the National Assembly in 2007. CII immediately countered that the bills violated the sanctity of home and would increase divorce rates. Sherry Rehman refuted this so-called ‘sanctity’, arguing that most violence against women takes place within the home and therefore the state needed to step in. ‘Does this mean that we should let our citizens suffer in silence because taking a stand against rights abuse could lead to separation from the person who violates the sanctity of a relationship? Surely, no association could survive in any way if it is characterised by imbalances, abuse, and unfair domination of one person over the other.’74

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Still, the initiative floundered until the 2008 elections brought the PPP to power. Together, the Ministry for Women Development, Aurat Foundation, retired Justice Nasira Javed Iqbal, and UN Women all worked on further drafts of a domestic violence law. Another draft was reviewed in the National Assembly by the Standing Committee on Women’s Development, chaired by Bushra Gohar (ANP) and including veteran politician Attiya Inayatullah (PML-Q), indicating that women legislators were unwilling to drop the matter. In 2009/10, the National Assembly approved a domestic violence bill introduced by PPP’s Yasmeen Rehman as a private members’ bill again, which revealed it was still a subject so controversial that the ruling party did not want to table the bill itself. In 2012, in a joint sitting of parliament, the law finally passed, applicable only to the capital territory of Islamabad due to the changes wrought by the 18th Amendment. Parliamentary debate was heated and carefully framed in ideological terms once again. Religious parties pleaded for the bill to be reviewed again by the Council of Islamic Ideology, which was a tactic to delay what they knew would be a vote to pass the bill led by PPP, the government in power. Maulana Fazal-urRehman, the most eloquent spokesman for religious parties, did not oppose the bill, rather he argued for a ‘middle ground’ to be reached, somewhere between the ignorant traditional/tribal practices and the other extreme exemplified by the west, ‘who is interested in ensuring that their system trumps our Islamic one’, and if Pakistan fails to adhere, then ‘we are accused of being against human rights’.75 He claimed to be an advocate for women’s rights, ‘I am also the son of a woman, I am also the father of a woman, I am the brother of a woman, there are women in my home. Do I not have a sense of their rights? These people who are speaking of women’s rights – when Ayub Khan’s Family Laws were passed here in this Assembly, history has proven how many hardships people had to face as a result.’76 He argued that the Women Protection Act led to increased honour killings of women because it was now so complicated to file charges of zina against a woman. ‘Why do you want to make society cruel to women?’ he asked fellow representatives. ‘You are adopting western culture and government and then claim that it is not against Shariah.’ The new law, as passed that day, dispenses with any cultural or religious signifiers. It applies to any woman, child or other vulnerable

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person living in a domestic relationship with the accused in a household. It defines domestic violence as ‘all acts of gender based and other physical or psychological abuse’,77 including stalking; harassment; verbal abuse; sexual abuse; trespassing into the aggrieved person’s residence or workplace without consent; negligence; wrongful confinement and economic abuse, i.e. deprivation of economic or financial resources. It is the first law to protect the aggrieved from being evicted without consent and provides a woman with maintenance if she does leave her home during the dispute.78 It is also the first law to make domestic abuse a punishable offence and provide legal and emergency relief for victims. The law served as a model for the provinces with its stated goals of adherence to CEDAW, women’s empowerment and ‘zero tolerance’ for violence.79 Sindh passed its first domestic violence bill the following year and Baluchistan passed a similar version in 2014, neither bothering to clear it with CII first. Law-making in the province of Punjab was subjected to a greater influence from religious parties because PML (N), which controlled the province, had deeper ties with them and feared potential backlash from their street power. The Punjab government prepared a bill with NGO assistance in 2015 but the draft vanished after a certain stage.80 Activists and the public had no idea what to expect when the government announced a new domestic violence bill to be presented in the provincial assembly. Hina Jilani and Farida Shaheed, along with NGOs, expressed their concern but received no response.81 The final Punjab law has pleased neither side of the ideological divide.82 It focuses on protection rather than prevention, outlining detailed post-violence procedures. Domestic violence is not considered a crime; instead, the law prescribes elaborate mechanisms to protect women who register a complaint. The new law ambitiously provides for a district protection committee staffed with women protection officers, protection centres, and monetary support for victims, and even proposes GPS trackers be placed on the defendant to protect a woman. Among the Committee’s responsibilities is the need to attempt ‘mediation and reconciliation between the parties for resolution of disputes’,83 reflecting the traditional view that domestic violence is a family’s internal matter. Despite this soft-pedalling, religious parties were still infuriated. JI convened a conference with 35 religious organisations to demand that the Punjab government retract this ‘un-Islamic’ law. They said,

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‘The controversial law to protect women was promulgated to accomplish the West’s agenda to destroy the family system in Pakistan.’84 Fazal-urRehman met with Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif to convince the Punjab government to send the law to CII for review. He said, ‘This law makes a man insecure. This law is an attempt to make Pakistan a Western colony again.’85 As expected, CII opposed the Punjab law and asked for its review in light of Article 227 of the Constitution, which requires all laws to conform with the injunctions of the Holy Qur’an and Sunnah. It, too, warned that the ‘law would play havoc with family system on which a society is based.’ It took particular exception to the powers the law gave to District Protection Officers to intervene, arguing it violated the sanctity of ‘chaddar and chardiwari’, 86 a reference to the inviolability of the private sphere in which the honour of the woman is meant to be protected. CII even suggested to the government that it prepared a draft law to counter obscenity and vulgarity in the country instead. Worried by this precedent, the KP Assembly sent their domestic violence bill to CII for approval before putting it to vote. It was rejected. CII Chairman Maulana Sherani prepared his own model women’s protection bill instead, ostensibly to give women their rights under Shariah. These were: the right to own and inherit property, marry without her guardian’s consent if she is at the age of maturity; and participate in politics. On the question of violence, his version suggested that acid attacks should be ‘investigated’; customary practices such as honour killing banned; and men be permitted to beat their wives ‘lightly’ while ‘excesses’ may be dealt with by the court. The bill proposed that all interaction between the sexes (na-mehrams) in sport and offices be prohibited, education segregated, and cultural activities such as dance and music banned. Women protested in Peshawar against CII’s rejection of the KP bill,87 joined by members of the KP Provincial Commission on the Status of Women and Provincial Women’s Caucus. They had worked on the bill . . . all to no avail. Farzana Bari called the proposed bill unconstitutional and said that CII should be shut down as it was ‘an unnecessary burden’ on the Pakistani taxpayer and bringing a bad name to Muslims throughout the world.88 But since JI is an influential member of the

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coalition government,89 the provincial bill has been successfully stalemated.

Sexual harassment laws The first anti-sexual harassment legislation sidestepped a major confrontational position with the religious right. Instead, its backers focused on building government ownership and creating effective mechanisms for its implementation. Laws against sexual harassment in the workplace were possibly less politically controversial than legislation on zina and domestic violence, but nonetheless they were groundbreaking and the process could have been stalled if not for adept handling by the coalition that pushed for the legislation. The results show that an innovative strategy, implemented within a democratic framework, could lead to significant headway in legal protection for women. AASHA (Alliance Against Sexual Harrassment) was a coalition of nine organisations90 under the leadership of Fouzia Saeed to create a platform to push for the law. Saeed had a history of activism on women’s rights and co-founded Bedari, the first NGO of its kind in Islamabad to offer psychological and other support services to women and children victims of violence. She also fought a successful case within the United Nations Development Programme against her own sexual harassment by a colleague. Using that experience, she developed a campaign to prepare a law in collaboration with government and designed a Code of Gender Justice for employers to implement.91 The AASHA strategy avoided working with mainstream women’s NGOs and WAF, and pledged not to rely too much on donor funding, which Saeed believed would limit their autonomy. AASHA argued that other pro-women laws had not been successfully implemented, partly because government ownership was low. Their approach ‘was to never fight against authorities’ or hold demonstrations. Instead, they called their campaign ‘a joint journey’ with the government, media, judiciary and the business sector.92 The AASHA strategy simultaneously engaged journalists and bureaucrats across different levels in order to build relationships with them and draw attention to the issue. This raised public awareness and built ownership within government departments to get the draft bills approved.93

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AASHA took additional steps that helped to increase their chances of success. To make the government take their efforts seriously, AASHA first convinced some private sector organisations to adopt their Code. They lobbied with the ruling PPP and key figures within each party to avoid relying on a private member bill initiated without party backing. Believing a sexual harassment law would be easier for the courts to implement with modifications to the Pakistan Penal Code (PPC), they prepared an amendment to the Code alongside the draft law.94 The first law is a 2010 amendment to the PPC defining the offence of sexual harassment and making it punishable with imprisonment up to three years and/or a fine. Its first provision refers to ‘insulting modesty’ of a woman intentionally through, word, sound, gesture, or exhibit of any object. The second provision refers to sexual advances, or the demand for sexual favours intended to annoy, insult, intimidate, or threaten a person at the workplace.95 The second bill was the comprehensive new Anti-Sexual Harassment Law for women working in a broad range of sectors, including women in markets or public places.96 It mandates each organisation to have its own inquiry committee to hear complaints of sexual harassment, and prescribes procedures. It requires government to appoint federal and provincial ombudsmen to hear complaints. The act includes the Code and details how it can be implemented. Religious conservatives and male politicians all had their say, although they did not block the laws. Religious parties proposed an amendment to the first bill requiring women to wear ‘Islamic dress code’ at the workplace to lay claim to their modesty, but mainstream parties rejected it. However, the draft was modified so to ensure it protected ‘an individual’, i.e. either a man or a woman, from sexual harassment. After the second law was passed in the National Assembly and awaited approval by the Senate, a JUI (F) Senator dissented, but could not stop its passage.97 Sherry Rehman, Minister for Women Development at the time, recalls building the support base for the bill carefully, creating a consensus first within her ministry, then with NCSW and NGOs. She lobbied with the Women’s Caucus, then won over the Chief Whip of the opposition PML (N) party to bring them on board too. Eventually, the bills passed, even without JUI (F) votes.98

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Anti-women practices The energetic spate of pro-women legislation under the PPP government (2008–13) ended with the Prevention of Anti-Women Practices Act 2011, introduced by a PML (Q) representative on reserved seats, Donya Aziz. The law criminalises customary practices such as marriage to the Qur’an and forced marriages99 to settle disputes, and makes it an offence to deprive women of their lawful inheritance. The bill stalled for three years in committees, was once rejected in the National Assembly and faced criticisms from individual men in both PPP and PML (N)100 before being passed unanimously. Aziz said it represented a sea change in the thinking of legislators and dedicated its success to the struggle of activists for women’s rights.101 However, the law lacks clarity and needs to be further improved. In March 2012, the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court was to hear petitions filed by activist Samar Minallah and Anis Haroon, Chairperson NCSW, against vanni and swara customary practices sanctioned by jirgas. The petition sought to declare jirgas as unconstitutional.102 In the wake of a jirga decision in Kohistan condemning two men and four women to death for dancing at a wedding,103 the same year WAF called for the Supreme Court to uphold the Sindh High Court verdict banning jirgas.While the Supreme Court has now declared jirgas unconstitutional, the federal government nonetheless went ahead in 2017 and passed a Rivaj Act104 allowing for jirgas and informal dispute resolution mechanisms to resolve certain disputes in consultation with the courts. Activists, including an association of women from the tribal areas, rejected this move outright, but the struggle to prevent provincial legislation to follow the federal example will be a strenuous one.

Acid crimes laws The rate of acid and burn crimes against women, numbering 150 to 200 per year, began to receive serious attention at the legislative level during this period. A brave young woman, Naila Farhat, filed a case against two men who threw acid on her when she refused the advances of one of them when aged 13. She took her case all the way to the Supreme Court.105 In 2009, Chief Justice Iftikhar Chaudhry acknowledged the spread of

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acid crimes and the efforts of Acid Survivors Foundation, an NGO advocating for victims. He ruled that the government should bear the cost of Farhat’s medical care and education and prepare effective legislation.106 In response to this opening, civil society groups started a campaign in 2010 to push for a law, based on the Bangladeshi model. They collaborated with the federal government (Ministry of Women Development and Ministry of Human Rights), UN, NCSW, parliamentarians and acid survivors themselves to put together a comprehensive bill, but it stalled within the government departments. Then three women PML (Q) parliamentarians moved a private members’ bill in the National Assembly to control the rate of acid-related crimes against women.107 To avoid further confusion with different drafts afloat, they decided to push for legislation in stages, just as in the sexual harassment law. Their private members’ bill would address the necessary amendment in the Penal Code as a first step, followed by a comprehensive legal mechanism and a complementary law to control the use of acid.108 In 2011, the first bill made it through both houses. It inserted changes into the Pakistan Penal Code to penalise ‘voluntarily causing hurt by dangerous means or substances’, requiring the offender to pay for medical treatment of the victim.109 The new law forbids the sale of poisons without licence, in an effort to curb the availability of acids often used in attacks on women.110 Acid and burn violence is a crime against the state, non-bailable and non-compoundable. The new law does not stop courts from freeing attackers with fines alone and is difficult to enforce in rural areas.111 The following year, film-maker Sharmeen Obaid-Chinoy received an Oscar for her short documentary Saving Face, featuring a survivor and a surgeon who performs free operations on acid attack victims. The huge publicity forced the government to promise action. The Acid Survivors Foundation appealed for a law to strengthen the investigation and trial process, rehabilitation and legal aid services, monitoring mechanisms and regulation of the sale of acid.112 In 2012, PPP, MQM and PML (Q) women in the National Assembly together introduced another more comprehensive bill, with detailed guidelines for investigation and witness protection, and the creation of a related crime monitoring board.113

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The bill served as a model for the provinces. But delays began to concern civil society organisations, although the conviction rate for offenders tripled after the first 2011 law was passed.114 Activists mobilised with an unprecedented momentum, engaging with the provincial alliances for Eliminating Violence Against Women, media and legislators to have the laws passed. Meanwhile, acid attacks proliferated. In KP, the Provincial Commission on the Status of Women (PCSW) pushed hard to get a provincial version of the federal law passed. A private member bill was tabled but opposed, so PCSW amended the draft and in 2014 tried to have it tabled as a government bill.115 To assist its successful passage, PCSW planned special orientation sessions for provincial assembly members, but it has nonetheless stalled.116 So, too, has a draft in Punjab. The weaknesses in the law remain, as no provinces have yet passed the comprehensive legislation. Despite these delays, in 2015 the Acid Survivors Foundation noted that for the first time there was a decrease in reported attacks, a reported 69 acid attacks against men and women, compared to 153 in 2014. Most attacks were on women (68) and almost all were reported from the cotton-growing areas of southern Punjab.117 The law’s critics say it functions best as a deterrent, but fails to address issues that feed violence and the barriers women face in accessing justice.118 This deterrent effect, though, must not be under-emphasised as it saves women’s lives.

Hindu marriage laws The unequal status of non-Muslim religious minorities in Pakistan is manifest through numerous failures to provide them with adequate legal protections. For example, in 2009 the Supreme Court took suo moto notice of the fact that Hindu couples had no mechanism for a marriage certificate and ordered the government to issue them necessary documents. This was ignored for three years until the government began to issue them a temporary certificate pending legislation. The Supreme Court persisted in the face of this stalling and in 2014 directed the federal government to enact Hindu marriage laws for the first time. Sindh, as the province with the highest Hindu population, took the lead and unanimously adopted a law in 2015 to allow Hindus to

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register their marriages. However, it does not cover inheritance, adoption, divorce or maintenance matters. After working on two different bills, the federal government finally tabled its Hindu Marriage Bill 2016 to cover the remaining provinces. The law grants widows the legal right to remarry after six months and provides conditions for divorce and child maintenance for the first time. The age at marriage for both sexes is fixed at 18 years. CII tried to insert a clause to automatically nullify a Hindu couple’s marriage if one partner converts to Islam, which many lawmakers and activists resisted due to the troubling practice of Muslim men forcing Hindu women to convert.119 Laws to allow other religious minorities the right of divorce are still pending.

Standardising the age at marriage One-fifth of Pakistani girls marry by the age of 18. The law across most of the country fixes the minimum age at marriage for boys at 18 and girls at 16, punishment for non-compliance is just one month in prison and a token fine.120 There is an urgent need to standardise the laws at age 18 for both sexes, in accordance with CEDAW. This is contentious because the introduction of Islamic legislation for sexual offences reduced the age of consent and criminal liability for girls to puberty. In 2008, two bills passed by the National Assembly to amend the law accordingly were stalled because of concerns that they were contrary to Islam. After Maulana Sherani (JUI-F) replaced Khalid Masud as Chair of CII, he declared that any new laws proposing to limit the age at marriage were un-Islamic. He said that a girl at any age can contract a nikah, legal marriage, but her rukhsati, or union with husband, should take place when she reaches puberty. He also suggested that the MFLO be amended so that a Muslim male did not have to seek permission from his existing wife to contract a second marriage. Nafisa Shah wondered why CII was more concerned about a man’s right to four wives than curbing violence against women. ‘Unfortunately Islam has been misinterpreted over a period of time by a mindset and a particular school of thought. Islam and modernism are compatible provided progressive scholars interpret the religion,’ she added.121 So far there has been strong pushback from women’s groups and international

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pressure on Pakistan to adhere to its international commitments, and CII pronouncements have been deflected. Sindh became the only province to revise the legal age at marriage to 18 for both sexes,122 with increased penalties for breaking the law. Anyone who facilitated such a marriage was also criminally liable. The law passed after extensive background work commissioned by the Sindh Ministry for Women Development, which formed a committee of activists and reproductive health experts to prepare a briefing paper. Marvi Memon, as a representative of the ruling PML (N), introduced a bill in January 2016 at the National Assembly to standardise the age at marriage. On the advice of CII, it was rejected as un-Islamic, a ‘western’ idea, violating the culture, traditions and family values of Muslims.123 Fed up with such rhetoric, civil society leaders demanded Sherani be replaced by ‘an educated, enlightened, progressive, moderate and real Islamic scholar – who lives in the twenty-first century, and who does not hate women and girls’.124

Saving the Muslim Family Laws Ordinance (again) Religious parties have relentlessly but unsuccessfully tried to roll back the 1961 MFLO, while activists attempt to improve on it. In 2009, during the period when CII was more progressive, Khalid Masud suggested to the National Assembly how to simplify the divorce law for women, but the government came under pressure from the religious parties and asked for a review from the Council instead.125 In 2014, the conservative new chairman, Maulana Sherani declared as unIslamic the MFLO requirement for a man to seek his first wife’s permission to marry a second.126 (Although the Council did say a husband was required to treat all his spouses with justice and equity.) The Supreme Court has helped to protect the MFLO against CII onslaught and it remains intact. In June 2014, the Law and Justice Commission, together with the Chief Justice, approved a proposal to add a clause to the MFLO allowing a parent who is unable to maintain himself to claim maintenance from his children. At the time, Tassaduq Hussain Jilani, who presided over the Humaira Butt case discussed in Chapter 4, was the Chief Justice.127

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Reviewing the blasphemy laws The religious right, together with a compliant vernacular media, have convinced the public that Pakistan’s blasphemy laws can be neither revised nor repealed. Women legislators nonetheless tried to address the blasphemy laws, at considerable risk to their own safety. In July 2009, Nafisa Shah, as member of the Standing Committee on Minority Affairs, requested the Prime Minister to review the blasphemy law after the Gojra incident in which a Christian community was attacked by a mob, killing eight, on allegations of blasphemy. PPP’s Governor of Punjab, Salman Taseer, spoke out for the need to review the law after a Christian woman, Aasia Bibi, was sentenced to death for blasphemy by a lower court. Taseer was assassinated by his own bodyguard.128 Fazal-ur-Rehman of JUI (F) vowed to defend the killer while activists held rallies across the country to protest.129 Some conservative lawyers appeared in court to shower the assassin with flowers and it appeared the country was dangerously polarised.130 A few weeks later, Shahbaz Bhatti, Minister for Minority Affairs, was also assassinated, possibly because he was lobbying within parliament for procedural reforms to the law. Sherry Rehman stood up against the law despite the risks, saying it was time ‘to take notice of such laws that allow impunity for such murderous bigotry, and initiate a process that dismantles the architecture of these man-made laws.’131 Rehman submitted a private member bill to propose a reduction in existing punishments for blasphemy; penalties for false accusations and promoting religious hatred that incites violence; and changes in the procedures for filing a complaint.132 Her party did not stop her, but neither would they publicly back her. Speaker Fehmida Mirza never admitted the bill on to the agenda. The mood turned ugly when a rally of 40,000 converged in Lahore to protest against Rehman’s bill. A nervous Prime Minister Gilani hastened to reassure the press that his party had no plans to touch the law. Sherry Rehman received death threats and faced legal blasphemy charges for her effort to table a bill. She refuses to flee the country and now rides in a bulletproof vehicle for her safety. The courts have shown some courage in their decisions after these events. Taseer’s killer was sentenced to death by an Anti-Terrorism Court

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in 2011, after which the judge had to go into hiding to save his life. On appeal, the Supreme Court upheld his death sentence. The verdict made the timely observation that a review of a man-made law did not constitute blasphemy. Qadri was executed in 2016, with the country on high security alert as religious organisations held protest demonstrations across the country.133 The final piece of pro-women legislation during this period was another amendment to the penal code to give women prisoners access to government funds to help with expenses related to their cases.134 In 2008, Bushra Gohar moved a private members’ bill at the National Assembly to remove the discriminatory provision in the Pakistan Citizenship Act 1951, which does not allow a Pakistani woman to pass on her citizenship to her foreign spouse, although men may do so for theirs. The bill would uphold Article 25 of the Constitution ensuring equality of rights for all citizens and the state’s commitments under CEDAW. The law has yet to be amended, which reveals legislators’ strong reluctance to give women a citizenship status equivalent to men’s. Gohar is hopeful and believes that women legislators have made an excellent collective effort. The resistance to reform comes from men who wield political power. ‘Every government has consistently compromised, skirted around or taken a weak position on women’s concerns in order to appease the religious extremist groups and parties.’135 She shares the views of most activists by saying she won’t give up until the legacy of Zia’s discriminatory laws is completely eliminated.

Denying women political rights After years of setbacks from military rule and the paucity of women’s voices in elected bodies, women are encouraged by the above gains. But success is not secured because militancy has had a corrosive effect on the status of women. Just as they deny the right of a girl to attend school, they are also trying to stop women from exercising their right to vote in conflict-affected areas. This happens in collaboration with local political actors, who either share these views or who are cowed by extremists. As such, the rights of women have become subject to question, forcing the state to explain to an intimidated public why it is that women should be allowed to study or vote at all. Unfortunately, the state has been reluctant to take the lead in protecting these rights.

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In 2000, NWFP witnessed severe protests against Musharraf’s reserved seats for women in local bodies. Religious parties thundered they would launch a resistance movement, although the Election Commission of Pakistan (ECP) warned that preventing women’s electoral participation was a punishable offence. Ulema went ahead with fatwas proclaiming the marriages of such women would be annulled and they would refuse to lead their funeral prayers. JUI (F) and JI led this campaign. They also threatened women’s organisations helping women to participate. In some provincial and tribally administered areas, religious and mainstream political parties brokered agreements with militant groups to stop women from voting, while the ECP turned a blind eye. Women candidates withdrew under threat and most women voters did not come out at all.136 During the 2008 elections, women were threatened and stopped from contesting or voting again. This time, male politicians made written and verbal agreements amongst each other, as well as with extremists, to enforce these restrictions. Women were even barred from voting in parts of Peshawar city, the capital of the province, with journalists shown a document of an accord amongst politicians claiming that women’s participation was against Pakhtoon tradition. The Taliban threatened suicide bombings across the province if women voted.137 Instead of coordinating efforts to stop this disturbing trend, mainstream politicians demurred, agreeing it was a ‘sensitive issue’.138 Hundreds of thousands of eligible women voters stayed at home. But others resisted. In the tribal area of Wana, South Waziristan, candidates brought women to the polling stations and some voted for the first time.139 Women’s organisations documented these obstacles for over a decade.140 The election watchdog PILDAT found an overall 39 per cent reduction in women voters in Pakistan from 2002 to 2007. Women had been 40 per cent of the total voters in the country in 2002 but shrank to only 30 per cent just five years later. The greatest decreases were observed in NWFP (45 per cent) and FATA (96 per cent).141 (The nationwide gender gap in voter turnout currently is 12.7 million, based on recent census figures.)142 Obstructions worsened in the 2013 elections. Extremist groups issued death threats against women to stop them from voting in byelections in Lower Dir. Both religious and mainstream political parties

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gave verbal agreements to the militants that they would block women’s vote. In May, 53,000 registered women voters were prevented from exercising their right because of an agreement reached amongst JI, ANP, PTI, JUI, and PML (N).143 Aurat Foundation representative Shabina Ayaz, Bushra Gohar (as ANP legislator), Khawar Mumtaz (as Chair of NCSW) and Tahira Abdullah filed a joint petition at the ECP. (Women from Dir filed another petition themselves.) They alleged that not a single female had cast her vote on election day; women were being forcibly disenfranchised, their rights under Article 25 of the Constitution violated. They accused JI activists of wielding sticks at polling stations to prevent women from voting. (Siraj ul-Haq, party chief, claimed women were too busy with their household duties to come on voting day.)144 ECP eventually declared the Lower Dir by-election null and void ‘on grounds of the disenfranchisement of women’ and announced fresh elections in the locality.145 The decision was praised as a victory for the women’s movement. However, JI appealed against the ECP decision in the Peshawar High Court and won. Not to be defeated, the petitioners, with Asma Jahangir as counsel, filed an appeal before the Supreme Court, which is still pending.146 They contended it could not have been a collective decision amongst so many women not to vote and invoked women’s rights to equality before the law and the state’s constitutional obligation to take measures to protect women.147 The controversy forced ECP to set up a working group with civil society organisations to reduce the gender gap in voter turnout. Sherry Rehman, with technical support from Aurat Foundation, went further and proposed a new law to declare an election void if less than 10 per cent of women cast their vote, but the draft was initially rejected as not implementable. An alternative solution was proposed to make a candidate criminally liable if he is discovered obstructing women from voting.148 Finally, parliament passed a bill in 2017 declaring polling void in a constituency if less than 10 per cent of women have voted, on the presumption that women have been restrained from casting votes.149 Another law also requires at least 5 per cent of candidates on general seats fielded by a political party to be female, although implementation is expected to be weak. With elections expected in 2018, these new developments are viewed as a sign of progress.

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For those women who have entered the political arena, the terrain is complex and remains hostile, even though their numbers have increased. Forming a Parliamentary Caucus did help to build cross-party support for progressive legislation during the last decade, but women have not been able to rely on support on gender issues from within their own parties. Most pro-women legislation has been tabled as private members’ bills, not treasury bills, allowing for the government to distance itself from a backlash. More often than not, the ruling party has watered down proposed legislation, especially during the Musharraf and Nawaz Sharif tenures, and then taken credit for passing progressive laws. Still, the mainstream parties have ended up as allies in support of some legal reform, in contrast to the religious political parties. Bushra Gohar observed, ‘There are many compromises made to get everyone on board. I never realised that even the mention of a woman on a bill would be considered taboo as it would hurt the sensitivities of some right-wing coalition partners.’150 Sherry Rehman recalls that during the last PPP government, if it was not for President Zardari’s unequivocal backing, her party would not have pushed so much legislative reform. She sees herself in a constant state of fighting elite male privilege within her own party and in parliament. Her principal and consistent allies lie amongst civil society activists who help during the drafting process, sit in the galleries during debates and lobby with representatives to support her bills, demonstrating she does not stand alone.151 It is not clear what effect political empowerment is having on women parliamentarians in religious parties. ‘As an elected representative from 2008 to 2013, JI’s Samia Qazi suggested ways to improve the reserved seats system. Yet she is opposed to direct elections for women, saying that it is neither important nor necessary for them to be directly elected and campaign door to door. However, the party will field candidates on general seats if it is made mandatory.’152 She has also called for parliament to depart from precedent and provide basic human rights to women,153 which suggests JI women plan to remain in public politics in the long-term and have become more comfortable appropriating the rights discourse when it is useful. She is currently the only woman member of the Council of Islamic Ideology. The practical reality is that men have the money. Nafisa Shah finds it disheartening, ‘There are very few women who can actually spend money

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and get elected, or who have their own resources.’154 Without their own voter constituencies, women will not be able to make a wider impact on policy because they lack the political weight. Knowing this, parties remain reluctant to grant women tickets to run on general seats even though the pool of experienced women has grown considerably. (Shah, despite being a successful nazim of Khairpur, did not receive a PPP ticket to run from her home constituency.) In the 2013 elections, a few women contested as independents, determined to run even without their party support.155 After the 2013 elections, the number of women in parliament decreased again. To encourage mainstreaming of women within political parties, Shah tabled a private members’ bill requiring parties to allocate 10 per cent of tickets to women candidates and keep a quota of 33 per cent representation within their organisational cadres. A Standing Committee approved the bill unanimously and it now requires a vote.156 Shah believes resistance is strong. ‘The most conservative part of Pakistan’s politics is actually political parties. [. . .] because they are heavily manned by males. So there is again that patriarchy.’157 Still, there are reasons to be optimistic if one takes the long view. The policy and legal advocacy work begun in the 1980s began to show results over 20 years later. Musharraf’s rule saw the beginning of breakthroughs towards legal reforms long sought by the women’s movement. Musharraf’s wish to approach Islam with an attitude of ‘enlightened moderation’ gave impetus to the painstaking process, but resistance from the religious right persists today. Nonetheless, at the right time the CII, NCSW, media and women in parliament came together to undo some of the degradation of women’s legal status over the previous decades, showing it is possible to build an effective public and political consensus to move forward on gender justice. This suggests that the building blocks towards creating a more inclusive and gender-just state do exist. The bedrock to sustain these developments in the long-term, of course, is a successful transition to a stable democratic order. Today, this includes more women participants, as representatives and voters, than at any earlier point in the country’s history. But while women are making gains, they also have to face determined resistance from political elites reluctant to expand democracy to the local level and give women opportunities as candidates. Extremists compound the problem further by seeking to deny women even the vote.

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Women’s increased political participation may be the most important gain they have made over the last 20 years, even with its challenges. Elected women have made an impact on moving progressive legislation forward, improving the quality of discussions in the house, and developing strength through a Caucus. They have raised human rights issues, supported the preservation of democracy and articulated social sector concerns neglected by their male colleagues. In so doing, they have transformed the political culture. As Sherry Rehman says, ‘We have changed the discourse on women and minorities. We continue to hold governments and political elites accountable. That is the promise of democracy – to have a responsive government.’158

CHAPTER 10 THE LONG VIEW

It has been almost 40 gruelling and turbulent years since the editors of leading newspapers refused to publish WAF statements. A generation has matured since the first story on honour killings was featured in Newsline magazine in 1993. Today, Pakistan has special laws on honour killings, but still the violence continues. Women are not of the same view about whether there is, or was, a women’s movement after all. Over these many years, women have been continuously organising, forming groups, committees and platforms to protest, but as Nazish Brohi questions, have they been able to tap into the public imagination as a movement? Hina Jilani believes there has indeed been a movement, complete with all its core ingredients – street agitation including time spent in jail – and this extended period of resistance continues. Whereas today’s activists may address a parliamentary committee, altogether a different dynamic from yesterday’s more public forms of resistance, it would be incorrect to allege that the emergence of NGOs or new forms of activisms have stopped the women’s movement. ‘All this effort is united, because all the NGOs that engage in this work have roots in WAF.’1 As democracy resurfaced in 1988, faltered, sunk and then re-emerged again, activists never let the rights of women be far from legislative or policy agendas, to the surprise and discomfort of the military regime and its apologists. The ensuing progressive legislation, which gained momentum when full democracy was restored in 2008, was the product of innovative collaboration amongst activists and women parliamentarians, demonstrating the power of representative government even with all

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its imperfections. Women have pushed for essential institutional as well as legal reform. The independent National Commission of the Status of Women has served as an essential foil to the Council of Islamic Ideology, which is constitutionally protected, although it needs to be further empowered within government to influence policy-making on women more effectively. WAF has always turned to the state in its struggle for women’s rights because the context in Pakistan has necessitated it. ‘Because look at the non-state, they’re far worse,’ says Brohi.2 Two elements combined to reinforce that dynamic. One was the brutality of non-state actors and their inability to provide a better alternative to the people, and the other was the state’s unwillingness or incapacity to re-impose its writ and restore the rights it was obliged to uphold. The state, despite its exclusionary and patriarchal biases, is still simply the most realistic partner and preferred adversary for activists. The women’s movement is also criticised for focusing excessively on legal reform when it ought to have made a greater effort to develop its grass roots support base instead. Yet in Pakistan’s case, bad laws had an immediate impact on women’s lives, as they did on the status of religious minorities as well. Criminalising zina (consensual sex outside of marriage), undervaluing the legal testimony of women, and privatising the crime of murder has increased violence against women and ruined thousands of lives. Discriminatory laws facilitated and deepened the oppression of women and they changed Pakistani society. The women’s movement has played an effective and integral role in helping women parliamentarians pass progressive legislation. ‘Musharraf didn’t amend the hudood laws out of the goodness of his heart, he did it because of pressure of public opinion,’ says Hina. ‘The public understood how unjust they were.’3 Chapters 8 and 9 have shown even fledging assemblies with inexperienced women on reserved seats and weak judiciaries can have a positive impact for women around the country. Religion has been used selectively to serve patriarchal interests and authoritarian rule. Religious scholars who favoured more progressive or inclusive interpretations have been sidelined, stigmatised or driven out of the country.4 A culture of impunity for murder and violence against women has emerged, yet we have seen when the laws are reformed they

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exert an unassailable impact. Women are no longer arrested under zina, although the ease with which they can be killed and kidnapped to settle scores remains unacceptable. The laws of Qisas and Diyat have been directly linked to an increase in general murder rates. As the blasphemy laws became harsher, more people have been victims of arrests and vigilante killings – most of them Muslim. WAF always maintained that the rights of women, along with those of religious minorities and other vulnerable citizens, would only be secure when achieved together. In this, too, WAF has proven correct. It is also apparent now that the judiciary is slowly broadening its vision in response to women’s pressure. ‘We did so many cases that we changed the mind of the whole judiciary’, says Jilani. Judges used to exonerate the accused in rape cases, blaming women for being frustrated divorcees and temptresses, but with the help of media and public pressure, they have changed their attitudes. ‘So let me say again, unless you make these partnerships, movements cannot be made’.5 Despite formidable resistance and ‘the horrible framework’, she has actually won most of her cases. This is legal activism, she explains, and much can be done even with imperfect laws. (At the moment, she is working on judges to interpret the new sexual harassment laws more favourably for women. Another example of progress she cites is the 2011 landmark transgender case heard by Supreme Court Chief Justice Iftikhar Chaudhry, whose verdict makes Pakistan one of the few Islamic countries to recognise a third gender.) Arifa Mazhar joined WAF Islamabad as a younger member. She is willing to acknowledge she has seen some success in terms of progressive legislation. But legal reform is a first step only, and activists’ discourse needs to broaden to demand adequate resource allocation and call on political will to reform institutions like the police.6 Hina Jilani observes that it takes a very long time for a law to have an impact upon social change. Still, where women have exerted pressure on formal law it was to their benefit. ‘Formal law and formal systems have been more benign and beneficial to women than non-formal laws.’7 Activists have been on the defensive since the start of the movement, charged by elite men and women too, that they do not represent the real women of Pakistan and their preoccupations amount to little more than drawing-room talk, the occasional rally and an article in the English press. As they began to work with NGOs, many of which they founded,

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the added charge was that they were accumulating wealth from western donors and their work added up to little change on the ground. When the state, usually during Nawaz Sharif’s governments, threatens laws to shut down NGOs for ‘anti-state activities’ and promotion of ‘western’ culture, there are few in the corridors of power, amongst business, military or political heavyweights who come to their defence. Yet, when pressed, they apparently know little about the research, technical support to government, service-provision in communities, or awarenessraising work these organisations have done in the service of defending the constitutional rights of women and other disenfranchised communities. Their task was made almost untenable because religion became essential to all discourse about women after Zia. It immediately pitted those women who opposed his policies against the religious right and the growing sympathisers amongst the public. Although WAF learned early on that debating women’s rights ‘on the mullah’s wicket’ was a losing cause, many activists remained ambivalent about the place of religion in women’s empowerment. As Farida Shaheed has argued, ‘we lack the social markers that the religious women have, which indicates their appropriated political territory’, and to broaden our base we need to ‘vernacularize the rights discourse’ to embed it more closely within popular traditions and idioms.8 This may be a more serious issue today than it was at the start of the movement, when the version of Islam promoted through the state and religious parties/organisations had not yet come to hold sway over the public discourse. In the early years of women’s activism, it may have been better to have asserted a rights-based discourse even more boldly and through NGOs spent more time educating communities about their rights as guaranteed by the constitution and the very state that was seeking to deprive women of those protections. But activists themselves were new to their cause and had just begun the process of engaging with the criminal justice system, government, media and then communities. They were not on a sure footing about which discourses would prove to be most effective. Public discourse has so evolved that now rights-based language has been truly marginalised by exclusionary discourse, although this was neither necessary nor natural in the immediate aftermath of Bhutto’s populist socialism of the 1970s. Zohra Yusuf, now Secretary-General of

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the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan, reflects, ‘Organizations like ours have just been fighting one battle to the next, like a news bulletin, overwhelmed by issues. Those people who believe in liberal and secular values have perhaps too much to cope with so they are dealing with those issues and not reaching out enough. They should have done it much earlier, when all the prejudices and religiosity were not so deeply engrained.’9 Shaheed is right that activists initially ‘had an unnecessary fundamental lack of confidence in engagement’10 and could certainly have pushed further. When the very first issue around which they rallied was legislation over women’s bodies in the name of Islam there was good reason to feel intimidated by the powerful rhetoric backed by a military regime. However, if WAF had managed to keep track of the complex network of Saudi and American funding backing the rise of jihadi militancy, Jamaat-i-Islami ideology and madrassas run by religious parties, then it would have done well to put these groups on the defensive about their reliance on foreign funds and unwillingness to submit their accounts to public scrutiny. Instead, activist-run NGOs were accused of just that. These NGOs are still unable to prove how limited their funds from donor agencies are when compared to the amount of ‘charity’ and state funding from Arab countries that religious organisations receive, because much of the latter’s funding has been hidden from public scrutiny. In truth, the organisations that are working on a foreign-funded agenda which is fundamentally ‘anti-state’ are those groups and political parties that have consistently undermined democratic institutions and used an exclusionary Islamic rhetoric to claim an undeserved moral authority over the people. ‘Women’s resistance and political resistance have helped to prevent Pakistan from turning into an Afghanistan despite everything that Zia tried, and efforts from sections of the elite and religious groups,’ says Jilani unequivocally. Now that the giddy limits of the political manipulation of religion are apparent in the form of the Taliban and jihadi organisations, activists are even more justified in demanding answers from politicians and intelligence agencies that support extremists or excuse their violence. It is JI and JUI, along with dozens of other groups, that have aided or excused this violence in the name of their exclusionary ideology, not human rights activists. Activists put

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their own lives in danger when they speak out against violence in the name of religion. They are exhorted to leave the country for their own safety.11 Others, like Hina Jilani, barely escaped with their lives simply for defending women’s right to divorce.12 This has not been a drawingroom movement after all. Rights activists do not bear arms, yet they have been accused of being anti-state for promoting an inclusive Pakistan. Those who should have much to answer for are the women in religious parties who justify the killing of innocent civilians in the name of their ideology, undermine women who seek justice after sexual assault and who are avowedly not committed to the democratic process. They do not support women who fight against the worst excesses of patriarchy, like Mukhtar Mai, and denounce young Malala Yousafzai for her lack of patriotism – although it was the Taliban who shot her. Yet they use their quota to fill their parties’ seats in the elected assembly, all the while disbelieving in women’s right to be there at all. The women’s movement has played an effective and integral role in helping women parliamentarians pass progressive legislation. The public understood how unjust Zia’s laws were after innumerable trials of victims. Hina maintains that Musharraf did not amend the zina laws out of the goodness of his heart; he did it with public pressure in mind built up by years of activism against the injustice they had struggled with. ‘We had faced the public, when we used to go to the courts for these women’s cases.’ All along, the women’s movement has not been out of touch with public sentiment; rather, it has represented their interests. Activists supported the foundations of democracy by working with weak and flawed institutions in order to strengthen them. They have drafted endless reports for government bodies needing information about women, prepared bills for lawmakers and they themselves have taken up government positions in order to make women’s issues heard. Now that the transition to democracy is on a surer footing, Nafisa Shah finds activists are needed more than ever on the outside to set the agenda for parliamentarians. ‘Now that I’m a member of the political party my obligations are with that political party, and on some positions we may be fighting internally but I’m not a free agent like I was as a women’s activist.’13 She says NCSW does not play that role and although it generates useful research, the real need is for politicians to feel pressure from the

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public to push the legislative agenda for women further. ‘The women’s rights movement gave us the agenda for the sexual harassment bill, they used to come [to us] every week for this law. Where is the new agenda? Bring it up.’ There is a very real danger in becoming complacent that women parliamentarians will continue the struggle. ‘Why aren’t we, including myself, saying hey, what about the 10 per cent quota? Where are the women in police? Where are the women in civil service? There’s no voice. Everybody’s sort of taken it for granted and quiet.’14 The tendency to establish or join NGOs must be understood in terms of what options were available to them at the onset of Zia’s martial law. Many WAF founders began their activism as part of the political left, which did not manage to engage women and their issues sufficiently to retain them. These same women (Chapter 3) were initially interested in pursuing academic careers, but government and violent student political groups, notably IJT, increasingly strangled campus life. Eventually, they founded the first feminist NGOs, which began as research, resource gathering and publication groups in an attempt to generate the knowledge and critical writing to fuel a growing movement (Chapter 6). These NGOs published much of the material referred to in this book, funded by donor agencies from the 1980s onwards. The irony is that western governments have been pleased to work with military regimes, while their aid agencies supported dissident voices emerging through these NGOs. The NGO sector expanded during the 1990s and women expanded their reach creatively. War Against Rape (WAR), Bedari, Aahung and Sahil were experimental in the development sector, for the first time offering support services and awareness-raising on sexual violence, sexual health and personal growth. New young professional women joined these groups, not all with a WAF background. Ambreen Ahmad, who co-founded Bedari along with Fouzia Saeed, feels that their NGOs have had a ripple effect by going out to communities and training people to take their work further. They have had a strategic effect, too, by achieving significant changes in the medical and police curriculum, training government service providers, or advocating for better laws. None of this work could have happened without donor support. It is now a well-worn mantra that NGOs can serve as ‘catalysts for change’ by modelling new ways of working in communities or advocating for reform. But there is no ignoring the underlying frustration these

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pioneers feel because of their financial dependency on outside assistance and the difficulty of gauging impact in the field. Ahmed worries that NGOs have been corrupted by money and lost their focus. ‘I ask my staff, are we a movement or are we a project?’15 She mentions the struggle that Lady Health Workers have endured campaigning for higher salaries and regularisation as government employees. ‘Why [didn’t we] join them and start making at least alliances with them? I think that’s a failure from our side.’ One solution to the tension between NGO work and being an activist is her plan to link her organisation over the next ten years with these bigger mobilisations.16 Some feel women’s NGOs spawned by WAF have become compromised by a substantial growth in funding after 2001. USAID gave Aurat Foundation a $40 million grant to promote gender equity. This included funding to civil society organisations and groups to influence policy, law and activities to improve women’s access to justice, combat violence, strengthen institutions for women, and more.17 Aurat’s funding from USAID made it one of the largest development NGOs in the country.18 USAID is a controversial donor which Shirkat Gah and ASR have refused to work with in protest against American policies. Feminist scholar, Afiya Zia, called Aurat ‘the saddest example of the collapse and ultimate compromise of the women’s movement’.19 Yet, there can be no dispute that Aurat Foundation led the campaign for the restoration of women’s reserved seats and made a major contribution to mobilising women voters and training women elected to local councils and the assemblies, all in support of the movement’s goals. Tahira Abdullah, a full-time activist, avoids castigating those who work in NGOs because the movement needs a second tier of human rights activists, even if they do not work as volunteers. Yet she admits that ultimately activism is not a nine-to-five job, and it is fraught with security risks because of current conditions in the country. In conflictaffected areas, militants view NGO workers as a threat to the social and political order, subjecting them to regular threats and attacks on their lives, thus blurring the distinction between activist and NGO employee.20 Perhaps it is time, as Arifa Mazhar suggests, for NGOs to take a back seat now from organising advocacy campaigns and let new leadership emerge from within the communities they claim to serve.21 (However, in a hostile environment, community-based groups acting on their own

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will not have the resources to cope with hostility from the state or even right-wing forces who may challenge their progressive agenda.) And with new multi-NGO networks at the national level that collaborate on issues, WAF does not need to respond to every crisis any longer. That said, there is still a gap in understanding about the trajectory the women’s movement has taken and the place of civil society organisations in furthering its goals today.

The movement today In a recent essay, Rubina Saigol questioned if there is an autonomous feminist or women’s movement in Pakistan, based on ‘a disquieting quiet in the women’s movement today.’22 The heady engagement and collective action of the 1980s ended, never peaking to that level again. WAF is often described as ‘tired’, with few new takers. It has probably just a few hundred members, hardly enough to constitute a movement based on its own members alone. The Karachi, Lahore and Islamabad chapters have much of the same core membership as they did originally and older activists are still the most committed and engaged. They look to other cities for an emerging new leadership, with the Hyderabad chapter, opened in 2008, held up as an inspiring example. Today, there is no consensus amongst activists about what constitutes a movement and whether there still is one. The essential features of a movement, suggests Saigol, are ‘a concise vision of the desired world, a clear analysis of the problem, a consciously thought-out strategy, and collective agreement over its goals and aims’.23 Certainly there are feminist activists who are challenging patriarchal norms and structures, as manifest in the state, tribal and feudal formations, and in the capitalist system, but they are working in pockets and not part of a synchronised whole. There are other women’s groups that arose separately from WAF, although none with the same nationwide presence or impact on policies. WAF developed links with Sindhiani Tehreek during the 1990s, whose women bravely tackled sexual violence and mobilised peasant women against feudalism. It could be viewed as a movement due to its thousands of members, although they only operated in certain parts of Sindh and were essentially the women’s wing of the leftist Sindhi nationalist Awami Tehreek political party.24 Sindhiani leader Mariam

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Palejo attended the WAF National Convention in Lahore in 1991. The organisation developed differences with the party leadership and has become largely inactive.25 WAF also supported women in the peaceful peasant struggle for land rights, known as Anjuman Muzareen Punjab, as did other civil society organisations.26 However, this movement faced the might of the military and has been severely suppressed by security forces. Some new urban-based feminist groups have emerged, such as ‘Girls at Dhabas’, an initiative to bring urban women into public spaces normally frequented only by men, such as teashops.27 This small group of young women, based in Karachi, refers to the Indian book about women’s exclusion from public space in Mumbai, Why Linger? as its inspiration. It holds events to advocate amongst the public for its cause, but is not involved in legal or political activism at the state level. The Feminist Collective, another small progressive new group of educated women based out of Lahore, has taken up campaigns in support of legal reform, but faces similar limitations as older activists did due to its inability to build linkages across class. WAF stands alone as a completely autonomous feminist group that has challenged the state and its policies in support of a progressive agenda since 1981. In the early years WAF referred to itself as a women’s rights organisation to include as many women as possible. Most core members today are comfortable referring to themselves as feminists. Today, the proliferation of NGOs has expanded the numbers and outreach of people working towards an agenda that overlaps in many ways with WAF’s, which perpetuates the sense that a movement is being sustained. This mode of operating includes the work of NGOs and activities of other movements in what Farida Shaheed terms ‘grey areas in a larger more fluid movement’, that contribute to the goals of a women’s movement even if they are not a part of it.28 Possibly because there is now a larger ‘grey area’ in Pakistan, engaged with women’s rights at various levels and through different types of organisations, seasoned activists can maintain that there is, indeed, still a women’s movement in Pakistan. Nasreen Azhar, senior WAF member and a human rights leader in Pakistan, believes there is an autonomous women’s movement because not only are activists responding to issues and challenges, but women themselves are willing to stand up for their rights, even though

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they may not be informed by avowedly feminist principles or political in their outlook.29 Still, feminists are concerned that there has not been a broader expansion of organisations that call themselves feminist, in terms of challenging ‘social, political and economic structures of inequality and patriarchy’.30 Those that do are subject to retaliation from the state to impede their working, as we have seen in Chapters 4 and 5. Saba Khattak argues that those NGOs which do not use the term, such as microcredit initiatives, health or poverty alleviation efforts for women, may be informed by feminist principles, but would not constitute part of a women’s movement.31 On the individual level, younger women who may call themselves feminists appear reluctant to become politically engaged in the way that WAF has been. Nighat Said Khan observes that these feminists are more concerned about freedoms with respect to their lifestyles than they are with taking political positions, which may be a global trend as well. That said, the liberalism of a Pakistani woman pushes more limits than that of a liberal man, because of the constraints on women in the name of religion and culture. During Zia’s era, liberal men had more of a problem with military rule than Islamisation and today they remain less affected by its continuing impact. When women resist these constraints, even by wearing western clothes or cycling in public places, their actions come across as radical even though they may not be self-professedly political. WAF remains the standard-bearer of feminism in Pakistan because of its self-professed political and feminist positioning. However, feminism in our context has not been able to develop beyond a fundamentally liberal framework, in terms of its relationship with the state, rightsbased agenda, and quest for a democratic order. Its goals have proven both elusive and challenging to retain if they are achieved. Nighat Said Khan has tried harder than anyone else to inculcate amongst activists, young and old, a deeper understanding of feminism and the radical challenges it poses to state and society. ASR used to run feminist workshops that became turning points in the lives of their participants, beginning in the 1990s. These residential sessions brought women together from different cultural and educational backgrounds to hear leaders of the women’s movement speak about their lives, explain the issues facing women in Pakistan and introduce them to the essentials of feminist theory. While all participants did not necessarily become

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WAF activists, this experience informed the future work in NGOs, journalism and even politics. WAF has retained its autonomy since it was founded in 1981. It still accepts no funding from donors, corporations, or any entity, functioning primarily on its nominal annual membership fee. It is still autonomous from any political organisation or party and has never allied itself with or endorsed any. While this may have limited its numbers, leading to the criticism that it lacks grass roots support, Nazish Brohi questions the premise that it was ever WAF’s responsibility to broaden its base and come to represent greater and greater groups of women. She thinks that only WAF is subject to the expectation that it must represent all the women of the country to be credible, although it has never made the claim that it does so. WAF is held to an unrealistic and unachievable standard. ‘The assumption is if you’re women why aren’t you connected for women across Pakistan?’ Women in other capacities are judged for the quality of their work, such as judges or women parliamentarians on reserved seats. ‘They are not judged as representatives of the women of Pakistan. So I don’t know why this criteria is so specific just to WAF.’32 In her experience WAF never turned its face away from other movements, such as labour unions or the Lady Health Workers when they struggled to improve their status and benefits from the government. It did reach out to younger women and never turned newcomers away from meetings. Nor has it obstructed other groups from forming. ‘I don’t think WAF should appropriate the space of a movement and say we are the women’s movement in Pakistan, but part of very many.’ Perhaps due to the absence of any new group that has a similar profile of volunteer-based feminist activism, WAF remains the focus of unrealistic expectation. The years of religious extremism, particularly the violence and ruthless methods employed by Taliban groups, have taken their toll and one effect may be that there are fewer people ready to become activists today. ‘People are pragmatic or they have their own agendas, or they want to survive as peacefully without being seen as anything,’ suggests Khawar Mumtaz. ‘There are many more supporters of the militant way of thinking. It’s now an existential threat and I think people are cautious . . . about what they can voice.’ An element of fear has entered

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the world of activism, to a higher degree than they ever experienced even during Zia’s rule. The Taliban systematically executed political activists from secular parties, such as the ANP in KP and city of Karachi, so they too have grown reluctant to speak out. ‘When your political leadership is not willing to take stands, you tend to be quiet then.’33 Benazir Bhutto’s assassination in December 2007 was the ultimate reminder of how vulnerable Pakistan’s democracy is to extremism and the courage of those who speak out against it. Rights activists are wrongly accused in the media of being godless and advocating a ‘secular’ state, taken to mean one in which Islam is somehow violated. The word ‘secular’ has wrongly been equated with atheism, itself considered blasphemous by many, thereby exposing those who advocate secularism to considerable risk.34 In 2017, Aamir Liaquat, a popular television show host, spoke about five bloggers who had mysteriously disappeared and accused them on air of blasphemy. He also added the names and photographs of other activists, accusing them of blasphemy too and putting their lives in danger. The government, in an attempt to control ‘hate speech’, quickly banned him from television, but the damage was done and the individuals named were immediately vulnerable to vigilante attacks.35 Soon after, a young student Mashal Khan studying at a university in KP was beaten to death in a mob attack by fellow students because of a rumour that he had committed blasphemy, confirming how dangerous and unpredictable the social context is today. A common feature amongst activists, within and outside NGOs, is the feeling of being overwhelmed. They spend more time ‘firefighting’ as cases come up and issues arise in rapid succession, at the expense of theorising or focusing on improving their organisations. Kausar Khan observes that the women’s movement is not like a worker’s movement, where you have mass membership to support the leadership, or the recent judicial movement, which has a specific goal to reinstate the Supreme Court Chief Justice. There is no end in sight for activists in the women’s movement. She recalls a colleague at a conference telling her, ‘Human rights people don’t retire they just drop dead.’ The task is even harder in Pakistan, says Tahira Abdullah, because we don’t even have human rights defenders, as in countries that have achieved fundamental rights. ‘We are quantum years away from even having [our rights], so we need to be activists as opposed to defenders.’36

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About-face amongst donors Western and multilateral donor agencies have changed their tactics in response to the threats of extremism and the growth of religious rhetoric in public life, to the detriment of women’s rights. First, some have taken a policy decision to fund ‘moderate’ Islam and invest in madrassas’ curriculum reform. Second, in an attempt to avoid controversy they have turned to funding NGOs which are doing ‘faithbased’ development work. As a corollary, they increasingly rely on religious justifications to counter potentially controversial activities, such as family planning, and fund religious organisations to deliver services. Nighat Said Khan lost much donor funding because she refused to modify ASR’s programmes to work with religious leaders and groups ‘to help bring about a liberated Islam’. At a meeting with Muslim women parliamentarians in the UK, Farida Shaheed requested them not to support this new approach because they were unwittingly undermining the work of activists who support women’s rights irrespective of faith. ‘And within Pakistan does this mean that those who don’t label themselves with a religion have no faith? And why the dichotomy, when many people are believers but believe in a secular state. Many are nonbelievers but use discourse which is faith based. Just because somebody calls themselves faith based does not make them the holders of the truth.’37 Afiya Zia refers to the new donor approach over the last decade as the ‘theocratization of development’, which fuses a rights-based discourse within a religious framework. By using religion as an analytic category prioritised over others, such as class, in their poverty alleviation work, donors are responding to criticism from religious groups and some political parties such as PML (N) that they promote ‘western’ or ‘secular’ values. In this effort to replace these values with culturally appropriate and religious-sanctioned discourse, rights, such as equality, are not to be demanded, instead they must be negotiated. The donors’ ‘identity crisis’, i.e. the move from a rights-based to a faith-based discourse, is fraught with contradictions. It would follow, for example, that the state should treat minorities with tolerance, instead of equality.38 Zia correctly warns that if the moral imperative of a universalist human rights approach is abandoned to give way to

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faith-based social development, ‘then anything is possible on this slippery slope’.39 This instrumental use of Islam undermines the struggle of women in Pakistan for their rights and risks rolling back the gains they have made in their fight for equality, legally, politically and socially. It does not reflect the vast accumulation of data from field-based research over the last 30 years that demonstrates communities seek health, education, sanitation and other benefits of modern development – not as Muslims (or Hindus and Christians), but as ordinary citizens in search of a better life.

Keeping the good laws The Muslim Family Laws Ordinances story has been an important lesson for women. Asma Jahangir, commenting on the ongoing history of the courts striking down sections of the law as repugnant to Islam concluded, ‘Women’s groups should not accept laws based on religion – whether they be family laws or Islamic criminal laws. It is now a foregone conclusion that a true liberal interpretation of Islam will never be widely accepted. On the other hand, the half-hearted liberalisation of Islam will be more detrimental for women. Laws which violate the rights of women must be repealed. Those which give women no rights must be reformed.’40 As hard as women have tried to save the MFLO from being repealed, they know its application is another matter altogether. Shaheen Sardar Ali and Rukhshanda Naz wrote almost 20 years ago that family laws were having limited impact because the courts applied provisions to perpetuate the status quo, ignoring more protective measures in the law. Nevertheless, they concluded that reformed laws do provide ‘fragments of hope for women’, and it was still important to save the positive laws there are in place even if they only enjoy a limited effect as tools of social engineering.41 Today the challenge for activists is to ensure that progressive laws cannot be overridden in the courts by appealing to social norms and values, or religion. (We have seen instances of this in Chapter 6, when the Lahore High Court ruled against women marrying without the consent of their parents.) Hina Jilani has experienced first-hand in the courts how judges are reluctant to use these laws and subvert them in

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practice. When she insists on their correct application, judges get exasperated, as one said, ‘Jilani, don’t quote the law at me!’42 Patriarchal values have been privileged over other norms in the application of laws. ‘Where the law gives a certain right, the institutions take it away by arguing that one has deviated from religion, where religion gives a certain right the institutions argue that one has deviated from the law.’43 This way, women’s fundamental rights can be neither granted nor exercised. For example, abducted women are recovered then sent to Darul Aman, government shelters for women, where they are virtually imprisoned again, this time under the state’s control. Now that there has been a spate of progressive laws, Asma Jahangir says the focus must be on the mechanisms of implementation. ‘I can have the best of laws but if you have the prejudiced judges what would you do? And if you have prejudiced and biased police what can you do?’44 There are no women involved currently in the selection of judges, for example. If women could question candidates themselves, she adds, they would easily figure out how gender sensitive they are. The first ever domestic violence case brought to court under the new law in Sindh came four years after the law was passed. Lawyer Sara Malkani discovered that the judicial magistrate before whom it was being tried was unfamiliar with the law when he received the petition. The law mandates for protection officers to be deployed to facilitate legal aid and medical assistance for the domestic violence survivor, but none is in place yet and the police are unwilling to offer her protection from the alleged abuser.45 Clearly, it will take time and sustained investment in the training of relevant people in the criminal justice system to make a success of the law.

Social change and de-secularisation Zia’s social engineering project has succeeded well and the desecularisation of Pakistani society has been transformative insofar as it has perpetrated a narrow and exclusionary version of Islam upon a people whose religious practices were diverse and syncretic. There is no need to look as far as the destruction of girls’ schools or the Taliban to assess how effectively minds have closed. For example, the All Pakistan Private School’s Federation banned its schools from purchasing Malala Yousafzai’s autobiography I am Malala in 2014, and this after she won

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the Nobel Peace Prize. Its President declared the book contained antiPakistan and anti-Islam material because the author held some views pertaining to Salman Rushdie’s work and freedom of expression.46 Meanwhile, the original ideologues of the ‘ideology of Pakistan’ continue with their work and take care of obstacles in their path. JI’s student wing organised a multiparty conference on the educational curriculum in 2015 to resist the new-found flexibility amongst the provinces after devolution granted by the 18th Amendment to the Constitution allowed them to review their own educational systems. JI’s Sindh leader reviled his own provincial government’s attempts to revise its textbooks and remove certain mandatory religious lessons. One member of the curriculum review committee, Dr Bernadette Dean, was accused of attempting to single-handedly make the curriculum secular, thereby casting her as an enemy of Islam. She received death threats and was forced to flee the country.47 In Khyber Pakhtoonkhwa, although it won only 8 out of 124 seats in the provincial assembly after the 2013 elections, JI has reversed curriculum changes by the previous ANP government to remove illustrations of little girls wearing skirts and reintroduce references to jihad.48 Looking to universities to lead education sector reform will also not be the answer, since they operate under political and human capacity constraints themselves. A directive from the Higher Education Commission of Pakistan, ‘Adherence to Ideology and the Principles of Pakistan’, disallows campus activities that defy ideological standards because they lead to ‘negativism and chaos’ and tarnish the image of the institutions.49 There are not enough critical thinkers in Pakistan, either, who may plunge head-on into challenging and reshaping the dominant state discourse. Out of 736 doctoral degrees in the whole country completed in 2012 (184 of which by women), only 128 were in the social sciences and 49 in the Arts and Humanities.50 Any serious education reform would have to take into account the contradiction between national policy and Article 22(1) of the Constitution, which states that no student can be forced to participate in religious instruction or ceremonies if they relate to a religion other than his own. Implementation of this provision would mean that children are no longer forced to memorise holy verses in primary school, and all textbooks, regardless of subject, need not include Islamic teachings.51 Nayyar and Hoodhboy’s 1985 predictions that the

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fundamentalist revision of the curriculum would lead to an an increase in religious violence has proven correct; without educational reform, incidents will certainly not decline for another generation. After 9/11, the madrassa system came under close international scrutiny and each government has attempted unsuccessfully to reform it. General Musharraf took action against some militant groups and shut down their madrassas. But when the arrested leaders of Lashkar-eJhangvi and Sipah-e-Sahaba were released and students returned to the madrassas it was evident he would not go far enough.52 He set up a costly reform project to introduce secular subjects and teacher training to 8,000 registered madrassas, but it was never completed.53 He tried to draft a law to make madrassa registration mandatory, prohibit the teaching of militancy, forbid foreign funding and restrict the entry of foreign students. National associations of madrassas objected and the law was soon forgotten. Next, he tried to enhance their financial reporting obligations, but madrassa lobbyists succeeded in watering them down.54 Subsequent governments attempted similar reforms with equally dismal results. Traditionally, madrassas were institutions for boys alone, but in the 1970s girls’ madrassas began to appear in Pakistan and the number has mushroomed in recent years. Today, at least 236,000 girls are studying at 2,000 madrassas across the country.55 Masooda Bano’s research shows that religious leaders took the decision to start opening madrassas to girls because the opportunity to study should no longer be denied to ‘religious families’ reluctant to send their girls to secular school. They said that there was a need to protect girls from liberal western values spreading in modern Pakistani society.56 The response has been dramatic because the leaders read the demand correctly, and there are direct material gains to be had from even a limited education. Girls with madrassa degrees enjoy a new-found respect within their communities and find they can earn an income through becoming Qur’anic teachers themselves and even opening madrassas in their villages. Communities are expressing a preference for religious education that preserves family and traditional values, in response to the media’s negative foreign influences, social change triggered by mainstream education, and increased mingling of the sexes in the public sphere. The latter exposes girls to risks of violence and romantic liaisons that damage their eligibility for arranged marriages.

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While the mainstream schooling system does not guarantee employment, madrassa education opens up very real income-generating opportunities in a society that resists secularising influences. Meanwhile, the spread of extremism through madrassas continues. The most notorious girls madrassa is Jamia Hafsa, attached to Lal Masjid, whose students terrorised residents of Islamabad and took on the state to demand Shariah in 2007 (Chapter 6). In southern Punjab now, extremist organisations have started to sponsor new girls’ madrassas in villages and place their own imams in local mosques to spread their ideology of exclusionary Islam.57 The Al-Huda phenomenon is well documented; it is a madrassa on a more sophisticated level for middle- and upper-income women, started in 1994 by religious scholar Farhat Hashmi to encourage women to engage directly with Islamic scripture. Her father was a member of Jamaat-i-Islami and in her youth she herself served as head of the student wing Jamiat-i-Tulaba in Sargodha, although she distanced herself from them later.58 The Al-Huda International Welfare Foundation began as an affiliate of the International Islamic University in Malaysia. It has grown into a network of schools throughout Pakistan, with thousands of female students of all ages attending its courses full or part-time. AlHuda has been accused of links with extremist organisations and is believed to receive funding from Saudi Arabia, but these counts are difficult to prove. Hashmi teaches a traditional and proscribed view of women’s role in family and society at her academies, not dissimilar to what Islamist groups espouse and strongly influenced by Maulana Maududi.59 Scholar Anita Weiss argues that the rigid interpretation of women’s rights and role in society exemplified by orthodox religious groups, political parties that formed MMA, and Al-Huda itself, have reinforced the ‘culture wars that have been ripping Pakistan’s social fabric asunder for some time’.60 After so many years of exclusionary harsh rhetoric, Khawar Mumtaz remains optimistic that there is a hunger for an alternative discourse amongst the younger generation. She says, ‘We need to go back to the principle of justice. As it is lived on the ground, where people are being exploited unjustly, and let’s talk about equal citizenship. People are more willing to talk about that.’61 Tensions within families are growing, as younger people challenge older notions, which poses an opportunity for progressive activists to help young people work though their problems.

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However, it is increasingly apparent that groups with progressive views are losing adherents while organisations such as Al-Huda have made vast inroads into educated segments of contemporary society. The turn to religious rhetoric and increasing conservatism in urban Pakistan is nevertheless only one aspect of contemporary social change. NGO work has facilitated the access of urban-based activists into rural communities, where they have found women’s sense of identity is bound (to varying degrees) with religion, but mediated with multiple other sources of identity such as caste, class, language and ethnicity. These are important determinants of access to services and entitlements, sources of conflict and contestation, and are highly politicised. Women’s experience of Islam is rich and varied, its expression and articulation defies generalisation or over-simplification. One of the main goals of fundamentalism in Pakistan is to gloss over forms of diversity, and impose a monolithic and single variant of Islam upon the population. As JI posters to protest against holding cultural festivals declare, ‘Islam is our culture.’ But perhaps there are some changes underway that may be difficult to reverse in their own right. Asma Jahangir cites a recent event to celebrate International Human Rights Day. A senior member of the Bar said, ‘I see the world like a globe and the women holding it up like that. Maybe because my mother is a strong woman, my wife and sisters, but I think the women are there to hold this up.’ Then another, from Jamaat-e Islami, said, ‘I have three daughters. I wouldn’t have ever imagined that I would allow them, but all three of them are training to be lawyers and I have encouraged them.’62 Jahangir, after she was almost banned years ago, became the first woman President of the Supreme Court Bar Association in 2010.

Secularism today WAF has maintained its secular stand in resistance to the gathering forces that seek to exclude and de-legitimise progressive voices. Fifteen years after it first declared its position, at another national convention WAF ‘reiterated its stand in favour of a secular state and inter-faith harmony, and against all moves towards theocratic rule, and its belief in a democratic, pluralistic, multi-ethnic, multi-cultural, tolerant and peaceful society.’63 Global events also required WAF to articulate its

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politics clearly, which it did by stating its support for peace with India, decrease in military expenditure and denuclearisation. In a response to the aggressive US posture towards Pakistan after 9/11, WAF said it ‘continues to work against the super powers’ interference in Pakistan’s internal and regional affairs, the impunity with which Pakistan’s sovereignty and territory continue to be attacked, the government’s misplaced politico-economic alliances and its acceptance of unfair terms of trade under the WTO imposed globalization.’ Activists will agree that the space for being secular today has shrunk radically. WAF Lahore noticed after the assassination of Salman Taseer the number who held their conviction had shrunk radically. Even people within formerly liberal social circles seemed intent on finding some way to condone his murder. This marks a scarier juncture than any they have been through before, says Lala Rukh. ‘While under Zia activists were opposing the state, now it appears that the state no longer controls our lives because our own neighbors and friends are doing so.’64 Even within their NGOs, activists feel it is a struggle to explain the concepts of feminism and secularism to their staff to make it clear why, for example, they do not begin their public meetings with a Qur’anic recitation, a practice that became the norm after Zia made it a requirement at all government meetings. As Shaheed says, the practice totally discounts the presence of non-Muslims at meetings. She tells her staff either there should be a starting prayer for every religion represented at gatherings, or else the practice should be avoided altogether.65 In the current environment WAF has had to be vigilant to maintain its position and refuse to strategically use Islam to justify its demands. Activists feel a constant tension between using an idiom that resonates with the people, and the sense that relying on religious discourse is not critical after all. Nighat Said Khan believes through ASR she was able to mobilise more women around issues by sticking to arguments based on class, economics and women’s rights, than Shirkat Gah, which has argued that women can best be mobilised through the use of cultural or religious discourse, albeit a progressive one.66 Arifa Mazhar, one of the younger members of WAF, argues that activists cannot ignore religion. Her perspective may be borne out of her experience with Pakistani society effectively de-secularised since Zia. She believes if one works in communities where religious leaders exercise

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influence over people’s daily lives, ‘such as if you’ll sit in this or that particular position you’ll sin, or if you drink water in a particular way you’ll be virtuous’, then using the human rights framework will not be effective.67 She cites the case of five girls in a village in Kohistan, killed by the Taliban after a cousin filmed them clapping along to music at a family wedding. ‘Violence against women has a very close link with religious extremism,’ she says, and religion is being used as a tool to justify coercive control. The case, filed by activists and the NCSW, led to the court demanding the defendants produce the five girls to prove that they had not been murdered. The family objected, citing that the girls were alive, but it violated their culture and religion to bring them to court. The judge responded that since the court itself was ‘close to God’, the girls should be produced, thereby rendering almost inapplicable the secular discourse of the law. Underscoring how problematic the recourse to religion and culture can be to achieve women’s rights, Mazhar concludes, ‘I am a true believer in secularism. There shouldn’t be any involvement of religion in the work of the state; both should be separated. If this would have been the case then I think we wouldn’t have faced such issues.’ This begs the question how a reformed discourse on religion can be effective when it is the ongoing manipulation of this discourse that serves patriarchal goals. While these disagreements and some confusion persist, WAF members know there are limits to how effective secularism can be in awakening a response in people. Rubina Saigol and Nighat Said Khan wrote, in Up Against the State, ‘There is no denying, though, Islam strikes a chord with the people.’ Most activists are also believing Muslims, and secular rhetoric runs the risk of being alienating. ‘When answering the word of God, secular arguments are not merely ineffective; to the believer they are non-arguments.’ They question how the Universal Declaration of Human Rights can be made to resonate to a believer.68 Perhaps in an effort to do just that, there is a growing body of scholars who do not see the discourse of human rights as incompatible with Islam and have published detailed demonstrations to prove it.69

Democracy and the religious right Activists agree on the inextricability of secularism and democracy. One cannot succeed without the other to create an inclusive polity.

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The challenge for a transitional democracy like Pakistan’s lies, in great part, in how to incorporate religious political parties into its democratic fold. Nafisa Shah believes it is imperative, and possible, to work with religious parties in the assemblies to win their support on progressive legislation. One example is the unanimous parliamentary support for the 2010 Sexual Harassment Bill (Chapter 9). There is also some common ground between JI and WAF on personal laws, such as opposition to second marriages and honour killings, but the modalities of working out common positions is tricky, as Khawar Mumtaz has found from her experience in NCSW. Interestingly, despite their ideological protestations that democracy is a western and un-Islamic form of government, JI has an internal democratic order (albeit segregated) within its own party. Its women legislators on reserved seats are active and engaged, and show no sign of wanting to retreat from public life. JI is a modern political party that is ideologically opportunistic. While JI women representatives must vote in the assemblies according to their party line, if the Women’s Caucus grows more successful in uniting women across party divides, perhaps they will exert a restraining influence on some of the more retrogressive views of their male leaders. Democracy allows for effective strategies to evolve to neutralise the disproportionate political influence of the religious right. One of these is to support and strengthen the mainstream parties, argues Shah, which do not share their agenda. Yet even these parties are reluctant to challenge more controversial laws, as we saw in the case of proposed reforms to the blasphemy legislation (Chapter 9). What is missing today is a strong left to counterbalance the influence of the religious right, but that movement was systematically destroyed through the state’s antipathy after Pakistan’s independence and Zia’s rule.70 Farzana Bari thinks the long-term success of feminism is nonetheless tied with a resurgence of leftist politics. She has joined the new Awami Worker’s Party, the product of five communist socialist parties merging together in 2012. She says it is the only left party in which gender, along with class, is central to their thinking. ‘We feel we can bring change through political processes and then make the state more secular and established in terms of socialist principles.’71 The idea that leftist politics could be invigorated in Pakistan through centralising the issues of gender is a powerful one. A stronger left in politics would also address activists’

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over-reliance on the human rights discourse, which lacks a populist resonance. With Masud at the CII there was a brief interregnum of possibility that Islam would no longer be used by the state as a means to negatively control women and minorities, but that moment has passed. Former fellow Council member, Javed Ghamdi, fled Pakistan in 2010 due to Taliban death threats because of his views against the country’s blasphemy and other Islamic laws; Mohsin Naqvi remains under death threat, too, for his efforts to promote Shia-Sunni tolerance within the country. After the Taliban massacre of schoolchildren in Peshawar in 2014, the army dramatically reframed the narrative to prepare the public for its military operation against Taliban insurgents in FATA. Suddenly a television advertisement, with a moving song showing children bravely facing up to terrorists, appeared repeatedly on the major channels as part of army propaganda designed to build support for its operation. The establishment ‘manufactured consent’ for the first time to counter extremism, which the state never bothered to do even during the worst Taliban excesses in Swat.72

The disjuncture with western academic scholarship There is a growing body of literature by Pakistani women scholars, mainly based in the west, which demands attention, although only a few activists engage with it.73 This work seeks to understand the subjectivities of pious women belonging to religious groups (e.g. AlHuda), or political parties (Jamaat-i-Islami) and militant groups (e.g. Jamaat-ud-Dawa). They explore whether it is possible to recuperate, or re-examine, the feminist possibilities of women who join these groups and experience a personal empowerment through their engagement with Islam and critique the relevance of western secular political ideals in the context of Muslim countries. Women in JI, for example, are the subject of some of this academic interest for the competing vision of a pious yet empowered women that scholars juxtapose against their view of Pakistani rights activists, who they believe exemplify a western secular model of feminism. The five priorities for JI women are empowerment, education, health, justice (Shariah) and social rights granted by Islam. JI women are very engaged

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with the party’s own social welfare NGO, Al-Khidmat, that provides education and skills training for women, funds dowries and supports widows and orphans. Weiss writes that they are uncomfortable with ideas challenging segregation of the sexes and limits to women’s activities. They reject the ideas espoused by western women’s rights, international feminism, and are opposed to homosexuality and legalised abortion. They espouse instead the notion of complementarity of the sexes and Islamic concepts of justice.74 JI women are active participants in electoral politics, using their voices to support some legislation, such as tougher laws against honour killing, and oppose others, including domestic violence legislation. Amina Jamal argues that although women in JI are not progressive by the standards of western secular thought, they are part of a modern and modernising institution and their exercise of agency within the party is an effort to negotiate with modernity on their own terms.75 She believes Pakistan’s secular feminists have set up a binary of feminism versus fundamentalism in Pakistan, without giving sufficient recognition to JI women’s use of their positionality as Muslim women to demand their rights from the state and push it to fulfil its promise to create an Islamic society. JI women have engaged in political and cultural activities similar to those of secular feminist groups and in so doing have constructed for themselves new positions, which complicate the dichotomies of tradition versus modernity, and Islam versus the west.76 Jamal, Humaira Iqtidar and Saba Mahmood draw attention to the activities of ‘pious women’ in Islamic organisations whom they believe secular feminists have unfairly dismissed as subordinate and oppressed, ignoring that their subjectivities are empowering on their terms. In the post 9/11 world, argues Jamal, Pakistan has become a frontline state for the US all over again, this time positioned against the Taliban and Al-Qaeda. When Pakistan intelligence arrests Al-Qaeda activists from the homes of Jamaat-i-Islami women, such as Khalid Sheikh Mohammed, JI leaders denied links with the party and Samia Raheel Qazi defended the act of providing them with shelter. Jamal argues that their role in sheltering terrorists needs to be understood ‘in the context of historical and contemporary geopolitics of the region’ and Pakistani feminists need to recognise how recent history has shaped women’s ‘differential misunderstandings of “terrorism” in the ongoing “war on

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terror”.’ She quotes a JI woman, ‘How can we accept that at this time when the entire Islamic culture and civilization is under attack the Muslims should sit inside their homes studying the Quran?’ The woman refers to the support Russian women gave to Soviet soldiers during the Afghan war, and wonders why Muslim women do not do the same for their mujahideen as secular women do for their soldiers. Jamal concludes, ‘This is a peculiar combination of fundamentalism and feminism that exemplifies the unique interrelationship of Islam, gender, modernity, and geopolitical imperatives of contemporary Muslim women’s lives.’ Jamal believes that feminists in Pakistan, such as Farida Shaheed and Nighat Said Khan, have come to recognise ‘the need to problematize the role of religious within women’s construction of themselves, whether “feminist” or “fundamentalist” and the implications of this for their activism’.77 The ways in which JI women define themselves as Muslim, blurring the personal and public, conflict with feminist accounts of autonomy and emancipation and threaten the feminist project. Khawar Mumtaz agrees, up to a point, ‘I think that for a certain class of women they do provide a liberating framework and I think we need to recognise that.’ That said, the problem arises with the prescriptive nature of their framework and the vision it offers for society as a whole, not the subjective experience of women who participate. The conflict with activists arises not out of feminists’ unwillingness to accept that pious or Islamist women experience autonomy and emancipation through their engagement with these groups. Rather, analysis of their role cannot be limited to their subjective experience alone. I have argued in the preceding chapters that JI has a political project, which is the creation of a theocratic state and society; and women members of the party are active participants in this project. What is at stake here are competing, albeit both modernist, visions of the kind of state Pakistan should become and what should be the status of women within this polity. The political project of WAF is the achievement of a secular and inclusive democracy with equal rights for all its citizens, which stands in contrast with that of JI, Jamia Hafsa students, Lashkare-Taiba, or even that of Al-Huda. Pakistani feminists do not view the conflict as one of Islam versus west; rather, there is a political struggle underway with direct implications for how to achieve an equitable society for all.

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Pakistani feminists have exposed women in religious parties as participants with men in reinforcing the legal and social subordination of women and non-Muslims in Pakistan. They are even opposed to land reforms, a position they took to counter the popular support for the left’s demand to cut feudal landholdings. They endorse highly patriarchal interpretations of Islamic doctrine, justify violence imposed on communities through terrorism and Taliban militancy, and are ambivalent about the value of democracy. Cloaking their actions in the discourse of Islam does not detract from the culpability they must assume for participating in a political project that has led to violence and injustice in this young country. The growth of participatory politics in elected legislatures in Pakistan holds out the possibility that women in JI, JUI and other affiliates will increasingly distance themselves from militancy, but it is as unlikely they will modify their agenda as it is that secular feminists will decide to abandon theirs in favour of pursuing a state that does not give everyone equal rights. Afiya Zia blames feminist activists Khawar Mumtaz and Farida Shaheed, whom she calls ‘modernist Islamic feminists’ for leaving the women’s movement open to co-option by women on the religious right.78 Their explorations into feminist interpretations of Islam, interest in creating a feminist history of Muslim women and networking with women in Muslim contexts79 were dangerous because they ‘left the movement wide-open to be co-opted and absorbed by a force larger, more overwhelming and more rewarding than the progressive women groups could offer; personally, politically or in spiritual sisterhood’.80 True, today there are thousands of women trained at Al-Huda academies throughout the country and Islamic parties have substantial women’s cadres. The Jamia Hafsa movement is another successful example of Islamist women’s mobilisation. Zia writes, ‘This political reclamation of religion by women is the outcome of the very “presumptiveness” that led modernist Islamic feminists to invest a progressive political possibility in a redefined culture and religion.’ Intended or not, she says the ‘modernist Islamic feminists’ are now ‘unable to stop the dynamic political and regressive direction that such movements are taking.’81 Thus, the unresolved issues amongst Pakistan’s feminists about the use of religion within the movement and the susceptibility of some to accommodating religious

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arguments has helped to legitimise the voices of these Islamists who are now undermining the women’s movement and labelling it a ‘western’ import. Zia argues that the second generation of this revisionist school follows the same trend, exemplified by western-based academics mentioned above writing about Islamist groups, ‘who try and find feminist, modernist and even secular tendencies within right-wing organised political (JI) and seemingly non-political (Al-Huda) forces’. ‘[T]hese revisionists too will end up enabling and empowering a discourse that romanticizes Islamic traditions and indigenous cultural practices. In the process, they render secular politism a marginal westernised, NGO-ized resistance or “outside” voice on women’s issues rather than a legal, economic, sociological, political and personal, alternative challenge to all forms of patriarchal expression, including religion.’82 I, too, agree that the revisionists claim to reject ‘radical Islamic feminist expressions’. Their approach implicitly suggests an Islamist discourse is endowed with a greater cultural authenticity than that of a secular feminist discourse. There can be no political innocence in women’s engagement with even avowedly ‘apolitical’ Islamist groups like Al-Huda. Neelam Hussain, in her study on pious women explicates the ambivalence around the concept of ‘empowerment’ and the consequences of their rhetoric as it moves out of the private spaces in families and drawing rooms, where middle- and upper-class women gather for dars meetings, into public spaces. ‘It gains strength as it intermingles with countless other voices generated by the power nexuses that draw inspiration from the same Wahhabi agenda of exclusion and control that informs and justifies religious bias and extremist actions.’83 Pious women in Pakistan would like academics to believe that their discourse or politics are more authentic than that of women’s rights activists, but their ideology has been shaped by a larger well-funded global politics (Chapter 2) and is actively employed in a contemporary project to redefine Pakistan’s heterogenous culture in its own terms. Hence, the JI slogan, ‘Islam is our culture.’ JI’s ideology has at various points overlapped with and shaped the dominant nationalist discourse in Pakistan (Chapter 3), benefiting from state backing and international Islamist support in innumerable ways. In contrast, progressive groups have survived despite state intimidation at the best of times, and direct onslaught during the darkest years of military rule.

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The danger in fusing this politicised Islamic rhetoric with greater cultural authenticity is apparent at many levels. Western donor agencies are turning to funding faith-based organisations, thereby sidelining and disempowering those NGOs that refuse to engage in religious discourse to legitimise their work. Academics, based largely in the west, are reacting to the growing Islamophobia in their environment through questioning the relevance and authenticity of liberal secular feminism in countries like Pakistan and imbuing the Islamist women’s groups with an unmerited and dangerous authenticity that gives legitimacy to their exclusionary ideology. Secular, rights-based activists, and feminists, thus find themselves left with few allies. We have seen how, during parliamentary debates over progressive legislation, religious parties have a powerful method of framing the parameters of the debate, placing (and discrediting) the human rights standards on one extreme exemplified by an exploitative west, with traditional practices such as exchange of girls to settle tribal disputes on the other extreme. Their version of Shariah is presented as the middle, or moderate path between two unacceptable extremes, in blithe rejection of the country’s own democratically adopted constitutional framework and international human rights commitments. This characterisation, and the impact it has to silence dissent, demonstrates how successful the political project of the religious right has been. It does not, however, confer it with greater authenticity than that of competing political agendas, especially since we have seen its most potent use when the state has tried to suppress democracy. Liberal, progressive and even secular values require urgent re-articulation and justification. Western societies need not consider themselves the custodians of progressive and inclusive politics. Rather, these values are vital to the empowerment of women everywhere. The achievements and tenacity of the women’s movement in Pakistan serve as testimony to the ongoing relevance and necessity of their pursuit.

APPENDIX I WOMEN'S ACTION FORUM INTERVIEWS 1

Tahira Abdullah is a socio-economic development practitioner, researcher, published author and humanitarian volunteer. She is a peace and environment activist and human rights defender. Tehmina Ahmed began her career in advertising and turned to journalism in the 1980s. She is one of the co-founders of Pakistan’s leading current affairs magazine, Newsline, and Executive Producer of Newsline Film. Her photographic work has been exhibited in Pakistan and internationally, and her poems and essays published widely. She taught psychology at the Indus Valley School of Art and Architecture and was founding coordinator of the school’s Liberal Arts programme. Farzana Bari is with the Gender Studies Department at Quaid-e-Azam University in Islamabad and is a regular commentator on women and human rights issues for press and television. She has served as a senior leader of the newly established Awami Workers Party. Nazish Brohi is a social sector researcher and consultant in Pakistan. She has worked with women survivors of violence and her recent focus is on conflict, violence and democratisation. She was a Charles Wallace Visiting Fellow, Department for International Development, University of Oxford 1 This list represents only a portion of activists interviewed for this book and describes their work outside of WAF.

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(2009). Nazish is a regular contributor to Dawn newspaper and she authored The MMA Offensive: Three Years in Power 2003– 2005 (2006). Anis Haroon is Member (representing Sindh) of the government’s National Commission for Human Rights, formed in 2015, and served as Chairperson of the National Commission on the Status of Women (2009–12). She has been closely associated with Aurat Foundation since 1988, serving as a resource person with its political education programme and as its Regional Director (2001–9) and remains a board member. She was a founder member of the peace network Pakistan India People’s Forum for Peace and Democracy, launched in 1994. She is a member of the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan, Pakistan Association for Mental Health and Pakistan Women Lawyers Association. Neelam Hussain is a writer and teacher of English Literature and Executive Coordinator with Simorgh Women’s Resource and Publication Centre. She is a board member of the NGOs South Asia Partnership (SAP) and Sahil, and a member of HRCP. She was a member of the Core Group for the Declaration on Women’s Human Rights in Asia (AWGRC). She translated Inner Courtyard by Khadija Mastur (2005) and co-edited Engendering the Nation State (1997). Asma Jahangir was a founder of the first women’s law firm and legal aid organisation, AGHS, and a founder of WAF. She helped to establish the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan, serving as chairperson, and she also set up the Pakistan India People’s Forum for Peace and Democracy in 1995. She was the first woman President of Pakistan’s Supreme Court Bar Association (2010 – 11) and received the Hilal-iImtiaz (2009) and Sitara-e-Imtiaz (2010) awards from the Pakistan government. Asma served as United Nations Special Rapporteur on Extrajudicial, Summary or Arbitrary Executions (1998–2004) and Special Rapporteur on Freedom of Religion or Belief (2004–10); she served on the UN panel of inquiry into Sri Lankan human rights violations during the civil war and on a fact-finding mission on Israeli settlements. She received numerous international awards, among them the 2014 Right Livelihood Award (shared with Edward Snowden), Four Freedoms Award (2010), Leo Etinger Award (2002), Ramon Magsaysay Award (1995), Martin Ennals

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Award for Human Rights Defenders (1995) and UNESCO/Bilbao Prize for the Promotion of a Culture of Human Rights (2010). She was Vice President of the International Federation for Human Rights (FIDH) in 2012 and a founder member of South Asians for Human Rights (SAHR). She passed away in February 2018. Hina Jilani was a founder of the first women’s law firm and legal aid organisation, AGHS, and Human Rights Commission of Pakistan. She is a member of the Eminent Jurists Panel on Terrorism, Counterterrorism and Human Rights. In 2009, she was appointed to the United Nations Fact Finding Mission on the Gaza Conflict. She was UN Special Representative on Human Rights Defenders (2000– 8); appointed to the UN International Fact-Finding Commission on Darfur (2006); and President of the World Organisation Against Torture (2016). She is a patron of the Media Legal Defence Initiative and a board member of International Service for Human Rights. Hina received the Editor’s Award for Outstanding Achievement (2008) by The Lawyer Awards. She received the Amnesty International Genetta Sagan Award for Women’s Rights (2000), Millennium Peace Prize for Women (2001). She is a member of The Elders, an independent group of global leaders working together for peace and human rights, founded by Nelson Mandela. Kausar S. Khan is associated with the Community Health Sciences Department of Aga Khan University. She focuses on community participation in health care; her key working concepts are rights, equity, justice, power and participatory approaches. She is community advisor with Indus Health Network and a member of Shirkat Gah. Sheema Kermani founded Tehreek-e-Niswan in 1979 as a group dedicated to raising awareness and improving women’s rights through dance and performance. She is a classical dancer, theatre practitioner and teacher, holding faculty positions at the National College of Arts in Lahore, Indus Valley School of Art and Architecture and Shaheed Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto Institute of Science and Technology in Karachi. Arifa Mazhar works with non-governmental development organisations. In a voluntary capacity she has been involved in a number of

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national coalitions and networks, including the Eliminate Violence Against Women and Girls Alliance, the National Peasant Coalition of Pakistan and the Insani Huqooq Itehad. Khawar Mumtaz is a founder of Shirkat Gah and its former Executive Director. She has been Chairperson of the National Commission on the Status of Women since 2012. She serves on the board of numerous international organisations, amongst them the Asia-Pacific Resource & Research Centre for Women (ARROW). She was a member of the United Nations Environment Programme’s (UNEP) International Resource Panel (2010– 13), and Regional Councillor and Vice President of International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN) (1993– 2000). She received a Sitara-e-Imtiaz (2006) for her work to promote women’s development and rights and the Prime Minister’s Award (1989) for her book co-authored with Farida Shaheed, Women in Pakistan: Two Steps Forward, One Step Back?, published in 1987. Uzma Noorani is a Council member of the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan. She is an office bearer of the Pakistan India Peoples Forum for Peace and Democracy (PIPFD), and a member of South Asians for Human Rights (SAHR). She helped found the civil society group People’s Resistance, which campaigned for the restoration of the judiciary in 2007. She is a founder and trustee of the Panah Shelter Home for women in Karachi. She represented the province of Sindh on the National Commission on the Status of Women (2012– 15). Lala Rukh, a highly accomplished artist and photographer, teacher and activist, passed away in 2017. She was a prolific documenter of the women’s movement and created most of WAF’s iconic posters. She studied art at Punjab University and the University of Chicago and then taught for over 30 years. In 2000, she founded the MA (Hons) Visual Arts programme at the National College of Arts in Lahore, the first of its kind in the country. Her work has been included in numerous international exhibitions, the last of which was in Documenta 14 (2017), showcasing minimalist works on paper and videos. Nighat Said Khan established the feminist Applied Socio-Economic Research (ASR) Resource Center for Women in 1983 as a non-profit,

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non-governmental resource centre working towards social transformation and she also served as Dean of its affiliated Institute of Women’s Studies in Lahore. She is closely involved in South Asian peace initiatives and a member of the Pakistan India People’s Forum for Peace and Democracy. She has been a member of The Global Partnership for the Prevention of Armed Conflict (GPPAC). Rubina Saigol has a PhD in Education and Development from the University of Rochester. She is a founder member of the Ajoka Theater group (formed in 1984) and was Country Director of Action Aid (2005–7). She has published extensively on women’s issues and education in Pakistan. Her books include Knowledge and Identity: Articulation of Gender in Educational Discourse in Pakistan (1995) and The Pakistan Project (2013). Nafisa Shah was Nazim (chief elected official) of District Khairpur (2001 – 7). She has been a member (from PPP) of the National Assembly of Pakistan on a reserved seat for women from Sindh since 2008. She chaired the National Commission for Human Development and served as General Secretary of the first Women’s Parliamentary Caucus (2008 – 13). She was Vice-Chairperson of the Executive Committee of the Commonwealth Parliamentary Association (2011 – 12). She was identified as a Young Global Leader at the World Economic Forum (2005) and included in Newsweek Pakistan’s ‘100 Women Who Shake Pakistan’ (2011). She has a PhD from the University of Oxford, based on her research into honour killings in upper Sindh. Farida Shaheed is a founder of the Shirkat Gah Women’s Resource Center and its Executive Director. She was UN Independent Expert on Cultural Issues and then its first Special Rapporteur in the field of Cultural Rights (2012–15). She is a council member of the network Women Living Under Muslim Laws (WLUML) and member of Development Alternatives with Women for a New Era (DAWN). She received the International Award UCLG – Mexico City Culture 21 (2014) and the Prime Minister’s Award (1989) from the Pakistan government for her 1987 book co-authored with Khawar Mumtaz, Women in Pakistan: Two Steps Forward, One Step Back? (1987).

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Zohra Yusuf is a journalist and advertising professional. She joined HRCP in 1988, has served in executive positions on numerous occasions and was its Chairperson 2011–17. She has also served on the boards of South Asians for Human Rights, FIDH (International Federation for Human Rights), CHRI (Commonwealth Human Rights Initiative) and APWLD (Asia-Pacific Women, Law & Development). She is a member of the Shirkat Gah Collective. Shahnaz Wazir Ali was twice member of the National Assembly (1988– 90 and 2009–13), representing the Pakistan People’s Party on reserved seats. She was Federal Minister of State for Education 1988– 90, and Special Assistant to the Prime Minister on Social Sectors from 1993–6 and 2008– 13. She was Senior Education Specialist at the World Bank in Islamabad (1997– 2001) and a trustee of the Nasra Schools, which are educating over 10,000 children in low-income communities in Karachi. She completed her higher education in the United States and has been Principal of Lahore American School. She is Sindh’s Provincial Coordinator for government primary health care programmes and President of the Shaheed Zulfikar Ali Bhutto Institute of Sciences and Technology. She was awarded the Sitara-e-Imtiaz in 2016 for her services to education.

APPENDIX II GLOSSARY

Adi Amir ul Momineen Asr Azan Begumaat Biraderi Burqa Chaddar or Chador/s Chardiwari Dawah Deen Diyat Dupattas Fatwa Fiqh Fisad al-arz

elder sister (in Sindhi) leader of the faithful late afternoon prayers call to prayer well-connected elite women patrilineage kinship a long, loose garment covering the whole body from head to feet a large piece of cloth that women wrap around the head and upper body four walls of the home the practice of teaching about Islam to Muslims and non-Muslims faith blood-money a large piece of cloth that women drape over the head and upper body a ruling on a point of Islamic law given by a recognised authority the theory or philosophy of Islamic law, based on the teachings of the Koran and the traditions of the Prophet disruptive impact on society

314

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Ghairat Hadd Hijab Hudood Id mubarak Iddat Imam Islamiyaat Jalsa Jihad Jihadi Jirga Kafirs Karo kari Khula Khuni Chowk Khutbas Khutbas Kufr La-illah-a-il-allah Lakh Lathi Madrassa Masjid Maulana Mehram Mohtasibs Mujahideen Mullah

IN

PAKISTAN

honour maximum possible Islamic punishment a head covering worn in public by women punishments which under Islamic law are mandated and fixed by God blessings on the holiday a mandatory period a woman has to wait before remarrying Islamic leadership position/ worship leader of a mosque study of Islam procession a holy struggle or fight against the enemies of Islam fighter in a holy war traditional assembly of leaders that make decisions by consensus non-believers honour killing divorce due to incompatibility bloody square sermons infidel unbelief there is no god but Allah numerical unit, one hundred thousand a heavy pole or stick, especially one used as a club by police religious seminary mosque, place of worship for followers of Islam a Muslim man revered for his religious learning or piety male family member ombudsmen plural of mujahid, one engaged in jihad a Muslim learned in Islamic theology and sacred law

GLOSSARY

Museleheen Mushrikeen Namaz Nazim Nikkah Pir Purdah Qatl-bis-sahab Qazf Qazi Qisas Rafida Rajm Rukhsati Sardar Shahadat Shaheed Shalwar Sunnah Supari Swara

Tazir Tehsil

Ulema Ummah Ushr

315

specially appointed (male) officers to facilitate out of court settlements and arbitration councils to decide minor cases polytheists or unbelievers prayer, pillar of faith in Islam administrative position, similar to mayor marriage a Muslim saint or holy man veil unintentional murder false accusation magistrate or judge of the Shariʿa court retribution literally ‘rejectors’, a derogatory term used by Sunnis to refer to Shias Islamic punishment of stoning to death union with husband tribal chief martyrdom martyr baggy trousers the verbally transmitted record of the teachings of the Islamic prophet Muhammad areca nut customary practice of an accused family giving one or more girls in marriage to the aggrieved family to settle a blood feud, instead of giving ‘blood money’ or Qisas discretionary, less than maximum Islamic punishment an area of land with a city or town that serves as its administrative centre, with possible additional towns, and usually a number of villages religious scholars community of Muslims a form of tax on Muslims

316

Vanni

Wali Waqfs Zakat Zamindar Zina bil-jabr Zina Zulm

THE WOMEN'S MOVEMENT

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PAKISTAN

customary practice of an accused family giving one or more girls in marriage to the aggrieved family to settle a blood feud, instead of giving ‘blood money’ or Qisas custodian trust institutions a mandatory tax on Muslims landlord rape adultery, fornication/consensual sex outside of marriage cruelty, oppression

NOTES

Introduction 1. Ayesha Jalal, ‘Conjuring Pakistan: History as Official Imagining’, International Journal of Middle East Studies, 27/1 (1995), pp. 73 – 89, at p. 74. 2. Inter – Parliamentary Union, Universal Declaration on Democracy, Cairo, 16 September 1997, paragraph 2. 3. An Interview with Asma Jehangir, Human Rights Commission of Pakistan, nd. Available at: www.nancho.net/fdlap/jehangir.html p. 8 (accessed 2 February 2018). 4. See Jessica Horn, Gender and Social Movements: Overview Report, BRIDGE, Institute of Development Studies (University of Sussex, Brighton, 2013), pp. 18– 30. 5. Nazish Brohi, ‘Gendered Peripheries: Structuring the Nation, the State and Consensus in Pakistan’, in Anita Weiss and Saba Gul Khattak (eds), Development Challenges Confronting Pakistan (London, 2013), pp. 141 – 50, at p. 212. 6. Farida Shaheed, Gender, Religion, and the Quest for Justice in Pakistan (Geneva, 2008). Available at: www.unrisd.org/80256B3C005BCCF9/(httpAuxPages)/ 0B1B12A22917ACCEC125755A006AE4FF/%24file/WEBPakistandrft.pdf (accessed 23 November 2017), p. 41. 7. R. Ray and A.C. Korteweg, ‘Women’s Movements in the Third World: Identity, Mobilization, and Autonomy’, in Annual Review of Sociology 25 (1999), pp. 47–71. 8. Elected representatives Sherry Rehman, Fehmida Mirza, Shehla Raza, Sughra Imam and Nafisa Shah (PPP), Bushra Gohar (ANP), Nilofer Bakhtiar, Mahnaz Rafi, Donya Aziz and Attiya Inayatullah (PML-Q) and Marvi Memon (PML-N), to mention only some, are shaping a new legislative narrative of women in Pakistan. 9. Women’s Action Forum, Statement of Demands. 1990.

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10. For a discussion of religious interpretation and women’s rights as understood across various levels and organisations in Pakistan see Anita Weiss, Interpreting Islam, modernity, and women’s rights in Pakistan (New York, 2014).

Chapter 1

Contours of an Islamic Pakistan

1. Martin Lau, ‘Sharia and National Law in Pakistan’, in Jan Michiel Otto (ed.), Sharia Incorporated: A Comparative Overview of the Legal Systems of Twelve Muslim Countries in Past and Present (Leiden, 2010), pp. 373 – 432, at p. 408. 2. Husain Haqqani, Pakistan: Between Mosque and Military (Lahore, 2005), p. 10. 3. Jinnah, Quaid-e-Azam Mohammad Ali, ‘Presidential Address to the Constituent Assembly of Pakistan on 11th August, 1947’, in Jinnah Speeches as Governor-General of Pakistan, 1947– 1948 (Lahore, 2013), pp. 14 – 19, at p. 17. 4. Haqqani, Pakistan, p. 14. 5. Ibid., p. 15. 6. Syed Abul ala Mawdudi, Jihad in Islam (Beirut, 1927), p. 6. As quoted in Ghaffar Hussain, A Brief History of Islamism. Concept Series 1(2010), p. 5. Available at www.quilliaminternational.com/shop/e-publications/a-briefhistory-of-islamism/ (accessed 6 December 2017). 7. Seyyed Vali Reza Nasr, The Vanguard of the Islamic Revolution: The Jama’at-i Islami of Pakistan (Berkeley, 1994), Chapter 3 (pages not numbered). Available at http://ark.cdlib.org/ark:/13030/ft9j49p32d/ (accessed 6 December 2017). 8. Ibid., Chapter 5. 9. Haqqani, Pakistan, p. 22. 10. Ibid., p. 24. 11. Safdar Mahmood, Constitutional Foundations of Pakistan (Lahore, 1990), p. 52. 12. Lau, ‘Sharia and National Law’, p. 389. 13. Hamid Khan, Constitutional and Political History of Pakistan, 2nd edn (Karachi, 2009), pp. 75– 7. 14. One Hindu Bengali member, Birat Chandra Mandal, warned against committing ‘a serious blunder’, and asked, ‘Why is it that our Pakistan should not keep pace with the advancement of other countries of the world? . . . Mr. Liaquat Ali Khan [the Prime Minister] will die and I will die, but there will be a posterity which will outlive us. Do you not see that even the ladies are working on progressive lines? The world is progressing. Today we are fighting that he is a Muslim, he is a Hindu, he is a Christian, he is a Buddhist in Pakistan. But the time will come when people will not believe in their individual religions. Nobody will believe in these things.’ (Ibid., p. 77). 15. Ibid., p. 82. 16. See Jamaat-i-Islami Pakistan website www.jamaat.org. Available at: https:/ jamaat.org/en/bani_intro.php (accessed 6 December 2017). 17. Interview with Hina Jilani, Lahore, 23 October 2015.

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18. See Khawar Mumtaz and Farida Shaheed, Women in Pakistan: Two Steps Forward, One Step Back? (London, 1987) and Ayesha Khan, Muslim Feminism and Social Reform in India 1904– 1940 (Lahore, 2000). 19. Interview with Hina Jilani. 20. Ibid. 21. This was granted first by the Punjab Muslim Personal Law (Shariat) Application Act 1948, then the broader West Pakistan Muslim Personal Law (Shariat) Act 1962. 22. Sarah Ansari, ‘Polygamy, Purdah and Political Representation: Engendering Citizenship in 1950s Pakistan’, Modern Asian Studies 43/6 (2009), pp. 1421–61. 23. Ibid., pp. 1444– 55. These included Karachi Khawateen Muslim League, Anjuman-e-Taraqqi-e-Urdu, Khawateen-e-Pakistan, Khawateen-e-Anjumane-Tablighul Islam, Anjuman-e-Tahafuuz Huqooq-i-Niswan, Professional and Business Women’s Club, Binat-i-Islam, United Front of Women for Freedom and Protection of the People’s Rights, Pakistan Federation of Women’s Rights and the League for the Rights of Women. The total membership of these groups is not clear. 24. Interview with Nighat Said Khan, Lahore, 25 – 26 July, 2016. 25. There are doctrinal differences amongst Ahmadis regarding whether their leader is to be considered a full prophet or a reviver of the faith. 26. Report of the Court of Inquiry Constituted Under Punjab Act II of 1954 to Inquire Into the Punjab Disturbances of 1953 (Lahore, 1954), p. 201.This became known as the Munir Commission Report. The Inquiry was headed by Chief Justice Muhammad Munir of the Lahore High Court. He was later made Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of Pakistan. 27. Shaheed, Gender, Religion, and the Quest for Justice. The JI today claims that Maududi ‘played a cardinal role in the movement for Pakistan as a thinker’. His two books, The Question of National and Muslims and the Present Political Conflict were written to prove that Muslim and Hindus are two different nations. His arguments in these publications were so persuasive that by 1940 the Muslim League adopted them and enshrined them in the Pakistan Resolution which led to the creation of Pakistan. Available at https://jamaat. org/en/bani_intro.php (accessed 23 November 2017). 28. https://jamaat.org/en/bani_intro.php. 29. Report of the Court of Inquiry, p. 200. 30. Ibid., pp. 214 – 5. 31. Ibid., p. 231. 32. https://jamaat.org/en/bani_intro.php. 33. Khan, Constitutional and Political History, p. 132. 34. Ibid., pp. 133 and 185. 35. Lau, ‘Sharia and National Law’, p. 391. 36. https://jamaat.org/en/bani_intro.php. 37. Hamid Khan, op. cit., pp. 161– 2. 38. https://jamaat.org/en/bani_intro.php.

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39. Khan, op. cit. pp. 169 and 184. 40. Asma Jahangir, ‘The Origins of the MFLO: Reflections for Activism’, in F. Shaheed et al. (eds), Shaping Women’s Lives: Laws, Practices & Strategies in Pakistan (Lahore, 1998) pp. 93– 103. 41. The Muslim Personal Law (Shariat) Application Act, 1937 [Act No. 26 of 1937] extended inheritance rights to Muslim women but excluded agricultural property from its application, thereby protecting feudal landholdings from being inherited by women. Available at: www. nowedelhi.msz.gov.pl/resource/e75c9c6a-42be-465e-822d-29bc1d01cc1d: JCR (accessed 19 November 2017). 42. Lau, ‘Sharia and National Law’, p. 394. 43. He was the Prime Minister 1951– 3, prior to Ayub’s takeover. 44. Nafisa Shah, Honour Unmasked: Gender Violence, Law, and Power in Pakistan (Karachi, 2017), p. 104. 45. Martin Lau says they were the most progressive personal laws in subcontinent. 46. Interview with Jilani. 47. ‘Bill to annul Family Laws moved in National Assembly’, Dawn, 3 July 2012. One of the women MNAs was Begum Zari Sarfraz, who was to chair the Pakistan Commission on the Status of Women appointed by President Zia in 1983. 48. Jahangir, ‘The Origins of the MFLO’, pp. 100–2. In 1988, the Sindh High Court declared the MFLO repugnant to Islam and held that it had jurisdiction to strike it down, but the Supreme Court overturned the ruling. 49. Ayesha Khan, ‘Policy-making in Pakistan’s Population Programme’, in Health Policy and Planning, 11/1 (1996), pp. 30 – 51. 50. Lau, ‘Sharia and National Law’, p. 392. 51. Khan, Constitutional and Political History, p. 212. 52. Lau, op. cit., p. 393. 53. Khan, op cit. 54. Fazlur Rahman, Islam (2nd edn), (Chicago, 1979). It was first published in 1966. 55. A.G. Noorani, ‘Dr. Fazlur Rahman’, in Criterion Quarterly 9/1 (25 January 2014). Available at: www.criterion-quarterly.com/dr-fazlur-rahman/ (accessed 22 December 2017). 56. Haqqani, Pakistan, p. 41. 57. Ibid., p. 40. 58. Ibid., p. 43 – 4. 59. Ibid., pp. 47 – 8. 60. Mushtaq Ahmed, Government and Politics in Pakistan (Karachi, 1959), p. 164 quoted in Hamid Khan Constitutional and Political History of Pakistan, p. 218. 61. Ibid., p. 218. 62. Nasr, The Vanguard, Chapter 3. 63. Seyyed Vali Reza Nasr, ‘Students, Islam, and Politics: Islami Jamia’at-i-Tulaba in Pakistan’, Middle East Journal 46/1 (1992), pp. 59 – 76, at p. 61.

NOTES

64. 65. 66. 67. 68. 69. 70. 71. 72. 73.

74. 75. 76. 77. 78. 79. 80. 81. 82. 83. 84. 85. 86. 87. 88.

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Ramadan and Sayyid Qutub were accused of plotting to assassinate Egyptian President Kamal Abdul Nasser in 1965, for which Qutub was executed the following year. Ramadan was son-in-law of Brotherhood founder Hasan alBanna. Ibid., p. 6. Robert Dreyfuss, Devil’s Game: How the United States Helped Unleash Fundamentalist Islam (New York, 2005), p. 74. Ian Johnson, ‘Washington’s Secret History with the Muslim Brotherhood’, New York Review of Books, 5 February 2011. Dreyfuss, Devil’s Game, pp. 79, 135– 8. Nasr, ‘Students, Islam, and Politics’, p. 63. Ibid., pp. 60 – 4. John Esposito, quoted in Dreyfus, Devil’s Game, p. 133. David B. Ottaway, ‘U.S. Eyes Money Trails of Saudi-Backed Charities’, The Washington Post, 19 August 2004. Al-Husseini was an agent of British intelligence and later a Saudi-funded opponent of Nasser, and al-Mujaddidi was a CIA contact during the 1960s and later leader of the anti-Soviet jihad (Dreyfuss, Devil’s Game, p. 132). Pew Research Religion and Public Life Project, Muslim Networks and Movements in Western Europe (15 September 2010). Available at www.pewforum.org/2010/ 09/15/muslim-networks-and-movements-in-western-europe-appendix-imuslim-networks-and-movements-in-north-america/ (accessed 1 November 2017). Ibid., p. 68. Ibid., pp. 77 and 79. Nasr, The Vanguard, Chapter 7. Haqqani, Pakistan, p. 79. The evidence for this is anecdotal, as gender disaggregated voting data was not kept at that time. Mumtaz and Shaheed, Women in Pakistan, pp. 62 – 4. Pakistan People’s Party, Pakistan People’s Party Manifesto 1970, p. 35. Available at: www.ppp.org.pk/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/manifesto1970.pdf (accessed 26 December 2017). Shah, Honour Unmasked, p. 98. Lau, ‘Sharia and National Law’, p. 395. These are Articles 25, 27, 32, 34, 35, and 37. Nasr, The Vanguard, Chapter 8. Ibid. National Assembly of Pakistan, Debates, Official Report. Third Session of 1974. Vol. V, Nos. 27– 39. 7 September, 1974. pp. 567– 70. S.N. Kaushik, Ahmadiya Community in Pakistan (New Delhi, 1996), p. 43, quoted in Lau, ‘Sharia and National Law’, p. 397. Husain Haqqani, Magnificent Delusions: Pakistan, The United States, and an Epic History of Misunderstanding (New York, 2013), pp. 205– 6.

322 89. 90. 91. 92.

93. 94. 95. 96. 97. 98. 99. 100. 101. 102.

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Haqqani, Pakistan, pp. 106–10. Nasr, The Vanguard, Chapter 8. Haqqani, op cit., p. 112. Manifestos of Pakistan Peoples’ Party 1970 & 1977. Reproduced by Sani Hussain Panhwar, Member Sindh Council PPP, p. 45. Available at: http://bhutto.org/ Acrobat/Manifestos%20of%20Pakistan%20Peoples%20Party.pdf (accessed 18 February 2018). Pakistan People’s Party Manifesto 1970, p. 45. Ibid., p. 56. Nasr, The Vanguard, Chapter 8. Ibid. Haqqani, Pakistan, pp. 122–3. Nasr, The Vanguard, Chapter 8. Ibid., p. 44. Khalid Sayeed, Politics in Pakistan: The Nature and Direction of Change (New York, 1980), p. 156. Ibid., p. 181. Ibid., p. 179.

Chapter 2 Global Politics and Zia’s Islamisation 1. Yaroslav Trofimov, The Siege of Mecca: The Forgotten Uprising in Islam’s Holiest Shrine (London, 2007), p. 242. 2. A.M. Rabasa et al., The Muslim World after 9/11 (Santa Monica, 2004), p. 16. Available at: www.rand.org/content/dam/rand/pubs/monographs/2004/ RAND_MG246.pdf (accessed 6 December 2017). 3. Trofimov, The Siege of Mecca, pp. 21 –2. 4. M.A.Mansuri, ‘U.S. Embassy set on fire in Islamabad’, Dawn, 22 November 1979. 5. Op. cit., p. 111. 6. Ibid., p. 100. 7. Ibid., p. 239. 8. Ibid., p. 244. 9. Eleanor Abdella Doumato, Obstacles to Equality Saudi Women (Middle East Institute, 2009). Available at: www.mei.edu/content/obstacles-equality-saudiwomen (accessed 22 November 2017). 10. This is with reference to an incident in May 2007. 11. Mai Yamani, ‘Saudi youth: the illusion of transnational freedom’, Contemporary Arab Affairs 3/1 (2010), pp. 7 – 20, at p. 8. 12. Rabasa et al., The Muslim World after 9/11, p. 110. 13. Yamani, ‘Saudi youth’, p. 11. 14. Mai Yamani, ‘The two faces of Saudi Arabia’, Survival 50/1 (2008), pp. 143 –56, at p. 148. 15. Ibid., p. 152.

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16. A. Enazy, Saudi Wahhabi Islam in the Service of Uncle Sam (Middle East Institute, 1 October 2009). Available at: www.mei.edu/content/saudi-wahhabi-islamservice-uncle-sam (accessed 1 November 2017). 17. Ibid. 18. Ibid. 19. Eric Rouleau, ‘Trouble in the kingdom’, Foreign Affairs (July/August 2002). Available at: www.foreignaffairs.com/articles/saudi-arabia/2002-07-01/ trouble-kingdom (accessed 7 December 2017). 20. Michaela Prokop, ‘Saudi Arabia: the politics of education’, International Affairs 79/1 (January 2003), pp. 77– 89, at p. 78. 21. Eleanor Abdella Doumato, ‘Manning the barricades: Islam according to Saudi Arabia’s school texts’, Middle East Journal 57/2 (Spring, 2003), pp. 230 – 47, at p. 235. 22. Ibid., pp. 242 – 5. 23. Some of the derogatory language has been removed from official textbooks after 9/11 (Prokop, ‘Saudi Arabia’, pp. 81 –2). 24. Doumato, ‘Manning the barricades’, pp. 239 – 40. 25. Yamani, ‘The two faces’, p. 151. This was as of the April 2010 Census. 26. The details of its funding have not been publicly available, however it is believed that MWL is largely backed directly by the House of Saud. 27. David B. Ottaway, ‘U.S. eyes money trails of Saudi-backed charities’, The Washington Post, 19 August 2004. 28. United States Senate, An Assessment of Current Efforts to Combat Terrorism Financing. Hearing before the Committee on Governmental Affairs, United States Senate. One Hundred Eighth Congress, Second Session (15 June, 2004), pp. 16–17. 29. Ottaway, ‘U.S. eyes money trails’. 30. Ibid. Another estimate was that Saudi Arabian charitable funds amounted to $3 or $4 billion annually, of which 10– 20 per cent were sent abroad and not subject to any regulation (United States Senate, Terrorism Financing: Origination, Organization, and Prevention. Hearing Before the Committee on Governmental Affairs, United States Senate One Hundred Eighth Congress, First Session (31 July, 2003), p. 124). 31. Ottaway, ‘U.S. eyes money trails’. 32. Pew Research Religion and Public Life Project, ‘Muslim World League and World Assembly of Muslim Youth’ (15 September 2010). Available at: www. pewforum.org/2010/09/15/muslim-networks-and-movements-in-westerneurope-muslim-world-league-and-world-assembly-of-muslim-youth/ (accessed 29 October 2017). 33. WAMY is accused of links with jihadi groups in Pakistan fighting in Kashmir (United States Senate, Terrorism Financing, p. 167). 34. Ibid., p. 147. 35. Seyyed Vali Reza Nasr, The Vanguard of the Islamic Revolution: The Jama’at-i Islami of Pakistan. Chapter 3 (Berkeley, 1994). Available at: http://ark.cdlib. org/ark:/13030/ft9j49p32d/ (accessed 7 Decemer 2017).

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36. Ibid., Ch. 3. 37. Robert Dreyfuss, Devil’s Game: How the United States Helped Unleash Fundamentalist Islam (New York, 2005), pp. 266– 7. 38. George Crile, Charlie Wilson’s War (New York, 2003), p. 222. 39. I travelled to Afghan refugee camps extensively during the early 1990s as a journalist. 40. Husain Haqqani, Magnificent Delusions (New York, 2013), pp. 267– 8; and Steve Coll, Ghost Wars: The Secret History of the CIA, Afghanistan and Bin Laden from the Soviet Invasion to September 10, 2001 (New York, 2004), p. 165. 41. Dreyfuss, Devil’s Game, p. 277. 42. Nasr, The Vanguard, Chapter 10. 43. Ahmed Rashid, Taliban: Islam, Oil and New Great Game in Central Asia (London, 2000), p. 89. 44. Joe Stephens and David B. Ottaway, The ABC’s of jihad in Afghanistan, The Washington Post, 23 March 2002. 45. Dreyfuss, op cit. 46. Ibid., p. 278. This is quoted from Ahmed Rashid, Taliban: Militant Islam, Oil, and Fundamentalism in Central Asia (New Haven, 2000), p. 130. 47. Ibid., pp. 280 – 1, 289. 48. United States Senate, Terrorism Financing, pp. 80, 122. 49. South Asia Terrorism Portal, Rabita Trust. Available at: www.satp.org/satporgtp/ countries/pakistan/terroristoutfits/Rabita_Trust.htm (accessed 17 November 2017). 50. Ottaway, ‘U.S. eyes money trails’. 51. Ghaffar Hussain, A Brief History of Islamism. Concept Series 1 (London, 2010), p. 10). Available at www.quilliaminternational.com/shop/e-publications/a-briefhistory-of-islamism/ (accessed 6 December 2017). 52. Hamid Khan, Constitutional and Political History of Pakistan (2nd edn) (Karachi, 2009), pp. 444 – 5. 53. Husain Haqqani, Pakistan: Between Mosque and Military (Lahore, 2005), p. 127. 54. Interview with Ali Allawi, London, 21 July 2014. 55. Haqqani, Pakistan, pp. 128–31. 56. Ibid., p. 135. 57. The listed included Dr Marouf al-Dawalibi, advisor to King Khaled; Dr Mahmud Saffar, Saudi Deputy Minister for Education; Imam e Kaaba, Shaikh Abdullah Bin Suhayyni; and Dr Abdullah Nasif, Vice Chancellor King Abdul Aziz University, Jeddah (Associated Press of Pakistan, ‘Enforcement of Islamic laws’, Dawn, 10 February 1979). 58. Translated as, ‘What is the meaning of Pakistan? There is no god but Allah.’ 59. Op cit. (Dawn, 10 February 1979). 60. Associated Press of Pakistan, ‘PNA’s positive objective achieved – Mufti’, Dawn, 11 February 1979.

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61. Dawn, 17 February 1979. 62. Dawn, 12 February 1979. 63. As was the case with Maulana Sami-ul-Haq, leader of his own faction of JUI, in 1991. See Chapter 5. 64. ‘Muslim world happy at introduction of Islamic laws’, Dawn, 11 February 1979. 65. Haqqani, Pakistan, pp. 138–9. 66. Ibid., p. 140. 67. Mumtaz Ahmad, ‘Parliament, Parties, Polls and Islam: Issues in the Current Debate on Religion and Politics in Pakistan’, American Journal of Islamic Social Sciences 11/1 (1985), pp. 15 – 28, at p. 19. 68. Ministry of Information and Broadcasting, Government of Pakistan, ‘President Mohammad Zia ul-Haq Interview with BBC Correspondent, Rawalpindi, 12 October 1982’ (Islamabad, nd), p. 12. 69. Ahmed, op. cit., p. 20. 70. S.A. Maududi, Purdah and the Status of Women in Islam (New York, 2011), p. 37. 71. Nasr, The Vanguard, Chapter 3. 72. Khan, Constitutional and Political History, p. 483. 73. Khawar Mumtaz and Farida Shaheed, Women in Pakistan: Two Steps Forward, One Step Back? (London, 1987), pp. 71 –96. 74. Nighat Said Khan, Women in Pakistan: A New Era? (Lahore, 1988), p. 10. 75. Ibid., p. 12. 76. Interview with Neelam Hussain, Lahore, 23 March 2015. 77. The Ehtram-e-Ramazan Ordinance, 1981 (XXIII of 1981). The law violates the constitutional guarantee to the right of religious freedom (Article 20) (Khan, Constitutional and Political History, p. 505). 78. Mumtaz and Shaheed, Women in Pakistan, pp. 81– 2. 79. Its women’s wing, Islami Jamiat Talibat, was created in 1969 in opposition to a women’s rights group at Punjab University (International Crisis Group, Islamic Parties in Pakistan, Asia Report No. 216, (Islamabad/Brussels, 2011), p. 27). 80. Seyyed Vali Reza Nasr, ‘Students, Islam, and Politics: Islami Jamia’at-i-Tulaba in Pakistan’, Middle East Journal 46/1 (1992), pp. 59– 76, at p. 67; Interview with Farida Shaheed, Lahore, 23 March 2015. 81. Ibid., p. 73. 82. Including recent Amirs, or chiefs of JI, Qazi Hussain Ahmad, Munawar Hussain and Siraj ul-Haq. 83. Ibid., p. 76. IJT’s influence in educational institutions remains essential to JI’s party strength, even though it is somewhat diminished by the rise of other politico-religious groups (International Crisis Group, Islamic Parties, pp. 4, 27). 84. Khan, Constitutional and Political History, p. 447. 85. J.H. Korson and M. Maskiell, ‘Islamization and Social Policy in Pakistan: The Constitutional Crisis and the Status of Women’, Asian Survey 25/6 (1985), pp. 589 –612, at pp. 592– 3.

326

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86. Council of Islamic Ideology Annual Report 1977 –78, p. 87, as quoted in Editorial, ‘Hudood Ordinance is neither Islamic nor Pakistani’, Daily Times, 7 December 2006. 87. Mohammed Khalid Masud, A Critical Report on Hudood Ordinance (1979) (Islamabad, 2007), p. 13 and Joshua Teitelbaum, ‘The Muslim Brotherhood and the “Struggle for Syria”, 1947– 1958 Between Accomodation and Ideology’, Middle Eastern Studies 40/3 (2004), pp. 134 – 58. 88. Shahrul Mizan Ismail, ‘The Dilemma of Hudud and International Human Rights: Proposing a Benevolent Mechanism’, Journal of Globalization for the Common Good (2006) [no pages numbered]. Available at: http://lass. purduecal.edu/cca/jgcg/2008/sp08/jgcg-sp08-ismail.htm#_ftnref36 (accessed 7 December 2017). 89. Teitelbaum, ‘The Muslim Brotherhood’, pp. 148 – 51. 90. Haqqani, Pakistan, p. 141. 91. Masud, A Critical Report, p. 13. 92. He introduced six new laws at once: Zakat and Ushr Ordinance, Execution of Punishment of Whipping Ordinance No XI, and four Enforcement of Hadd/ Hudood Ordinances. 93. The Offence of Zina (Enforcement of Hudood) Ordinance (VII of 1979). 94. Nafisa Shah, Honour Unmasked: Gender Violence, Law, and Power in Pakistan (Karachi, 2017), p. 106. 95. Op. cit. 96. Alongside the zina law came the law of lian, to prevent false accusations. It allowed a woman to take an oath swearing her innocence if her husband took an oath to swear she was unfaithful. This would automatically dissolve the marriage. But if a woman accused would not take the oath because she did not want it to end in divorce, the couple would be arrested until they agreed to take it (Shah, Honour Unmasked, p. 107). 97. Dawn, 12 February 1979. [don’t have article name]. 98. APP, ‘Islamic laws are permanent’, Dawn, 11 February 1979. 99. Martin Lau, ‘Twenty-Five Years of Hudood Ordinances – A Review’, 64 4/2; Washington and Lee Law Review (2007), pp. 1295– 7. 100. Masud, A Critical Report, pp. 165– 81. 101. Khan, Constitutional and Political History, p. 478. 102. This was the 1981 Provisional Constitution Order (ibid., p. 494.). 103. Ibid., pp. 494– 5. 104. This gave FSC power to enforce the repugnancy clause of the Constitution (Part 9 ‘Islamic Provisions’ Article 227 (1)), which previously had been nonjusticiable. 105. International Crisis Group, Reforming the Judiciary in Pakistan, Asia Report No. 160 (16 October 2008), pp. 12– 3. 106. Khan, Constitutional and Political History, p. 489. 107. Masud, A Critical Report, p. 79. 108. Korson and Maskiell, ‘Islamization and Social Policy’, p. 605.

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109. Khan, Constitutional and Political History, p. 504. This is the Provision Constitution (Amendment) Order, 1981. CMLA Order No. 2 of 1981. PLD 1981 Central Statutes 310. 110. The purpose of this is unclear, since castes are not religious groups, they are social categories denoting one’s place in a social structure or hierarchy. In Pakistan many people belonging to lowest, or ‘scheduled’ castes are Hindus or Christians and the term is a holdover from colonial administration. Less than 4 per cent of the population comprise religious minorities, which include 0.22 per cent Ahmadis in the population (Pakistan Bureau of Statistics, ‘Population By Religion’. Available at: www.pbs.gov.pk/content/populationreligion (accessed 8 December 2017). Ten to fifteen per cent of the Muslim population, or 17– 26 million people, are Shia (Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life, Mapping the Global Muslim Population (Washington DC, 2009), p. 10. 111. Anti-Islamic Activities of Ahmedis Ordinance XX 1984. 112. The Federal Shariah Court gave a similar ruling (Khan, Constitutional and Political History, p. 506). 113. These are Sections 295, 296 and 298 respectively. The 1927 addition was Section 295A. 114. Mohammed Nafees, Blasphemy Laws in Pakistan: A Historical Overview (Islamabad, nd), pp. 16, 20. 115. See Section 298A, Chapter XV, Pakistan Penal Code (Act XLV of 1860). 116. See Chapter XV, Pakistan Penal Code (Act XLV of 1860). Available at: www. pakistani.org/pakistan/legislation/1860/actXLVof1860.html (accessed 23 December 2017). 117. Figures from Human Rights Commission of Pakistan. Amnesty International, Use and Abuse of the Blasphemy Laws ASA/33/08/94 (1 July 1994), p. 9. 118. Section 295-C Pakistan Penal Code ((ACT NO. XLV OF 1860) [6th October, 1860]. Available at: www.aghslaw.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/03/ Pakistan-Penal-Code.pdf (accessed 21 February 2018). 119. Nafees, Blasphemy Laws in Pakistan, p. 44. 120. The new law would have been promulgated earlier as part of the 1979 Hudood Ordinances, but Zia did not want Bhutto to benefit from a potential forgiveness or compromise with the party accusing him of murder, for which he was tried and executed in April, 1979. See Rubab Karrar, ‘Inside the Mosque’, Herald (May 2007), pp. 54– 5. 121. Hassam Q. Shah, ‘Reflections on the Law of Qisas and Diyat’, in F. Shaheed et al. (eds), Shaping Women’s Lives: Laws, Practices and Strategies in Pakistan (Lahore, 1998), pp. 253– 67, at p. 254. 122. Waseem Ahmad Shah, ‘Pros and cons of Qisas and Diyat Law’, Dawn, 16 September 2013. 123. Shah, ‘Reflections on the Law’, pp. 256 – 7. 124. In 1992 the Federal Shariat Court ruled under the Qisas and Diyat laws that the immediate family members of a victim should be allowed to pardon the

328

125. 126.

127. 128. 129. 130. 131.

132. 133.

134.

135. 136.

NOTES

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70 –72

murderer in return for financial compensation (International Crisis Group, Reforming the Judiciary in Pakistan, p. 12). Sohail A. Warraich, ‘“Honour killings” and the law in Pakistan’, in Lynn Welchman and Sara Hossain (eds), ‘Honour’ Crimes, Paradigms, and Violence Against Women (Karachi, 2007), pp. 78 – 110, at p. 104. Shah, ‘Reflections on the Law’, pp. 110– 11. Qisas, retribution, is not liable if the wali, heir, is a direct descendent of the offender or if the offender has killed his own child. For example, a child or grandchild cannot demand retributive justice from a parent or grandparent. Warraich, op cit., p. 85. This is under Section 311 of the Pakistan Penal Code. In 2005 so-called ‘honor killings’ were included under Section 311, providing minimum imprisonment of ten years (Shah, ‘Pros and cons of Qisas and Diyat law’). Hassam Q. Shah, Don’t let them get away with murder: booklet on criminal procedures (Lahore, 2002), pp. 11– 12. Shah, ‘Reflections on the Law’, p. 258. Acquittal rates by the Multan Bench of the Supreme Court skyrocketed between 1984 and 2000 from 28 to 67 per cent, while conviction rates plummeted from 79 to 35 per cent (Shahid Saeed, ‘Effect of Qisas and Diyat laws on criminal justice’, 18 September 2010. Available at https:// secularpakistan.wordpress.com/2010/09/18/effect-of-qisas-and-diyat-lawson-criminal-justice/ (accessed 7 December 2017) and Tahir Wasti, The Application of Islamic Criminal Law in Pakistan. Sharia in Practice, (Leiden/Boston, 2009), p. 271). Wasti, The Application of Islamic Criminal Law, p. 260. Induced abortion also falls within this law (Sections 338A and 338B). One category, isqat-i-haml, refers to induced abortion of a fetus less than four months caused by a woman, or one who helps her, not to save her life or provide her with ‘necessary treatment’ [this is undefined]. It is punishable by imprisonment of 3– 10 years for the mother. The second, isqat-i-janin, refers to induced abortion at over four months gestation, for which the woman or person who assists is liable to pay a specified portion of diyat or up to seven years in prison as tazir. Activists interpret the law as permitting early stage induced abortions, although medical professionals generally believe the practice is against Islam. In 1983, Zia appointed the Ansari Commission to submit a proposal on creating a viable form of government. One of the suggestions given was that the head of state should be Muslim and male, and that women should not sit in the elected assembly unless they were older than 50 years and had the written permission of their husbands (Mumtaz and Shaheed, Women in Pakistan, p. 117.) That was intended to stop Benazir Bhutto from contesting any future elections. Zia dropped these suggestions before the referendum, except he retained the one to hold them on a non-party basis. Khan, Constitutional and Political History, p. 502. Ibid., p. 484. Separate electorates were abolished in 2002.

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137. The MRD (1981 – 88) comprised mainly leftist political parties demanding a return to full civilian rule and party-based elections. The movement included Qaumi Awami Tehreek, Pakistan People’s Party, Awami National Party, Jamaat-i-Ulema Islam (F), and the Community Party of Pakistan. 138. Its name was changed to Majlis-e-Shoora, but is still commonly referred to by its English name. 139. Khan, op cit., pp. 509, 516– 7. 140. Ibid., p. 510. 141. Khan, Constitutional and Political History, p. 531. 142. Hussain, A Brief History, p. 6. 143. See Maududi, Purdah and the Status of Women.

Chapter 3 The Women’s Movement: First Phase 1. Its Urdu name is Khawateen Mahaz-e-Amal, but it is mostly referred to by its acronym WAF. 2. Ayesha Khan, ‘Policy-making in Pakistan’s Population Programme’, in Health Policy and Planning 11/1 (1996), pp. 30 – 51, at pp. 38 –9. 3. Ayesha Khan, Women and the Pakistan Government: A Brief Policy History (1975 – 1998) (Islamabad, 1998). 4. Farida Shaheed, Asma Zia and Sohail Warraich, Women in Politics: Participation and Representation in Pakistan (Lahore, 2009), p. 32. 5. Khawar Mumtaz and Farida Shaheed, Women in Pakistan: Two Steps Forward, One Step Back? (London, 1987), p. 80. 6. Asma Jahangir and Hina Jilani, The Hudood Ordinances: A Divine Sanction? (Lahore, 1990), p. 47. 7. Fauzia Gardezi, ‘Nationalism and State Formation: Women’s Struggle and Islamization in Pakistan’, in Neelam Hussain, Samiya Mumtaz and Rubina Saigol (eds), Engendering the Nation-State (Lahore, 1997), pp. 79 – 110, at pp. 94– 5. 8. Translated as ‘Movement for Women’. 9. APWA founder and President, Raana Liaqat, was married to former Prime Minister Liaqat Ali Khan who was assassinated in 1951. 10. Allah Bux and Another vs The State PLD 1982 FSC 101. The case was appealed and the Federal Shariat Court ordered a retrial, after which the couple was acquitted. See Jahangir and Jilani, The Hudood Ordinances, p. 55. 11. For more details on Zia’s Islamisation and women see Mumtaz and Shaheed, Women in Pakistan. 12. Ibid., p. 75. 13. Interview with Nighat Said Khan, Lahore, 26 December 2015. 14. Other early WAF Islamabad members were Karen Pasha, Nigar Ahmad, Shagufta Alizai, Naseem Zehra, Asma Sufi, Aruna Kamal, Tahira Abdullah and Farzana Bari. 15. Interview with Rubina Saigol, Lahore, 24 March 2015.

330

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16. Interview with Tehmina Ahmed, Karachi, 25 November 2014. 17. Rouse, ‘Women’s Movement in contemporary Pakistan’, p. 6. 18. Zia’s strategy was to break the left from the middle ranks, not to target the leadership directly (Interview with Nighat Said Khan.) 19. Anis Haroon and Najma Babar were arrested as members of the PPP, Mumtaz Noorani and Iqbal Sultana were communist members of the Democratic Women’s Association. 20. Interview with Farida Shaheed, Lahore, 23 March 2015. 21. Hamza Alavi, ‘Pakistan: Women in a Changing Society’, in Economic and Political Weekly 23/26 (1988), pp. 1328 –30. 22. Farida Shaheed interview with Nighat Said Khan in the documentary film, Ten years of WAF and Sindhiani Tehrik: When This Day is Named. 23. These included Asma Jahangir, Hina Jilani, Neelam Hussain, Fariha Zafar, Abida Hussain and Nigar Ahmed. 24. Interview with Sheema Kermani, Karachi, 7 January 2015. 25. Khattak dancer Naheed Siddiqui and her actor husband Zia Mohiuddin moved to London and continued their careers in exile. 26. Interview with Hina Jilani, Lahore, 23 October 2015. 27. The ‘A’ is for Asma Jahangir, ‘G’ for Gulrukh Rahman, ‘H’ for her sister Hina Jilani, and ‘S’ for Shahla Zia, who were the initial partners. 28. Shahnaz Rouse, ‘Women’s Movement in Contemporary Pakistan: Results and Prospects’, in Women in International Development Working Paper 74 (1984), pp. 1 – 23, at pp. 8– 9. 29. Ibid., p. 16. 30. Alavi, ‘Pakistan’, p. 1330. 31. Tahira Syed soon rose to prominence as a semi-classical singer; Madeeha Gauhar, also present, founded Ajoka Theatre; Samina Ahmed became a wellknown television and stage actress. Saleema Hashmi, an artist, is the daughter of the renowned progressive poet Faiz Ahmed Faiz and became Principal of the National College of the Arts in Lahore. 32. Mahnaz Rafi has been affiliated with different political parties during her career. 33. Mumtaz and Shaheed, Women in Pakistan, p. 106. 34. Interview with Neelam Hussain, Lahore, 23 March 2015. 35. Free translation by the author. The verse in original Urdu: ‘Aata hain hamain apne muqaddar ko banana/Taqdeer peh shakir pas-e-deewar nahin hum. Available at: https://jehanara.wordpress.com/2010/03/08/waf-anthem-by-habib-jalib/ (accessed 31 January 2018). 36. Founder of leading theatre group Ajoka Theatre. 37. Co-founder of Simorgh. 38. Others arrested were: Saifee Syed, wife of S.M. Zafar, a lawyer who assisted General Zia; Seema Iftikhar, married to Senator Yousuf Salahuddin; Bushra Aitzaz, whose husband Aitzaz Ahsan is a lawyer who was with political party Tehreek-i-Istaqlal at the time; Shahnaz Wazir Ali became special advisor on

NOTES

39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46.

47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53. 54. 55. 56.

57. 58. 59. 60. 61.

TO PAGES

88 – 97

331

social sector to successive PPP governments after Zia; Farida Sher of Simorgh; Nasreen Shah and Sultanat (Popti) Bokhari were with Lahore Grammar School; Lala Rukh was an artist and teacher at National College of the Arts; Hina Jilani and Asma Jahangir; Sultana Bokhari; Madiha Gauhar, with her mother Khadija; Mariam Hasan Habib; and Nighat Said Khan, founder of ASR. Mumtaz and Shaheed, Women in Pakistan, p. 107. Dawn, 14 February 1983. Ibid. J.H. Korson and M. Maskiell, ‘Islamization and Social Policy in Pakistan: The Constitutional Crisis and the Status of Women’, in Asian Survey 25/6 (1985), pp. 586– 612, at p. 606. Ibid., p. 607. Interview with Nighat Said Khan. Ibid. Women arrested included Madiha Gauhar; Faryal Gauhar; Saida Ajmeri and her sister Mubarak; Rehana Taufiq and her mother; a seasoned political worker Baji Naseem; and Nasreen Rao who was the wife of a former IG Police during the previous PPP tenure. Interviews with Hina Jilani, Lahore, 23 October 2015 and Rubina Saigol, Lahore, 24 March 2015. Betel nut. Interview with Asma Jahangir, Lahore, 26 December 2015. Rouse, ‘Women’s Movement in Contemporary Pakistan’, p. 9. Khawar Mumtaz and Farida Shaheed, Women in Pakistan, p. 108. Shirkat Gah, WAF 25th Anniversary, Karachi, 2016, p. 6. Interview with Shahnaz Wazir Ali, Karachi, 18 December 2017. Police records of 1983 showed 1,682 cases of zina were registered in Pakistan, increasing to 1,843 in 1984. Jahangir and Jilani, The Hudood Ordinances, p. 132. Commission of Inquiry for Women, Report of the Commission of Inquiry for Women (Islamabad, 1997), p. 67. Op cit., p. 133. Saeed, Hilda and Ayesha Khan, ‘Legalized Cruelty: Anti-Women Laws in Pakistan’, in Judith Mirsky and Marty Radlett (eds) No Paradise Yet: The World’s Women Face the New Century (London, 2000), pp. 119 – 36, at p. 126. Winner, Golden Gate Award, San Francisco Film Festival, 1998. Interview with Asma Jahangir. This was the Law Asia Conference in New Delhi, 1985, attended by Jahangir, Hina Jilani and Rashida Patel, founder of the Pakistan Women’s Lawyers’ Association. The Muslim, 20 April 1984. Afiya S. Zia, ‘Rape in the News: Women’s Images in Media’, in Nighat Said Khan, Rubina Saigol and Afiya S. Zia (eds) Locating the Self: Perspectives on

332

62. 63. 64. 65. 66. 67. 68. 69. 70. 71. 72. 73.

74. 75. 76.

77. 78. 79. 80. 81. 82. 83. 84. 85. 86. 87.

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97 –105

Women and Multiple Identities Vol. 1 (Lahore, 1994), pp. 135– 53, at p. 141. Another version was that he was a carpenter who merely asked a client to pay him her dues. When she got tired of his persistence, she framed him with this story. Nighat Said Khan, Women in Pakistan: A New Era? (Lahore, 1988), p. 12. The Muslim, 4 April 1984. The Muslim, 9 April 1984. Zia, ‘Rape in the News’, p. 141. Mumtaz and Shaheed, Women in Pakistan, p. 116. Khan, Women in Pakistan: A New Era?, p. 11. Zia, ‘Rape in the News’, pp. 138– 40. Another account gives Safia Bibi’s age at 15. Interview with Zohra Yusuf, Karachi, 17 November 2014. Interview with Zohra Yousuf, Karachi, 17 November 2014. Mumtaz and Shaheed, Women in Pakistan, pp. 103 – 4. Amnesty International, Women in Pakistan: Disadvantaged and denied their rights ASA 33/023/1995 (6 December 1995) p. 9. The other petitioners were APWA, Shirkat Gah, All Pakistan Women Lawyers’ Association, Tehreek-e-Niswan, Anjuman Jamhooriyat Pasand Khawateen. This was motivated by the Safia Bibi case (Mumtaz and Shaheed, Women in Pakistan, p. 104). Jahangir and Jilani, The Hudood Ordinances, p. 58. Muhammad Sarwar and Mst Shahida Parveen vs The State NLR 1988 SD 188 [Federal Shariat Court]. Farida Shaheed, ‘The Women’s Movement in Pakistan: Challenges and Achievements’, in Amrita Basu (ed.) Rethinking Global Women’s Movements (Boulder 2010), p. 1. Available at https://assets.publishing.service.gov.uk/ media/57a08b29ed915d3cfd000b92/Shaheed_Womensmovement.pdf (accessed 21 March 2017). See, for example, Rouse, ‘Women’s Movements in Contemporary Pakistan, pp. 1 – 23. Interview with Zohra Yusuf, Karachi, 17 November 2014. Miriam Habib, ‘A new pressure group’, The Pakistan Times, 4 December 1981. Interview with Zohra Yusuf. Interview with Tehmina Ahmed. These included Zohra Yusuf, film-maker Sabiha Sumar, lawyer and politician Iqbal Haider, and lawyer Nausheen Ahmed. Interview with Zohra Yusuf. Interview with Tehmina Ahmed. Interview with Rubina Saigol, Lahore, 24 March 2015. Mumtaz and Shaheed, Women in Pakistan, pp. 120, 122. The National Assembly of Pakistan Debates, Official Report, 17 June 1986, 2nd Session of 1986 II/12, pp. 1,247– 8 and 1,259.

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333

88. Farida Shaheed in 1991 interview with Nighat Said Khan, as background for the documentary, Ten years of Women’s Action Forum and Sindhiani Tehrik. 89. Najma Sadeque, ‘Sanctioned by the Quran’, The Star, 10 April 1986. 90. Interview with Tehmina Ahmed. 91. WAF Press Statement, nd, 1982. 92. Interview with Farida Shaheed, Lahore, 23 March 2015. 93. Mumtaz and Shaheed, Women in Pakistan, pp. 109– 10. The authors point out the phrasing of the law is an attempt to paraphrase the Qur’anic wording. 94. Ibid. 95. Interview with Lala Rukh, Lahore, 28 July 2016. 96. Fauzia Rafiq, ‘Evidence Act a Forced Compromise’, in The Muslim, 10 March 1983, quoted in Korson and Maskiell, ‘Islamization and Social Policy in Pakistan’, p. 607. 97. Interview with Tahira Abdullah, Islamabad, 31 March 2015. 98. Interview with Khawar Mumtaz. 99. Ayesha Jalal, ‘The Convenience of Subservience: Women and the State of Pakistan’, in D. Kandiyoti (ed.) Women, Islam and the State (London, 1991), pp. 77– 114, at pp. 104– 5. 100. Mumtaz and Shaheed, Women in Pakistan, p. 131. 101. Ibid., pp. 158– 9. 102. Ibid. 103. Asma’s first experience with activism was to organise a women’s demonstration at Kinnaird College against Ayub Khan’s military regime in 1968. She believed women’s activism involved a challenge to Zia’s military regime from the start (Interview with Asma Jahangir.) 104. Interview with Sheema Kermani. 105. Interview with Hina Jilani. 106. Ibid. The WAF (Democratic) group was only in Lahore. It included Asma Jahangir, Shahnaz Wazir Ali, Bushra Aitzaz, Rehana Taufiq and Shahla Zia. 107. Interview with Tahira Abdullah. 108. Interview with Nighat Said Khan. The original WAF remains unregistered until today. 109. Interview with Shahla Zia, Islamabad, nd. 110. Interviews with Rubina Saigol and Shahla Zia. 111. Zohra Yusuf, ‘My years with WAF’ (Karachi, 2006). Available at: https:// beenasarwar.com/2013/02/13/my-years-with-waf-zohra-yusuf-on-the-pakistani-womens-movement/ (accessed 8 December 2017). 112. Hilda Saeed, ‘The first spark’, Dawn, 3 March 2013. 113. Sadia Toor, ‘The State Fundamentalism and Civil Society’, in Neelam Hussain, Samiya Mumtaz and Rubina Saigol (eds) Engendering the Nation-State Vol. I (Lahore, 1997), pp. 111 – 46, at p. 121. 114. Gardezi, ‘Nationalism and State Formation’, p. 101.

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115. Interview with Farida Shaheed. 116. Khan, Women in Pakistan, p. 1. 117. Farida Shaheed, ‘Networking for Change: The Role of Women’s Groups in Initiating Dialogue on Women’s Issues’, in Mahnaz Afkhami (ed.) Faith and Freedom: Women’s Human Rights in the Muslim World (Syracuse, 1995), pp. 78– 103, at p. 92. 118. Interview with Shahnaz Wazir Ali, Karachi, 18 December 2017. 119. Interview with Hina Jilani. 120. Jalal, ‘The Convenience of Subservience’, p. 79. 121. These include Aurat Foundation, Shirkat Gah Women’s Resource Centre, ASR and Simorgh. 122. Interview with Hina Jilani. 123. This is an avenue in south Karachi, the city’s affluent residential area. The poem is from 1984. Rahman published numerous poems in WAF brochures and newsletters from Karachi in the early years.

Chapter 4

Grappling with the Damage Done

1. Women’s Action Forum, ‘Statement of Demands’ (1990). 2. Sugata Bose and Ayesha Jalal, Modern South Asia: History, Culture, Political Economy (New York, 1998), p. 235. 3. Paula Newberg, Judging the state: Courts and constitutional politics in Pakistan (Cambridge, 1995), p. 217. 4. Anwer Hussain, ‘The PPP’s progressive stance has watered down,’ The Frontier Post, 22 December 1989. 5. Editorial, ‘What WAF really wants’? August 1989 [don’t have newspaper name]. 6. Khalid Hasan, ‘Private View’, The Nation, 13 July 1990. 7. Ahmed Rashid, ‘It’s not all gloom . . . but it pretty nearly is’, She Magazine, 17 January 1990. [pages not available]. 8. The United Nations Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women (CEDAW). The government ratification included the declaration that accession was subject to the provisions of the Constitution. 9. Anita Weiss, ‘Women, civil society and politics in Pakistan’, Citizenship Studies 3/1 (1999), pp. 141– 51, at p. 145. 10. Newberg, Judging the state, p. 217. 11. Commission on Human Rights, United Nations Economic and Social Council. Report of the Special Rapporteur, Mr. P. Kooijmans, pursuant to Commission on Human Rights resolution 1991/38 (Geneva, 27 December 1991), p. 58. 12. Interview with Nighat Said Khan, Lahore, 25 – 26 July, 2016. 13. See Nighat Said Khan, Rubina Saigol, and Afiya Shehrbano Zia (eds), Locating the Self: Perspectives on Women and Multiple Identities. Vols 1 and 2 (Lahore, 1994).

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14. Ibid., p. 82. 15. Ibid. 16. Quaid-e-Azam Mohammad Ali Jinnah, ‘Broadcast talk to the people of the United States on Pakistan recorded February, 1948’, in Jinnah Speeches as Governor-General of Pakistan, 1947 –1948 (Lahore, 2013), pp. 79 – 82, at p. 81. 17. Zia co-founded the legal aid organisation AGHS, and was joint director of Aurat Foundation (along with Nigar Ahmed) until her death in 2006. 18. Shahla Zia, ‘Secular Issue’, Note to Islamabad WAF (nd). 19. Interview with Hina Jilani, Lahore, 23 October 2015. 20. Zia, op cit. 21. Interview with Rubina Saigol, Lahore, 24 March 2015. 22. Interview with Zia, Islamabad, nd. 23. Founding WAF members include Hilda Saeed and Aban Marker from Karachi, members of the Christian and Parsi communities respectively. 24. Minutes to WAF Convention 1993 (Islamabad, 27 – 8 January 1994). 25. Khawar Mumtaz and Farida Shaheed, Women in Pakistan: Two Steps Forward, One Step Back? (London, 1987), pp. 183 –4. 26. Women’s Action Forum, Letter to General Body Rawalpindi, Islamabad, 13 May 1992. 27. Today the Charter has further statements of WAF’s support for the fundamental rights of women, children and men, and the United Nations Charter of Human Rights. It also condemns sexual abuse and exploitation of women, and asserts women’s ‘right over their mental, physical, social and economic well-being and matters pertaining to their person.’ (WAF Charter.) Available at: https://waflahore.wordpress.com/2012/02/11/charter (accessed 20 February 2018). 28. Interview with Farida Shaheed, Lahore, 23 March 2015. 29. Shaheed et al., Women in Politics: Participation and Representation in Pakistan. Special Bulletin (Lahore, 2009), pp. 38, 70– 2. 30. Farida Shaheed, Gender, Religion, and the Quest for Justice in Pakistan (Geneva, 2008), pp. 39–40. Available at: www.unrisd.org/80256B3C005BCCF9/ (httpAuxPages)/0B1B12A22917ACCEC125755A006AE4FF/%24file/WEB Pakistandrft.pdf (accessed 23 November 2017). 31. Muhammad Munir, From Jinnah to Zia (New Delhi, 1981), p. 28. 32. A.H. Nayyar, ‘Insensitivity of the Religious Diversity of the Nation’, in A.H. Nayyar and Ahmad Salim (eds), The Subtle Subversion. The State of Curricula and Textbooks in Pakistan (Islamabad, 2003), pp. 9 – 62, at p. 16. 33. P.A. Hoodbhoy and A.H. Nayyar, ‘Rewriting the History of Pakistan’, in Asghar Khan (ed.) Islam, Politics and the State: The Pakistan Experience (London, 1985), pp. 164–77. Available at: http://www.sacw.net/HateEducation/1985Hoodbhoy Nayyar06022005.html (accessed 13 March 2018). 34. Munir, From Jinnah to Zia, op. cit.; and Seyyed Vali Reza Nasr, The Vanguard of the Islamic Revolution: The Jama’at-i Islami of Pakistan (Berkeley, 1994),

336

35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47.

48. 49.

50. 51. 52. 53. 54. 55. 56. 57. 58. 59.

NOTES

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Chapter 7. Available at: https://publishing.cdlib.org/ucpressebooks/view? docId¼ ft9j49p32d&chunk.id¼ch7&toc.depth¼1&toc.id¼ch7&brand¼ ucpress;query¼ideology%20of%20pakistan#1 (accessed 11 December 2017). Rubina Saigol, Knowledge and Identity: Articulation of Gender in Educational Discourse in Pakistan (Lahore, 1995), pp. 168 – 72. Nayyar, ‘Insensitivity of the Religious Diversity’, p. 20. Saigol, Knowledge and Identity, pp. 176–7. Ibid., p. 260. Mumtaz and Shaheed, Women in Pakistan, p. 30. Nayyar, ‘Insensitivity of the Religious Diversity’, pp. 9 – 10. Saigol, Knowledge and Identity, pp. 180–1. M.S. Awan, ‘Impact of Radical Islamisation on Pakistani Society’, Pakistaniyaat: A Journal of Pakistan Studies 4/2 (2012), pp. 45 – 55, at p. 48. Saigol, Knowledge and Identity, p. 182. Hoodbhoy and Nayyar, ‘Rewriting the history of Pakistan’. Nayyar, ‘Insensitivity of the Religious Diversity’, p. 11. Hoodbhoy and Nayyar, op cit. In a Class 6 social studies textbook of 1997, the arrival of Arab explorer Mohammad bin Qasim, the first Muslim conqueror in Sindh, is described as the ‘first moment of Pakistan’. Nayyar, ‘Insensitivity of the Religious Diversity’, p. 67. Saigol, Knowledge and Identity, p. 190. Nasrene Shah, ‘School Texts’, in Maha Malik and Neelam Hussain (eds), Reinventing Women – the Representation of Women in the Media During the Zia Years (Lahore, 1996), pp. 80 – 2, quoted in Aamna Mattu and Neelam Hussain, ‘Class and Gender in School Texts’, in Nayyar and Salem (eds), The Subtle Subversion, pp. 91– 9, at p. 95. Nayyar, ‘Insensitivity of the Religious Diversity’, p. 17. Saigol, Knowledge and Identity, p. 264. Ibid., p. 266. Nayyar, ‘Insensitivity of the Religious Diversity’, p. 9. A.H. Nayyar and Ahmed Salim, ‘Glorification of War and the Military’, in Nayyar and Salim (eds), The Subtle Subversion. p. 81. These examples are from textbooks from Classes 4, 6, and 8 in 2002 and 1995. Azhar Hamid et al., Mutalliyah-i-Pakistan (Islamabad, 1983), p. 32, as quoted in Hoodbhoy and Nayyar, ‘Rewriting the History’, pp. 164 – 77. International Crisis Group, Madrassas, Extremism and the Military, Asia Report No. 36 (Islamabad/Brussels, 2002), p. 3. Ibid., pp. 7 and 10. Nayyar and Salim (eds), The Subtle Subversion, p. 3. National Education Management Information System, Academy of Educational Planning and Management, Ministry of Federal Education and Professional Training, Government of Pakistan. Pakistan Education Statistics

NOTES

60.

61. 62. 63. 64. 65. 66.

67.

68. 69. 70. 71. 72. 73. 74.

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2015– 16 (Islamabad, 2017). p. 57. This includes 4,516 female-only madrassas and a total of over 800,000 girls enrolled in female-only or mixed madrassas. Islamopedia Online. ‘Madrassas and Militancy’, Islamopedia Online (4 September 2012). Available at: http://islamopediaonline.org/countryprofile/pakistan/islam-and-education-system/madrassas-and-militancy (accessed 23 November 2017). International Crisis Group, Pakistan: Karachi’s Madrasas and Violent Extremism Asia Report No. 130 (Islamabad/Brussels, 2007), p. 14. International Crisis Group, Madrassas, Extremism and the Military, p. 9. Tahir Andrabi, Jishnu Das, Aasim Ijaz Khwaja and Tristan Zajnoc, ‘Religious school enrollment in Pakistan: a look at the data’, Comparative Education Review 50/3 (August 2006), pp. 446– 77. Testimony of Mr Alex Alexiev, Senior Fellow, Center for Security Policy. ‘Wahhabism: State Sponsored Extremism Worldwide’. U.S. Senate Subcommittee on Terrorism, Technology and Homeland Security (26 June 2003), p. 3. Commission of Inquiry for Women, Report of the Commission of Inquiry for Women (Islamabad, 1997), pp. 71– 2. Nafisa Shah began covering honour killings during this period as a journalist. Her article for ‘Of Female Bondage’ in Newsline, January 1993, won the All Pakistan Newspaper Society’s Best Article of the Year. For more on the overlaps between the informal and formal legal codes see Nafisa Shah, ‘Faislo: the informal settlement system’, and Hassam Qadir Shah, ‘Reflections on the Law of Qisas and Diyat’, in F. Shaheed et al., Shaping Women’s Lives: Laws, Practices & Strategies in Pakistan (Lahore, 1998), pp. 227 – 52 and 253– 67. The issue should have been settled since the 1961 Muslim Family Laws Ordinance does not require the consent of the wali for adults to marry, and the standard nikahnama requires the signature of any two witnesses. In fact, an adult woman may repudiate a marriage contracted while she was a minor that was arranged against her will, if it has not been consummated (Amnesty International, Pakistan: Women’s human rights remain a dead letter. ASA 33/07/97 (March 1997), p. 6). Ibid., pp. 5 – 6. Federal Shariat Court in the case of Muhammad Imtiaz and another v The State (PLD 1981 FSC 308). Amnesty International, Pakistan: Women’s human rights, p. 5. ‘Police exploiting LHC ruling, apex court told: Delay in Saima case affected 250 couples: Asma’, Dawn, 14 May 2003. ‘Love marriage allowed by court: Pakistani defies Muslim rule’, Toledo Blade, 11 March 1997. ‘Love marriage valid, says Pak court in historic judgement’, Rediff On The Net (1997). At www.rediff.com/news/mar/10pak.htm (accessed 12 October 2013). Human Rights Watch, Human Rights Watch World Report 1997– Pakistan, 1 January 1997, p. 3. Available at: www.refworld.org/docid/3ae6a8b80.html (accessed 14 October 2013).

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75. Saima Waheed and Arshad Ahmad: Validity of Marriage Case. Judgment: Lahore High Court Lahore/Rawalpindi Bench Rawalpindi/Multan Bench Multan. Judicial Department. Crl. Misc. No. 425/H of 1996 (16/03/1997), pp. 1 – 2. 76. Ibid., p. 46. 77. Ibid., pp. 50 – 1. 78. Federal Shariat Court in the case of Muhammad Imtiaz, op. cit. 79. Beena Sarwar, ‘Pakistan: Saima wins case: but judgment threatens women’s rights’, Inter Press Service, 17 March 1997. 80. Press statement on Saima Waheed case. WAF Islamabad, 23 March 1997. 81. Amnesty International, Pakistan: Women’s human rights, p. 7. 82. PLD 2004 Supreme Court 219. Hafiz Abdul Waheed – Appellant vs Mrs Asma Jehangir and another – Respondents. Criminal Appeal no. 98 of 1997 and Civil Appeal No. 563 of 1997, pp. 227 – 8. 83. Editorial, ‘Supreme Court’s progressive decision’, Daily Times, 21 December 2003. 84. Interview with Uzma Noorani, Karachi, 17 February 2015. 85. Barry Bearak, ‘Star Crossed Pakistani Couple’, New York Times, 30 January 1999. 86. South Asia Citizen’s Web. A Year on the Edge: The Government’s Attack on Human Rights Organisations in Pakistan. May 5 1998–May 13 1999. Available at: www.sacw.net/aii/edge.html (accessed 22 December 2017). 87. PLD 1999 Lahore 494 Before Tassaduq Hussain Jilani, J. Mst Humaira Mehmood – Petitioner vs The State and others – Respondents. Writ Petition No. 420 of 1999, 11 February 1999, p. 510. 88. Ibid. 89. Ibid., p. 504. 90. Ibid., pp. 512 – 5. 91. CBS News, ‘Honour Crimes’, 11 February 2009. Available at: www.cbsnews. com/8301-18559_162-242349.html (accessed 9 October 2013). 92. Amnesty International, Pakistan: Violence Against Women in the Name of Honour, AI Index: ASA 33/17/99 (September 1999), p. 21. 93. Robert Fisk, ‘Relatives with blood on their hands’, The Independent, 7 September 2010. Available at: www.independent.co.uk/voices/commentators/ fisk/robert-fisk-relatives-with-blood-on-their-hands-2073142.html (accessed 10 December 2017). 94. Suzanne Goldenberg, ‘A question of honour’, Guardian, 27 May 1999. 95. Fisk, ‘Relatives with blood on their hands’. 96. At the time of the murder, Asma Jahangir was the United Nations Special Rapporteur on Extrajudicial, Arbitrary and Summary Executions. 97. Amnesty International, Pakistan: Violence Against Women, p. 23. 98. Goldenberg, ‘A question of honour’. 99. Amnesty International, op. cit., p. 23. 100. Beena Sarwar, ‘No “honour” in killing’, The News, 3 September 2008.

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101. Goldenberg, ‘A question of honour’. 102. Kathy Gannon, ‘A Woman Sacrificed for Honour of Her Family’, Los Angeles Times, 9 July 2000. 103. Fisk, ‘Relatives with blood on their hands’ (Human Rights Watch, reporting that the accused were not brought to trial, wrote, ‘Samia Sarwar’s case is an example not only of the violence experience by Pakistani women but also of the lack of governmental will to do anything about it.’ Human Rights Watch, Crime or Custom? Violence Against Women in Pakistan (New York, 1999), p. 1.) An award-winning BBC documentary about Samia and other honour killing cases, License to Kill aired in 2000. 104. Ardeshir Cowasjee, ‘Shameless’, Dawn, 2 March 2003; ‘Letters’, Dawn, 28 February 2003 and author’s personal correspondence with Saba Khattak, 24 November 2017. A WAF member, Khattak was Executive Director of the Sustainable Development Policy Institute 2002– 7 and the first woman Member (Social Sector) at the Planning Commission of Pakistan 2009– 12. She is a member of the Khyber Pakhtoonkhwa Provincial Commission on the Status of Women, established in 2017. 105. After 33 surgeries to restore her face, Younus committed suicide in 2012. Her father-in-law was Mustafa Khar, former Chief Minister of Punjab under Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto. 106. I.A. Rehman, ‘Talking courtship to court’, Himal, November 1998. Available at: http://old.himalmag.com/component/content/article/2674-Talking-courtshipto-court.html (accessed 10 December 2017).

Chapter 5 Activism Changes Form 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9.

10. 11.

Interview with Uzma Noorani, Karachi, 15 December 2014. Interview with Shahla Zia, Islamabad, nd. Interview with Rubina Saigol, Lahore, 24 March 2015. Available at: www.war.org.pk/ (accessed 8 January 2016). Available at: www.simorgh.org.pk/ (accessed 8 January 2016). These include Nasreen Azhar, Beena Sarwar, Uzma Noorani, Salima Hashmi, Nazish Ataullah, to name a few. ASR, run by Nighat Said Khan, ceased its activities in 2016. Women’s Action Forum, Put Women’s Rights on the National Agenda Now! (Lahore/Karachi/Islamabad, 1993). Attiya Inayatullah, Adviser on Population Welfare during Zia’s tenure and former head of the Family Planning Association of Pakistan played a highprofile role at the conference. ICPD was chaired by Pakistani Executive Director of the United Nations Fund for Family Planning (UNFPA), Dr Nafis Sadik. Anita Weiss, ‘Interpreting Islam and women’s rights: implementing CEDAW in Pakistan’, International Sociology 18/3 (2003), pp. 581 – 602, at p. 591. Interview with Nighat Said Khan, Lahore, 26 December 2015.

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12. Ibid. 13. In her view, Nighat Said Khan, Khawar Mumtaz, Farida Shaheed and Neelam Hussain were examples of those with more leftist orientation. She describes Hina Jilani and Asma Jahangir as having a liberal human rights perspective. See Rubina Saigol, Feminism and the Women’s Movement in Pakistan: Actors, Debates and Strategies (Islamabad, 2016). 14. Interview with Rubina Saigol, Lahore, 24 March 2015. 15. Interview with Farzana Bari, Islamabad, 30 March 2015. 16. Interview with Hina Jilani, Lahore, 23 October 2015. 17. Interview with Shahla Zia. 18. Interview with Nazish Brohi, Karachi, 26 May 2016. 19. Interview with Farida Shaheed, Lahore, 23 March 2015. 20. IJI members were: Pakistan Muslim League (PML), the Sindhi National Peoples Party (NPP) and Jamaat-e-Islami (JI). 21. Omar Asghar Khan, ‘Critical Engagements: NGOs and the State’, in Anita M. Weiss and S.Z. Gilani (eds) Power and Civil Society in Pakistan (Karachi, 2001), pp. 275– 300, at p. 277. 22. He was Prime Minister 1990 –3 and 1997–9. 23. National NGO Coalition Working Paper, May 1995. 24. Nighat Said Khan of ASR founded IWSL in 1997. It ran short courses on feminism and South Asian women’s issues, inviting students and faculty from around the region. 25. Dawn, 27 December 1998. 26. Human Rights Watch, ‘Pakistan’ in World Report 1999. Available at www.hrw. org/legacy/wr2k/Asia-07.htm (accessed 3 December 2017). 27. He was elected to Zia’s Majlis-e-Shoora 1983 – 5 and served as Senator during 1985– 97 and again 2003– 9. 28. Abbas Nasir, ‘Pakistan: Arabian Nights’, India Today, 15 December 1991. Available at http://indiatoday.intoday.in/story/clergy-rocked-by-madametahira-startling-revelations/1/319160.html (accessed 3 December 2017). 29. Human Rights Commission of Pakistan, ‘The Shariat Bill and its implications’ (Lahore, nd). 30. The Joint Action Committee of 45 groups included Pakistan People’s Party, Tehreek-e-Istaqlal, Qaumi Mahaz-i-Azadi, Pakistan National Party, Tehreeke-Nifaz-e-Jafria, Pakistan Workers Party, Pakistan Socialist Party, People’s Student Federation, and Democratic Student Organization, along with progressive NGOs (Rafaqat Ali, ‘Shariat bill to curtail powers of parliament’, The Muslim, 10 April 1991). 31. This JAC remains in place until today, with rotating convenors. It mobilises around issues as they arise. 32. Khan, ‘Critical Engagements’, pp. 280– 1. 33. WAF launches campaign against Shariat bill, The Frontier Post, 16 May 1991. 34. Bureau Report. ‘WAF critical of Shariah Bill’, The Nation, 16 May 1991. 35. Enforcement of Shariat Act, 1991 (Act X of 1991).

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36. Martin Lau, The Role of Islam in the Legal System of Pakistan (Leiden/Boston, 2006), p. 91. 37. Pakistan Press Institute report published in The Nation, 5 May 1991, cited in Paula Newberg, Judging the State: Courts and Constitutional Politics in Pakistan (Cambridge, 1995), p. 221. 38. The News, 6 September 1998, quoted in South Asia Citizen’s Web, ‘A Year On the Edge The Government’s Attack on Human Rights Organisations in Pakistan May 5 1998–May 13 1999’. Available at www.sacw.net/aii/edge.html (accessed 5 December 2017). 39. Lau, The Role of Islam, p. 92. 40. Newberg, Judging the State, p. 222. 41. Farhatullah Babar, ‘Where will the Shariat Act lead us?’ Frontier Post, 13 June 1991. 42. Kamal Siddiqui, ‘In “Sammy Sandwich” country, they get ready for Islamic revolution,’ The Indian Express, 7 February 1999. Available at www.jammukashmir.com/archives/archives1999/99february7.html (accessed 3 December 2017). 43. Newberg, Judging the State, p. 242. 44. Human Rights Watch, Double Jeopardy: Police Abuse of Women in Pakistan (1992). Available at: www.hrw.org/legacy/reports/1992/pakistan/ (accessed 13 March 2018). 45. Ibid. 46. Hamid Khan, Constitutional and Political History of Pakistan (2nd edn) (Karachi, 2009), pp. 632 and 643. 47. Ibid., p. 644. 48. These were the 13th and 14th Amendments respectively. 49. ‘Nawaz wanted to become Amirul Momineen’, in The News, 7 January 2008. Available at www.thenews.com.pk/archive/print/89036-nawaz-wanted-tobecome-amirul-momineen (accessed 5 December 2017). 50. Under Sharif, the National Assembly changed the Pakistan Penal Code (Section 123(a)), making it punishable for up to ten years for someone in or outside Pakistan to intentionally (or unintentionally) influence members of the public in a manner prejudicial to the safety or ideology of Pakistan. This would include influencing through written words or representation abusing or condemning the creation of Pakistan. 51. Amnesty International, Use and Abuse of the Blasphemy Laws, ASA/33/08/94 (1 July 1994), p. 8. 52. The Nation, 25 May 1992. 53. Asma Jahangir, ‘The Origins of the MFLO: Reflections for Activism,’ in F. Shaheed et al. (eds), Shaping Women’s Lives: Laws, Practices & Strategies in Pakistan (Lahore, 1998), pp. 93 – 103, at p. 102. 54. In 1987, as Chairman of CII, he declared riba, charging of interest, against Islam. The recommended legislation to re-shape the financial sector has never taken place.

342

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55. Martin Lau, ‘Sharia and National Law in Pakistan’, in Jan Michiel Otto (ed.), Sharia Incorporated: A Comparative Overview of the Legal Systems of Twelve Muslim Countries in Past and Present (Leiden, 2010), pp. 373 – 432, at pp. 400 – 1. 56. Shirkat Gah, Women’s Rights in Muslim Family Law in Pakistan: 45 Years of Recommendations vs. the FSC Judgement (January 2000) (Lahore, 2000), p. 8. 57. Ibid., pp. 55 – 61. 58. Joint Action Committee for People’s Rights, Press Statement, n.d. 2000 (Shirkat Gah, op. cit., p. 63). 59. Ibid., p. 64, quoting Dawn, 14 January 2000. 60. Writ Petition filed by Women’s Action Forum through Ms. Nighat Said Khan vs the Government of Pakistan, State Bank of Pakistan, Privatization Commission [and others] under Article 199 of the Constitution of the Islamic Republic of Pakistan, 1973, at the Lahore High Court, 7 November 1997. 61. The website states FWB is a pioneer in helping women ‘secure economic independence and career satisfaction within the cultural ambiance and social values of an Islamic Society’ (italics mine), which inevitably leaves the door open for the future shut down. Available at www.fwbl.com.pk/about-us/history/ (accessed 5 December 2017). 62. This is the lawyer Nausheen Ahmed. 63. Interview with Nighat Said Khan. 64. However, activist Fouzia Saeed wrote a well-received contemporary account of the female sex worker community in Lahore. See Fouzia Saeed, Taboo! The Hidden Culture of a Red Light Area (Karachi, 2002). 65. Women’s Action Forum, ‘Letter to the Women of Bangladesh’, 3 March 1996. 66. Beena Sarwar, ‘Role of Women in Building Peace Between India and Pakistan: A Pakistan Perspective’, in Shree Mulay and Jackie Kirk (eds), Women Building Peace Between India and Pakistan (London /Delhi, 2007), pp. 11 – 4. 67. Interview with Asma Jahangir, Lahore, 26 December 2015. 68. Op. cit., p. 21. 69. See Rubina Saigol, Knowledge and Identity: Articulation of Gender in Educational Discourse in Pakistan (Lahore, 1995), pp. 16 – 18. 70. Hina Jilani, ‘Law as an Instrument of Social Control’ in N.S. Khan, R. Saigol, and A.S. Zia (eds), Locating the Self: Perspectives on Women and Multiple Identities Vol. 1 (Lahore, 1994), pp. 96– 105. 71. Ibid., p. 99. 72. Farida Shaheed, ‘The Other Side of the Discourse’, in Amrita Base and Patricia Jeffery (eds) Appropriating Gender: Women’s Activism and Politicized Religion in South Asia (New York, 1998), pp. 143–64, at p. 153.

Chapter 6 Maulanas at the Helm 1. Interview with Farida Shaheed, Lahore, 27 July 2016. 2. Nighat Said Khan (ed.), Up Against the State: Military Rule and Women’s Resistance (Lahore, 2004), p. iii.

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3. Zubeida Jalal, who ran her own schools for girls in Baluchistan, became his minister for education. Omar Asghar Khan, founder of Sungi Development Foundation and a leader within the NGO community, joined as a federal minister. 4. Khan (ed.), Up Against the State, p. iv. 5. The MMA coalition also included Jamaat-i-Islami, Jamiat-i-Ulema-ePakistan, JUI (Sami ul Haq faction), Jamiat Ahl-e- Hadith, Mutahida Deeni Mahaz and the Shia Tehreek-e-Jafaria Pakistan. 6. International Crisis Group, Pakistan: The Mullahs and the Military, Asia Report No. 49 (Islamabad/Brussels, 2003), p. 15. 7. Nazish Brohi, The MMA Offensive: Three Years in Power 2003– 2005 (Islamabad, 2006), p. 42. 8. Ibid., p. 46. 9. Ibid., pp. 7 – 8. 10. Ibid., p. 50. 11. Ibid., pp. 6 – 8. 12. International Crisis Group, Pakistan: The Mullahs, p. 31. 13. Ibid., Much of his legislation contravened fundamental rights in the 1973 Constitution, i.e. Articles 16 – 20 which protect rights to assembly, association and to profess, practice and propagate his religion. 14. International Crisis Group, Islamic Parties in Pakistan, Asia Report No. 216 (Islamabad/Brussels, 2011), p. 5. 15. Ibid., p. 29. 16. Ibid., p. 56. 17. International Crisis Group, Pakistan: The Mullahs, p. 20. 18. Brohi, The MMA Offensive, p. 62. The Social Welfare Department suggested to Aurat Foundation that the shelter be turned into a home for beggars, aged women, or the handicapped, to make it more acceptable. Even better, they suggested handing it over to Al-Khidmat, the charity NGO of Jamaat-i-Islami. 19. Ibid., p. 67. This is a quote from Daily Times, 3 October 2004. 20. Ibid., pp. 70 and 73. 21. Ibid., p. 73. This is quoted from Dawn, 2 April 2004. 22. He was elected nationwide leader, or Amir, of JI in 2014. 23. Brohi, The MMA Offensive, p. 30. 24. Sanna Bucha, ‘Every channel has its night’, Newsline (November 2002). Available at: PFA: http://newslinemagazine.com/magazine/every-channel-hasits-night/ (accessed 21 December 2017). A lakh is 100,000. Maulana Noorani, of Jamiat Ulema-e-Pakistan (JUP), headed the MMA coalition until his death in December 2003. 25. Ibid., pp. 75 and 58. 26. Ibid. 27. Interview with Nazish Brohi, Karachi, 26 May 2015. 28. Iftikhar Khan, ‘SC upholds most parts of Hasba Bill’, Dawn, 21 February 2007.

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29. Article 8 is in keeping with the CEDAW requirement that the state modify social and cultural patterns to eliminate prejudices and practices based on the idea of inferiority of one sex. Rubina Saigol, ‘Decentralization, 18th Constitutional Amendment and women’s rights’, in Pakistan NGO Alternative Report on CEDAW 2012 (Islamabad, 2012), pp. 131– 40, at p. 139. 30. See The Apostasy Act 2006, Introduced in the National Assembly, Sections 2 and 3. 31. International Crisis Group, Islamic Parties in Pakistan, p. 5. 32. See, for example, Mohamed Ghilan, ‘Islam, Saudi and Apostasy’, 10 May 2014. Available at: www.aljazeera.com/indepth/opinion/2014/05/islam-saudiapostasy-201458142128717473.html (accessed 10 December 2017). 33. ANS. ‘Bhandara stress to amend blasphemy laws’, Pakistan Christian Post. Available at: www.pakistanchristianpost.com/headlinenewsd.php?hnewsid¼693 (accessed 10 December 2017). 34. Brohi, The MMA Offensive, pp. 71 and 74. 35. It later endorsed the bill once the clause that proposed making the state wali for women was dropped (Ibid., p. 68.) 36. Swara, or vanni, is the customary practice of an accused family giving one or more girls in marriage to the aggrieved family to settle a blood feud, instead of giving ‘blood money’ or qisas. The settlement is usually brokered by a tribal jirga, or council of elders. 37. Brohi, The MMA Offensive, p. 64. 38. Ibid., p. 65. 39. Ibid., pp. 65 – 6. 40. Zaffar Abbas, ‘Creeping coup’, Dawn, 31 March 2007. 41. Aliya Salahuddin, ‘Rendezvous with the “Others”’, in Newsline, 14 July 2007. Available at: http://newslinemagazine.com/magazine/rendezvous-with-the-others/ (accessed 22 December 2017). 42. WAF Statement, 19 April 2007. 43. Ibid. 44. ‘Karachi: Police action against women condemned’, Dawn, 12 May 2007. 45. ‘Demonstrations against religious extremists’, Dawn, 20 April 2007. 46. Ibid. 47. Interview with Nazish Brohi. 48. Syed Shoaib Hasan, ‘Profile: Islamabad’s Red Mosque’, BBC News, 27 July 2007. Available at: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/south_asia/6503477.stm (accessed 20 December 2017). 49. The News, 30 March 2007. 50. Ibid. 51. Shaukat Qadir, ‘Really, what is going on?’, Daily Times, 7 April 2007. 52. Operation Lal Masjid. News Feed. www.geo.tv. 53. Ibid. 54. Ibid., and WAF Statement, 11 October 2007. 55. WAF Statement, 11 October 2007.

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56. Malik Asad, ‘Lal Masjid Cleric Acquitted in all Cases’, Dawn, 24 September 2013. 57. Mobeen Azhar, ‘The school that says Osama Bin Laden was a hero’, BBC World Service, Islamabad, 12 November 2014. Available at: www.bbc.com/ news/magazine-30005278 (accessed 10 December 2017). 58. Kalbe Ali, ‘Suicide attack threats again ring out of LM’, Dawn, 20 December 2014. 59. Benazir Shah and Nazar-ul Islam, ‘Meeting Pakistan’s Maulana Mohammad Abdul Aziz’, 4 February 2016. Available at: www.aljazeera.com/indepth/ features/2016/01/meeting-pakistan-maulana-mohammad-abdul-aziz-redmosque-160119120907458.html (accessed 10 December 2017). 60. Dawn, 8 February 2016. 61. Kalbe Ali, ‘Lal Masjid’s expansionism, militant links alarms agencies’, Dawn, 29 January 2016. 62. Interview with Farida Shaheed, Lahore, 23 March 2015. 63. Khan (ed.), Up Against the State, p. vi. 64. Interview with Farida Shaheed.

Chapter 7

Swat and the Taliban Ascendancy

1. Swat is one of six districts comprising Malakand Division. Remaining districts are Buner, Upper Dir, Lower Dir, Malakand and Shangla. The total population is almost 6 million. 2. H. Gazdar, Y. Kureshi and A. Sayeed, ‘The Rise of Jihadi Militancy in Pakistan’s Tribal Areas’, in A. Sundar and N. Sundar (eds), Civil Wars in South Asia: State, Sovereignty, Development (New Delhi, 2014), pp. 165 – 87, at pp. 166 –8. 3. There are two such areas, one is the Federally Administered Tribal Areas (FATA) which is controlled from the centre, and the other is Provincially Administered Tribal Areas (PATA), administered by the province of Khyber Pakhtoonkhwa. 4. The PA may administer collective punishment to whole tribes for violations of the hated Frontier Crimes Regulation Act, which governs FATA. Tribal leaders, or maliks, in turn take decisions affecting their clans by convening councils, or jirgas, at which women have neither representation nor voice. 5. Ibid., pp. 170– 1. 6. Sana Haroon, ‘The Rise of Deobandi Islam in the North-West Frontier Province and Its Implications in Colonial India and Pakistan 1914 – 1996’, in Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society, Series 3, 18/1, pp. 47 –70, at p. 68. 7. Gazdar et al., op cit., pp. 174– 82. 8. The princely states were all incorporated into the Provincially Administered Tribal Areas (PATA) of North-West Frontier Province (NWFP), renamed Khyber Pakhtoonkhwa in 2010.

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9. Aasim Akhtar, ‘Islam as Ideology of Tradition and Change: The “New Jihad” in Swat, Northern Pakistan’, in Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa and the Middle East 30/3 (2010), pp. 595 –609, at pp. 598– 9. 10. Ibid. 11. Haroon, op cit. 12. Asad Sayeed, Hussain Mallah, and Laila Rajani, Class Conflict, Extraneous Factors or Institutional Vacuum? Review Paper on Causes of Violence in Swat (Karachi, 2014), p. 8. 13. Ibid., pp. 8 – 10. 14. Aasim Akhtar, ‘Islam as Ideology’, p. 602. 15. Farzana Bari, Gendered Perceptions and Impact of Terrorism/Talibanization in Pakistan, (Islamabad, nd), p. 28. In 2004, when Mullah Fazlullah started his own FM radio station, women initially gave their money and jewellery willingly, then later on under duress. 16. Akhtar, op cit, p. 567. 17. Bari, Gendered Perceptions, pp. 24– 5. 18. United Nations Development Programme, Perception Survey on Reconciliation in Malakand Division (Islamabad, 2012), p. 19. 19. Akhtar, op cit., p. 566. 20. Simi Kamal, Nizam-e-Adl Inside Out (Islamabad, 2010), p. 14. 21. Sultan-i-Rome, ‘Crisis and Reconciliation in Swat’, Pakistaniaat: A Journal of Pakistan Studies,3/1 (2011), pp. 53 – 79, at p. 65. 22. Bari, Gendered Perceptions, p. 4. 23. Salim Shahzad, Inside Al-Qaeda and the Taliban (London, 2011), p. 63. 24. See Akhtar, ‘Islam as Ideology’. 25. Sahar Gul, Women’s Perceptions about Religious Extremism/Talibanization and Military Operation: Case Study of Malakand Division (Islamabad, 2009), p. 7. 26. Bari, Gendered Perceptions, p. 41. 27. Shahzad, Inside Al-Qaeda, p. 63. 28. Gul, op cit., pp. 8 –9. 29. Bari, op cit., p. 38. 30. Nazish Brohi and Saba Gul Khattak, Exploring Women’s Voices. Women in Conflict Zones: The Pakistan Study (Islamabad, 2014), p. 39. 31. Bari, op cit., p. 38. 32. Testimony provided by Bano, Shabana’s sister (Field Data, Collective for Social Science Research, 2013). 33. Bari, op cit., p. 37. 34. Ibid., p. 36. 35. Gul, Women’s Perceptions, p. 7. 36. Bari, Gendered Perceptions, p. 40. 37. I.U.Din, Z. Mumtaz, and A. Ataullahjan, ‘How the Taliban undermined community healthcare in Swat, Pakistan’, BMJ (online) (21 March 2012), pp. 344: e2093.

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38. Ibid. 39. T. Andrabi and A. Khwaja, ‘Education is becoming an extremist battleground in Pakistan’, Washington Post, 29 January 2016. 40. Bari, Gendered Perceptions, p. 6. 41. M. Ansari, ‘“Jihad” Against Female Education’, Dawn, 14 March 2007. 42. Gul, Women’s Perceptions, p. 8. 43. Up to 100,000 students’ education, from primary to college level, was disrupted in Swat. ‘Five more schools blown up in Swat’, Dawn, 20 January 2009. 44. Ibid., p. 12. 45. Kamal, Nizam-e-Adl, p. 16. 46. Malala Yousafzai, I Am Malala: How One Girl Stood Up for Education and Changed the World (New York, 2014). 47. WAF Statement, 26 September 2008. 48. WAF Resolution, February 12, 2012. 49. Kamal, Nizam-e-Adl, p. 1. 50. Ibid., p. 82. 51. K.M. Bile and Assad Hafeez, ‘Crisis in the Swat Valley of Pakistan: need for international action’, The Lancet 374 (4 July 2009), p. 23. 52. Rashid Chotani, ‘Crisis in the Swat Valley of Pakistan: need for international action’, The Lancet 374 (4 July 2009), pp. 23 – 4, at p. 23. 53. Gul, Women’s Perceptions, pp. 8 – 9. 54. Bari, Gendered Perceptions, p. 34. 55. Ibid., p. 39. 56. Shafique Khokhar, ‘Women, the first victims of Taliban violence in Pakistan’s tribal areas’, www.asianews.it, 17 December 2011. Available at: http://www. asianews.it/news-en/Women,-the-first-victims-of-Taliban-violence-in-Pakistan %27s-tribal-areas-23467.html (accessed 13 March 2018). 57. WAF Statement, Lahore, 10 February 2014. 58. WAF Karachi. A Women’s Manifesto: General Elections, 2013. 59. Shirkat Gah Women’s Resource Centre, Talibanisation and Poor Governance: Undermining CEDAW in Pakistan: Second Shadow Report (Lahore, 2007), p. iii. 60. Ibid., p. 6. 61. Interview with Rubina Saigol, Lahore, 24 March 2015. 62. Interview with Nazish Brohi, Karachi, 26 May 2015. 63. WAF Resolution, 12 February 2012. 64. WAF Press Release, 31 December 2007. 65. WAF National Meeting, ‘WAF Lahore Discussions/Positions on the Agenda’, Karachi, 11 January 2008. 66. Report of the United Nations Commission of Inquiry into the facts and circumstances of the assassination of former Pakistani Prime Minister Mohtarma Benazir Bhutto, 15 April 2010. Available at: un.org/News/dh/infocus/Pakistan/UN_Bhutto_ Report_15April2010.pdf (accessed 12 December 2017). 67. ‘Sheema’s “NO”’, The Nation, 10 May 2009.

348

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68. Afiya S. Zia, ‘Faith Based Versus Rights Based Development for Pakistani Women’, in Anita Weiss and Saba Gul Khattak (eds), Development Challenges Confronting Pakistan (London, 2013), pp. 199– 208, at p. 205. 69. Afiya S. Zia, ‘Donor-driven Islam?’ Open Democracy (21 January 2011). Available at: www.opendemocracy.net/5050/afiya-shehrbano-zia/donor-drivenislam (accessed 12 December 2017). 70. Ibid. 71. Kamran Haider, ‘Pakistani Taliban flog girl accused of having affair’, Reuters, 3 April 2009. Available at: www.independent.co.uk/news/world/asia/pakistanitaliban-flog-girl-accused-of-affair-1661828.html (accessed 20 December 2017). 72. Minallah was not a member of WAF, but was an outspoken advocate for the rights of Pathan women and came from a prominent political family in NWFP (renamed Khyber Pakhtoonkhwa in 2009). 73. Interview with Tahira Abdullah, Islamabad, 31 March 2015. 74. ‘Hyderabad: Protest continues over girl’s flogging’, Dawn, 7 April, 2009. 75. Dawn Report, ‘Flogging in Swat outrages nation’, Dawn, 4 April 2009. Available at: www.dawn.com/news/454978 (accessed 21 February 2018). 76. Chand Bibi and her husband recorded their statements denying the incident in front of the Commission and a local qazi, or judge (Nasir Iqbal, ‘SC irked by officials’ ‘helplessness’: Swat flogging case’, Dawn, 7 April 2009). 77. Zahid Hussain, ‘Web Beating of Girl Raises Ire Over Pakistan Peace Deal’, The Wall Street Journal, 4 April 2009. 78. Haider, ‘Pakistani Taliban flog girl’. 79. Agencies, ‘Pak teenager denies being flogged by Taliban’, Express India, 6 April 2009. 80. Haider, op. cit. 81. Mubashir Zaidi and Laura King, ‘Outrage at Taliban’s public flogging of girl’, The News, 5 April 2009. 82. ‘Civil society protests against public flogging’, The Nation, 5 April 2009. 83. Haider, ‘Pakistani Taliban flog girl’. 84. Abdul Khaliq, op cit. 85. Suo Moto Case No. 1 of 2009. Order in the Supreme Court of Pakistan (6 April 2009). 86. Owais Ehsan, ‘Swat Girl Chand Bibi Denies Flogging by Taliban’, Dawn, 6 April 2009. 87. Declan Walsh, ‘Outcry in Pakistan after video of a 17 year old girl’s flogging by the Taliban is shown on TV’, Guardian, 4 April 2009. 88. Iqbal, ‘SC irked by officials’ “helplessness”’. 89. Zaidi and King, ‘Outrage at Taliban’s public flogging of girl’. 90. Samar Minallah, ‘VIEW: The Swat flogging video’, Daily Times, 4 April 2010. 91. Interview with Nazish Brohi. 92. ‘Swat police arrest man for flogging women in 2009’, Central Asia Online, 20 March 2012. No longer available (accessed 30 August 2013); Farzana Ali Khan, ‘Swat Flogging Cases’, The News, 6 December 2010.

NOTES

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349

93. Fazal Khaliq, ‘Incensed by Malala attack, jirga declare war on Taliban’, The Express Tribune, 14 October 2012. 94. Imran Khan heads Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaaf, and Shahbaz Sharif, brother of Nawaz Sharif, is with PML (N). 95. A.G. Noorilhuda, ‘A girl versus a militia’, Pique Magazine. 1 November 2012. Available at: pique.pk/a-girl-versus-a-militia/ (accessed 12 December 2017). 96. Ibid. 97. ‘Taliban use Islamic Shariah to defend Malala attack’, Dawn, 10 October 2012. 98. Aqeedon ka Tasadum. Tehrik-e-Taliban-e-Pakistan and Islamic Movement of Uzbekistan, quoted in Parvez Hoodbhoy, ‘Why does Malala Yusufzai’s Nobel bother so many on the Left?’ Outlook India, 11 November 2014. Available at: www.outlookindia.com/website/story/why-does-malala-yusufzais-nobelbother-so-many-on-the-left/292542 (accessed 12 December 2017). 99. ‘Text of Malala’s speech at UN’, The Nation, 13 July 2013. 100. ‘Pemra censures ARY for “misleading” analysis on appointment of Army generals’, Dawn, 12 February 2016. 101. Hoodbhoy, ‘Why does Malala Yusufzai’s Nobel’. 102. AFP. ‘Swat women foresee change after Malala’s Nobel win’, Dawn, 13 October 2014. 103. ‘Security for rights activists in KP, Fata demanded’, Dawn, 13 February 2013. 104. WAF, A Women’s Manifesto: General Elections 2013, Karachi. 105. Ibid. 106. Interview with Ambreen Ahmad, Islamabad, 31 March 2015. 107. ‘WAF on FATA reform’, Dawn, 5 October 2016. 108. Government of Pakistan, Pakistan Economic Survey 2013 – 14, Annexure III (Islamabad, 2014).

Chapter 8 Sexual Violence and the New Activists 1. Zainab Mahmoud, Shazia Khalid and Maryam Maruf, ‘Shazia Khalid and the fight for justice in Pakistan’, Open Democracy (25 September 2005). www.opendemocracy.net/democracy-protest/pakistan_2868.jsp (accessed 12 December 2017). 2. Nafisa Shah, Honour Unmasked: Gender Violence, Law and Power in Pakistan (Karachi, 2017), pp. 192 – 7. 3. See her autobiography: Mukhtar Mai, In the Name of Honour (London, 2007). 4. Nicholas Kristof, ‘Sentenced to be raped’, New York Times, 29 September 2004. 5. Interview with Farzana Bari, Islamabad, 30 March 2015. 6. Reuters, ‘Gang-rape victim narrates ordeal’, Dawn, 7 June 2002. 7. APP, ‘Appeal to be filed in Meerwala case: Rashid’, Dawn, 6 March 2005. 8. Ibid. 9. ‘Mukhtar Mai accused arrested’, Dawn, 19 March 2005. Available at: www. dawn.com/news/385730 (accessed 20 February 2018).

350

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221 – 227

10. Niloufer Siddiqui, ‘Gender Ideology and the Jamaat-i-Islami’, Current Trends in Islamist Ideology 10 (17 August 2010), pp. 173– 93, at p. 184. 11. Syed Munawar Hasan, ‘Jawab Dey’, Sebtain TV, 13 October 2013. 12. In 2005 Time magazine named her one of 20 Asian heroes under age 40. In 2007 she won the North-South Prize from EU Council of Europe. 13. Dawn Report, ‘Airports put on alert to stop Mukhtaran: Opposition protests in Senate’, Dawn, 6 December 2005. 14. Among them Shahbaz Bhatti, Chairman of the All-Pakistan Minorities Alliance. As Federal Minister, he was assassinated in 2011 by the Taliban for attempting to reform the blasphemy laws. 15. ‘Take it Mukhtar, that’s how we treat our daughters!’ Dawn, 22 April 2011. 16. Aurat Foundation, ‘NCSW, CSOs protest as Mukhtaran Mai “re-victimized”’, Legislative Watch 35 (January – April 2011), p. 1. 17. Dawn, ‘Women, rights bodies shocked by SC verdict’, 21 April 2001. 18. Interview with Hina Jilani, Lahore, 23 October 2015. 19. At time of writing, the appeal has not been decided. 20. Fouzia Saeed, ‘Mukhtaran Mai case: Mubashar Luqman’s big mistake’, Express Tribune, 25 April 2011. 21. Interview with Farzana Bari. 22. Zainab Mahmoud, Shazia Khalid and Maryam Maruf, ‘Shazia Khalid and the fight for justice in Pakistan’, Open Democracy (25 September 2005). www. opendemocracy.net/democracy-protest/pakistan_2868.jsp (accessed 12 December 2017). 23. Ibid. 24. Glenn Kessler, ‘Musharraf Denies Rape Comments: Recording Shows Post Article Correctly Quoted Pakistani President’, Washington Post, 19 September 2005. 25. Agencies, ‘Musharraf’s remarks condemned: Rape victims’, Dawn, 17 September 2005. 26. Interview with Uzma Noorani, Karachi, 15 December 2014. 27. Mahmoud et al., ‘Shazia Khalid’. 28. Ibid. 29. Ibid. 30. In another landmark case, gang rape survivor Kainat Soomro took her case to the courts but despite activist and political support has failed to win her case until today. 31. National Commission on the Status of Women, Report on Hudood Ordinance (Islamabad, 2004). 32. Among the groups advocating revision to the laws was the Pakistan Women Lawyers’ Association, led by the late Rashida Patel. 33. Hassan Zaidi, ‘The medium as the message’, India Today, 19 June 2006. 34. He was also a member of CII at the time. 35. Zofeen Ibrahim, ‘TV debates take on anti-women Islamic laws’, Inter Press Service, 15 June 2006.

NOTES TO PAGES 227 –230

351

36. Ghamdi resigned from CII in protest when PML(Q)’s entered into talks with MMA to invite their input. He returned when those talks collapsed. 37. ‘Political maneuvering to amend Hudood Ordinance’, Dawn, 30 May 2011. 38. ‘Laws Victimizing Pakistani Women Seen as “Divine” by Hardline Supporters’, The Daily Times, May 3, 2004. Available at: www.dailytimes. com.pk/default.asp?page¼ story_3-5-2004_pg7_24 (accessed 3 May 2004). 39. Ibid. 40. National Assembly of Pakistan, Debates, Official Report. 38th Session 38/1 –4 (15 November 2006), pp. 350, 368, 387– 8. 41. Ibid., p. 363. 42. Aurat Foundation, ‘Reform is not enough – Repeal the Hudood Ordinances,’ Legislative Watch 24 (April– June 2008). p. 1. 43. Maliha Z. Lari and Sarah Zaman, Sexual Violence and the Law in Pakistan (Karachi, 2011), p. 91. 44. Ziba Mir-Hosseini and Vanja Hamzic, Control and Sexuality: The Revival of Zina Laws in Muslim Contexts (London, 2010), p. 171. 45. Maliha Zia and Riffat Butt, Pakistan NGO Alternative Report on CEDAW 2012 (Islamabad, 2012), p. 24. 46. Martin Lau, ‘Sharia and National Law in Pakistan’, in Jan Michiel Otto (ed.), Sharia Incorporated: A Comparative Overview of the Legal Systems of Twelve Muslim Countries in Past and Present (Leiden, 2010), pp. 373 – 432, at p. 416. 47. Syed Shoaib Hasan, ‘Strong feelings over Pakistan rape laws’, BBC News. Available at: http://newsvote.bbc.co.uk/mpapps/pagetools/print/news.bbc.co. uk/1/hi/world/south_asia/6152520.stm (accessed 12 December 2017). 48. Farida Shaheed, Asma Zia and Sohail Warraich, Women in Politics: Participation and Representation in Pakistan (Lahore, 2009), p. 125. 49. Human Rights Watch, Pakistan Country Summary (January 2005), p. 1. 50. United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime, Females Behind Bars: Situation and Needs Assessment in Female Prisons and Barracks (Islamabad, 2011), p. 17. 51. Zia and Butt, Pakistan NGO Alternative Report, p. 25. 52. Noor Zafar, ‘Case Commentary: Pakistan’s Federal Shariat Court and the Protection of Women Act 2006’, 11 August 2016. Available at: https://shariasource.blog/2016/08/11/case-commentary-pakistans-federalshariat-court-and-the-protection-of-women-act-2006-expansion-of-jurisdiction-expansion-of-hudud/ (accessed 12 December 2017). 53. Ibid. This was in response to three petitions challenging the Women Protection Act 2006. Mian Abdur Razzaq Aamir vs. Federal Government of Islamic Republic of Pakistan, PLD 2011 FSC 1, 1. It declared all acts within its jurisdiction which contribute towards the commission of a hudood crime, even ‘for which specific punishment has not been provided in Shariah’. 54. Aurat Foundation, ‘Civil society demands abolition of FSC’, Legislative Watch 34 (October – December 2010), p. 4. 55. R. Karrar, ‘Women Protection Act broke the myth that Hudood Ordinances cannot be amended’, Herald, July 2008, p. 73.

352

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231 – 233

56. M.B Alam, ‘The implementation of the WPA leaves much to be desired’, Herald (July 2008), pp. 74– 5. 57. Interview with Nafisa Shah, Karachi, 29 December 2016. 58. Farieha Aziz, ‘Pakistan’s Suffragettes’, Newsline, March 2011. Available at: http://newslinemagazine.com/magazine/pakistans-suffragettes/ (accessed 20 December 2017). 59. ‘Damning figures in HRCP report on violence against women’, Dawn, 18 September 2013. 60. In 2014 PML(N)’s Shaista Pervaiz introduced a bill in the National Assembly to amend the law on rape with respect to investigation procedures and the treatment of victims in hospital, including DNA testing. Maliha Zia, ‘Bills on rape and sexual violence introduced in legislatures’, Legislative Watch 43 (January – May 2014), p. 5. 61. APP, ‘CII rules out DNA as primary evidence in rape cases’, Dawn, 23 September 2013; Tazeem Imran, ‘CII reviews ruling on DNA admissibility in rape cases’, Dawn, 19 September 2013. 62. This became The Criminal Law (Amendment) (Offencses Relating to Rape) Act 2016. 63. Tooba Masood, ‘ DNA evidence is most important clause in Anti-Rape Bill’, Dawn, 11 November 2016. 64. Muhammad Bilal, ‘Pakistan passes anti-honour killings and anti-rape bills’, Dawn, 7 October 2016. 65. The Interior Minister presented to the Senate figures for honour killings, as reported in The News, 10 July 2004; quoted in Sohail Akbar Warraich, ‘“ Honour killings” and the law in Pakistan’, in Lynne Welchman and Sara Hossain (eds), Honour’ Crimes, Paradigms, and Violence Against Women. (Karachi, 2007), pp. 78– 100, at p. 80. 66. Aurat Foundation, ‘Honour Killing and the Urgent Need for Law Reform’, Legislative Watch 22 (December 2003), pp. 1– 2. 67. ‘Damning figures’, Dawn. 68. Nafisa Shah, Honour Unmasked, p. 26. 69. Karo kari literally means ‘black man, black woman’, a term for people accused of bringing dishonour through illicit sexual relations. In 2001 Kubran Bibi fled domestic abuse and sought shelter at Dastak in Lahore. Abdullah Iqbal, ‘Women Activists to Meet with Press’, Gulf News, 23 May 23 2001. A 2003 documentary, Against My Will, about her murder at the hand of her cousin, was directed by Ayfer Ergun. 70. Bhagwandas, ‘Karachi: Couple seeks govt protection against tribal harassment’, Dawn, 22 September 2003. Available at: www.dawn.com/ news/116514 (accessed 21 February 2018). 71. Interview with Uzma Noorani, Karachi, 15 December 2014. 72. Nazim is loosely translated as mayor. Also see: Zulfikar Shah, ‘In the Name of Love’, Newsline, November 2003. Available at: http://newslinemagazine.com/ magazine/in-the-name-of-love/ (accessed 12 December 2017).

NOTES 73. 74. 75. 76. 77. 78. 79. 80. 81. 82. 83. 84. 85.

86. 87. 88. 89. 90. 91. 92. 93.

TO PAGES

233 –238

353

Equivalent to an elected mayor. Daily Times, 16 January 2004. Express Tribune, 7 October, 2012. Shujaat Ali Khan, ‘Balkhsher, Shaista free to decide their future’, Dawn, 31 March 2003. ‘President orders security for Shaista’, Dawn, 16 January 2004. Zulfikar Shah, ‘Till Death Do Us Part’, Newsline, November 2003. Available at: http://newslinemagazine.com/magazine/till-death-do-us-part/ (accessed 20 December 2017). Rafaqat Ali, ‘Uncle of girl killed couple, SC told: Sanghar honour killing case’, Dawn, 25 October 2003. ‘Islamabad: Court summons Hyderabad DIG: Couple’s murder case’, Dawn, 23 January 2004. ‘Judge begins probe into couple’s killing’, Dawn, 22 October 2003. Naziha Syed Ali, ‘Interview: Sassui Palejo’, Newsline, 15 November 2003. Available at: http://newslinemagazine.com/magazine/interview-sassui-palejo/ (accessed 20 December 2017). Pamela Constable, ‘In Pakistan, Women Pay the Price of “Honour”’, Washington Post, 8 May 2000. The case was Muhammad Akram Khan vs The State PLD FSC 308, 2001. See Warraich, ‘“ Honour killings” and the law in Pakistan’, p. 97. The case was Abdul Zahir vs The State, SCMR 2000. See Tahir H. Wasti, ‘The Law on Honour Killing: A British Innovation in the Criminal Law of the Indian Subcontinent and its Subsequent Metamorphosis under Pakistan Penal Code’, South Asian Studies 25/2 (July– December 2010), pp. 361 – 411, at pp. 391 and 406. The case was Muhammad Siddique vs The State, PLD Lahore 444 2002. See Warraich, ‘“Honour killings” and the law in Pakistan’, pp. 97, 444 – 54. Ibid., In this draft honour killings were mentioned as qatl-i-amd and all those who committed, abetted or encouraged such murders were punishable by death. Ibid., pp. 102 – 5. These were Nilofer Bakhtiar, Mahnaz Rafi and Kashmala Tariq from PML (Q). Naeem Mirza, ‘Seven pro-women laws in seven years’, Legislative Watch 38 (December, 2011), p. 2. Its correct name is Criminal Law (Amendment) Act 2004. Warraich, op cit., p. 105. Naeem Mirza, ‘Law on “honour” crimes requires key amendments’, Legislative Watch 31 (January – March 2010), p. 3. IRIN, ‘PAKISTAN: Special report on the state of human rights’, 27 May 2004. Available at: www.irinnews.org/feature/2004/05/27/special-reportstate-human-rights (accessed 12 December 2017). At the time Jilani was Secretary-General of HRCP and UN Special Representative on Human Rights Defenders.

354

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239 –245

94. Aurat Foundation, ‘Call to end “honour” killings, jirgas and panchayats’, Legislative Watch 25 (July – September 2008), p. 8. 95. Ibid. 96. Omar Waraich, ‘Five women beaten and buried alive in Pakistan honour killing’, The Independent, 1 September 2008. 97. Ahmed Hassan, ‘Burying of women alive defended in Senate’, Dawn, 29 August 2008. Available at: http://indiatoday.intoday.in/story/clergy-rockedby-madame-tahira-startling-revelations/1/319160.html (accessed 3 December 2017). 98. Women’s Action Forum, ‘Press Release on the murders in Balochistan’, 25 August 2008. 99. Shirkat Gah, ‘Pakistan: Letter-writing campaign for women buried alive (Ref: Women Living Under Muslim Laws)’, 17 September 2008. 100. See Anti-Honour Killing Laws (Criminal Amendment Bill) 2014. 101. Sherry Rehman, ‘Pakistan and the Battle Over Dishonourable Killings’, 27 July 2016. Available at: www.newsdeeply.com/womenandgirls/community/ 2016/07/27/pakistan-and-the-battle-over-dishonorable-killings (accessed 12 December 2017). 102. Ibid. 103. Mehreen, Zahra-Malik, ‘Pakistan to pass law against honour killings in weeks: PM’s daughter’, Reuters, 19 July 2016. 104. Obaid Abbassi, ‘Anti-honour killing bill: Deadlock persists between PML-N, JUI-F’, The Express Tribune, 6 April 2016. 105. Malik Asad, ‘Loopholes persist in “honour killing” bill’, Dawn, 24 July 2016. If the judge determines that the crime has attracted fasad-fil-arz, then waiver of qisas must be subjected to Section 311 of the penal code, which stipulates that the offender can be punished with death or life imprisonment. However, judges have been reluctant to invoke Section 311 in murder cases. 106. WAF Lahore, ‘Press Statement on Criminal Law Amendment (Offences in the Name of Honour) Act 2016’, 16 August, 2016. 107. Rehman, op cit., 27 July 2016. 108. Interview with Nafisa Shah. 109. Shah, Honour Unmasked, p. 8.

Chapter 9 Women in Politics and the Promise of Democracy 1. In North-West Frontier Province (renamed Khyber Pakhtoonkhwa in 2010 after passage of the 18th Amendment to the Constitution), MMA won only four seats. It won six in the National Assembly. 2. Interview with Tahira Abdullah, Islamabad, 31 March 2015. 3. First suggested by the 1975 Women’s Rights Committee. Maliha Zia Lari, ‘NCSW on road to autonomy’, in Legislative Watch 39 (January– April 2012)

NOTES TO PAGES 245 –249

4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11.

12.

13. 14.

15. 16. 17. 18.

355

p. 1. The 1997 Inquiry Commission suggested along with the NCSW there should be an equality ombudsman as a judicial or enforcement mechanism to check violation of laws and policies for women. Aurat Foundation, ‘A Permanent Commission on the Status of Women: Historical Perspective’, Legislative Watch 12 (October 2000), p. 1. Tehmina Ahmed, ‘Pakistan: interview with (retd) Justice Majida Rivzi’, Newsline (October, 2003). Sardar Ali is a legal scholar whose expertise is Islamic law and human rights. Haroon and Mumtaz were with Aurat Foundation and Shirkat Gah respectively and are WAF members. Interview with Anis Haroon, Karachi, 18 March 2015. Lari, ‘NCSW on road to autonomy’, p. 6. Interview with Khawar Mumtaz, Islamabad, 1 April 2015. Mohammed Khalid Masud, A Critical Report on Hudood Ordinance (1979) (Islamabad, 2007). Naqvi, a Shia scholar, lives under death threats from Sunni extremists due to his writings and television appearances promoting Shia-Sunni harmony (Interview with Mohsin Naqvi, Karachi, 13 August 2014.) See Kiran Hassan, ‘The Round Table (2014): The Role of Private Electronic Media in Radicalising Pakistan’, in The Round Table: The Commonwealth Journal of International Affairs. Available at: 10.1080/00358533.2013.874164 (accessed 30 January 2014). Farida Shaheed, Asma Zia and Sohail Warraich, Women in Politics: Participation and Representation in Pakistan (Lahore, 2009), p. 30. Ra’na Liaqat Ali Khan of APWA, Nasim Jahan of the Communist Party and other women activists demanded 50 per cent representation of women in the Constitution. When they were told this may put women in the majority of seats, as a compromise they agreed to reserved seats as an affirmative action measure (Interview with Nighat Said Khan, Lahore, 25–26 July 2016). Khawar Mumtaz, ‘Political Participation: Women in National Legislatures in Pakistan’ in F. Shaheed et al. (eds), Shaping Women’s Lives: Laws, Practices and Strategies in Pakistan (Lahore, 1998), pp. 319– 69, at p. 364. Ministry of Law and Parliamentary Affairs, Government of Pakistan, Report of the Pakistan Women’s Rights Committee 1976, p. 96. A dissenting note by one member of the Committee, Nasima Sultana Akmut, became the basis for the next Inquiry Commission recommendations (Shaheed et al., Women in Politics, p. 31). Shaheed et al., Women in Politics, p. 31. Ibid. Mumtaz, ‘Political Participation’, pp. 359 – 60. Ibid., pp. 30, 122; FAFEN. A Tribute to Women Parliamentarians 2015– 16 (Islamabad, 2016), p. 1. Available at: http://openparliament.pk/wp-content/ uploads/2016/03/Women-Report-final-13-march.pdf (accessed 13 December 2017).

356

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19. At Independence Pakistan still used the Government of India Act 1935 which provided reserved seats for women. Aurat Foundation, Legislative Watch 15– 16 (November – December 2001), p. 6. 20. The 1956 Constitution provided 10 seats for women in the National Assembly to be filled through direct vote of women in selected constituencies, but no elections were ever held under this Constitution (Ibid., p. 6). 21. Shaheed et al., Women in Politics, p. 73. 22. Commission of Inquiry for Women, Government of Pakistan, Report of the Commission of Inquiry for Women (Islamabad, 1997), pp. 9, 12. WAF members on the Commission were Shahla Zia and Asma Jahangir. 23. The government signed CEDAW (1996), adopted the Beijing Platform for Action (1995), set up a third Inquiry Commission on the Status of Women (1996–7), signed the International Convention on Population and Development Platform for Action (1994) and prepared a National Plan of Action for Women (1998), all of which in some way addressed the issue of women’s political participation. These positions and policies were developed with the technical support of women’s NGOs and many of these experts were WAF activists. 24. Shaheed et al., Women in Politics, pp. 32, 67. Restoration required a constitutional amendment, i.e. two-thirds majority in the National Assembly and Senate, and Bhutto’s PPP did not have the required seats. The PPP promised restoration again in its manifesto for the 1997 election campaign (Ibid., p. 80). 25. Saba Khattak, Inconvenient Facts: Women and Political Representation under Military Regimes (Islamabad, 2005), pp. 10, 15. 26. Shahla Zia, Political and Legislative Participation of Women in Pakistan (Islamabad, 2005), pp. 43– 4. 27. One woman out of the 73 was elected on a seat reserved for non-Muslims. 28. In the Senate, one woman of the 18 was elected on a seat reserved for technocrats, the others on reserved seats. 29. In the Punjab Assembly one woman out of the 73 also came in on a seat reserved for non-Muslims. 30. WAF demanded 33 per cent reserved seats at all levels of electoral politics, including legislative bodies. The provision for reserved seats in the Senate was for the first time. 31. Zia, Political and Legislative Participation, pp. 4 – 5. 32. Women on reserved seats were elected indirectly by their party representatives in proportion to the number of seats won. Women’s wings of parties had priority to nominate candidates, although most allocations went to relatives of male politicians (Interview with Nafisa Shah, Karachi, 11 January 2015). 33. The increase in women elected on general seats was due to a regulation requiring assembly members to have a graduate degree, which benefited women, many of whom were more educated than their male counterparts in parties. It was dropped in the 2008 and 2013 elections and the number of women on general seats decreased.

NOTES

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357

34. JI’s Samia Qazi argued against direct elections for women on reserved seats, once proposed by WAF, because women cannot canvass directly for votes in constituencies and lack financial resources (Interview with Khawar Mumtaz, Islamabad, 1 April 2015). 35. Interview with Farzana Bari, Islamabad, 30 March 2015. 36. The Sindh Local Government Ordinance, 2001 (Ordinance No. XXVII of 2001), updated version, December 2005, Chapter VIII Union Council. p. 51. 37. There was a slight increase in the number of district and town/tehsil/taluka councils, so the number of reserved seats for women increased marginally. Hence the total number of reserved seats for women in local councils is now 28,582. Aurat Foundation. Citizens’ campaign for women’s participation in local government elections 2001 and 2005: backdrop, glimpses of campaigns, overall results (Lahore, 2005), p. 3. 38. Mumtaz, ‘Political Participation’, p. 351. 39. As discussed in Zia, Political and Legislative Participation. See National Commission on the Status of Women, Study on Local Bodies System and Its Impact on Women (Islamabad, 2010). 40. Zia, Political and Legislative Participation, p. 77. 41. Women moved 27 per cent of total questions and 42 per cent of the total private members bills during five years, surpassing the percentage of their representation in the Assembly. N. Mirza and W. Wagha, Performance of Women Parliamentarians in the 12th National Assembly (Islamabad, 2009), p. 7. 42. FAFEN. A Tribute to Women Parliamentarians 2015 – 16. Available at: http:// openparliament.pk/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/Women-Report-final13-march.pdf (accessed 13 December 2017). 43. Ibid., pp. 62 – 71. 44. Interview with Nafisa Shah, Karachi, 11 January 2015. 45. Aurat Foundation, ‘Editorial’, Legislative Watch 21 (January – March 2008), p. 1. 46. Maliha Z. Lari, ‘Women’s representation in legislatures’, Legislative Watch 41 (March – November, 2013), p. 1. 47. Interview with Rubina Saigol, Lahore, 24 March 2015. 48. The Sindh Assembly elected PPP representative Shehla Raza as Deputy Speaker in 2008 and 2013. 49. Parliament of the Islamic Republic of Pakistan, An Introduction to Women’s Parliamentary Caucus (Islamabad, nd), p. 6. Available at: http://iknowpolitics. org/sites/default/files/women_parliamentary_caucus.pdf (accessed 23 February 2018). 50. Interview with Nafisa Shah. 51. Interview with Sherry Rehman, London, 4 January 2017. 52. However, spouses of women are still not eligible for Pakistani citizenship. 53. The Code of Criminal Procedure (Amendment) Ordinance, 2006. Although many women did manage to leave jail under the new law, problems persist for women who are unable to arrange finances for surety.

358

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54. Interview with Sherry Rehman. 55. Before 2006, the last progressive law for women was the Dowry and Bridal Gifts (Restriction) Act of 1976. 56. Naeem Mirza, ‘Seven pro-women laws in seven years’, Legislative Watch 38 (December, 2011), p. 2. 57. These Hudood bills were moved by Sherry Rehman of PPP. 58. These last two bills, and another for the effective enforcement of Hudood laws, were moved by Samia Raheel Qazi of Jamaat-i-Islami. 59. These were Aurat Foundation, AGHS, Shirkat Gah, HRCP and other advocacy and development NGOs, e.g. SAP-PK, SPO, SDPI, Sungi and PILER. 60. Bhutto’s PPP and many observers felt Musharraf was responsible, at a minimum, for failing to provide her with security. 61. Shahnaz Wazir Ali (PPP) was an elected Member of the National Assembly and Special Assistant to the Prime Minister; Nafisa Shah (PPP) Secretary to the Women’s Parliamentary Caucus and Bushra Gohar (ANP) were also MNAs. Saba Khattak was Member of the Planning Commission, and in a key policymaking role. Anis Haroon was Chair of NCSW (2009– 12), followed by Khawar Mumtaz until today. 62. They were PML (Q)’s Donya Aziz, Nilofer Bakhtiar and Attiya Inayatullah. 63. Interview with Mohsin Naqvi. 64. Women’s Action Forum. Letter to Prime Minister Gilani against the appointment of Maulana Sherani of JUI as Chairman of Council of Islamic Ideology (12 June 2010). 65. The 18th Amendment mandates the Council of Common Interest (CCI) to meet regularly to resolve any conflicts amongst the provinces and the National Economic Council (NEC) has responsibility to assure balance and equity in development. Rights of the provinces of proceeds of natural resources and allocation of state resources to the provinces are clarified. Politically the provinces have been made more autonomous, and the name of North-West Frontier Province changed to Khyber Pakhtoonkhwa to reflect its wish. 66. Rubina Saigol, ‘Decentralization, 18th Constitutional Amendment and Women’s Rights’, in Pakistan NGO Alternative Report on CEDAW 2012 (Islamabad, 2012), pp. 131– 40, at p. 134. 67. Mahboob Hussain, ‘Eighteenth Amendment in the Constitution of Pakistan: success and controversies’, Asian Social Science 8/1 (January 2012), pp. 81 –8, at p. 81. 68. This relates to a Supreme Court ruling from July 2009 which prevents itself from validating any martial law in the future (Saigol, ‘Decentralization’, p. 134). 69. Ibid. 70. Ibid., p. 135. 71. Ibid., p. 138. 72. Rubina Saigol, Feminism and the Women’s Movement in Pakistan: Actors, Debates and Strategies (Islamabad, 2016), p. 31.

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73. Saigol, ‘Decentralization’, p. 139. 74. Aurat Foundation, ‘Sherry defends legislation’, Legislative Watch 24 (July– September 2009), p. 3. 75. Majlis-eMajlis-e-Shoora (Parliament) of Pakistan Joint Sitting 2012 (5 April 2012). Available at: www.na.gov.pk/uploads/documents/1335241522_622. pdf (accessed 13 December 2017), p. 27. 76. Ibid., pp. 35 – 6. 77. Domestic Violence Act 2012, Section 4. 78. The law provides for punishments to six months’ imprisonment and fine of rupees 100,000 (US$ 90 at current rates) at a minimum. Offences are cognisable, non-bailable and compoundable. 79. Domestic Violence (Prevention and Protection) Act, 2012. Statement of Object and Reasons. 80. The NGOs that assisted were Dastak Charitable Trust, Shirkat Gah and Aurat Foundation. 81. Luavut Zahid, ‘Domestic Violence Bill – Are we heading for a disappointment?’, Pakistan Today, 11 June 2015. 82. Punjab Protection of Violence Against Women Act 2016. 83. Ibid., Section 12 (d). 84. Imran Gabol, ‘Religious parties denounce law protecting women from abuse as ’un-Islamic’, Dawn, 16 March 2016. 85. Reuters, ‘Pakistan religious leaders slam Women’s Protection Act’, 4 March 2016. Available at: www.aljazeera.com/news/2016/03/religious-leaders-slamwomen-protection-act-pakistan-160303160705361.html (accessed 13 December 2017). 86. Muhammad Anis, ‘Eight clauses of Punjab Women Act clash with Quran, Sunnah: CII’, The News International, 6 April 2016. The phrase refers to sanctity of ‘veil and four walls’. 87. The News, ‘CII criticized for declaring KP domestic violence bill “in conflict with Islamic laws”, The News International, 4 June 2016. 88. Raza Khan, ‘“Lightly beating” wife permissible, says CII’s proposed women protection bill’, Dawn, 26 May 2016. 89. The provincial government led by Imran Khan’s Pakistan Tehreek-i-Insaaf (PTI). 90. The organisations were: Action Aid, Bedari, Hawwa Associates, Interactive Resource Center, Mehergarh: A Center for Learning, PILER, PODA, Preview Productions and WORD. 91. F. Saeed, R. Jafar, S. Ahmed and R. French, The AASHA Experience: A Decade of Struggle Against Sexual Harassment in Pakistan (Islamabad, 2011), p. 18. 92. Ibid., p. 106. 93. Ibid., p. 100. 94. Ibid., pp. 96 – 9. It became the Protection Against Harassment of Women at Workplace Act 2010. 95. Criminal Law (Amendment) Act 2010.

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96. The Protection Against Harassment of Women at the Workplace Act 2010. 97. Even a PPP representative voted against the new laws, saying he would propose a bill to protect men’s rights. Nilofer Bakhtiar, Senator (PML-Q), had worked hard during the previous government to have the honour killing law passed. She said women parliamentarians experienced sexual harassment too and the assemblies should implement the new Code. Zofeen Ibrahim, ‘Backlash rises against Pakistan’s bill on sexual harassment’, Inter Press Service, 18 February 2010. 98. Interview with Sherry Rehman. 99. These are exchange of women in marriage to settle disputes (badal-e-sulah), vanni and swara (forced marriage of young girls to compensate for an offence). 100. Zia Khan, ‘National Assembly passes landmark women’s rights bill’, Express Tribune, 15 November 2011. 101. Maliha Z. Lari, ‘A critical appreciation of the Prevention of Anti-Women Practices (Criminal Law Amendment) Bill 2011’, Legislative Watch 37 (August – November 2011), p. 1. Activists suggested some important improvements which were not included. For example, each customary practice was not defined in the act, and the outlawed forms of marriages were not automatically annulled either. Those who facilitated the banned practices, not just the families of the girls, were not liable. The law only stipulated that those who deprived women of their rightful inheritance through deceit or illegal means were offenders, which excluded other means of preventing women from accessing their inheritance (See: Criminal Law (Third Amendment) Act 2011). 102. Azam Khan, ‘Tribal decisions: SC declares “jirgas’ unconstitutional”, Express Tribune, 27 March 2012. 103. ‘Rights activists urge SC to ban Jirga system’, The Express Tribune, 31 May 2012. 104. Alternative Dispute Resolution Bill 2016. 105. Zofeen Ibrahim, ‘Pakistan: women intensify push to pass law against acid attacks’, Inter PressService, 31 May 2010. 106. Human Rights Case No. 12912-P of 2009. Supreme Court of Pakistan, 20 November 2009. 107. They were Marvi Memon, Shahnaz Sheikh and Anusha Rehman. 108. Valerie Khan, ‘Comprehensive acid and burn legislation status’, 19 December 2012. Available at: http://acidsurvivorspakistan.org/comprehensive-acid-andburn-legislation-status (accessed 7 March 2017, no longer available). 109. That is, hurt through the use of fire, poison, acid or other substances with a fine and imprisonment (ranging from 14 years to life). It imposed a million rupee fine and seven years to life imprisonment for the perpetrator. 110. The Acid Crimes Law amends Section 336B of the Pakistan Penal Code through the Criminal Law (2nd Amendment) Act 2011. Punishment is imprisonment for life or not less than 14 years with a minimum fine of 1 million rupees (around US$ 9,000). 111. Khan, ‘Comprehensive acid and burn legislation status’.

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112. Ibid. 113. The bill’s supporters initially sought the death penalty for offenders but the bill was modified. The law is applicable only in the Islamabad Capital Territory. 114. AFP, ‘Tough law sees acid conviction rate triple in Pakistan’, The Express Tribune, 4 March 2013. https://tribune.com.pk/story/515608/tough-law-seesacid-conviction-rate-triple-in-pakistan/ (accessed 13 December 2017). 115. The draft law would ensure a prison sentence of 14 years up to life for perpetrators and a minimum fine of 1 million rupees (around US$ 9,000). The government would bear the cost of medical treatment and rehabilitation of victims. 116. Recorder Report, ‘Acid and Burn Crime Act 2014: PCSW plans orientation session for MPs from Khyber Pakhtunkhwa’, Business Recorder, 16 July 2014. 117. Myra Khan, ‘Significant decreases in acid attacks during 2015’, The News International, 10 March 2016. 118. E. von Werlhof, ‘Scarred for life: the impact of the Acid Control and Acid Crime Prevention Act of 2010 on addressing violence against women in Pakistan’, International Review of Law 3 (2014). Available at: http://dx.doi.org/ 10.5339/irl.2013.dv.3 (accessed 19 December 2017). 119. Irfan Ghauri, ‘New marriage bill to empower Hindu women’, The Express Tribune, 22 August 2016. 120. Faras Ghani, ‘Pakistan failure to outlaw child marriage sparks outcry’, 19 January 2016. Available at: www.aljazeera.com/news/2016/01/pakistanchild-marriage-160118062004700.html (accessed 25 December 2017). 121. Kalbe Ali, ‘Pakistani laws prohibiting underage marriage un-Islamic: CII’, Dawn, 11 March 2014. 122. The Sindh Child Marriages Restraint Act 2013, passed in April 2014. 123. Dawn, ‘Editorial’, 17 January 2016. 124. Ghani, ‘Pakistan failure’. 125. Nasir Iqbal, ‘1961 Muslim family laws not comprehensive: CII chief’, Dawn, 2 January 2009. 126. This view was in conflict with the 2000 FSC judgement that only held Sections 4 and 7 against the injunctions of Islam, whose appeal before the Shariat Appellate Bench of the Supreme Court was pending at the time of Shirani’s pronouncement (Waseem Ahmed Shah, ‘Different interpretations of law on second marriage’, Dawn, 17 March 2014). 127. INP, ’LJCP recommends reforms in Muslim Family Law Ordinance’, Pakistan Today, 15 June 2014. 128. His son Shahbaz Taseer was kidnapped in 2011 by Uzbek militants and held for four years. Prime Minister Gilani’s son was kidnapped in 2013 by Al-Qaeda and held for three years. 129. Amir Zia, ‘Our Litmus Test’, Legislative Watch, 34 (October – December 2010), p. 1.

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130. The assassin, Malik Mumtaz Hussain Qadri, was sentenced to death. The Islamabad Bar Council went on strike to protest against the impending execution, but the country was not paralysed with public protests as the religious parties had threatened. 131. Sherry Rehman, ‘Stand Up Against the Blasphemy Laws’, The Express Tribune, 23 November 2010. 132. ‘Bill to amend blasphemy laws submitted to NA secretariat’, The Express Tribune, 26 November 2010. 133. AFP, ‘Taseer’s killer Mumtaz Qadri hanged’, Dawn, 1 March 2016. 134. The Women in Distress and Detention Fund (Amendment) Act, 2011. The law, originally passed in 1996, was amended and new rules framed. The fund offers up to 10,000 rupees (US$ 90 at current rates) of support to women in detention, disabled women, burn and medical cases, women suffering maltreatment by husbands, women needing legal aid, and other cases of women in distress. Available at: http://pcsw.punjab.gov.pk/women_in_ distress_and_detention_fund (accessed 1 December 2017). 135. Editorial Staff, ‘One Step Forward: Interview with Bushra Gohar’, Newsline, 31 March, 2010. Available at: http://newslinemagazine.com/magazine/interviewbushra-gohar/ (accessed 18 March 2018). 136. Shaheed et al., Women in Politics, pp. 149– 51. 137. A suicide bombing in a by-election in Buner on 18 December 2008 was proof of the perils of election day. In this constituency many women were also prevented from voting. 138. Uzma Mahboob, ‘Violations of women’s electoral rights in NWFP’, Legislative Watch 23 (January – March 2008), p. 5. 139. Ibid. 140. Aurat Foundation, A Public Case on Gross Violation of Women’s Electoral Rights in Swabi, Mardan and Dir, NWFP (Peshawar, 2001). 141. Aurat Foundation, ‘A case of “missing” women’, Legislative Watch 23 (January– March 2008), p. 3. 142. Center for Peace and Development Initiatives, ‘Call to reduce gender gap in voters’ list’, 8 December 2017. Available at: www.cpdi-pakistan.org/archives/ 11917 (accessed 28 December 2017). 143. The problem spread to Gilgit-Baltistan, too. In one constituency a fatwa and a jirga decision sought to ban 12,000 women in one valley from voting in a GB legislative assembly election, also with political parties colluding based on the argument that men would perform duty at women’s polling stations in violation of cultural norms (Shabbir Mir, ‘CEC says it is “criminal” to ban women from voting’, Express Tribune, 4 May 2015). 144. Ibid. 145. Pakistan Horizon, ‘Cheers for the Election Commission of Pakistan and the women’s movement’, 5 June 2015. 146. Asma Jahangir was elected the first woman president of the Supreme Court Bar Association in October 2010.

NOTES 147. 148. 149. 150. 151. 152. 153. 154. 155. 156. 157. 158.

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5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11.

12. 13. 14. 15.

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Hasnat Malik, ‘Disenfranchising women’, The Express Tribune, 10 May 2016. Interview with Sherry Rehman. This was passed in the Senate. This is the Election Act 2017, passed on 2 October 2017. Editorial Staff, ‘One Step Forward’. Interview with Sherry Rehman. AAWAZ Programme, Women and Excluded Groups in Political Parties and Legislative Bodies (Islamabad, 2017), p. 34. Editorial Staff. ‘One Step Forward’. Interview with Nafisa Shah, Karachi, 11 January 2015. In 2013 elections three times as many women contested, but as independents since parties did not give them tickets. Interview with Farzana Bari. Azam Khan, ‘NA panel unanimously adopts bill allocating more seats for women’, The Express Tribune, 9 November 2014. Shah tabled the bill with Azra Pecheco, who is also an MNA on reserved seats and sister of PPP co-chairman Asif Zardari. Interview with Nafisa Shah. Interview with Sherry Rehman, London, 4 January 2016.

Chapter 10 1. 2. 3. 4.

274 –285

The Long View

Interview with Hina Jilani, Lahore, 23 October 2015. Interview with Nazish Brohi, Karachi, 26 May 2015. Interview with Hina Jilani. Sadia Toor, ‘Gender, Sexuality, and Islam under the Shadow of Empire’, Religion and the Body 9/1 (2011), p. 3. Available at: sfonline.barnard.ed/ religion/toor_01.htm (accessed 13 March 2018). Interview with Jilani. Interview with Arifa Mazhar, Islamabad, 31 March 2015. Hina Jilani, ‘Law as an Instrument of Social Control’ in N.S. Khan, R. Saigol, and A.S. Zia (eds), Locating the Self: Perspectives on Women and Multiple Identities Vol. 1 (Lahore, 1994), pp. 96– 105, at pp. 98 and 101. Farida Shaheed, ‘Contested Identities: gendered politics, gendered religion in Pakistan’, Third World Quarterly, 31/6 (2010), pp. 851 – 67, at p. 865. Interview with Zohra Yusuf, Karachi, 17 November 2014. Interview with Farida Shaheed, Lahore, 23 March 2015. HRCP lawyer Rashid Rehman was killed in Multan for defending an academic facing charges of blasphemy in 2014 and Sabeen Mahmud, who advocated against impunity for militants at Lal Masjid, was murdered in 2014 (see Chapter 6). Recall the attempted murder of Jilani when Samia Sarwar was killed in her office. Interview with Nafisa Shah, Karachi, 29 December 2016. Interview with Hina Jilani. Interview with Ambreen Ahmad Islamabad, 31 March 2015.

364

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16. Bedari split and Ahmed started an organisation called Rozan, officially registered in 1998. 17. Aurat Foundation co-administers the fund with the Asia Foundation. 18. Aurat Foundation, Gender Equity Programme Newsletter 1 (August 2010– July 2011), p. 2. 19. Rubina Saigol, Feminism and the Women’s Movement in Pakistan: Actors, Debates and Strategies (Islamabad, 2016), p. 38. 20. Interview with Tahira Abdullah, Islamabad, 31 March 2015. 21. Interview with Arifa Mazhar. 22. Saigol, op. cit., p. 36. 23. Ibid., p. 39. 24. Ibid., p. 37. 25. Aslam Khwaja, People’s Movements in Pakistan (Karachi, 2016), pp. 543 – 4. 26. See Khawar Mumtaz and Samiya K. Mumtaz, ‘Women’s Rights and the Punjab peasant movement’, South Asian Journal 35 (2010), pp. 138– 150. 27. Group interview, members of Girls at Dhabas, Karachi, 8 August 2016. 28. Farida Shaheed ‘The Women’s Movement in Pakistan: Challenges and Achievements’, in Amrita Basu (ed.), Women’s Movements in the Global Era (Boulder, 2010). pp. 110 – 65. Available at: https://assets.publishing.service. gov.uk/media/57a08b29ed915d3cfd000b92/Shaheed_Womensmovement.pdf (accessed 21 March 2017). 29. As quoted in Rubina Saigol, Feminism, p. 38. 30. These would include women in HRCP, ASR, Shirkat Gah and Simorgh, amongst a few others. 31. Saba Khattak, quoted in Rubina Saigol, Feminism, p. 37. 32. Interview with Nazish Brohi. 33. Interview with Khawar Mumtaz, Islamabad, 1 April 2015. 34. In Bangladesh half a dozen bloggers linked with holding secular ideas were killed during 2015 and 2016. 35. Asad Hashim, ‘TV host Aamir Liaquat banned over “hate speech”’, Aljazeera. com (27 January 2017). Available at: www.aljazeera.com/news/2017/01/tvhost-aamir-liaquat-banned-hate-speech-170126114713381.html (accessed 13 December 2017). 36. Interview with Tahira Abdullah. 37. Interview with Farida Shaheed. 38. Afiya S. Zia, ‘Faith Based Versus Rights Based Development for Pakistani Women’, in Anita Weiss and Saba Gul Khattak (eds), Development Challenges Confronting Pakistan (London, 2013), pp. 199–208, at pp. 201–5. 39. Ibid. 40. Asma Jahangir, ‘The Origins of the MFLO: Reflections for Activism,’ in Shaheed et al. (eds), Shaping Women’s Lives: Laws, Practices & Strategies in Pakistan (Lahore, 1998), pp. 93 – 103, at p. 103.

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41. Shaheen Sardar Ali and Rukhshanda Naz, ‘Marriage, Dower and Divorce: Superior Courts and Case Law in Pakistan’, in Shaheed et al., Shaping Women’s Lives, pp. 107– 36, at p. 136. 42. Jilani, ‘Law as an Instrument of Social Control’, p. 103. 43. Ibid., p. 104. 44. Interview with Asma Jahangir, Lahore, 26 December 2015. 45. Personal correspondence with Sara Malkani, 14 December 2017. 46. ‘Pakistani school’s federation observes anti-Malala day’, The Express Tribune, 10 November 2014. 47. A.H. Nayyar, ‘War to Mould Minds’, Dawn, 17 May 2016. 48. Khadim Hussain, ‘Curriculum concerns’, Dawn, 3 November 2014. 49. Letter No. 10 – 1/A&C/HEC/2013/869, Higher Education Commission of Pakistan, 28 October 2013. 50. M.S. Awan, ‘Impact of Radical Islamisation on Pakistani Society’, Pakistaniyaat: A Journal of Pakistan Studies 4/2 (2012), pp. 45 – 55, at p. 52. 51. A.H. Nayyar, ‘War to Mould Minds’. 52. Islamopedia Online, ‘Education Sector Reform?’, Islamopedia Online (4 September 2012). Available at: www.islamopediaonline.org/country-profile/ pakistan/islam-and-education-system/education-sector-reform (accessed 19 December 2017). 53. International Crisis Group, Pakistan: The Mullahs and the Military, Asia Report No. 49 (Islamabad/Brussels, 2003), p. 4. 54. International Crisis Group, Pakistan: Karachi’s Madrassas and Violent Extremism, Asia Report No. 130 (Islamabad/Brussels, 2007), p. 18. 55. Riazat Butt, ‘All-female madrassa boom in Pakistan’, Guardian, 14 May 2009. 56. Masooda Bano, ‘Female madrassas in Pakistan: a response to modernity’, Religions and Development Working Paper 45, International Development Department, University of Birmingham (2010), p. 8. 57. ‘Towards better governance, pluralism and peace: understanding growing religiosity and religious extremism’, Steering Committee Meeting discussion, Shirkat Gah, Lahore, 19 August 2014 [author was present]. 58. Faiza Mushtaq, ‘New Claimants to Religious Authority: A Movement for Women’s Islamic Education, Moral Reform and Innovative Traditionalism’ Doctoral Dissertation, Northwestern University’ (December 2010), pp. 171–6. 59. Anita Weiss, Interpreting Islam, Modernity, and Women’s Rights in Pakistan (New York, 2014), p. 124. 60. Ibid., p. 130. 61. Interview with Khawar Mumtaz, Islamabad, 1 April 2015. 62. Interview with Asma Jahangir, Lahore, 26 December 2015. 63. ‘WAF demands zero-tolerance for violence against women’, Dawn, 12 February 2006. 64. Interview with Lala Rukh, Lahore, 28 July 2016. 65. Interview with Farida Shaheed. 66. Interview with Nighat Said Khan, Lahore, 26 July 2015.

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67. Interview with Arifa Mazhar. 68. Nighat Said Khan and Rubina Saigol, ‘Women’s Action Forum: Debates and Contradictions’, in Nighat Said Khan (ed.), Up Against the State: Military Rule and Women’s Resistance (Lahore, 2004), pp. 146–91, at pp. 177–8. 69. Shaheen Sardar Ali, ‘(Re) claiming our histories: A reflection on Women, Islam and Human Rights in Contemporary Muslim Communities’, Paper for Human Rights Day, INGAD (Islamabad, 10 December 2003). See the works of Martin Lau, Khalid Masood and Abdullah An’Naim. 70. For a valuable history of the communist movement in Pakistan, see Kamran Asdar Ali, Surkh Salam: Communist Politics and Class Activism in Pakistan 1947– 1972 (Karachi, 2015). 71. Interview with Farzana Bari, Islamabad, 30 March 2015. 72. Interview with Lala Rukh. 73. Saba Mahmood, Humaira Iqtidar, Amina Jamal, Sadaf Ahmed and Faiza Mushtaq. 74. Weiss, Interpreting Islam, p. 10. 75. Rubina Saigol, Feminism, p. 33. See: Amina Jamal, ‘Gendered Islam and modernity in the nation-space: women’s modernism in the Jamaat-e-Islami of Pakistan’, Feminist Review 91 (2009), pp. 9 – 28; and Amina Jamal, Jamaat-eIslami: Vanguard of a New Modernity? (Syracuse, 2013). 76. Amina, Jamal, ‘Gendered Islam and modernity’, pp. 70 – 1. 77. Ibid., p. 67. 78. Afiya S. Zia, ‘Faith-based Politics, Enlightened Moderation and the Pakistani Women’s Movement’, in Journal of International Women’s Studies 11/1 (November 2009), pp. 225 –45. 79. Shirkat Gah was the coordinator for many years of an international network of women in Muslim countries called Women Living Under Muslim Laws (WLUML). 80. Afiya S. Zia, ‘The Reinvention of Feminism in Pakistan’, in Feminist Review 9 (2009), pp. 29 – 46, at pp. 33 and 44. 81. Ibid., p. 44. 82. Ibid. 83. Neelam Hussain, ‘Dars and the Limitations of Desire’, in Andrea Cornwall and Jenny Edwards (eds), Feminisms, Empowerment and Development (London, 2014), pp. 228 –49.

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‘Muslim world happy at introduction of Islamic laws’, Dawn, 11 February 1979. ‘Nawaz wanted to become Amirul Momineen’, The News, 7 January 2008. Available at www.thenews.com.pk/archive/print/89036-nawaz-wanted-to-becomeamirul-momineen (accessed 5 December 2017). ‘Pakistani school’s federation observes anti-Malala day’, The Express Tribune, 10 November 2014. ‘Pemra censures ARY for “misleading” analysis on appointment of Army generals’, Dawn, 12 February 2016. ‘Police exploiting LHC ruling, apex court told: Delay in Saima case affected 250 couples: Asma’, Dawn, 14 May 2003. ‘Political manoeuvring to amend Hudood Ordinance’, Dawn, 30 May 2011. ‘President orders security for Shaista’, Dawn, 16 January 2004. ‘Rights activists urge SC to ban Jirga system’, The Express Tribune, 31 May 2012. ‘Security for rights activists in KP, Fata demanded’, Dawn, 13 February 2013. ‘Sheema’s “NO”’, The Nation, 10 May 2009. ‘Take it Mukhtar, that’s how we treat our daughters!’, Dawn, 22 April 2011. ‘Taliban use Islamic Shariah to defend Malala attack’, Dawn, 10 October 2012. ‘Text of Malala’s speech at UN’, The Nation, 13 July 2013. ‘WAF demands zero-tolerance for violence against women’, Dawn, 12 February 2006. ‘WAF launches campaign against Shariat bill’, The Frontier Post, 16 May 1991. ‘WAF on FATA reform’, Dawn, 5 October 2016. ‘Women, rights bodies shocked by SC verdict’, Dawn, 21 April 2001. Abbas, Zaffar, ‘Creeping coup’, Dawn, 31 March 2007. Abbassi, Obaid, ‘Anti-honour killing bill: Deadlock persists between PML-N, JUI-F’, The Express Tribune, 6 April 2016. ——— ‘PNA’s positive objective achieved – Mufti’, Dawn, 11 February 1979. AFP, ‘Swat women foresee change after Malala’s Nobel win’, Dawn, 13 October 2014. AFP, ‘Taseer’s killer Mumtaz Qadri hanged’, Dawn, 1 March 2016. AFP, ‘Tough law sees acid conviction rate triple in Pakistan’, The Express Tribune, 4 March 2013. https://tribune.com.pk/story/515608/tough-law-sees-acidconviction-rate-triple-in-pakistan/ (accessed 13 December 2017). Agencies, ‘Musharraf’s remarks condemned: Rape victims’, Dawn, 17 September 2005. Ali Khan, Farzana, ‘Swat Flogging Cases’, The News, 6 December 2010. Ali Khan, Shujaat, ‘Balkhsher, Shaista free to decide their future’, Dawn, 31 March 2003. Ali, Kalbe, ‘Suicide attack threats again ring out of LM’, Dawn, 20 December 2014. ——— ‘Lal Masjid’s expansionism, militant links alarms agencies’, Dawn, 29 January 2016. ——— ‘Pakistani laws prohibiting underage marriage un-Islamic: CII’, Dawn, 11 March 2014. Ali, Rafaqat,‘Uncle of girl killed couple, SC told: Sanghar honour killing case’, Dawn, 25 October 2003. Anis, Muhammad, ‘Eight clauses of Punjab Women Act clash with Quran, Sunnah: CII’, The News International, 6 April 2016.

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Hussain, Anwer, ‘The PPP’s progressive stance has watered down’, The Frontier Post, 22 December 1989. Hussain, Khadim, ‘Curriculum concerns’, Dawn, 3 November 2014. Ibrahim, Zofeen, ‘TV debates take on anti-women Islamic laws’, Inter Press Service, 15 June 2006. ——— ‘Backlash rises against Pakistan’s bill on sexual harassment’, Inter Press Service, 18 February 2010. ——— ‘Pakistan: women intensify push to pass law against acid attacks’, Inter Press Service, 31 May 2010. Imran, Tazeem,‘CII reviews ruling on DNA admissibility in rape cases’, Dawn, 19 September 2013. INP, ‘LJCP recommends reforms in Muslim Family Law Ordinance’, Pakistan Today, 15 June 2014. Iqbal, Nasir, ‘1961 Muslim family laws not comprehensive: CII chief’, Dawn, 2 January 2009. ——— ‘SC irked by officials’ “helplessness’’: Swat flogging case’, Dawn, 7 April 2009. Khaliq, Abdul, ‘A gory video that shook Pakistanis’, CADTM, 6 April 2009. Khaliq, Fazal, ‘Incensed by Malala attack, jirga declare war on Taliban’, The Express Tribune, 14 October 2012. Khan, Azam, ‘NA panel unanimously adopts bill allocating more seats for women’, The Express Tribune, 9 November 2014. ——— ‘Tribal decisions: SC declares “jirgas’’ unconstitutional’, Express Tribune, 27 March 2012. Khan, Iftikhar, ‘SC upholds most parts of Hasba Bill’, Dawn, 21 February 2007. Khan, Myra, ‘Significant decreases in acid attacks during 2015’, The News International, 10 March 2016. Khan, Raza, ‘Lightly beating’ wife permissible, says CII’s proposed women protection bill’, Dawn, 26 May 2016. Khan, Zia, ‘National Assembly passes landmark women’s rights bill’, Express Tribune, 15 November 2011. ‘Laws Victimizing Pakistani Women Seen as “Divine’’ by Hardline Supporters’, The Daily Times, May 3, 2004. Available at: www.dailytimes.com.pk/default.asp? page¼story_3-5-2004_pg7_24 (accessed 3 May 2004). Letters, Dawn, 28 February 2003. Malik, Hasnat, ‘Disenfranchising women’, The Express Tribune, 10 May 2016. Mansuri, M.A., ‘U.S. Embassy set on fire in Islamabad’, Dawn, 22 November 1979. Masood, Tooba, ‘ DNA evidence is most important clause in Anti-Rape Bill’, Dawn, 11 November 2016. Minallah, Samar, ‘VIEW: The Swat flogging video’, Daily Times, 4 April 2010. Mir, Shabbir, ‘CEC says it is “criminal” to ban women from voting’, Express Tribune, 4 May 2015. The Muslim, 20 April 1984. The Muslim, 4 April 1984. The Muslim, 9 April 1984. Nayyar, A.H., ‘War to Mould Minds’, Dawn, 17 May 2016. The Nation, 25 May 1992. The News, 30 March 2007. Qadir, Shaukat, ‘Really, what is going on?’ Daily Times, 7 April 2007.

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Webnews sources ‘Love marriage allowed by court: Pakistani defies Muslim rule’, Toledo Blade, 11 March 1997. No longer available (accessed 1 December 2013). Azhar, Mobeen, ‘The school that says Osama Bin Laden was a hero’, BBC World Service, Islamabad, 12 November 2014. Available at: www.bbc.com/news/ magazine-30005278 (accessed 10 December 2017). CBS News, ‘Honour Crimes’, 11 February 2009. Available at: www.cbsnews.com/ 8301-18559_162- 242349.html (accessed 9 October 2013). Central Asia Online, ‘Swat police arrest man for flogging women in 2009’, 20 March 2012. No longer available (accessed 30 August 2013). Ghilan, Mohamed, ‘Islam, Saudi and Apostasy’, 10 May 2014. Available at: www. aljazeera.com/indepth/opinion/2014/05/islam-saudi-apostasy-20145814212 8717473.html (accessed 10 December 2017). Hasan, Syed Munawar, ‘Jawab Dey’, Sebtain TV, 13 October 2013. Available at: www.siasat.pk/forum/showthread.php?213419-Jawab-Deyh-13th-October2013-Journalists-Iftikhar-Ahmed-s-tough-questions-get-Syed-Munawar-HassanAngry (accessed 17 December 2017). Hasan, Syed Shoaib, ‘Profile: Islamabad’s Red Mosque’, BBC News, 27 July 2007. Available at: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/south_asia/6503477.stm (accessed 20 December 2017). Hashim, Asad, ‘TV host Aamir Liaquat banned over “hate speech”’, Aljazeera.com (27 January 2017). Available at: www.aljazeera.com/news/2017/01/tv-host-

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aamir-liaquat-banned-hate-speech-170126114713381.html (accessed 13 December 2017). Khokhar, Shafique, ‘Women, the first victims of Taliban violence in Pakistan’s tribal areas’. Available at: http://www.asianews.it/news-en/Women,-the-first-victimsof-Taliban-violence-in-Pakistan%27s-tribal-areas-23467.html (accessed 13 March 2018). Rediff On The Net, ‘Love marriage valid, says Pak court in historic judgement’ (1997). Available at www.rediff.com/news/mar/10pak.htm (accessed 12 October 2013). Rehman, Sherry, ‘Pakistan and the Battle Over Dishonourable Killings’, www.news deeply.com, 27 July 2016. Available at: www.newsdeeply.com/womenandgirls/ community/2016/07/27/pakistan-and-the-battle-over-dishonorable-killings (accessed 12 December 2017). Reuters, ‘Pakistan religious leaders slam Women’s Protection Act’, 4 March 2016. Available at: www.aljazeera.com/news/2016/03/religious-leaders-slam-womenprotection-act-pakistan-160303160705361.html (accessed 13 December 2017). Shah, Benazir and Nazar-ul Islam, ‘Meeting Pakistan’s Maulana Mohammad Abdul Aziz’, 4 February 2016. Available at: www.aljazeera.com/indepth/features/2016/ 01/meeting-pakistan-maulana-mohammad-abdul-aziz-red-mosque-1601191 20907458.html (accessed 10 December 2017). South Asia Citizen’s Web. A Year on the Edge: The Government’s Attack on Human Rights Organisations in Pakistan. May 5 1998– May 13 1999. Available at: www.sacw.net/aii/edge.html (accessed 22 December 2017). South Asia Terrorism Portal, Rabita Trust. Available at: www.satp.org/satporgtp/countri es/pakistan/terroristoutfits/Rabita_Trust.htm (accessed 17 November 2017).

Official documents/reports Commission of Inquiry for Women, Government of Pakistan. Report of the Commission of Inquiry for Women (Islamabad, 1997). Commission on Human Rights, United Nations Economic and Social Council. Report of the Special Rapporteur, Mr. P. Kooijmans, pursuant to Commission on Human Rights resolution 1991/38 (Geneva, 27 December 1991). Government of Pakistan, Pakistan Economic Survey 2013 – 14, Annexure III (Islamabad, 2014). Higher Education Commission of Pakistan. Letter No. 10-1/A&C/HEC/2013/869 (28 October 2013). Majlis-eShoora (Parliament) of Pakistan Joint Sitting 2012 (5 April 2012). Available at: www.na.gov.pk/uploads/documents/1335241522_622.pdf (accessed 13 December 2017). Ministry of Information and Broadcasting, Government of Pakistan, ‘President Mohammad Zia ul-Haq Interview with BBC Correspondent, Rawalpindi, 12 October 1982’ (Islamabad, n.d.). Ministry of Law and Parliamentary Affairs, Government of Pakistan, Report of the Pakistan Women’s Rights Committee 1976. National Assembly of Pakistan, Debates, Official Report. 38th Session. Vol. 38 Nos 1 –4 (15 November 2006). ——— Debates, Official Report. Third Session of 1974. Vol. 5, Nos. 27– 39 (7 September 1974).

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——— The National Assembly of Pakistan Debates, Official Report, 2nd Session of 1986 II/12 (17 June 1986). National Commission on the Status of Women, Report on Hudood Ordinance (Islamabad, 2004). ——— Study on Local Bodies System and Its Impact on Women (Islamabad, 2010). National Education Management Information System, Academy of Educational Planning and Management, Ministry of Federal Education and Professional Training, Government of Pakistan, Pakistan Education Statistics 2015– 16 (Islamabad, 2017). Pakistan Bureau of Statistics, ‘Population By Religion’. Available at: www.pbs.gov. pk/content/population-religion (accessed 8 December 2017). Pakistan Penal Code (Act XLV of 1860). Available at: www.pakistani.org/pakistan/ legislation/1860/actXLVof1860.html (accessed 23 December 2017). Parliament of the Islamic Republic of Pakistan, An Introduction to Women’s Parliamentary Caucus (Islamabad, nd). Report of the Court of Inquiry Constituted Under Punjab Act II of 1954 to Inquire Into the Punjab Disturbances of 1953 (Lahore, 1954). Report of the United Nations Commission of Inquiry into the facts and circumstances of the assassination of former Pakistani Prime Minister Mohtarma Benazir Bhutto, 15 April 2010. Available at: un.org/News/dh/infocus/Pakistan/UN_Bhutto_Report_ 15April2010.pdf (accessed 12 December 2017). Testimony of Mr Alex Alexiev, Senior Fellow, Center for Security Policy, ‘Wahhabism: State-Sponsored Extremism Worldwide’. US Senate Subcommittee on Terrorism, Technology and Homeland Security (26 June 2003). United States Senate, An Assessment of Current Efforts to Combat Terrorism Financing. Hearing before the Committee on Governmental Affairs, United States Senate. One Hundred Eighth Congress, Second Session (15 June 2004). United States Senate, Terrorism Financing: Origination, Organization, and Prevention. Hearing Before the Committee on Governmental Affairs, United States Senate One Hundred Eighth Congress, First Session (31 July 2003).

Legal cases Abdul Zahir vs The State (2000) SCMR. Allah Bux and Another vs The State (1982) PLD FSC 101. Hafiz Abdul Waheed vs Mrs Asma Jehangir and another (2004) PLD SC 219. Human Rights Case No. 12912-P (2009), Supreme Court of Pakistan. J. Mst Humaira Mehmood – Petitioner vs The State and others (1999) PLD, Lahore 494. Mian Abdur Razzaq Aamir vs Federal Government of Islamic Republic of Pakistan (2011) PLD FSC 1,1. Muhammad Akram Khan vs The State (2001) PLD SC 96. Muhammad Imtiaz and another vs The State (1981) PLD FSC 308. Muhammad Sarwar and Mst Shahida Parveen vs The State 1988 NLR SC 188 FSC. Muhammad Siddique vs The State (2002) PLD Lahore 444. Saima Waheed and Arshad Ahmad: Validity of Marriage Case. Judgment: Lahore High Court Lahore/Rawalpindi Bench Rawalpindi/Multan Bench Multan. Judicial Department. Crl. Misc. No. 425/H of 1996 [16/03/1997].

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Suo Moto Case No. 1 of 2009. Order in the Supreme Court of Pakistan (6 April 2009). Writ Petition filed by Women’s Action Forum through Ms Nighat Said Khan vs the Government of Pakistan, State Bank of Pakistan, Privatization Commission [and others] under Article 199 of the Constitution of the Islamic Republic of Pakistan, 1973, at the Lahore High Court (7 November 1997).

Women’s Action Forum documents and statements Press Release on the murders in Balochistan, 25 August 2008. Press statement on Saima Waheed case, Islamabad, 23 March 1997. A Women’s Manifesto: General Elections 2013. Karachi. Chapter Report 1992 to the National Convention, Lahore, 1992. Letter to General Body Rawalpindi, Islamabad, 13 May 1992. Letter to Prime Minister Gilani against the appointment of Maulana Sherani of JUI as Chairman of Council of Islamic Ideology, 12 June 2010. Letter to the Women of Bangladesh, 3 March 1996. Minutes to the National Convention, Lahore, 1990. Minutes to WAF Convention 1993, Islamabad, 27 – 8 January 1994. National Meeting, ‘WAF Lahore Discussions/Positions on the Agenda’, Karachi, 11 January 2008. Press Release, 31 December 2007. Put Women’s Rights on the National Agenda Now! (Lahore/Karachi/Islamabad, 1993). Resolution, 12 February 2012. Statement of Demands (1990). Shirkat Gah, WAF 25th Anniversary, Karachi, 2016. Statement, nd, 1982. Statement, 11 October 2007. Statement, 19 April 2007. Statement, 26 September 2008. Statement, Lahore, 10 February 2014. WAF Charter. Available at: https://waflahore.wordpress.com/2012/02/11/charter (accessed 20 February 2018). WAF Lahore, ‘Press Statement on Criminal Law Amendment (Offences in the Name of Honour) Act 2016’, 16 August, 2016. ‘WAF Women’s Theatre: From a Woman’s Platform’ (Karachi, 1984), pp. 7 – 8. Workshop discussions document, Lahore, November 1991. Zia, Shahla. ‘Secular Issue’, Note to Islamabad WAF, nd.

Miscellaneous primary documents Human Rights Commission of Pakistan, ‘The Shariat Bill and its implications’, Lahore, nd. Joint Action Committee for People’s Rights, ‘Press Statement’, nd, 2000. Shirkat Gah, ‘Pakistan: Letter-writing campaign for women buried alive (Ref: Women Living Under Muslim Laws)’, 17 September 2008. Author’s personal correspondence with Sara Malkani, 14 December 2017. Author’s personal correspondence with Saba Khattak, 24 November 2017. National NGO Coalition Working Paper, May 1995.

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385

Legislative Watch newsletters Aurat Foundation, ‘A Permanent Commission on the Status of Women: Historical Perspective’, Legislative Watch 12 (October 2000), p. 1. ——— Legislative Watch 15– 16 (November– December 2001), p. 6. ——— ‘Honour Killing and the Urgent Need for Law Reform’, Legislative Watch 22 (December 2003), pp. 1 – 2. ——— ‘A case of “missing” women’, Legislative Watch 23 (January–March 2008), p. 3. ——— ‘Reform is not enough – Repeal the Hudood Ordinances,’ Legislative Watch 24 (April – June 2008). p. 1. ——— ‘Call to end “honor’’ killings, jirgas and panchayats’, Legislative Watch 25 (July– September 2008), p. 8. ——— ‘Civil society demands abolition of FSC’, Legislative Watch 34 (October – December 2010), p. 4. ——— ‘NCSW, CSOs protest as Mukhtaran Mai “re-victimized”’, Legislative Watch 35 (January – April 2011), p. 1. ——— Gender Equity Programme Newsletter 1 (August 2010– July 2011). ——— ‘Sherry defends legislation’, Legislative Watch 24 (July–September 2009). p. 3. ‘Editorial’, Legislative Watch 21 (January – March 2008), p. 1. Lari, Maliha Zia, ‘A critical appreciation of the Prevention of Anti-Women Practices (Criminal Law Amendment) Bill 2011’, Legislative Watch 37 (August – November 2011), p. 1. ——— ‘NCSW on road to autonomy’, in Legislative Watch 39 (January– April 2012) p. 1. ——— ‘Women’s representation in legislatures’, Legislative Watch 41 (March – November, 2013), p. 1. Legislative Watch 22 (December 2003). Mahboob, Uzma, ‘Violations of women’s electoral rights in NWFP’, Legislative Watch, 23 (January – March 2008), p. 5. Mirza, Naeem, ‘Law on “honour” crimes requires key amendments’, Legislative Watch 31 (January – March 2010), p. 3. ——— ‘Seven pro-women laws in seven years’, Legislative Watch 38 (December, 2011), pp. 1 – 4. Zia, Amir, ‘Our Litmus Test’, Legislative Watch, 34 (October – December 2010), p. 1. Zia, Maliha, ‘Bills on rape and sexual violence introduced in legislatures’, Legislative Watch 43 (January– May 2014), p. 5.

Films A Girl in the River: the Price of Forgiveness. Director, Sharmeen Obaid-Chinoy, 2015. Against My Will. Director, Ayfer Ergun, 2003. License to Kill, BBC documentary, 2000. Producer, Fiona Lloyd-Davies. Saving Face. Director, Sharmeen Obaid-Chinoy, Oscar award-winner for best short documentary 2012. Ten years of WAF and Sindhiani Tehrik: When This Day is Named. Director, Nighat Said Khan. Who Shall Cast the First Stone? Winner, Golden Gate Award, San Francisco Film Festival, 1998. Director, Sabiha Sumar.

INDEX

Page numbers in italics refer to photographs. Page numbers with a suffix T refer to a table. AASHA (Alliance Against Sexual Harassment), 264–5 Abdullah, Tahira, 107, 110, 207, 245, 274, 285, 290 academic freedom, 59–60 acid attacks, 52, 141, 181, 266 –8 Action Aid, 183 adultery see zina laws Advisory Council of Islamic Ideology see Council of Islamic Ideology (CII) Afghanistan Sharif and, 158 Soviet invasion and the jihad, 46, 51– 4, 55, 131– 2 US invasion and rise of the Taliban, 118, 171, 172, 190–1, 192, 194 Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto and, 39 Afridi, Farida, 214 Afridi, Riffat, 141 AGHS legal practice, 85–6, 92, 96–7, 166 Ahmad, Ambreen, 215, 284, 285 Ahmad, Khurshid, 58 Ahmadis, 25–7, 37, 38, 67, 68, 126, 160 Ahmed, Arshad, 133–4 Ahmed, Nigar, 79, 94, 150 Ahmed, Qazi Hussain, 175, 176, 178 Ahmed, Samina, 87 Ahmed, Tehmina, 80–1, 103 Ahrar, 25 Ahsan, Aitzaz, 219

Aitzaz, Bushra, 110 Ajoka Theatre group, 153 Akbar (carpenter, accused of an affair), 97–8 Alavi, Hamza, 82–3, 86 alcohol, 56–7 Ali, Shaheen Sardar, 246, 292 Ali, Tahira Mazhar, 101– 2 All Pakistan Women’s Association (APWA), 24, 29, 77, 102 Alliance Against Sexual Harassment (AASHA), 264–5 Almani, Shaista, 233–4 Al-Qaeda, 53, 132, 171, 183, 190–1, 194, 302 Amnesty International, 135, 221, 225 amputations, 61, 62, 76 Andrabi, Tahir, 198 Anjuman Muzareen Punjab, 287 ANP (Awami National Party), 183, 196, 199, 207, 274 Ansari, Nawabzada, 89– 90 anthem of WAF, 87 anti-obscenity drive, 175– 6 Anti-Rape Bill, 231 anti-women practices, 266 apostasy, 177–8 Applied Socio-Economic Research see ASR APWA see All Pakistan Women’s Association ASR (Applied Socio-Economic Research), 145–6, 147, 166, 252, 285, 288 –9, 291, 298

INDEX Aurat Foundation, 94, 145–6, 147, 148, 150, 171, 175, 183, 214, 226, 239, 252, 274, 285 Awami League, 35 Awami National Party (ANP), 183, 196, 199, 207, 274 Awami Worker’s Party, 300 Awan, Zia, 136 –7 Ayaz, Shabina, 274 Azhar, Nasreen, 246, 287–8 Aziz, Abdul, 180, 184, 185–6 Aziz, Shaukat, 221, 222, 227, 266 Azzam, Mohammed, 53 Babar, Farhatullah, 231 Baloch, Liaquat, 228 Baloch, Qandeel, 240–1, 242 Baloch, Zarina, 94 Baluchistan, 224, 239, 262 Bangladesh, 161, 164 banking, 119, 158, 162–3 Bano, Masooda, 295 Bari, Farzana, 149, 181, 200, 201, 219, 222, 223, 252, 263, 300 Bedari, 152, 264 beheadings, 195 Bhandara, M.P., 178 Bhatti, Shahbaz, 271 Bhutto, Benazir, 90–1, 113, 118, 119–20, 132, 144, 147, 154, 160, 162, 172, 204–5, 205, 250 Bhutto, Zulfiqar Ali, 30, 34 –42, 57, 83, 85, 127, 129, 248 Bibi, Aasia, 271 Bibi, Chand, 206 –10, 255 Bibi, Safia, 98–9 Bilour, Ilyas, 141 bin Laden, Osama, 185 birth control see family planning blasphemy laws, 67 –8, 104, 159 –60, 170, 178, 271 –2, 290 blood money see Qisas and Diyat laws bodily injury laws, 69–70 Bogra, Mohammed Ali, 28–9 Bokhari, Sultanat, 79 Bose, Sugata, 117 Brohi, Nazish, 151, 173 –4, 176–7, 178, 203, 210, 278, 279, 289 brothels, 56, 57, 157, 180

387

Bugti, Nawab Akbar, 224, 234, 227 burqas, 196, 198 Butt, Humaira, 11, 135–8 Butt, Mehmood, 136 –8 CEDAW (Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women), 120, 135, 138, 147, 162, 259 chadors, 59, 76, 78, 94–5 Chaudhry, Iftikhar, 209, 266 –7 Cheema, Abdul Hafeez, 133 CIA (US Central Intelligence Agency), 52, 53 CII see Council of Islamic Ideology citizen’s rights, 259, 272 citizenship, 272 class, 108, 114, 130, 194 clothing see dress codes communism, 48, 51 Communist Party, 101–2, 121 conferences, international, 147, 163 constitution of Pakistan 1956, 27, 247 1962, 30–1, 248 1973, 36–7, 40, 248 1981 (abridged version of, 1973), 65 2nd Amendment, 38, 40, 259 8th Amendment, 69, 72, 99, 117, 118, 119 15th Amendment, 158 17th Amendment, 174, 258–9 18th Amendment, 258– 60, 294 Article, 8, 177 Muslims and non-Muslims defined, 66– 7 Objectives Resolution, 21 –3, 26, 27, 30, 72, 154 reserved seats provision, 247–8 Shariat Act and, 157 state obligation to protect marriage, family, mother and child, 161 controls on women, 58 –9, 78, 90, 196, 197, 201, 299 Council of Islamic Ideology (CII) (formerly Advisory Council of Islamic Ideology) against pro-women legislation, 257–8, 260, 263, 269– 70 appointment and role, 30, 37, 257 –8 MMA and, 174

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Musharraf’s reforms of hudood laws, 226, 231, 246– 7, 301 and the Muslim Family Law Ordinances, 161 rejects Hasba Bill, 176 sole woman member, 275 Zia’s use of, 60–2 courts effect of Shariat Bill on, 154, 157– 8 lower versus higher, 99 military, 58, 91, 97–8 qazi, 200 Shariah versus civil, 230 Zia’s restructuring, 64–6 see also Federal Shariat Court (FSC); Lahore High Court (LHC); Sindh High Court (SHC); Supreme Court cultural activities, 84–5, 174, 196, 299 culture, 105, 135, 166–7, 206 customary practices, 266 Daily Times, 135 dance and music, 84, 299 al-Dawalibi, Marouf, 55, 61, 62 Dawn newspaper, 103 Dean, Bernadette, 294 democracy, 2, 23, 27, 58, 123, 124, 156, 159, 165, 276–7, 299–301 Democratic Women’s Association (DWA), 77, 91, 101–2 DFID (UK Department for International Development), 206 discriminatory laws, 66, 67, 99, 102, 118–20, 177, 272 displaced families, 200–1 divorce, 29, 99–100, 139–41, 160, 161, 229, 255, 269 Diyat (blood money) see Qisas and Diyat laws domestic violence, 106, 178, 260–4, 293 donor agencies, 12, 145, 146, 147 –8, 149, 152, 206, 282, 284 –5, 291–2, 306 Doumato, Eleanor Abdella, 47, 49 dress codes for men, 195 for women, 58, 59, 94–5, 95, 157, 175, 178, 196, 198, 265 see also chadors DWA see Democratic Women’s Association

IN

PAKISTAN

East Pakistan, 35, 130, 164 Edhi, Faisal, 136 education, 126–30, 131–2, 293– 6 Ayub Khan’s manipulation of, 31–2 co-education, 176 female, 86, 127, 175, 176, 193, 198 –9, 295– 6 in Saudi Arabia, 48 –9 Taliban attacks on, 198–9 US-supported programmes, 52 –3 see also schools; students; universities Election Commission of Pakistan (ECP), 273, 274 elections 1965, 32 1970, 35, 36, 41, 85 1977, 39–40 1979 scheduled then cancelled, 57, 58 1984 referendum, 71 1985, 72 1988, 113 1993, 126 2002, 169, 172 –3, 237 2003 (local bodies), 174 2008, 199, 254, 273 2013, 215, 254, 273–4, 276 eligibility for office, 27, 36, 72 employment, 78, 79, 86, 119, 195, 197 equal rights, 36, 37, 124, 135, 147, 228, 237, 272 see also human rights; women’s rights evidence laws, 66, 87–90, 98, 107 excluded groups, 66 –9 Fahd of Saudi Arabia, King, 50 Faisal of Saudi Arabia, King, 33, 38–9, 45, 46 family planning, 30, 175–6, 197–8, 201 Family Planning Association of Pakistan (FPAP), 30, 163 Farhat, Naila, 266–7 FATA (Federally Administered Tribal Areas), 193, 194, 214 –15 Fazal-ur-Rehman, 173, 208, 211, 261, 263, 271 Fazlullah, Maulana, 184, 192– 3, 194–6, 197, 199, 207, 214 Federal Shariat Court (FSC), 65 –6, 96, 99, 100, 123, 134, 157–8, 161, 230

INDEX Fehmida (victim of zina laws), 77 feminism and feminist organisations, 100–1, 104, 108, 114, 144, 145, 146–7, 166–7, 287–9, 301–6 Feminist Collective, The, 287 financial transactions, women and, 107, 119 Firdaus, Kauser, 175 First Women Bank (FWB), 162–3 flogging of Chand Bibi, 206–10, 255 FPAP see Family Planning Association of Pakistan freedom of religion, 23, 38, 72 FSC see Federal Shariat Court funding, 12, 282 cultural sensitivity, 206 of NGOs, 145, 146, 147–8, 149, 152, 282, 284– 5, 291–2, 306 of Pakistan by foreign powers, 38–9 of political candidates, 275– 6 of religious organisations, 132, 282 from Saudi Arabia, 37, 38– 9, 46, 50 –1, 52, 56, 132 of Taliban, 191 US support for Afghan resistance, 51, 52 of Women’s Action Forum (WAF), 81, 125, 150– 1, 289 Gardezi, Fauzia, 112 Gauhar, Faryal, 141 Gauhar, Madiha, 88, 165 Ghamdi, Javed Ahmed, 226, 227, 301 Ghazi, Abdul, 180, 184, 185 Ghulam Ishaq Khan, 69, 118, 120 Gilani, Yousaf Raza, 271 Girls at Dhabas, 287 Gohar, Bushra, 177, 272, 274, 275 Habib-ul-Rehman, 139 hadd (maximum punishment), 62, 226 Haider, Iqbal, 141, 237 Haideri, Abdul Ghafoor, 228 Haleem, Maulvi Abdul, 214 Haqqani, Husain, 20, 31, 39, 61 –2, 156 harassment of women, 59, 78, 264–5 Haroon, Anis, 81, 137, 208, 237, 246, 266 Hasan, Riffat, 106, 126 Hasba Act, 176 –7 Hashmi, Farhat, 296 Hashmi, Salima, 87, 164

389

Hassan, Munawar, 208, 211–12, 221 health care, 175, 193, 197–8, 201 Hekmatyar, Gulbuddin, 52 High Courts, 64, 65 see also Lahore High Court (LHC); Sindh High Court (SHC) hijab, 175, 178 Hindus, 130, 268–9 home, women’s place, 59, 79–80, 174–5 honour killings, 15, 71, 133, 138–41, 167, 178, 232 –42, 261 Hoodhboy, Parvez, 213, 294 –5 HRCP see Human Rights Commission of Pakistan Al-Huda International Welfare Foundation, 296 Hudood Ordinances, 62–3 opposition to, 76, 77, 96, 99, 103, 225 reform of, 118, 225 –7, 229 –30 support for, 178 see also zina laws human rights abuses, 120, 209 activists feeling overwhelmed, 290 in the constitution of Pakistan, 27, 259 culture and, 135, 166 –7 and donor funding of NGOs, 149, 291–2 versus faith-based discourse, 106, 110, 281– 2, 291–2, 299 and honour killings, 141, 236–7 sexuality, 163–4 see also women’s rights Human Rights Commission of Pakistan (HRCP), 145, 146, 154, 161–2, 171, 222, 231, 233 Human Rights Watch, 222 Hussain, Abida, 157 Hussain, Altaf, 233– 4 Hussain, Neelam, 59, 87, 88, 95, 166, 305 ideology of Pakistan, 19–23, 127, 128–30, 294 Ijaz, Ayesha, 133 IJI (Islami Jamhoori Ittehad), 151–2, 155 IJT (Islami Jamiat-i-Tulaba), 33–4, 35, 37, 45–6, 57, 59–60, 84 –5, 294 Imam, Sughra, 231– 2, 239–40 Inayatullah, Attiya, 163, 219 India, 20, 32, 129, 130, 159, 164–5, 169 inheritance rights, 23, 24, 28, 29, 161

390

THE WOMEN'S MOVEMENT

Inquiry Commissions on Women, 76, 119, 120, 147, 167–8, 245, 248, 250 Institute of Women’s Studies Lahore, 153 international conferences, 147, 163 International Islamic Federation of Student Organizations (IIFSO), 34 Iqtidar, Humaira, 302 Iran, 39, 44 Ishaq, Khalid, 99, 100, 105, 106 Islam, 297 and a secular state, 121–3 WAF’s use of, 105 –10, 125 –6, 298 see also Islamisation Islamabad, Lal Masjid seige, 179 –87 Islamabad WAF, 78, 105–6, 107 Islami Jamhoori Ittehad (IJI), 151 –2, 155 Islami Jamiat Talibat, 34 Islami Jamiat-i-Tulaba see IJT Islamic law see Muslim Family Laws Ordinance (MFLO); Shariah Islamic Research Institute, 30 –1 Islamisation consequences of, 202, 293–6 early calls for, 20–1, 27, 37, 39–40, 41 of education, 126–30, 131–2 MMA’s policy of, 173 –9 as political tool, 122– 3, 155, 158, 159 in Saudi Arabia, 46–7, 48–9 Saudi funding for, 50–1 Zia-ul-Haq and, 54 –73 Ispahani, Begum Qamar, 89 Jabeen, Shahid, 119 Jahangir, Asma accused of blasphemy and bribery, 104–5 beginning of law career, 85– 6 on democracy and women’s rights, 2 demonstrations and protests, 87, 91, 92, 182, 199 on the Hudood Ordinances, 118 as human rights advocate, 166 Lahore WAF split, 109 –10 on law and women’s rights, 292, 293 peace initiatives with India, 165 sexual violence cases, 134, 140 on signs of progress, 297 on Talibanisation, 182, 210 and women’s voting rights, 274 and zina law cases, 96–7

IN

PAKISTAN

jails, 85, 91, 92–3, 96–7, 230 Jalal, Ayesha, 1, 107–8, 117 Jalib, Habib, 87, 88 Jamaat-i-Islami see JI Jamal, Amina, 302–3 Jamia Hafsa madrassa, 180, 183, 184, 185, 186 Jamiat Ulema-e-Islam see JUI Jamiat-i-Tulaba see IJT Jang newspaper, 103 JI (Jamaat-i-Islami) and the Afghan jihad, 52 response to Chand Bibi flogging, 208 and East Pakistan, 35 and education, 127, 128, 294 and elections, 32, 72, 273, 274 and global political Islam, 32–4, 37, 51, 52 and Islamisation, 21, 27, 31, 54, 57–8, 127, 158 response to Lal Masjid siege, 184 opposition to WAF, 104–5, 112 on sexual violence, 178, 221 student wing (IJT), 33–4, 35, 37, 45–6, 57, 59–60, 84 –5, 294 and the Women Protection Act, 262 –4 women supporters and representatives, 112, 175–6, 178, 275, 300, 301–4 see also Qazi, Samia Raheel jihad, 21, 49, 129, 130, 186 in Afghanistan, 46, 51–4, 55, 129, 131– 2, 190–1, 192 Jilani, Hina beginning of law career, 85–6 and honour killings law, 237, 238 as human rights advocate, 166–7 Lahore demonstrations (1983), 87, 88, 89, 91– 3 Lahore WAF split, 108–10 legal activism, 280, 292–3 on the MFLO, 29 on NGOs, 149 reflections of, 23, 24, 114, 278, 279, 280, 282, 283 sexual violence cases, 135, 138, 139, 140, 141, 222–3, 233 on state’s instrumentalisation of Islam, 123 Jilani, Malik Ghulam, 85

INDEX Jinnah, Fatima, 32, 129 Jinnah, Mohammed Ali, 19–20, 23, 122, 127, 129 jirgas, 36, 166, 167, 219, 232, 233, 235, 236, 238, 266 Joint Action Committees (JAC), 152, 155, 161, 170 –1 journalism, 102–4 JUI (Jamiat Ulema-e-Islam), 35, 52, 274 JUI(F) (Fazal-ur-Rehman faction), 172, 208, 241, 273 JUI(S) (Sami ul-Haq faction), 153–4, 157 see also Fazal-ur-Rehman; Mufti Mahmood Karachi University, 84–5 Karachi WAF, 80 –1, 99, 101, 102, 105, 150–1 Kasuri, Mehmood Ali, 97 Kermani, Sheema, 83–5, 102, 109, 165, 205 Khalid, Shazia, 217, 224–5 Khan, Akhtar Hameed, 160 Khan, Ayub, 28–32, 33–4, 35, 131, 248 Khan, Ghulam Ishaq, 69, 118, 120 Khan, Hamid, 60 Khan, Imran, 202, 212 Khan, Kausar S., 77, 290 Khan, Makhdoom Ali, 227 Khan, Mashal, 290 Khan, Nighat Said see Said Khan, Nighat Khaskheli, Shazia, 234–6 Khattak, Ajmal, 141 Khattak, Saba, 141, 251, 288 Khokhar, Humaira (Humaira Butt), 135–8 Khwaja, Asim, 198 Khyber Pakhtoonkhwa see North-West Frontier Province kidnappings, 180, 181, 196, 231, 234, 235, 255 Lady Health Workers (LHW), 197–8, 285 Lahore, 25 –7, 87– 90, 89, 91 –3 Lahore High Court (LHC), 132, 133–5, 138, 157, 221, 236–7 Lahore WAF, 87, 94 –5, 99, 101, 105– 7, 109, 110 Lal Masjid, 13, 179 –87 land reform, 36, 65, 304 Lau, Martin, 31, 156 –7 law courts see courts

391

laws, 292–3 see also blasphemy laws; evidence laws; Muslim Family Laws Ordinance (MFLO); Qisas and Diyat laws; Shariah; zina laws leftist politics, 81–6, 300–1 Liaquat, Aamir, 290 liberalism, 288 local government, women in, 252 Luqman, Mubashir, 223 madrassas, 131–2, 153, 157, 183, 185, 206, 291, 295–6 see also Jamia Hafsa madrassa Mahmood, Saba, 302 Mahmud, Sabeen, 186 Mai, Mukhtar, 179, 219 –23, 220, 224 Malakand, 191–4, 198 Malala Yousufzai, 2, 210–14, 211, 293–4 Malkani, Sara, 293 Mariam Bibi, 207 Marker-Kabraji, Aban, 77, 79 marriage, 28–9 age at, 29, 229, 269 –70 and divorce, 29, 99–100, 139–41, 160, 161, 229, 255, 269 forced by Taliban, 196, 214 Hindu, 268–9 polygamy, 24, 28–9, 99, 269, 270 registration, 77, 160, 161, 268 –9 verbal proof of, 77, 135 women’s right to choose partner, 133–41, 176, 233–6 martial law, 28–32, 35, 41–2, 54–5, 58 see also military courts Mashhadi, Rukhsana, 103 Masjid al-Haram (Grand Mosque) in Mecca, siege of, 45 –6 Masud, Khalid, 126, 226, 246 Maududi, Syed Abul Ala, 21, 23, 25, 26, 27, 31, 32, 33, 34, 37, 48, 57, 58, 73 Mazhar, Arifa, 280, 285, 298–9 Mecca, siege of Masjid al-Haram (Grand Mosque), 45–6 media see press; television Memon, Marvi, 270 men hypocrisy of, 104 support (or lack of) from, 82–3, 90, 97, 119

392

THE WOMEN'S MOVEMENT

MFLO see Muslim Family Laws Ordinance Mian Tufail Mohammed, 40, 56 Middle East, 39, 43–51 military courts, 58, 91, 97–8 Minallah, Samar, 207, 208, 210, 266 Ministry for Women Development, 119, 121, 162, 175, 219 minorities, 22, 23, 38, 66–9, 72, 156 Mirza, Fehmida, 254, 256, 257, 271 MMA (Muttahida Majlis-e-Aml), 12–13, 172, 173 –6, 177–9, 184, 193, 198, 227–9, 251 mosques see Lal Masjid; Masjid al-Haram Movement for the Restoration of Democracy (MRD), 72, 90 –1 MQM (Muhajir (later Muttahida) Qaumi Movement), 101, 169, 183, 233–4, 238, 267 Mufti Mahmood, 40, 56, 57 Muhajir Qaumi Movement see MQM Mumtaz, Khawar 79, 82, 107, 108, 163, 166, 182, 230, 246, 252–3, 274, 289–90, 296, 303, 304 Munir Commission Report, 25, 26, 27 murder(s) honour killings, 15, 71, 133, 138–41, 167, 178, 232–42, 261 re-conceptualising of, 69–71 vigilante, due to blasphemy laws, 69, 160 Musharraf, Naseem, 24 Musharraf, Pervez, 169–71, 187 and Benazir Bhutto’s death, 204–5 ‘enlightened moderation’ policy, 170, 246–7, 276 honour killings law reform, 234, 236, 237–8 institutional reforms, 245–7 Lal Masjid stand-off, 183 –4, 185, 186 and madrassas, 295 and MMA religious party coalition, 172–3, 174 pro-women legislative reform, 255 rape cases and reform of zina laws, 221, 222–3, 224, 225–32, 283 reserved seats restored, 250 –1, 252 music and entertainment, 84, 174, 180, 196, 299 Muslim Brotherhood, 33, 34, 48, 53, 61, 128

IN

PAKISTAN

Muslim Family Laws Ordinance (MFLO), 28–30, 36, 87, 160– 2, 270, 292 Muslim League, 23–4, 120–1, 148, 162, 184 see also Jinnah, Mohammed Ali; Sharif, Nawaz Muslim Personal Law (Shariat) Act (1962), 28 Muslim Student Association of North America and Canada, 34 Muslim World League (MWL), 34, 37, 50–1, 53 Mustafa, Zubeida, 103 Muttahida Majlis-e-Aml see MMA Muttahida Qaumi Mahaz see MQM MWL (Muslim World League), 34, 37, 50–1, 53 Naheed, Kishwar, 87 Naqvi, Mohsin, 246–7, 301 Nasir, Jibran, 186 Nasr, Seyyed Vali Reza, 35, 40–1, 73 Nasser, Kamal Abdul, 33 National Assembly, 104, 248, 249T, 250T, 253, 254 National Awami Party, 121 National Commission on the Status of Women (NCSW), 200, 208, 222, 226, 245–6, 274 Nawabpur incident, 97 –8 Nawaz, Maryam, 241 Nayyar, A.H., 128– 9, 294–5 Naz, Rukhshanda, 177, 292 Nazimuddin, Khwaja, 26 NCSW see National Commission on the Status of Women Newberg, Paula, 117, 157 NGOs, 144–53, 165–6, 171, 176, 214, 215, 280–1, 282, 284 –6 see also AASHA; Aurat Foundation; Shirkat Gah Niazi, Sher Afghan, 178 Nisar Fatima, 104–5, 112 Nizam-e-Adl peace deal, 199, 200, 207 Nizam-e-Shariat Regulation, 192 non-Muslims antipathy towards, 49, 130 blasphemy laws and, 68, 69, 170, 178 defined in constitution, 66 –7 equality needs secularism, 110, 122, 124

INDEX Hindu marriage laws, 268–9 murder laws and, 70 not eligible for Zakat and Ushr fund support, 56 objections to the Objectives Resolution, 22–3 political discrimination, 57, 72, 259 prohibited from drinking, 56 see also Ahmadis Noorani, Ahmad, 176 Noorani, Mumtaz, 101–2 Noorani, Uzma, 137, 144, 150 North-West Frontier Province (later Khyber Pakhtoonkhwa), 138 –41, 172, 173–8, 179, 184, 200, 207, 214–15, 263–4, 294 Obaid-Chinoy, Sharmeen, 240, 267 Objectives Resolution, 21–3, 26, 27, 30, 72, 154 obscenity laws, 58– 9 Osama bin Laden, 185 Pakistan constitution (see constitution of Pakistan) ideology, 19–23, 127, 128–30, 294 Objectives Resolution, 21–3, 26, 27, 30, 72, 154 Pakistan India Peoples’ Forum for Peace and Democracy (PIPFPD), 164–5 Pakistan movement, 20, 24 Pakistan Muslim League see PML (N); PML (Q) Pakistan National Alliance (PNA), 40, 41, 56 Pakistan People’s Party (PPP), 34–6, 40 –1, 83, 118, 119, 120, 121, 144, 154, 173, 183, 184, 231, 239 –40, 250, 257–8, 261, 267, 275 see also Movement for the Restoration of Democracy (MRD) Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaaf (PTI), 202, 274 Pakistan Times, 90 Palejo, Rasul Bux, 92 Palejo, Sassui, 236 Parliamentary Women’s Caucus, 254–5 Parveen, Shahida, 99–100, 103 passports, 126 patriarchal norms, 58–9, 96, 132–3, 135–6, 142, 176–7, 179, 196, 293

393

Pattan, 219, 252 peace initiatives, 164–5, 199–201 Peshawar school massacre, 185–6, 214, 301 PIPFPD (Pakistan India Peoples’ Forum for Peace and Democracy), 164–5 Pir Pagara, 234 –5 plays (theatre), 84–5 PML (N) (Pakistan Muslim League (Nawaz group)), 202, 228, 229, 258, 262, 270, 274 PML (Q) (Pakistan Muslim League (Quaid group)), 169, 227, 267 PNA (Pakistan National Alliance), 40, 41, 56 police, 77, 87 –8, 89, 91, 120, 132, 136, 137, 138, 140, 233, 235 polio vaccinations, 197, 198 political participation of women, 15–16, 247–54, 272–7 cross-party collaboration, 237–8, 254–5 early activism, 24 effect of, 89, 252–4, 255–7, 275–7 in religious parties, 175, 176, 283, 300, 302 reserved seats, 24, 72, 176, 247 –54, 249– 50T, 273 voting in elections, 36, 272–4 polygamy, 24, 28 –9, 99, 269, 270 population control see family planning press support for honour killings, 140 reports of Lahore WAF protest against Law of Evidence, 88, 90 NGOs attacked in, 153 role regarding regional peace, 165 coverage of violence against women, 11, 98 WAF activists as journalists, 102 –3 ‘What WAF really wants’ editorial, 119 Prevention of Anti-Women Practices Act, 2011 266 prisoners, 85, 92–3, 96–7, 230, 272 prohibitions and controls on women, 58–9, 78, 90, 196, 197, 201, 299 prostitutes, 24, 56 –7, 87, 163–4, 180, 230–1 PTI (Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaaf), 274 Pukhtoonkhwa Milli Awami Party, 183

394

THE WOMEN'S MOVEMENT

punishments as deterrent, 63, 106, 175, 195 –6 flogging, 106, 206– 10, 255 maximum (hadd) and discretionary (tazir) 62, 69, 226, 229, 238 for murder (Qisas and Diyat laws), 69 –71 stoning to death, 65–6, 99 –100, 107, 123 Punjab acid crime laws, 268 anti-Ahmadi riots, 25–7, 37 domestic violence laws, 178, 262 –3 hostility to NGOs, 152–3 madrassas for girls, 296 sexual violence cases, 97 –8, 136, 137–8 women in prison, 96 Punjab University, 34, 60, 82, 83 Punjab Women Lawyers’ Association, 87, 91 purdah, 59, 157 Al-Qaeda, 53, 132, 171, 183, 190– 1, 194, 302 Qaiser, Saba, 240 qazf (false accusation), 62, 63, 96, 229 Qazi, Samia Raheel, 178, 229, 258, 275, 302 qazi courts, 200 Qisas and Diyat laws, 69–71 and honour killings, 140, 232, 235, 236– 7, 238, 241 –2 and truckers’ protest, 122– 3 Qur’an, 68, 105, 106, 107, 127, 298 Qutub, Sayyid, 33, 48 Ra’ana Liaquat Ali Khan, 102 Rafi, Mahnaz, 87, 260 Rafique, Khwaja Saad, 228 Rahman, Fazlur, 31 Rahman, Ghazala, 79, 94, 114 –15 Rahman, Humaira, 79 Rahman, Mir Ibrahim, 226–7 Rahman, Samina, 79 Ramadan (Ramzan), 59 Ramadan, Sa’id, 33 Ramday, Khalil-ur-Rehman, 134 Ramzan, 59 rape, 218–32 of boys, 179 cases of, 94, 98 –9, 178– 9, 196, 219 –25 and the law, 63, 121, 218, 225 –32

IN

PAKISTAN

marital, 229 police misuse and abuse of law, 132 press reporting of, 98 not in the Qur’an, 107 by soldiers during, 1971 civil war, 164 War Against Rape, 145, 146 Rashid, Rukhsana, 79 Raza, Shehla, 120 Rehman, Gohar, 104 Rehman, I.A., 142 Rehman, Sherry, 205, 208, 227, 228, 237, 241, 242, 255, 260, 265, 271, 274, 275, 277 Rehman, Yasmeen, 261 religion, 105, 167, 259, 281, 291 –2, 298–9 see also Islam; Islamisation religious freedom, 23, 38, 72 religious minorities see Ahmadis; nonMuslims religious parties see JI; JUI; MMA religious parties, women supporters, 17–18, 112, 175–6, 178, 192 –3, 275, 300, 301–4 reserved seats, 24, 72, 176, 247– 54, 249–50T, 273 retribution see Qisas and Diyat laws Riaz-ul-Khatib, 57 rights see citizen’s rights; human rights; inheritance rights; women’s rights Rizvi, Majida, 230, 237, 246 Ropri, Waheed, 133– 4 Rouse, Shahnaz, 81, 86, 94 Rozan, 215 Rukh, Lala, 79, 94, 95, 298 Rushdie, Salman, 51 Sadeque, Najma, 77, 103, 105 Saeed, Fouzia, 223, 246, 264 Saeed, Hilda, 79, 111–12, 163 Said Khan, Nighat, 59, 78, 79, 83, 90, 95, 98, 110, 121 –2, 164, 166, 171, 188, 288, 291, 298, 299 Saigol, Rubina, 78– 9, 91, 93, 130, 144, 149, 166, 254, 259, 286, 299 Sami ul-Haq, 153– 4, 157 Sarfaraz, Zari, 24, 163–4 Sarwar, Beena, 165 Sarwar, Ghulam, 139, 140, 141

INDEX Sarwar, Muhammad, 99–100 Sarwar, Samia, 138–41, 237 Saudi Arabia, 8, 44 –51 funding for Afghan jihad, 51–2, 53 funding for Pakistan government and other groups, 37, 38– 9, 56, 132 influence on Pakistan, 54, 55, 57, 61, 128, 174 links with terrorists, 53 Maududi’s relationship with, 33 pan-Islamic policy, 33, 34 Sayeed, Khalid, 41 schools, 185–6, 198– 9, 214, 215, 219, 293–4, 301 see also education secularism, 20, 25, 28, 38, 41, 76 –7, 121–6, 129, 290, 297–9 segregation of women, 174, 176 sex industry, 24, 56–7, 87, 163–4, 180, 230–1 sex outside marriage see zina laws sexual harassment, 264–5 sexual violence, 11, 14, 97–8, 132–41, 150, 178–9, 201, 235 see also honour killings; rape Shabana (dancer killed by Taliban), 196 Shabina Zafar, 133 Shah, Bibi Yasmin, 239 Shah, Nadia, 89 Shah, Nafisa, 137, 232, 242 –3, 254, 255, 256, 269, 271, 275 –6, 283–4, 300 Shah, Sadia, 137 Shaheed, Farida, 7, 79, 82, 83, 100, 101, 105, 106, 108, 112, 151, 166, 167, 170, 187, 188, 281, 282, 287, 291, 298, 304 Shahnawaz, Begum, 24 Shariah Hasba Act, 176–7 imposition of, 40, 56–7, 61 –2, 72–3, 153–9 inheritance rights, 23 in Malakand, 192– 3, 194–6, 200 murder and bodily injury, 69– 71 in Saudi Arabia, 61 Zia’s justification for coup, 57–8 see also Hudood Ordinances; Muslim Family Laws Ordinance (MFLO); zina laws

395

Shariah courts, 64, 65 see also Federal Shariat Court (FSC) Shariat Bill, 153–9 Sharif, Nawaz, 120–1, 151–2, 162, 172, 240, 250 and the blasphemy laws, 159 –60 and madrassas, 132 and the Shariat Bill, 155–9 Sharif, Shahbaz, 152– 3, 212 Sheikh, Seema, 137 Sher, Farida 79, 88 Sherani, Maulana, 231, 263, 269, 270 Shia Muslims, 44, 47, 49, 56, 61–2 Shirkat Gah, 145– 6, 147, 153, 161, 164, 166, 167, 171, 188, 203, 214, 226, 239, 285, 298 Simorgh, 145, 166 Sindh, 233–6, 262, 268–9, 270, 293 Sindh High Court (SHC), 160, 233, 234, 238 Sindhiani Tehreek, 286 –7 Siraj ul-Haq, 176, 179, 274 socialism, 82 –3, 86 Solangi, Hassan, 234–6 Soviet Union, 46, 51 sport, women banned from, 59, 102 Star newspaper, 103 stoning to death, as punishment, 65–6, 99–100, 107, 123 students demonstrations against Ayub Khan, 35 Islami Jamiat-i-Tulaba (IJT), 33–4, 35, 37, 45–6, 57, 59–60, 84 –5, 294 Lal Masjid stand-off, 179–87 Mashal Khan attacked for blasphemy, 290 PPP activists tortured, 120 Saudi influence, 34, 48– 9, 51 Sufi Mohammed, 191–2, 193, 199 Sumar, Sabiha, 96 Sunni Muslims, 66, 131 Supreme Court, 64, 135, 158, 159, 160, 161, 176, 177, 184–5, 209, 219, 221, 222, 235–6, 266 Swat, 191–4, 193, 194 –5, 197, 198–9, 209–10, 213 Syed, Tahira, 87 T2F (community centre), 186 Takra Qabaili Khwenday, 215

396

THE WOMEN'S MOVEMENT

Taliban and Talibanisation, 13–14, 189–216, 301 effect on activists, 289 –90 birth of, 118 challenged by activists, 201– 6 Chand Bibi flogging, 206 –10, 255 control through violence, 194–6, 197, 214, 299 dealing with the aftermath, 214–16 attacks on education, 198–9 failed peace deals and population displacement, 199– 201 effect on healthcare, 197–8 the Lal Masjid stand-off, 179 –87 madrassas as recruiting grounds, 132, 153, 157 Malala Yousufzai attack, 210–14 Ministry for the Promotion of Virtue and Prevention of Vice, 174 Pakistani Taliban network (Tehreeke-Taliban Pakistan (TTP)) 184 rise in tribal areas, 190–1 school massacre in Peshawar, 185–6, 214, 301 rise of TNSM (Tehreek-e-Nifaz-e-Shariate-Mohammadi), 13–14, 191–4 WAF condemnation and warnings, 171–2 women voters threatened, 273 Tanzil-ur-Rahman, 96, 161 Tarar, Muhammad Rafiq, 159 Tariq, Azam, 173 Taseer, Salman, 271–2, 298 tazir (discretionary punishment), 62, 69, 226, 229, 238 Tehreek-e-Nifaz-e-Shariat-e-Mohammadi see TNSM Tehreek-e-Niswan, 84–5, 205 Tehreek-e-Taliban Pakistan see TTP television hate speech on, 213, 247, 290 Luqman’s comments on rape, 223 privatisation of, 247 public debate on hudood laws, 226–7 women restricted in, 58–9, 157, 175 Tiwana, Rahila, 120 TNSM (Tehreek-e-Nifaz-e-Shariat-eMohammadi), 13–14, 191–4 trade unions, 42, 76–7, 81, 83

IN

PAKISTAN

trafficking laws, 230–1 tribal areas, 190 –1, 193, 194, 195, 197, 198, 201, 215 –16 tribal system of jirgas, 36, 166, 167, 219, 232, 233, 235, 236, 238, 266 Tribal Women Welfare Association, 183 TTP (Tehreek-e-Taliban Pakistan), 184, 185, 194, 212 TTP Swat, formerly TNSM, 194 Umm-e-Hassan, 180, 184 United Arab Emirates, 56 United Kingdom, 51, 206, 291 United Nations Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women (CEDAW), 120, 135, 138, 147, 162, 259 United States and Afghanistan, 51, 52 –3, 171 distrust of, 32, 104, 197–8 embassy attacks, 44, 45– 6 support for Muslim Brotherhood, 33, 48 MWL assets frozen, 53 funding of NGOs, 148 and Saudi Arabia, 34, 46, 54 WAF accused of collusion with, 104 war on terror, 169, 171, 172, 173, 212 support for Zia-ul-Haq, 54, 55 universities, 33–4, 51, 59, 59–60, 83, 84– 5, 294 see also students USAID (US Agency for International Development), 52 –3, 148, 206, 285 Al-Utaybi, Juhayman, 45, 46 vaccinations, polio, 197, 198 violence acid attacks, 52, 141, 181, 266–8 domestic, 106, 178, 260–4, 293 flogging of Chand Bibi, 206 –10 honour killings, 15, 71, 133, 138– 41, 167, 178, 232– 42, 261 sexual, 11, 14, 97 –8, 132–41, 150, 178– 9, 201, 235 Taliban, 194–6, 197, 199, 214, 299 see also murder(s); rape WAF (Women’s Action Forum) introduction, 9–10, 75–7 affiliations and agendas, 100 –5, 145

INDEX anthem, 87 blasphemy laws opposed, 159 –60 charter, 17, 124–5, 126, 166 on the Council of Islamic Ideology (CII), 258 from dissent to movement, 87–95, 110–15 early activists, 77–81, 111–12 First Women Bank privatisation opposed, 162–3 formation, 76 –7 funding, 81, 125, 150– 1, 289 and honour killings, 239, 241 –2 use of Islam, 105–10, 125–6 journalist activists, 102– 4, 165 and the Lal Masjid stand-off, 185 Law of Evidence opposed, 87–90, 89, 98 leftist roots, 81 –6 manifesto for, 2013 general elections, 215 and NGOs, 144–53, 165–6 non-hierarchical structure, 80, 81, 109, 110 non-political stance, 86, 109, 151 opposition to and criticism of, 104 –5, 148–9, 152 –3, 289 peace initiatives, 164– 5 on Saima Waheed case, 135 secular stance, 121–6, 167, 181, 297 –9 and sexual rights, 163–4 Shariat Bill opposed, 155– 6 Talibanisation opposed, 181, 182, 183, 200, 202– 4, 205–6, 207 on tribal laws, 215– 16 against US ‘war on terror’, 171 –2 and women’s political involvement, 248–9 WAF Charter, 124– 5, 126 WAF (Democratic), 109–10 WAF Islamabad, 78, 105–6, 107 WAF Karachi, 80–1, 99, 101, 102, 105, 150–1 WAF Lahore, 87, 94–5, 99, 101, 105–7, 109, 110 Waheed, Saima, 133–4, 135 Wahhabi Islam, 45, 47, 48, 49– 51 WAMY (World Assembly of Muslim Youth), 34 War Against Rape, 145, 146 wars civil (1971), 35, 164 with India (1965), 32

397

Wazir Ali, Shahnaz, 94, 100, 113, 119 Weiss, Anita, 296, 302 witnesses, testimony of, 62, 66, 87, 107 Women Protection Act (WPA), 226–30, 231, 261 women supporters of religious parties, 17– 18, 112, 175 –6, 178, 192–3, 275, 300, 301–4 Women’s Action Forum see WAF Women’s Charter of Demands, 24 Women’s Parliamentary Caucus, 254– 5 women’s rights activism for, 24, 93, 100, 102 curtailment of, 58–9, 78, 90, 196, 197, 201, 299 (see also threats to below) election demands and manifestos, 36, 113– 14, 119, 126, 215 equality promoted in, 1973 constitution, 37 essential for just social order, 17–18 Islam and, 105 –6, 228 the left and, 86 legislation for, 272 NGO advocacy of, 146–9, 214 in patriarchal context, 293 political, 272–7 and being political, 86, 109 religious right claims to advocate, 179, 180, 192, 261 secularism and, 124, 299 threats to, 78, 86, 156, 161 –2, 200, 214– 16 (see also curtailment of above) see also CEDAW; human rights Women’s Rights Committee, 24, 248 women’s roles (work and home), 78, 79–80, 86, 129, 174 –5, 195, 197, 296 World Assembly of Muslim Youth (WAMY), 34 Yahya Khan, 35, 39 Yamani, Mai, 47 Younus, Fakhra, 141 Yousufzai, Malala, 2, 210–14, 211, 293 –4 Yusuf, Zohra, 102, 103, 281–2 YWCA (Young Women’s Christian Association), 93 Zafar, Fareeha, 79 Zafar, Farida, 82

398

THE WOMEN'S MOVEMENT

Zafar, Shabina, 135 zakat (charitable) tax, 56, 61 –2 Zaki, Khurram, 186 Zehri, Israr Ullah, 239 Zia, Afiya, 98, 206, 285, 291 –2, 304– 5 Zia, Shahla, 110, 122 –3, 123–4, 149, 150, 237 Zia-ul-Haq, Mohammed, 41–2, 54–73, 64, 75 –6 8th amendment to the constitution, 72, 118 and the Afghan jihad, 51, 181 army reforms, 39 and chadors, 59, 94 education policy, 127–9, 131 and the Hudood Ordinances, 62–3 Islamisation policy, 54–7, 72– 3, 202

IN

PAKISTAN

and Jamaat-i-Islami, 57–8 judicial system restructuring, 64 –6, 123 leftist groups decimated by, 81–2, 85 and non-Muslims, 66– 9 prohibitions and controls, 58–60, 78, 90 referendum and elections, 71–2 and the US, 46, 51, 181 and women in politics, 248 zina laws, 62–3, 95–7, 98 –100, 132 –3, 178 and the formation of WAF, 76, 77 Musharraf’s reform, 225–32, 283 the Qur’an and, 106, 107 women prisoner numbers, 92, 96–7 zina-bil-jabr see rape Zuberi, Danish, 137