ugh this is so sad.
i swear one day one of my dreams is to reform the mental institutes… not just in Pakistan but in other countries as well. You have to give them the opportunity to go out of their jail cell, can’t keep them cooped up forever.
- There should be a defined time-limit for their trials being heard, otherwise the whole case should be thrown out of court.
- They should have productive activities like crafts, or construction, or pottery, or carpentry, something that works their minds and their bodies.
- They need exercise… books… have a book collection drive throughout Karachi. Give them responsibilities, make the ‘best’ among them responsible for supervising the prison library. Build up slowly on that… their minds and bodies are just vegetating in this current state.
It’s not just Karachi. Thousands of cities all across the world, particularly in Africa, have these problems with their mental institutions. It’s easy to ignore them, but they deserve some peace and joy in their lives just as much as any of us.
Hope in Karachi jail’s ‘mad’ ward, Masud Alam, BBC, 5 April 2004
The Central Jail in Karachi in Pakistan has a little compound which is, in the vocabulary of the jail staff and the rest of the prison population, the “charia” ward.
The term is slang for mad or stupid.
The compound has four cells that are bare except for sleeping mats. The only opening to each room is a door made of steel bars, through which the inmates can watch TV installed on the ceiling of the veranda.
There are six to eight men in each cell. Some of them realise they have a psychiatric problem, others say they were brought here because the police did not know what to do with them. Most are very quiet, a few mutter and groan continually, all have their heads shaved. None is allowed out of the cell and none seems capable of smiling.
Mohammed Hanif is the entertainer in his cell. Which is fine with him as he always wanted to be an actor. His repertoire includes dialogue from well-known films and songs that he says he writes and composes in his head. He has been awaiting trial for several years in a murder case. He does not want to comment on the case as he believes “talking about it may jeopardise my chances in court”.
But he adds enigmatically: “No one here is entirely innocent. But in a way we are all innocent, aren’t we?”
The only detail of his case he is willing to share is that it was his obsession with acting that got him in trouble, first with his family and then with law. He has sobered up a bit now but the desire is still there. “When I get out, I’ll keep trying to act on television, maybe for films too, but this time I’ll stay clear of trouble.”
He delivers some dialogue from the Indian film Sholay and follows it up with a song of his own. His cell mates clap along in encouragement - still without a trace of smile on their faces. As soon as Hanif’s song ends, another melody rises from the adjoining cell. The lyrics are touching and the voice is beautiful, though a bit too sad.
This is Munawwar Maseeh. He is suffering from tuberculosis and a few other diseases he does not know much about. His hollow cheeks, pale skin and wasted body speak eloquently about the state of his health. He used to live in the impoverished Christian neighbourhood of Eisa Colony and worked in the construction industry. He was picked up one night while roaming the streets and charged with “wandering”.
It has been nearly four years now and his case is still pending court action. Not everyone in this section is a closet artiste. Sarfaraz Ihtisham is just as passionate about joining the army. By the time they finished lashing me, they were breathless and sweating profusely, while I didn’t even let out a squeak
As a young boy he used to pester the army near his home with requests to make him a captain. He beat up older boys and passers-by to make his case stronger. Now he is in prison charged with bank robbery. He says he was forced to do it. Sarfaraz seems to be in late teens or early 20s.
He proudly talks about the incident in which he slapped a police officer. When he was hauled into the police station he was asked to suggest his own punishment.
“They asked me how many lashes I could take? I said 100. By the time they finished lashing me, they were breathless and sweating profusely, while I didn’t even let out a squeak.” Then he suffered a second form of punishment. “I was in another ward of the prison. I had an argument with four men. They drugged the guard in the night and raped me, all four of them.”
The incident strengthened his fixation with becoming an army officer. “He wears a uniform, everyone salutes him, he fights with the enemy when needed and he doesn’t get raped.”