The Friday Times after a long time has become free online, a reporters review of the recent rally in Lahore
The parties on Sunday
http://www.thefridaytimes.com/04022011/page9.shtml
Reporters diary
Truck in the middle of the road. Decorated on all four sides with massive posters of Mumtaz Qadri. He is shown on a golden throne with a fat garland of roses around his neck. Beneath this image is a procession of dogs. All of them are expensive-looking German Shepherds. The dog on the extreme right has the head of the Pope attached to it. The dog on the extreme left has the head of Pastor Terry Jones attached to it
● Bright, mild day in Lahore. Not a lot of traffic on the canal. Every now and then you see a hurried wagon with a zebra-stripe flag hoisted atop it and trembling excitedly in the wind. The flag represents Maulana Fazl-ur-Rehman’s Jamiat Ulema-i-Islam party. Most of the passengers crammed into the wagons are teenage boys with white prayer caps on their heads.
● Mall Road has been blocked. You have to get off on Fain Road and walk to the rally. It’s like joining a river: the flow of people (all men) moves quickly and inexorably in one direction, which is forward.
● Banners everywhere with icon-like pictures of Maulana Fazl-ur-Rehman. The organizers of the rally had the whole night to hang these. Also on every other pole is a perfect cluster of four loudspeakers, each pointing in a different direction. Has the Punjab government ever allowed “liberal fascists” to take over Mall Road like this?
● The men in the rally are of all ages, ranging from the very young (children with their teeth barely out) to the very old (hunched babas with all their teeth knocked out). Some men wear village lungis while others wear crisply starched, pointy-collared, proudly urban awaami suits. The clean-shaven man walking next to you says he’s from Sargodha; the Pathaan youth walking ahead of you is from Nowshera.
● Truck in the middle of the road. Decorated on all four sides with massive posters of Mumtaz Qadri. He is shown on a golden throne with a fat garland of roses around his neck. Above him it says: “Hum apni jaanon ko bhi waarein ge, Saath aulaadon ko bhi waarein ge, Hamare jo aayein ge pehchaan mein, Vo dushman saarey maarein ge (InshaAllah)”. [We will surrender our lives, And our children too, And all the enemies we identify, We’ll kill them too (God-willing).]
Beneath the enormous picture of Qadri is a procession of dogs. All of them are expensive-looking German Shepherds. The dog on the extreme right has the head of the Pope attached to it. The dog on the extreme left has the head of Pastor Terry Jones attached to it. Both “dogs” are wearing diamond-encrusted crosses in their necks (a sign of their Christianity, no doubt). Between the Pope and the pastor are two other dogs, these lying dead in pools of their own blood (their throats have been slit messily). A bright blue script beneath all the blood says: “Kutto ab tumhari baari hai!” [It’s your turn now, dogs!]
A crowd has gathered around this oversized poster, which is proving quite attractive. Boys and men taking pictures of it with their mobile phones. The older men are staring more intently at the images, taking their time to make sense of them. Gathered right in front of the poster is a row of little boys in skullcaps. Their sweaters are tattered and their shoes are broken.
One of the men comes forward and spits at the face of Terry Jones. The spit is like blood on the white man’s face. (It’s paan, really.)
The little boys get inspired. One of them copies the man and tries to spit at the poster but his spit doesn’t reach the dogs. Another one tries; he’s successful. Now the boys get into a competition to see whose spit will go the farthest. Only a few succeed. The rest are blushing and giggling.
● You ask one of the boys: “Who are these men with the bodies of dogs?”
He says: “It’s the same man. See? In one pose he has a mustache. In the other one he doesn’t.”
He thinks Pope Benedict and Pastor Jones are the same man (white, Christian, dog) but in Before-and-After mode, like in an ad for a makeover.
You ask: “Do you know this man’s name?”
The child doesn’t.
“Can you read?”
He can’t.
● The loudspeakering starts. A man’s voice is telling everyone to sit down. Squatting rows form right away on the road. A sea of people. Even the traffic-obviating “bridge” overhead, usually so empty and forlorn-looking, is filled with people who are all leaning over the railings like eager passengers on a ship that is about to dock.
● The keynote speakers have all converged on some faraway truck that no one can see. But we can hear them from those loudspeakers: Chaudhry Pervez Ilahi is here, Imran Khan’s deputy from the Tehreek-e-Insaaf is here, Jamaat-ud-Daawa is here, Maulana Sami-ul-Haq is here. The first to speak is the PTI man. He says on behalf of Imran Khan (“Imran Khan ki taraf se…”) that the PTI will not tolerate any amendment to the blasphemy laws. (This is the opposite of what King Khan told his adoring British followers in The Guardian of London just a few weeks ago.) Quickly he moves from that to the Raymond Davis incident, saying that Muslims must also consider (in addition to theological issues) the very real dangers faced by poor people in Muslim societies today. This becomes a pattern: every speaker starts with the blasphemy law but ends with the American man’s killing of three people in Lahore.
The most dramatic speech is by a Jamaat-ud-Dawa activist, who alternates between fiery threats (to the insulters of our religion) and heartrending sobs (when detailing the acts of desecration). He goes on to condemn the Americans who are “kicking” poor Muslims. “Now we will kick!” he cries. “Fazlur Rehman will kick! Samiul Haq will kick! India will be kicked! America will be kicked!” The audience is enjoying this speech; some of the boys exchange smiles of recognition (they seem to have heard this man many times before and are appreciating his return to form). The voice is shouting: “Tell me! Will you kick?” And the crowd roars back: “Yes! We will kick! We will kick!”
● The last speaker you hear is Ejaz-ul-Haq. He doesn’t have anything incendiary to say. But he’s trying to give his voice that necessary inflection. He tries. “They say,” he says ominously, “that this law was brought about by a dictator, that this is a dictator’s law…” The pitch of his voice is climbing, and you can tell he’s approaching a punch line. “But I want to tell them,” he cries, “that this is not a dictator’s law. This is not a dictator’s law! This is Allah’s law!”
● After that part about Gen Zia’s laws being Allah’s laws, you feel like you can’t stay here any longer. As you walk away from the rally you see groups of middle-aged men with beards and skullcaps sitting with their children on the emptied sidewalks. They too have come from all over the province to attend this rally, and they won’t waste their chance to get a taste of Lahore: they are all slowly and exactingly eating bright pink strawberry ice cream out of white paper cups. It’s a Sunday after all.