Paki-Paddys - Distant Relatives

It's been almost two weeks since I left Islamabad, and I must say that while I'm enjoying being home, I do miss Pakistan. Anyone who has been reading my columns on a regular basis will probably have figured out by now that I'm a bit of a Pakophile - which might seem strange, since I'm not Pakistani. However, when you consider the commonalities between Ireland and Pakistan and the similar historical experiences of the two countries, I believe it makes a little more sense.

One of the very first things I noticed when I came to Pakistan was the uncanny similarity between Urdu and Gaelic - Ireland's native language. Now, I don't speak much Urdu, but I was amazed to discover that listening to an Urdu speaker count from one to ten was almost identical to listening to a Gaelic speaker count from one to ten. In fact, Gaelic sounds much closer to Urdu than to English – the language of Ireland's closest neighbours. When I dug deeper, I found that the two languages represent opposite ends of the geographic spread of the Indo-European family of languages, and that Gaelic and Urdu share more similarities than any of the other languages in the same linguistic group – suggesting that, at least linguistically, the Irish and the Pakistanis are distant relatives.

This discovery led me to look at other similarities between the two countries. I looked at the societal structure, and realized that both countries are basically tribal in nature. Of course, on the surface, tribalism in Pakistan is much more obvious and pronounced than in Ireland, but historically, the tribe or clan has also been the basic building block of Irish society. Here in Ireland, accents change every few miles, as you pass from one old tribal territory to another, and each clan can be traced to its traditional tribal homeland. My village is the ancestral home of the Byrne tribe, and to this day, there are so many Byrnes in the surrounding area that individual families are given nicknames (usually the name of an animal, for example, the 'Bear' Byrnes), so that people can differentiate between them. In fact, we even have our very own version of the “Tribal Areas”, which is, coincidentally, located in the north of the country, along our frontier with the UK. This area - commonly known as “Bandit Country” - has for decades been a no-go area for the police and the military and is a haven for smugglers and militants – not unlike the Tribal Areas of Pakistan.

Another important characteristic which is shared by both countries is the dominance of religion. Both the Irish and the Pakistanis have a reputation for being deeply religious. In both countries, everyday discussion is peppered with appeals and thanks to God. In Ireland, especially among my parents' generation, it is not uncommon for people to punctuate their sentences with “please God”, or “thanks be to God”, and in Gaelic, the standard greeting is “Dia dhuit”, which translates directly as “God be with you”. Before I left Pakistan a couple of weeks ago, I was on the phone to my father. I told him I'd be seeing him very soon, to which he replied - “Please, God” - or in other words - “Insha Allāh”.

Both in Ireland and in Pakistan, the clergy have capitalized on the devotion of the people - so as to empower themselves politically. In both countries, the position of the dominant religion and the role of the clergy was enshrined in law. The “special position” of the Roman Catholic Church was acknowledged in the Irish Constitution, while Pakistan became officially known as the “Islamic Republic of Pakistan”. In both countries, religious orders have also played a dominant role in education. Pakistan has its Madrasas and most of Ireland's schools have historically been run by the Church. In fact, the involvement of Irish religious orders in education extends to Pakistan. Pakistan's current President, Asif Ali Zardari, along with his predecessor, General Pervez Musharraf, studied at St. Patrick's Highschool in Karachi (though perhaps this is not something for an Irishman to brag about), and to this day, Irish nuns who are involved in education constitute the closest thing Pakistan has to an Irish community.

Ireland and Pakistan have also been through similar historical experiences, the most obvious example being their shared experience of British Colonial rule. Ireland, as Britain's first colony, served as a laboratory in which Britain perfected the tools and techniques necessary to build an empire upon which the sun never set. By the 1800s, the British had cemented their rule in India, but by the twentieth century, the writing was on the wall. Ireland gained its independence from Britain in 1922, and India followed suit some twenty-five years later. In both cases, as the British withdrew, they partitioned the territories, primarily along sectarian lines – dividing the island of Ireland into the Irish Free State (which would later become the Republic of Ireland), and the statelet of Northern Ireland – and creating Pakistan by partitioning India into a Muslim dominated state and a Hindu dominated state (while leaving Kashmir as a bone of contention between the two).

In Ireland and in South Asia, partition was followed by decades of nationalist and sectarian strife. Ireland's armed conflict ended in 1994 (though some hardcore extremists continue to engage in violence to this day), while Pakistan remains trapped in a rapid downward spiral of terrorism and sectarianism. One of the key architects of India's partition, Lord Louis Mountbatten, earned a space in the history books both in Ireland and in Pakistan. In his later years, Mountbatten holidayed regularly in the Republic of Ireland. In 1979, when the conflict in Ireland was gaining pace, Mountbatten's fishing boat was bombed by the Irish Republican Army – a protagonist in Britain's partition of India had become a victim of a conflict ignited in large part by Britain's partition of Ireland.

Later, during the post-war period, large numbers of Pakistanis and Irish emigrated to Britain, drawn by the prospect of more favourable economic opportunities. The diasporas of both countries went on to form large ethnic minorities in the UK, where they were subjected to racial discrimination by some members of their host community. Both the Irish and the Pakistanis were given derisive ethnic labels – the Irish becoming known as “Paddys” and the Pakistanis becoming known as “Pakis”. Amusingly, while researching for this column, I came across an episode of the 1970s British comedy “Till Death Do Us Part”, which featured a half-Pakistani, half-Irish character, named Kevin O'Grady, who was referred to as “Paki-Paddy”. Towards the end of the episode, Mr. O'Grady's exit from a pub was followed by a loud explosion, after which he staggered back inside, his clothes torn from the bombing, and exclaimed “bloody Irish!”. If a similar TV series was filmed today, the key difference would be that Mr. O'Grady would most likely be blaming the “bloody Muslims”.

(Skip to 20:25 for the relevant scene)

The similarities between the cultural and historical experiences of the Irish and the Pakistanis are difficult to deny. The narratives are so similar. The main players are the same. Maybe this is why I felt so at home in Pakistan. Maybe this is why everything felt so familiar. It is almost as though both nations, separated by thousands of miles, have been acting out the same script – and if this turns out to be the case, then surely it is cause for optimism – because, as we have seen in Ireland, however desperate things might seem, conflict doesn't last forever. Eventually, even those who are quick to turn to the bomb and the bullet to settle scores or to maintain their grip on power, realize that if they keep going down the path of violence and oppression, there will be nothing left for anyone to fight for. 

Malangistani - Published in the Irish Times

Click here to read the full article at IrishTimes.com

At least I wasn't dragged from the place kicking and screaming

In 2006, I was doing some research in Laos, to the north of Thailand. I'd just finished my Masters, was in search of work and had been told I was a shoo-in for a couple of jobs in the Lao capital, Vientiane. Unfortunately, both jobs fell through, and I was left with a hefty credit card bill. But, just when I was hitting rock-bottom, a position opened up in Islamabad with an Irish NGO.

Knowing virtually nothing about Pakistan, I sat down in an internet cafe and started googling. Before long I'd developed a picture of a country which was run by a military dictator; was recovering from a devastating earthquake; was ravaged by poverty, inequality and religious extremism, and was fighting an insurgency in some godforsaken place called Balochistan. Before making my final decision, I consulted my parents. One of my father's colleagues had lived in Pakistan for 8 years. He loved it, and encouraged me to go. Fair enough, I thought, I can probably stick a “hell-hole” like Pakistan for 6 months to a year, by which time the credit card bill will be more than paid off; then I'll be back to the beautiful beaches, cold beer and delicious sea-food of South East Asia.

Upon arrival, I was surprised to find that the capital, Islamabad, was almost the opposite of what I'd expected - beautiful,  broad, tree-lined boulevards; well kept parks, nice restaurants offering excellent Pakistani and international cuisine (ignore this last part if you're from Lahore or Karachi), and bookshops on almost every corner in the market districts. It took me a few months to settle in and make friends, but once I did, Pakistan began to feel like home, and after a while, I discovered that whenever I left, I missed the place intensely.

When I told people I met overseas that I was living in Pakistan, the almost universal reaction was - “Are you insane? Isn't Pakistan one of the most dangerous and inhospitable countries in the world”? I would try to explain why I loved Pakistan, but it was always difficult. Even now I find it hard to articulate my feelings. Perhaps the only explanation for my attraction to Pakistan lies in the amazing energy the place exudes; an energy which is at the same time both spiritual and physical.

One of the most tangible ways in which this energy manifests itself is through the warmth of the Pakistani people. I have never come across people as hospitable as Pakistanis - who will, almost without exception - go above and beyond the call of duty when it comes to making visitors feel welcome - whether through an invitation for a meal, the offer of a place to rest your bones or simply sharing a cup of tea (or three).

This energy can also be felt at any Sufi shrine, where the devotees work themselves into a trance so as to become closer to God, or at a performance of Qawali music, where the audience is transported to a higher plane by the intoxicating devotional music. You can even feel this energy in the way people play, or simply follow cricket. A few years back, I saw Pakistan play Sri-Lanka in Lahore. The energy in the stadium was intense, and even when it became abundantly clear that Pakistan was going to be trashed, the home crowd continued to sing, dance and cheer; only now they appeared to be supporting Sri Lanka.

If, after reading this, you still have no idea what this hippy, new-agey“energy” I'm talking about actually is, make your way to any part of the Northern Areas - visit Fairy Meadows or Hunza - take a deep breath, have a good look around and then tell me you don't feel it.

On Thursday morning, after a 5-year stay, I boarded a plane and left Pakistan for my native Ireland. My friends joked about the fact that this is my third time to “leave Pakistan for good”. At least I left with my dignity intact. At least I didn't have to be dragged kicking and screaming through immigration with airport officials trying to pry my fingers from the railing separating me from the arrivals area. So, for the third time, I bid farewell to Pakistan, and remember, despite how Pakistan is portrayed in the media, you guys still have many dedicated fans, especially amongst foreigners who have actually taken the time to experience everything your country has to offer. Khuda Hafiz for now, but I do hope to be back in Pakistan in the not too distant future.

Bottle Burkhas

Just did some last minute, pre-departure shopping, and picked a few of these up.

Wild Boars and Wagon Wallahs

Eid Mubarak to all! With Ramzan over, the roads should be a little safer. Most foreigners who find themselves in Pakistan during this month of fasting are made aware that with everyone rushing to get home, it's best to be off the roads well before Iftar. But let's be honest, driving in Pakistan is a challenge for most foreigners all year round. At home they're used to encountering motorists who have received the same standardized training, and who generally behave in a conformist, predictable fashion. In Pakistan on the other hand, as with so many other things, conformity doesn't enter the equation. Spontaneity, individuality and innovation are the characteristics which define people's driving styles.

But aside from the unique Pakistani approach to driving, there are numerous other hazards facing foreign drivers in Islamabad. Motorists in the capital territory run the risk of being hit by a wild boar or a wagon wallah, running over a beggar, or even being overtaken by a camel. I suppose these hazards are not all that alien to foreigners, but there are some dangers which I've only come across in Pakistan, and which I believe are worth bringing to your attention.

One of the greatest dangers you'll encounter on Islamabad's roads is the spontaneously materializing check-point. These obstacles appear out of nowhere, usually in the middle of the night, and are almost always poorly lit (no doubt in order to maintain the element of surprise). Remember when the concrete barriers were first erected on Margalla Road? They had no lights – in fact they didn't even have reflective stickers. For a week after the barrier was erected close to the junction at the zoo on Margalla Road, there was a growing pile of twisted, mangled car wrecks on the roadside just in front of it, as people who were unaware of the existence of the barrier experienced sudden and painful interruptions to their normally uneventful nighttime cruise down one of the city's main thoroughfares. Be careful, as these check-points appear out of the blue and when you least expect it, only to disappear again a day or two later.

Another major hazard in Islamabad is the “VIP movement” - Politicians in Pakistan, such is their popularity, like to travel in roaring, swerving cavalcades, with around a dozen escort vehicles, filled with gun-toting men. When you encounter a VIP movement, just smile politely at the man with the gun pointing at you from his lap, pray that his vehicle doesn't hit a bump and maintain a reasonable distance. Usually, the very important person is hidden behind tinted glass, but if you're lucky, you might just catch a glimpse of a celebrity politician. Just a few weeks ago I spotted none other than Nawaz Sharif, driving himself (past billboards of himself) in a flashy Mercedes Benz in Nathia Galli.

Now, most people are aware of the plight of women in Pakistan, and it has to be said that being a woman and driving in Pakistan is in itself somewhat of a hazard. Sure, the Islamabad Traffic Police will treat you very courteously (letting you away with a slap on the wrist for just about any infraction), but still, you might want to take some precautions. I'd suggest having some kind of ball-bearing release mechanism fitted to your vehicle – such a feature will prove useful when you're trying to shake that creepy guy who's been following you ever since you pulled out of the car park in Jinnah Super.

The fourth, final, and perhaps deadliest hazard I'd like to highlight is the US embassy employee. If you encounter a US embassy employee on the road, pull over, switch on your hazard lights, and call your local radio station so they can broadcast a warning to the general public. US embassy employees have been involved in an inordinate number of traffic accidents in Islamabad. You can tell that a motorist at the scene of an accident is a US embassy employee because he's the one who has locked himself inside his vehicle until his security team arrives, while cracking the window just enough to shove a business card through – in case the police haven't already guessed who his employers are.

I hope someone finds this advice useful. Enjoy the rest of your holidays, and remember – drive carefully!

Drinking in Islamabad

In July, 2010, an article entitled - “Drinking in Islamabad”, appeared in Playboy Magazine. I read it online, as it's impossible to buy this magazine in Pakistan. Even in my native Ireland, Playboy only returned to the shelves in 1995, after a 36 year ban. The author of the piece, Lawrence Osbourne, came to Islamabad with the sole purpose of getting drunk in “one of the world's most alcohol-hostile nations”.

When I saw the title, I was pleased that at least one Western media outlet (sure, it's a soft porn magazine, but we all know that everyone buys it for the articles), was reporting on an aspect of life in Pakistan other than terrorism. However, upon reading the full article, I was disappointed to discover that the author hadn't gone beyond the Marriott, the Serena and Murree brewery in his half-hearted attempt to get drunk in the land of the pure; so I decided that in this week's column I'd outline alcohol procurement options and challenges for non-diplomatic foreigners in Islamabad.

The most straight-forward way of securing an alcohol supply is to pick it up at the duty-free and smuggle it into the country. Technically it is illegal to import alcohol, but the penalty for doing so is light (confiscation), and sneaking the stuff past customs is not that difficult. The best thing to do is to look as white as possible, while pretending to be engaged in an important discussion on your mobile phone. The customs officials are normally too polite to attempt to stop you, and it's worth the risk, as the worst case scenario is that you lose your alcohol which cost you only a fraction of what you'd pay on the Pakistani black market.

If you don't want to become a transnational alcohol smuggler, another option is to get a permit to buy alcohol from government outlets. This used to be a perfectly viable option, but since there is only one brewery in the country, increased demand has led to prolonged shortages. My advice is to forge a friendship with the permit room staff, so that when beer does arrive (which is rare these days), you'll get a call saying “sir, we have beer”, and you can drop your phone, hop in your car and get there before the bootleggers and the Chinese restauranteurs arrive to clear the place out.

Another alcohol procurement option is the bootlegger. The term “bootlegging” comes from the practice of concealing flasks of alcohol in the legs of boots in prohibition-era America. Bootlegging is still practiced here in Pakistan, and is the primary source of alcohol for ordinary Pakistanis. Getting your booze from a bootlegger is quick and simple – with the bootlegger often delivering to your door, but it is expensive (at least twice the permit room rates), and you never really know what you're getting.

Some time back, I unwrapped a bottle of whiskey which had come from a bootlegger, only to look at the label and think I was already drunk, as I appeared to be seeing double. When I looked again, I realized that I was not seeing double, but that the cheap printing equipment with which they'd tried to recreate the “Famous Grouse” label had malfunctioned, giving it a blurred and lopsided look. The liquid inside the bottle was of a similar standard to the label, and I made sure to provide some strong customer feedback to the bootlegger in question.

If the options outlined above don't work out for you, you can always consider the final, and possibly least attractive option – befriending a diplomat. Now, I know what you're thinking – diplomats are amongst the most boring, intolerable people on the face of the earth – I agree, but I think it's also worth noting that they have access to some of the cheapest and best quality booze in the country. If you're going to go for this option, you will just have to grin and bear the company until the third or fourth drink kicks in, by which point, you'll most likely no longer give a damn.

OK, since it's Friday, I'll wish you all good luck in your weekend alcohol procurement endeavors.  

Apartheid in Modern Pakistan

The word apartheid comes from the Afrikaans word for “apartness”, and was used to refer to a system of “separate development” under which government policies and regulations were applied unequally to different groups of people based on their race. In Apartheid South Africa, Pakistanis fell into the “Asian” category, along with their Indian brothers and sisters. One of the manifestations of this system was the assignment of different residential and commercial sectors within cities to members of different racial groups.

Ever since I first visited Pakistan, I couldn't help but feel that a similar, if less formal, system exists unchallenged right here, based on religious and socio-economic divisions, as well as on race and nationality. Islamabad itself is a bubble, set apart from the rest of country and benefitting from superior services and amenities to those found in all other parts of Pakistan. Within the Capital Territory we have the Christian colonies – ramshackle ghettos where Christian menial workers who sweep the streets and clean the homes of the wealthy, reside - as well as the exclusive, upmarket districts stretching from sectors F-6 to F-10. In every major town and city across the country we also have the cantonments – relics from the era of British colonial rule, where members of the armed forces and their families enjoy luxuries like carpeted roads, pristine parks and steady supplies of electricity, gas and water.

As a foreigner, this feeling of apartness is brought into sharp focus in Islamabad's Diplomatic Enclave – a neighbourhood occupying a swathe of prime real estate located between Constitution Avenue and Bari Imam. If you're a Pakistani, and you'd like to tour this part of your capital city, your best bet is to apply for a job as a security guard, or failing that, to undertake a virtual visit, using Google Earth, because in this El Dorado of embassies, restaurants, fitness clubs, bars and restaurants, you're not welcome.

A couple of years ago, a controversy erupted in the local press over a sign displayed in a foreign operated restaurant, which read “No Pakistanis Allowed”. The owner of the business was almost expelled from the country, but an understanding was reached under which the sign was removed and the owner agreed to allow Pakistanis (well, those who could penetrate the outer perimeter) inside . One of the embassies is rumoured to have banned all journalists from entering its club, since a visiting reporter highlighted racist comments made by one of the club's members in an newspaper article. In another club, you can find a sign which states that only people of a particular nationality are allowed to dine on the restaurant's terrace on Saturdays.

Now, I know it is not unusual for foreign missions to be concentrated in particular neighbourhoods of capital cities, and I understand the need to provide tight security for embassies and diplomats, but what is unusual is for an entire neighbourhood in a capital city to be declared off limits to the “natives”. As a foreigner, I find it offensive and embarrassing when I attempt to enter the enclave in the company of a “native”, who despite having an invitation from an embassy (and in some cases holding a Western passport) is either turned back, or has to beg and plead with the security guards to be allowed inside.

If I feel embarrassed and offended when I encounter situations where people I know are subjected to discrimination, I can only try to imagine how Pakistanis who are subjected to discrimination on a daily basis in their own country, because of their class, creed or lack of connections, might feel.

One Labour Day, I was queueing to buy alcohol at one of Islamabad's permit rooms, when the man at the hatch called me to the front of the queue. I pointed out that there were several “natives” in front of me, to which he replied “but sir, you are a diplomat”. I corrected the man, explaining that I'm just an average guy with a foreign passport – prompting laughs and cheers of “Pakistan Zindabad” from the rest of the people in the queue.

Now I know that Pakistan has a plethora of social, security and economic issues that urgently need to be tackled, but considering the fact that apartheid ended in South Africa in 1994, isn't it time that this abhorrent concept be laid to rest in Pakistan?  

No, I'm not Raymond Davis

I heard the news about what had happened in Lahore when I received a phone call from my boss while I was driving along Margalla Road on my way home from work - “Shane. An American has gone on a rampage in Lahore. He gunned down two people in the street. It's on the TV right now”. I thanked my boss for the call and switched on the TV as soon as I got home. Express News was showing looped footage of a white saloon car with bullet holes in the windshield and a foreign man in a check shirt being led away by the police. This was Raymond Davis, and over the next couple of days he would become a household name across the country.

Considering the level of anti-US sentiment in Pakistan – the anger over CIA drone strikes which kill far more innocent civilians than militants, and disquiet at the alleged presence in the country of foreign “military contractors” working for mercenary organizations like Blackwater – it was not surprising that Raymond Davis should become, for many Pakistanis, the embodiment of US arrogance and interference.

But what did all this mean for other goras in Pakistan? Well, in the same way that many brown skinned people in the West were fearful that they may become victims of a violent backlash in the wake of the 9/11 attacks, simply because they looked  Muslim, foreigners living in Pakistan were worried that they might be targeted in revenge attacks triggered by the actions of Raymond Davis. In fact,  just after the Lahore shootings, the United Nations Department of Safety and Security (UNDSS) advised foreigners not to wear check shirts – possibly the most absurd piece of security advice I had ever heard.

Worryingly, in the weeks following the incident, a disturbing pattern began to emerge in my dealings with the citizens of Islamabad. One evening, while hiking in the Margalla hills, I heard someone who was walking behind me mutter to a friend “hey, look at that guy, doesn't he look just like Raymond Davis?”. The following day I had a meeting in the Blue Area. I didn't know the person I was meeting, but she had seen photos of me. Around fifteen minutes into our  discussion, there was a change of subject. “You know”, the lady said, “when I saw your photos, the first thing I thought was – this guy looks a lot like Raymond Davis”. A day or two later, fresh footage of Davis's interrogation was aired on TV, and as much as I hated to admit it, I myself could see the resemblance.

On the evening Davis was released and spirited out of Pakistan I was on a work related trip to Abbottabad. I was sharing a room with a foreign colleague who had been in the country for only a few days. We had been advised to stay indoors. There was already trouble in Lahore, with images on the TV of police charging angry protesters and beating them with lathis. At around eleven o'clock I was lying in bed reading, when I heard a noise off in the distance. I couldn't be sure, but it sounded like chanting. As the minutes ticked away, the sound drifted ever closer, and it became clear that what we were hearing was the sound of an angry mob. My colleague, who was on his first trip outside Islamabad, looked worried and became increasingly agitated as the mob drew nearer. I assured him that we were safe, but  by that point I was also becoming nervous and my apparent resemblance to Mr Davis, as funny as it might have been at first, now looked like it could actually become a real problem.

Luckily, the angry mob turned out to be made up of students who were just looking for an excuse to hit the streets and make some noise, and after a short while they dispersed peacefully. The next morning we were given the all clear to return to Islamabad. I showered and dressed, putting on the only clean outfit I had – including a check shirt (against the advice of the UNDSS). Once I was safely back in Islamabad, I was wondering how to overcome this physical resemblance problem when I had an idea. If people are going to jump to conclusions based on my appearance, then I should just spell it out for them. I strolled into a shop selling custom-embroidered hats and shirts, selected a baseball cap and handed the lady a piece of paper with the words “Not Raymond Davis” written on it. I'm hoping this new hat dispels people's suspicions when they see this check shirted gora walking down the street.

Pakistan – A Tourist Paradise: Almost Lost

I remember, in my early teens, hearing a song by US punk band, The Dead Kennedys, entitled “A Holiday in Cambodia”. The song was released in 1980, by which time Cambodia had already been ravaged for over ten years by civil war and genocide. Of course, back then nobody in their right mind would have considered taking a vacation in Cambodia. The Dead Kennedys single was a satirical swipe at the complacency of the youth of the US, and a condemnation of the despotism of the Khmer Rouge. Fast forward a few decades, however, and Cambodia has become one of the world's most popular tourist destinations.

Today, foreign tourists are about as likely to visit Pakistan as they were to visit Cambodia thirty years ago. If you ask someone who has never visited Pakistan what they think the place is like, they will probably tell you that it is a teeming hotbed of terrorism, extremism and anti-Western sentiment, where you are about as likely to be kidnapped and beheaded as you are to find a restaurant that serves a good steak.

A combination of a steadily deteriorating security situation, extremely bad press coverage and increasingly alarmist government travel warnings, has meant that only the most hardcore of travelers will even consider visiting Pakistan.

But it wasn't always this way. Back in the 1990s, Pakistan was home to a burgeoning tourism sector, with trekkers, mountain climbers, paraglider pilots and polo fans flocking in their thousands to Pakistan's spectacular Northern Areas.

Northern Pakistan, sitting atop a geopolitical and geographic fault line, is a very special place, where three major mountain ranges – the Hindu-Kush, the Karakorum and the Himalayas – meet, and where small mountain principalities, like Chitral and Hunza, have for hundreds of years navigated their way through the ebb and flow of the world's empires as they played out the “Great Game” along Pakistan's untamed frontier.

However, the 9/11 attacks on New York and Washington, which were carried out not by Pakistanis or by Afghans, but by Arab hijackers, decimated Pakistan's tourism sector, sending foreign visitor numbers through the floor and putting many tour companies out of business. Those companies which have remained in business have faced an uphill struggle to convince foreign tourists that Pakistan is a safe and worthwhile place to visit.

Unfortunately, the May 2nd raid  by US Special Forces on a compound in the garrison town of Abbottabad, in which the alleged mastermind of the 9/11 attacks, Osama Bin Laden, was reportedly killed, could mark the death knell of Pakistan's tourism industry. Many tourists who were planning to visit Northern Pakistan have cancelled due to fears of reprisals against foreigners. I myself had been planning a visit to the Northern Areas for several months, and while I was a little apprehensive about traveling north so soon after Bin Laden's death, I was assured by friends in the area that it was safe to visit.

My plan was to attend the Joshi festival, a spring festival celebrated by members of the Kalash tribe who reside in the remote Kalash valleys of Chitral district. The Kalash are a distinct ethnic group who are believed by some to be the direct descendants of the troops of Alexander the Great. The cultural and religious practices of the Kalash are unique in Pakistan. They sacrifice animals on ceremonial alters and erect totem poles in ceremonial grounds on the upper valley slopes. They make their own alcohol, mostly from apricots, and the women wear distinct costumes consisting of black dresses decorated with day-glow floral and ethnic patterns and sea-shells, and long, colourful headdresses adorned  with shells, coins and brightly coloured feathers. Ever since my first visit to Pakistan, I had wanted to experience a Kalash festival first hand.

My trip began in Islamabad, from where I caught a domestic flight to Chitral. I had been planning to travel by road, but the route would have taken me through Malakand Division of Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa province, where ongoing military operations are taking place, and reliable sources had indicated that it would be better to avoid traveling through the area by road, if possible.

As a foreigner, once I reached Chitral, I had to register at the “Foreigner Registration Office” next to the local police station. While waiting to be registered, I read the charts on the wall detailing the numbers and nationalities of foreign tourists over the past decade or so. The figures spoke for themselves, with several thousand visitors registered in 2000 and 2001, dropping to a couple of hundred in the aftermath of the 9/11 attacks. 

Unfortunately, in the past year, the police have begun to insist that foreign visitors to Chitral be accompanied at all times by an armed policeman. I was traveling with a group of friends, including another foreigner, so we were assigned two armed guards, who accompanied us around the city. Initially, the presence of armed police was disconcerting, but after a while I got used to it, and my guard turned out to be a pretty good guide, taking us to see a horseback polo match between two local teams.

The following day we headed for the Kalash valley of Rumboor, reluctantly accepting a police escort. I had been to the Kalash Valleys a number of times previously, without an escort. The area has always been considered safe for tourists, and is still safe enough, but the Chitral police force has decided to leave nothing to chance, and for this festival, the police presence was somewhat over-bearing.

Visiting Rumboor is like traveling into the distant, pre-historic past. At the time of my visit, there was no electricity in the valley, since the hydro-electric turbines were badly damaged in last year's floods, and at the time of writing, there are no landlines, let alone mobile phone services, in the valley. The Kalash people live almost entirely off the land, herding goats, growing wheat and harvesting an abundance of fruits and nuts. Upon arrival we were directed to a home-stay, run by a local teacher, named Engineer Khan, and his family. The accommodation was basic, but comfortable, and the hospitality of the host family was exceptional.

On the first day of the festival, we climbed a steep stairway, up to the ceremonial ground, where the locals had gathered to celebrate the arrival of spring. We watched as groups of brightly dressed women, arms linked, danced in circles around the male drummers who beat out an entrancing rhythm on their goatskin drums. The atmosphere was somewhat tempered by the large police presence, but  both the locals and the tourists kept their spirits high, aided by the local apricot moonshine known as 'Tara'.We were told that this was just a warm-up, and sure enough, the following day's festivities were even more euphoric and more intense.

As the sun began its descent in the late afternoon of the second day, the Kalash men climbed further up the valley, to the sacrificial alter overlooking the ceremonial grounds. Local shamans prayed around a juniper fire, and chunks of goats' cheese were distributed from goatskins, to be eaten with wholewheat bread as a collective ceremonial meal. The Kalash people have somewhat of a siege mentality when it comes to their non-Kalash Pakistani cousins, so only non-Muslim men are allowed to participate in this part of the ceremony.

Shortly afterwards, we returned to the ceremonial ground, but as the festivities were about to reach a climax, we were told that only Kalash people could be present  from that point on. We were directed to leave and to climb on top of a building overlooking the grounds. However, we were obviously not far enough away, and to drive their point home, some of the Kalash men began to fling rocks at the onlookers, sending both armed police and tourists scattering for cover. Once the final ceremony was completed, we joined the revelers on the descent back to the valley.

All in all, the festival was magical and euphoric, and our enjoyment of this unique event far outweighed the inconvenience of being surrounded by dozens of mostly courteous, but sometimes menacing armed police.

The following morning we made our way back to Chitral city, where my friend and tour guide, Ehshan, arranged a night of traditional Chitrali music and dance, to offset our negative experiences with the police. We were guests of honour, and after around half a dozen dance performances by our local hosts, it was our turn to dance. Thankfully, we had imbibed sufficient amounts of moonshine to dampen our inhibitions, and if the reaction of our hosts, including our police escorts, was anything to go by, our enthusiastic (if jerky and poorly coordinated) attempts at dancing, exceeded their expectations.

I would highly recommend a trip to Chitral to anyone with even the slightest sense of adventure. This destination has so much to offer, and I can guarantee you that the hospitality of the Chitrali and Kalash people, combined with the rich cultural experiences the area has to offer, will keep you coming back for more. I only hope that, like Cambodia, peace will come with the passage of time, allowing the revival of the area's flagging tourist industry and putting this unique location back on the path to prosperity.

How Can You Resist This Gift From God?

Ladies and gentlemen, mango season is almost upon us. I had my first mango of the season today.

For me, one of the highlights of living in Pakistan is access to an abundance of fresh mangoes for several months of the year.

Pakistani mangoes are the most deliciously messy fruits available to humanity. A colleague once told me that Pakistanis often say that it is best to eat mangoes while sitting in a stream, so you can wash the mess away.

Intellectual Loneliness in a "Post 9/11" World

I'm suffering from what I can only describe as "intellectual loneliness" these days.

Allow me to explain why.

I was raised in Ireland in the 1980s and 1990s. This was a period during which Ireland was enduring intense economic and political difficulties.

The conflict in the six counties, which were gifted to the UK in a botched deal hammered out after the War of Independence, was in full swing.

Terror attacks and civil rights abuses dominated the news headlines.

The full might of the Imperial British Armed Forces was brought to bear on a movement which was pushing for a better deal for the Catholic minority who had suffered decades of oppression and disenfranchisement at the hands of an establishment dominated by wealthy elites who were loyal to the crown, and who for many years boasted of having a "Protestant Parliament and a Protestant State" (Sir James Craig, Unionist Party, then Prime Minister of Northern Ireland, 24 April 1934). Northern Ireland, or "the six counties", as many Republicans refer to the statelet, was the most heavily militarized area in Western Europe.

During the conflict, atrocities were committed by all sides, by British Crown Forces, by the RUC and by Loyalist and Republican paramilitaries. 

Cases related to "terrorism" were tried in what were known as "Diplock Courts", courts which had a judge, but no jury, and thousands of innocent Catholics were routinely rounded up without charge and kept in "internment camps". Militant suspects were "disappeared" by state forces, and "informers" and "collaborators" were "disappeared" by Republican militants. 

In the UK, members of the Irish community were singled out for harassment by the police and intelligence agencies, and some were locked up for decades for crimes they didn't commit.

So, my formative years were spent in a country in which issues such as terrorism, civil rights, justice, sectarianism, equality and the rule of law were regular topics of debate on TV, in the local pub and in the village grocery shop.

As a result, I observe world events through a lens which is tinted with a strong belief in sovereignty and self determination, anti-Imperialism, justice and a yearning for peace.

For years I found myself surrounded by people who shared my outlook. My worldview could have been described as "mainstream", by Western European standards. In fact, the Irish Republican movement was viewed sympathetically by many Europeans and Americans (not to mention Palestinians, Libyans etc).

Thankfully, by the mid-1990s, a peace process was underway, and by September 11th, 2001,  it was already clear that, at least for the time being, armed conflict would have no meaningful part to play in the politics of my country.

After 9/11, as we all know, everything changed. The images of planes flying into the Twin Towers, and of a gaping, smouldering hole in the Pentagon, were looped over an over again on TV. 9/11 was an intensely traumatic event for people around the world, and especially for Americans.

However, instead of trying to minimize the impact of this trauma, governments and the media set out to nurture and capitalize upon the grief, fear and paranoia engendered by the attacks. The biggest culprits were the governments of the United States and Britain, who worked hand in glove with the corporate owned media to beat out a war march which would result in the illegal invasion and occupation of Iraq, and in the rise of National Security States in both countries.

The trauma of the 9/11 attacks was further exploited to erode civil liberties at home and to justify war crimes, illegal kidnappings, illegal detention, torture and extra-judicial killings across the globe.

In the beginning, most right-thinking people targeted their ire at the Bush administration and its associated cronies. Most of the people I spent time with during the Bush era shared my views on the "war on terror" , though there were always the die-hards who felt that the "sand-niggers" in the Middle East deserved whatever they got.

By the time the campaign for the 2008 US presidential election got off the ground, the majority of US citizens were crying out for change, and with the arrival on the scene of new kid on the block, Barack H. Obama, their prayers appeared to have been answered. 

Obama campaigned on a platform of "change", "hope" and a can-do attitude. He promised to restore peace to the Middle East and to shut the Guantanamo Bay detention facility in the US-occupied part of Cuba. He would, he said, bring the troops home.

The Obama brand was like nothing I had ever seen before. The man had his own logo, he had youth brigades, he had legions of US citizens hanging on his every word and chanting, as if under an hypnotic spell, the campaign slogan "yes we can, yes we can, yes we can". Almost everyone I knew loved brand Obama. Young, old, black, white, asian, American and non-American - they couldn't get enough of it. What I believed at the time was that the world was witnessing the rise of a cult of personality.

Now a cult of personality is a dangerous thing, since the tendency is for people to always give the personality in question the benefit of the doubt, and to interpret criticism of the dear leader's policy as criticism of the dear leader himself, which should obviously be dismissed out of hand. 

With the Left and the anti-War movement firmly onside (and effectively neutralized), Obama took over as President & Commander in Chief of the United States of America. However, instead of bringing the troops home, Obama escalated the conflict in Afghanistan, and increased the frequency of illegal drone strikes on Pakistani soil to three times the frequency of drone strikes under Bush. US troops remain in Iraq (where recent protests against the government have been brutally suppressed using live ammunition), and in the past couple of months, Obama has waged an illegal war on the sovereign nation of Libya, commandeering the country's Sovereign Wealth Funds and arming and training former Mujahideen fighters in the east of the country.

What has this chain of events meant for Obama's supporters? Well, many of them have decided to trade their ideals and beliefs for a simple allegiance to Brand Obama.  Such is their infatuation with this brand, that they turn a blind eye to issues which, under Bush, saw them take to the streets to voice their anger.

The recent raid on a compound in Abbottabad, in which around 70 heavily armed Navy Seals took on a single armed guard, and executed the world's most wanted man (along with several others) in front of his 12 year-old daughter, has been a milestone in the development of Obama's brand allegiance. 

Watching TV, reading Facebook status updates and chatting to friends, it has become clear that large numbers of people who would only a few years ago have been considered "Liberal", or Left Wing, or whatever you want to call it, have become ardent fans of extra-judicial killings. They tacitly approve breaches of International Humanitarian Law and the Geneva Conventions. They blindly support a campaign in Libya which involves the use of depleted uranium munitions in civilian areas and support for militants who had previously waged Jihad in Iraq, Afghanistan and the Former Yugoslavia.

So this is why I'm feeling somewhat "lonely". I find it difficult to converse about world affairs with people who now appear to believe, amongst other things, that:

• Invading sovereign nations and overthrowing their governments, without even seeking approval from the national legislature, is OK.
• Tracking people (including US citizens) down and summarily executing them, instead of arresting them and trying them in court, is just fine.
• Providing support for terrorists (including Jundullah in Iran and former Mujahideen in Libya), so as to destabilize their governments, is a great idea.
• Locking up and torturing whistle blowers who expose war crimes and corruption, is reasonable.

And the funny thing is, while people are focused on the war on terror overseas, at home, Obama's America is becoming less free and much less tolerant. If you want to hit the streets and wildly celebrate the execution of a national enemy, fine. However, if you want to hit the streets to protest or just to have fun, that's another story.

Over the weekend, police in full riot gear, along with SWAT teams and the Department of Homeland Security, attacked revelers at the the annual University of Illinois Block Party with tear gas, mace, batons, attack dogs and sound weapons.

I reckon it's time that people began to wake up to the fact that Brand Obama does nothing like what it says on the tin.

The World's Number One Punjabi-Gonzo-Punk Band

The Bumbu Sauce "Bistee Proof" EP is in my car stereo's CD deck these days. Nothing like cruising down Islamabad's highways, the air sweet with marijuana pollen, with Mojambo blaring out of the speakers at top volume.

Malang Party

There's a lot of ordinary, run of the mill music coming out of Pakistan these days. That said, there are also some pretty interesting and original bands emerging on the scene.

Here's a clip of fellow Malangistanis, Malang Party, an Islamabad based group, performing live at Kuch Khaas  in Islamabad.

Check it out.

The Lone Bin Laden Hunters Who failed

Last year, during a visit to Pakistan's Northern Areas, I travelled to the remote Kalash Valley of Rumbur, in "Kafiristan". The area is known as Kafiristan because the local residents, known as the Kalasha, are essentially animists, and since they do not practice Islam, they are not Muslims, but Kafirs. Kafiristan in Pakistan borders Nuristan in Afghanistan. "Nur" means "light", and the region was named Nuristan because a long time ago, the inhabitants converted from animism to Islam.

We had some difficulty getting into the valley, as we had arrived too late to register with the police in Chitral, and there had been a bit of a security incident involving a foreigner a few months before our visit.

The foreigner in question was named Gary Brooks Faulkner. Faulkner, an unemployed construction worker, from Colorado in the US, was arrested carrying a sword, some hashish, Christian literature, a pistol and nightvision goggles. He had slipped away from his police minders and was making his way over the border to decapitate Bin Laden with a Samurai sword and collect the $25 million reward.

Unsurprisingly, Faulkner was released without charge and sent back to the States (I wonder what would happen to a Pakistani man caught with drugs, religious material, a Samurai sword and nightvision goggles in the US).

According to newspaper reports, Faulkner is "overjoyed" at Bin Laden's capture, and relieved that he won't have to return to Pakistan to take OBL out.

However, he's also claiming credit for Bin Laden's death, and wants his reward:

"I had a major hand and play in this wonderful thing, getting him out of the mountains and down to the valleys ... Someone had to get him out of there. That's where I came in," he said. "I scared the squirrel out of his hole, he popped his head up and he got capped.

"I'm proud of our boys, I'm very proud of our government ... They were handed this opportunity on a platter from myself." (Samurai Sword-Wielding Bin Laden Hunter Demands Share of the Reward)

Another 30 year-old, anonymous American has been hunting Bin Laden in Afghanistan, and maintaining a blog about his efforts. Judging from the blog, the guy has been hiring locals to take him around to various caves, in search of the terrorist mastermind. He doesn't have any cash to support his mission, but as he points out in his Hunting Bin Laden Blog, he is an American, which means he has credit cards.

Hard luck boys, looks like you won't be getting your hands on the cash after all. I wonder how this 30 year-old guy plans to pay his credit card bills.

Welcome to Malangistani

Hey there. So, I've decided that Facebook is no longer really the place to express my opinions, for a number of reasons.

Instead I've decided to write a blog, which means that my random, stream of consciousness rantings will no longer populate people's Facebook news-feeds, and that those who are not so interested in being bombarded with my thoughts on geopolitics, media, culture, science, travel and life in general, will be spared the inconvenience.

I've just finished my job here in Pakistan, and I'm about to embark on an undefined journey.

I'll keep you guys up to date.

Cheers,

Malangistani