Remembering the stateswoman that was Benazir Bhutto

One of my earliest political memories, if there is such a thing, is about the time Benazir Bhutto (the late, two-time former prime minister of Pakistan) first came back from exile in 1986. President Zia-ul-Haq was alive and everybody was still scared of him - he had hanged Benazir's father, after all, and imprisoned and publicly flogged opposition workers - yet two million people came to her rally at Lahore's historic Minto Park. About five-and-a-half kilometres away that day, from an old haveli window overlooking the famous Mochi Gate ground in Lahore's old city, I still remember seeing crowds gathering to march to the rally. I was eight years old and chants like Bhutto hum sharminda hain; teray baap kay qaatil zinda hain (Bhutto, we are ashamed; your father's killers are [still] alive) left a deep impression on me.
So that was what everybody was talking about. The girl who had come back to Pakistan to confront the dictator who had had her father, the prime minister, arrested and executed and she and her mother thrown in jail to the point that her health collapsed and she had to be sent out of the country for treatment.
I'm from the generation that was born just when Zia snatched power in the late 70s. For us, it played out like a fairytale. Despite the establishment's best efforts, Benazir won the 1988 election, becoming the youngest Pakistani and first female prime minister in a Muslim-majority country, youngest elected leader in the Islamic world, the world's youngest prime minister at the time, and the youngest female prime minister ever appointed. Moreover, everybody was stunned that she had defeated the system, one that had killed her father, with the sheer power of the people. Democracy is the best revenge, she once said.
Yet, even as she took oath, she was surrounded by a president who didn't like her and a military and bureaucratic structure that didn't trust her. Then there was the opposition - that bunch of Zia's protégés, some right wingers and the usual feudal lords and clerics who had just come red-nosed from the election that made sure there was no legislation, only intrigue and no confidence motions in the House.
Not much later, the fairytale began dying; and the cycle of collapsing economy, record corruption and sacked governments, which went on to typify Pakistan's so-called 'decade of democracy', took root. Nawaz Sharif and Benazir Bhutto played musical chairs, never completing a term, and the people paid the price. And with Pressler Amendment-level sanctions, and no foreign aid, the economy fell to its worst in a long, long time.
Years later in 2007, as a journalist with Khaleej Times, I requested the People's Party for an interview with her. She had been working on going back for that year's general election, just when the Musharraf government was in all sorts of trouble. Since she was in Dubai, an interview seemed like a good idea. She also shared a cordial relationship with the late HH Sheikh Zayed bin Sultan Al Nahyan, with the latter almost treating her like his daughter.
Turned out she didn't want a formal interview at the time. But she agreed to talk informally, first after a function about her father, if I'm not mistaken, and then at some party get-together in Emirates Hills. I asked her about the fairytale, why it died, what became of so many promises, how will it be different now?
She was an excellent listener and explained what she had learned with time and experience.
It's no secret that the Army didn't let her touch security and foreign policy - nor anybody else since then. And those policies, considering the circumstances at the time, led to sanctions which completely broke the economy. And there was no point in going to Parliament to make anything better; the knives were already out for her there. Yet, when the axe fell, it fell on her, not the establishment. So, next time, she worked better with the military. Plus, she was the bulwark against creeping extremism, which was born in Zia's days, and slowly crept deep into society after her.
Going forward, she felt she was the best bet not just against Taliban and Al-Qaeda, but also getting foreign confidence and assistance restored to save the economy. Would've made a nice interview at the time.
I was at the Khaleej Times head office when news broke of the assassination attempt on her, the second in a few months. But even before news channels could announce it, our news editor at the time had confirmed her death from his sources in Islamabad. Like so many Pakistanis, he was no fan of her governments, but he suddenly lost the usual jump in his walk and almost broke down.
Towards the end she knew her life was in danger, and told as much to anybody who'd listen, yet she came back against everybody's advice. For all her faults, she did create a measure of secular, progressive space in Pakistani politics. Just when Zia's radical conservative machinery had completely taken over the system, and Zulfi Bhutto's influence had already largely faded, this was no mean achievement. In many ways, she stands taller than most men in Pakistan's political history.
(Jafry is a senior journalist based in Pakistan.)
wknd@khaleejtimes.com