Pakistan's sense of loss and uncertainty
Posted: Sunday, December 30, 2007 10:47 AM
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Islamabad, Pakistan
By Michelle Kosinski, NBC News Correspondent
To fly over the majestic, jagged peaks of Afghanistan and Pakistan just at dawn, I felt that sense of expansive peace that seeing the world at a distance endows-- if only for a few moments.
It took just that long to snap the last threads of sleep and consider the trouble that lay imperceptibly below. The struggle of this country that, in its short modern history, has never seen a democratically elected head of state serve out his or her full term; has never seen a thriving economy; has survived shaky periods of military rule and sectarian murder.
Those same breathtaking mountains, are also believed to harbor Taliban and Al-Qaida militants -- and Osama bin Laden.
On the ground, in the capital Islamabad, the only sign that things were amiss was the silence of the streets. Shops were closed, people indoors, and only a few cars appeared on the usually jammed highways. It didn't know whether it was reassuring or ominous. We passed the occasional corner-lot cricket match, and clusters of children in their long tunics chasing kites.
As we moved on Friday into Rawalpindi -- the city of Benzir Bhutto's assassination -- the ugly scars of violence immediately spread out before us, leading us to the source. The remains of fires on the streets. Some still burning. A blackened building. Looted shops with every window smashed.
Suddenly a crowd on the road ahead was throwing bricks and large rocks at vehicles and police; it was unnerving, people in cars unsure of which way to turn. An hour earlier, police had fired tear gas at demonstrators here.
Unfazed locals
Our Pakistani colleagues, though, felt comfortable in their city and took it in stride. Fakhar simply walked out of our car toward them, and in a few minutes came back unfazed. He had asked them to please stop throwing rocks and let us pass. They politely nodded as we drove on by.
Bhutto is remembered. Photos by Michelle Kosinski
Most of them were young men, and with nearly everything closed on this day of mourning, they seemed to wander around with not much to do. They watched us with curiosity. When one group in the center of Rawalpindi saw me approaching on foot with a small still camera, they started chanting anti-Musharraf slogans. I had worried about that, that our obvious presence would give them a reason to spark up again. We moved on quickly.
"I hope you enjoy your visit to Pakistan," one man commented sarcastically, exaggerating as if he were a tour guide. He shook his head at the mess of it all.
On these streets stinking with the smoke of at least a dozen tire fires, this day was calmer than the last. And this northern region was much calmer than the south, which was dominated by Bhutto supporters.
Still, the numbers just released by the Interior Ministry were surprising: In two days of anger and grief across this country, more than 750 shops had been burned, more than 170 banks looted, and 38 people had died. Fifty three others were hurt.
Loss and uncertainty
More than in the faces of the somewhat bored-looking young fire-starters in Rawalpindi, though, and the throngs of even more bored-looking police everywhere else, we felt the emotion of Pakistan's loss and uncertainty in the quietest place.
Scenes in Rawalpindi in the assassination aftermath.
At the gates of Liaquat Park, where Pakistan's first prime minister had been assassinated, and where Benazir Bhutto waved her last to the crowds on Thursday, was a small group of older men, praying silently together. And one by one, more people on the streets would join them, slowly and without cheering or jeering or setting anything aflame but some white candles.
None of them noticed us. Their sorrow was more palpable in that moment than the lingering oily smoke that made us stifle our coughing.
That was the last image we saw in Rawalpindi before darkness completely overtook the dusty old town.
Most of Pakistan is not raging in the streets, but waiting, and watching. Worrying, and mourning.
