My life and struggle – IX

The Fourth International

Fayyaz Baqir

International Spartacist Tendency (IST)

We started studying and meeting regularly in the first quarter of 1979 in Salish Sea’s (SS’s) apartment, located across the road from the Gulberg Police Station. Femme Rouge (FR) said that she reported to the Sri Lankan cell of a splinter group of the Fourth International, the International Spartacist Tendency (IST) in the South Asian region and received guidance on party matters from them. One thing different from our earlier method of work was that we kept written records of all our meetings. Although our minutes mentioned that our cell consisted of only three members, our records not only included the points we had discussed and decided, but also the persons of other groups we met, as well as the issues we discussed with them. We had an initial disagreement with FR on this point because we thought it would put all the names mentioned in the minutes at risk if these records were captured during any police raid. FR said that in the absence of records we cannot review our own progress, and as happens in the case of many other leftist groups, change our position as it suits us. After much discussion we agreed to accept this practice as a worthwhile risk and started keeping a written record.

FR was known as a radical feminist in those days. Our common friend Zubair Rana wrote a humorous column where he made up a quotation in the name of FR, saying “Kaash aurtain bhi Imam Masjid hua karteen” (I wish women were also given the role of prayer leader in the mosques). Although this might never happen in Pakistan, SS and I agreed to have FR as our political Imam. We depended on our Imam’s advice because we thought she represented the experience and maturity of an international organisation. We formed a three person army to fight a highly trained, well equipped and generously funded army having the strength of more than a hundred thousand soldiers (More like over half a million active, over half a million reserves – Ed.). Our actions would put Don Quixote to shame. Our ferocious call to the people of Punjab to rise in rebellion against the Pakistan Army was based on the assumption that the “iron clad dictatorship of the bourgeoisie over the proletarian masses required this action”. In hindsight I think there was one major flaw in this formulation. The ironclad dictatorship of the bourgeoisie existed only in relation to the Bengalis, Baloch and Pakhtuns. Therefore, our army did not show any reluctance in carrying out operations in Bengal, Balochistan and Dir. It was only when the army was called upon by Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto to open fire on protestors in Lahore that they declined to oblige. There was no way Punjabis were going to pick a battle with the Pakistan Army. Secondly, even under army rule constitutional space to protest was never totally closed. Expecting people to resort to extra-constitutional means when constitutional means have not been fully exhausted does not work. That is true to this day.

After Bhutto’s hanging, we thought it was the right time to give a general call for an armed uprising against Ziaul Haq’s oppressive, unjust and despotic rule. This would be our first act of Armed Propaganda. There was a general anger against Zia, and young people were expressing their anger in the streets and in protest marches. We were just three people. Should we have done it? What inspired me was Mao Tse Tung’s short essay, A single spark can start a prairie fire. We thought it was important to begin, to fire the first shot, and then be ready to deal with the consequences. Even if we fail, we shall make a beginning and someone else will carry the torch. So, we decided to cyclostyle and distribute our call for an armed attack on the armed forces through a handbill. This handbill was named Bolshevik and was meant to be a serial publication. I wrote the draft, which was discussed and revised in the party meeting; SS transferred it to the stencil paper in his handwriting and FR got it cyclostyled. All of us took the responsibility to distribute it amongst our contacts in various leftist groups. You might call it sheer madness, but such things cannot happen without madness. Three decades later I heard a quotation of Dr Karrar Hussain: “Extremely totalitarian societies give birth to lunatic fringes because they provide no space for dissent.” So the attack could most probably be launched by a ‘lunatic fringe’, and we fitted the bill.

Bolshevik, Vol. 1, No. 1, the first and last issue of the Lahore cell of IST, was distributed with utmost secrecy in one-on-one meetings with student activists, trade union workers and leaders, intellectuals and members of left wing political parties. Recipients of the handbill knew that it was an explosive document and they should destroy it instantly, which most of them might have done. If it posed any direct threat, it posed it to the three of us. At that time Imtiaz Alam had camped at Apa Razia’s house, and her house was serving as the headquarters of the Lok Party. One of the pamphlets was given to Apa Razia’s teenage son Shadab by SS. Police raided Apa Razia’s house in search of some Lok Party workers and got their hands on a copy of Bolshevik. Their eyes must have popped out upon reading this pamphlet. They must have also seen some grand conspiracy cooking behind this handbill. They immediately arrested Shadab and his brother Javed and took them to Lahore Fort.

Perhaps the police did not need to grill Shadab and Javed at all to scare them enough to speak out the name of the person who had handed this pamphlet to them. They were both very young and inexperienced and were caught off guard in this raid. Their confession led the police straight to SS’s apartment in Gulberg. The police were able to nab SS and confiscate all of the books and documents in his possession.

Police raid in Gulberg

Before I proceed further, I need to mention a few important matters. As I mentioned earlier, there were three ‘partners in crime’ who constituted the Lahore cell of the Trotskyite IST. But the publication of Bolshevik not only traumatised the cell members and their ‘reactionary’ families, but most of the Leftist groups in Lahore, especially the Maoist groups and their sympathisers and, according to my assessment, the local administration as well. Bolshevik’s publication led to the registration of a treason case in the Gulberg Police Station, Lahore. The case was dismissed by the summary military court after a few months. Two members of the cell moved abroad, and perhaps both of them are foreign nationals now. I was not aware that 36 years after the event and dismissal of the case, they would still be traumatised to read an account of the event. After the publication of my post in digital journal Wichar, they both asked me not to use their real names in the ensuing narration. Therefore their fictitious names are being used in this chapter.

My account of the events after SS’s arrest is partly based on circumstantial evidence. I need to clarify here that I met FR only four times and SS seven times during the last 36 years. All three of us never got together to discuss this event and its aftermath. I was able to reestablish contact with FR through Taqi Nayab and Aurangzeb Syed immediately after the police crackdown following the discovery of Bolshevik. I met her once at the Salt and Pepper restaurant at Liberty Market, once at Lahore Zoo, and once at one of my cousin’s house in Walton. During these three meetings we discussed the Bolshevik event, and in the Walton meeting FR announced the dissolution of the cell. I shall narrate these meetings in detail later on. Then I met her at Zafaryab’s flat in F-8/2 Islamabad in the late 1990s. This time I did not want to see her because I had serious questions about some of her actions, which were not yet resolved. But Zafaryab insisted that I should visit both of them, and I did.

I met SS perhaps once in Lahore when we went to see Tariq Latif, once at his apartment in Harlem, the Netherlands in perhaps December 1992, once when he came to Islamabad in the late 1990s and stayed with me overnight, and once on the occasion of his father’s death in Lahore. Then I met him again in the Netherlands. I stayed in the Netherlands from April 2014 until August 2015. We met the first time at Dr Munir Ghazanfar’s daughters’ house in Amsterdam and had a great time in the company of Sabahat Hameed and Dr Munir Ghazanfar. SS declined to talk to me in private during my long stay in the Netherlands. We met a couple of times more, courtesy of Sabahat Hameed, a former National Students Organisation (NSO) friend. At one time Sabahat and I drove to Harlem to meet him, and he declined to let us in, or even come out of his apartment. Whenever I called him for a private meeting, he was always busy in “trade union work”. This has limited my ability to present a shared account of the episodes after his arrest.

To be fair to SS, I want to mention that we did not prepare ourselves to deal with a police raid and interrogation. I remember I had read a paper by the Iranian militant Marxist organisation Fidayeen–e–Khalq (Self-sacrificers for the People) sometime earlier on their guerilla work, and I was amazed at their sophisticated understanding and operation of military activity. Four key points of the Fidayeen’s practice were: i) not to have their workers live alone. They preferred them to live as couples so that they were considered a family, like most of the inhabitants around them, and they could also cover and support each other. ii) They rented apartments on the corner of localities, preferably on the first floor, so that they could keep an eye on any suspicious movements. iii) They trained their cadre, if detained, to resist sharing any information as long as they could, so that their comrades could have an idea that they were under detention and could find time to relocate. iv) In the case of extreme torture, they were asked to swallow the cyanide pill given to them by the party, since the party did not want Shah’s secret agents to feel the pleasure of having tortured their victim. Che in his diary had suggested that a guerilla should not stay under the same roof twice, and continuously change location. Compared to the Fidayeen’s and Che’s practice, none of us had any clue how to respond in case of arrest.

SS was arrested in the late evening after Shadab’s arrest. Police found out that the other two culprits in the publication of Bolshevik were FR and Fayyaz Baqir. I don’t know whether they read the meeting records or SS volunteered the information to them. It perhaps does not matter. Or it does matter. I don’t know where he was taken the evening he was arrested. But I do know that on the same night he led the police party to raid my apartment. It was past midnight. He was brought there, handcuffed, to help the police recognise me. I was not there. My younger sister was there. Police and some spooks and plainclothes men accompanied him. Zoya, her brother Nasir and her uncle used to live in that apartment. My sister was visiting me from Multan. They assured the residents that there was nothing serious and they should not worry. After searching the apartment, they left.

The police raid took place on a Thursday night and I had gone in the evening to attend Sangat’s meeting at Najam Hosain Syed’s House on Jail Road. After the meeting, Mushtaq Soofi invited me to his residence at Sa’adi Park. I wanted to leave, but Soofi insisted that I should stay with him as he wanted to discuss some extremely important matters. I had no idea at that time what had happened in Samanabad (Shadab’s house), Gulberg (SS’s apartment) and Angoori Bagh (Zoya’s apartment). Next day around noon I left Soofi’s house and returned to Angoori Bagh. As I climbed a few steps up the stairs leading to the flat I saw Zoya’s uncle coming down. He told me that some guys from the police and perhaps ISI had come to visit me last night, but “there was nothing to worry about”, they had said. I knew there was every reason to worry. I thanked him and let him proceed to wherever he was going. I immediately had a feeling that this apartment must be under surveillance, and I must leave.

As soon as Zoya’s uncle was out of sight I came down and rushed to Kotli Pir Abdur Rahman. Kotli was a neighbourhood adjacent to Angoori Bagh, separated by a wide open drain. A few wooden planks were laid across the drain at selected points, which served as pedestrian bridges. As soon as I crossed the bridge I ran at the speed of light. My dear friend and comrade Jahangir (known as Mian Jahangir in PPP Lahore circles), the NSO’s former convener at Islamia College Civil Lines, lived there. I decided to meet him to help me find a place to hide. His name was not mentioned in our meeting records, nor did SS or FR know where he lived. So it was a safe bet.

Shift to the underground

I was lucky to find Jahangir at home. I told him the whole story and asked for help. He immediately took me to the local barber shop and got my beard and moustaches shaved, provided me jeans and a T-shirt and contacted a friend near the Wagah border to come and fetch me. This friend at the Wagah border was a former member of the NSO at Government College Baghbanpura, and now managed a rice husking factory. In the meantime I asked Jahangir if he could arrange for me to meet my sister Rashda, so that I could personally assure her that I was safe but would not be seeing her again until a long time in the future. Jahangir got hold of another friend from Baghbanpura, left me at his place, got on his friend’s fancy horse carriage (tonga), and went to fetch my sister from Zoya’s apartment. My sister Rashda had never met Jahangir earlier, so she was reluctant and scared, and did not want to accompany him to see me. While Jahangir was talking to her another dear friend, Iftikhar Fakhar (a comrade from the Socialist Party) stopped by to see me. Rashda knew him very well. He told Rashda not to worry and accompanied her to my temporary hideout in Baghbanpura. Through Iftikhar Fakhar I also sent a message to Taqi to meet me at the factory in Wagah.

I need to mention two curious things here that neither FR nor SS have been able to explain to me to this day. After the arrest of SS, my apartment was raided by police, but the police did not bother to conduct a raid at the residence of FR, the main character behind this action. In the First Information Report (FIR) registered on charges of treason, three names were mentioned, mine, SS’s and Imtiaz Alam’s. Imtiaz had nothing to do with the entire episode, so how his name was nominated in the FIR is still a mystery to me. When I met Taqi Nayab I asked him if he could arrange for me to meet FR. To my knowledge, after SS’s arrest Imtiaz Alam met FR at her residence. Taqi, as well as many members of the Lok Party, knew the location of her residence, and some of them were in touch with her. When in a later meeting I asked FR how she was able to keep the police away from her residence, she told me that she had bribed a high-level police official JM. Bribing a police officer after the event is understandable but bribing before the event is still incomprehensible to me. I never met the guy, although many PPP and NSO friends, including Jahangir Badar and Anwar Chaudhry had met him during this period, and held him in high regard. I had three meetings with FR after SS’s arrest. These meetings were facilitated by Taqi Nayab and a former member of the Student Bureau. Before I give an account of these meetings, let me mention the impact of the Bolshevik’s distribution on the groups in our contact list.

Sangat meetings were immediately terminated for a long period. Imtiaz Alam disowned any connection with FR and SS and blamed the entire event on me. I received unflinching moral support, understanding and affection from Taqi Nayab, Mian Jahangir, Aurangzeb Syed, Shuja-ul-Haq, Tanvir Ahmad, Mushtaq Soofi, Tariq Latif, Hafiz Rauf Tahir and Nawaz Sahi. There was a sense of panic in the Professor’s Group (PG), and they used this event as a golden opportunity to vilify me to their heart’s content. As I proceeded to my first meeting with FR on a bus from Wagah, I encountered a pan handler by the name of Aslam making a speech to the passengers. Aslam was considered a mentally ill beggar, yet he was very shrewd and articulate. I had also previously seen him carrying a brush and red paint and making graffiti at the Mall Road.

Aslam said, “General Ziaul Haq has made a statement last night that the whole nation should learn from the spirit and performance of the national hockey team. I fully agree with him.” “In fact, I propose,” he continued, “that the whole nation should be divided into innumerable teams of 12 member hockey teams. They should all play hockey matches. When the bus stops at the terminal, the driver and conductor should immediately come out and start playing a hockey match. Husbands and wives should play hockey matches at home. Wives can also use a hockey stick to drag burning coal from underneath their stoves and at times settle their scores with their husbands. When there are mass rallies against the government, newspapers can report that the hockey match between the police and the masses ends in a draw after each party scores one goal.” It was hilarious. People were laughing at his speech and he was saying these things under the cover of insanity. I was amazed at his wit, courage and camouflage. I had seen some other people like him as well who did not mince their words in expressing their hatred against Ziaul Haq in public. It made me wonder if Aslam was better at the job of expressing public dissent with Ziaul Haq than us as publishers of a one-time pamphlet. He at least ridiculed the aura of fear around Ziaul Haq by publicly making fun of his statement under the guise of Aslam Pagal (Aslam the Lunatic). It seemed we had not even been prepared to deal with our own fear.

I changed buses at Lahore Railway Station and met FR at the Zoo. FR was disappointed with SS. She blamed him for chickening out soon after the arrest and not showing any courage. I did not know what her source of information was. As later events revealed, she did have a source of information. We decided to meet again to discuss the fate of the cell. FR did not want to disappoint me. She told me that if we want to continue the cell I should go and get military training; if nothing else I should learn to use firearms. That is the only way we can continue armed propaganda. I agreed, and we decided to meet upon my return.

Second visit to Robin Hood

When I tried to recall opportunities for receiving training in the use of arms, I drew a blank response from my memory. For almost a decade I had been discussing armed struggle in study circles. I gave calls to people to wage armed struggle against the class system in public meetings, including factory workers in Lahore and youth in Azad Kashmir. I had read Mao Tse Tung’s and Che Guevara’s military works, but I had never used a gun myself. I remembered using an air gun as a child to shoot the balloons tied to the cardboards of street vendors as a fun activity. Other than that, I had only once joined a hunting party in Daraban for partridge shooting. Most of my students at Gomal University carried revolvers, but I had never taken an interest in using arms. Now our team leader had indicated that our cell would continue to function only if I learned the use of arms. I did not want the cell to be dissolved due to my incompetence, so I promised to FR that I will meet her again as soon as I have received training in the use of arms. The only person I could think of being any help was my dear friend Robin Hood.

So I boarded the bus for Peshawar on my way to Jamrud. On reaching Jamrud I briefed Robin Hood on my plans. During the course of our discussion, we talked about another dear friend, Azmat Qadir, who lived in Islamabad those days. We thought it would be more fun if we could bring Azmat Qadir along also. So both of us proceeded to Islamabad under fictitious names and identities and tracked down Azmat. He used to live in a quarter at the Naval Colony. We had a great get together. Azmat applied for leave at his office in Q block and we returned to Jamrud. When we made arrangements for practicing shooting near Robin Hood’s living quarters, his Malik forbade us from any such activity. We had no idea of tribal traditions and sensitivity regarding any firing incidents. Robin Hood consulted with some other outlaws in the area and we decided to carry out our plan as part of a picnic to a distant location. We roped in three other outlaws, one of whom used to make guns at the men’s quarters of his Malik. Altogether we were a party of six and decided to go for a ‘picnic’ to the shrine of Mashoom Baba.

Mashoom Baba in Pashto means Child Elder or Child Saint. The legend had it that a two year old child who had died quite a long time ago used to be seen in the dreams of local people and gave them good news of their prayers being answered. Local people built a mud structure as a shrine on the grave of this child. This shrine was located in the midst of thick woods inhabited by wolves and other dangerous animals. Many people used to visit the shrine to seek the intercession of the saint for acceptance of their prayers and brought tributes and dry rations for the caretakers of the shrine. Since there were woods and wolves around the shrine, we thought practicing shooting will not cause any alarm. We reached there in the afternoon carrying guns and dry rations. The caretaker received the dry rations and had an excellent meal prepared for all of us. Robin Hood believed that in the company of criminals it was important to keep them under psychological pressure by showing superiority in different ways so that they don’t take you lightly as ‘college boys’. First thing we did was to reach the shrine well before them to show them that we were physically in much better shape than them. A second test was harder, but we passed that with flying colours also. Soon after they prepared dinner, the caretaker brought a big hookah (smoking pipe) full of hashish for collective smoking. According to the tradition, we all sat in a circle and took turns deeply inhaling the puff. It was so strong that every time anyone inhaled the smoke it led to a cough that would shake one’s entire body, and a few puffs would lift the smoker above the Himalayas. That was a tough job. We worked out the trick to cough the hell out of our lungs without inhaling and kept taking turns until all of the party goers went to sleep.

We decided to carry out firing practice on the way back from Mashoom Baba. As we came out of the woods, we entered a long narrow valley. There were settlements on the ridges on both sides, but we could hardly see any houses nearby. We pulled out the rifles and started shooting. I fired the first shot, followed by one each by Azmat and Robin Hood. Then we moved forward, thinking that we shall fire more shots at other points along the way. As soon as we came close to a small settlement, we realised we had created alarm in the entire valley. They were worried that someone might have been killed. When we told them we had fired the shots, they told us to hang our guns upside down on our shoulders and tell everyone on our way that we had shot the guns. We saw a tall, handsome man rushing back to his village. His mouth was dry and he looked worried about the life of his brother back home. When we told him that we fired the guns, he was relieved and slowed down. After that we quietly returned to our quarters. We then decided to forego the shooting expedition and just play with the pistols, revolvers, guns and rifles of different makes at Robin Hood’s quarters to gain familiarity with the arms. This did not mean much in terms of carrying out the armed struggle. However, it helped me cross the psychological barrier that I cannot be part of a combat force. The ‘military training’ was complete, and I could return to FR and tell her that I was ready for the mission. However, it seemed it was not meant to be.

SS in Lahore Fort

After completing ‘military training’, I returned to Lahore for the next meeting with FR about the future of our cell. The cell was to be dissolved after that meeting, but before that, I need to narrate the story of the dismissal of the treason case against SS and the rest of us. During this period SS had been confined to the infamous Lahore Fort on charges of treason, registered in Gulberg Police Station Lahore. As mentioned earlier, the case was registered against Fayyaz Baqir, SS and Imtiaz Alam. To this day I am not clear how Imtiaz Alam’s name made it to the FIR. He was not a member of the cell, and he had nothing to do with the publication of Bolshevik. According to FR, he was in touch with her and advised her to go into hiding after the arrest of SS. To my knowledge SS was not tortured but must have been interrogated. With the cell in tatters and no other support system in place, SS had to rely on his family to find someone to plead his case in the military court. He had no other support available either. In hindsight, it seems to me that our rebellion against the tyranny of Ziaul Haq had an ironic twist. Ziaul Haq was trying to put up a pious face for his tyranny by using the name of Islam, while we were talking about the armed struggle to hide our own inability to carry arms. It was a war in which Ziaul Haq was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and we were sheep in wolf’s clothing.

Because of an utter lack of any financial support, SS had to walk to the summary military court with the police constables. Tariq Latif was the only person who would appear at the times of the hearings, and at one time he either gave money or bought lunch for these constables, so that they might treat SS nicely. The police constables had also realised that the prisoner in hand was a high profile prisoner with low profile support. According to SS, when they took him for a hearing one time, they started a conversation with him about his politics to pass the time in light chatter. SS had grown a little beard in Lahore Fort, so the police constables had started calling him Sufi. One of the constables said, “Sufi, you guys are very sincere and hardworking, but you do not succeed in your mission; do you know why?” “No, tell me,” said SS (now Sufi). “You guys exert 95 percent of your energy on sex, and five percent on political work; if you reverse this ratio, you will be highly successful.” Sufi had no option but to agree. Then one of them said, “Sufi, one day you will be prime minister of Pakistan. If you raise the salary of police constables to Rs 1,300 per month, corruption will be wiped out from the police.” Sufi was by now feeling quite relaxed and was in high spirits. He asked the constables, “Sukki ya rala mila kay” (Net salary or kickbacks as well?). Both the constables laughed and said to each other, “Sufi Ramjaan marda,” (Sufi knows the secrets of the trade).

The case did not drag on very long. As I had seen it happening in many other cases, if the political party does not come to rescue the prisoner, the prisoner has to lean back on their family by default. The same thing happened with SS. It had happened in the case of FR also, whose family, according to her account, bribed the police to save her skin. In a strange twist to Engels’ Family, Private Property and the State, it was family and private property fighting against the tyranny of the state. SS’s father was a big time leader of Jama’t-i-Islami in Okara. He came to SS’s rescue and approached the military court through the Jama’t connections. With Jama’t’s influence and perhaps the guarantee that the boy will not misbehave in the future, the case was dismissed. However, the case was dismissed much later than the dissolution of the IST cell.

The drop scene

On my return from ‘military training’, I met FR at the Salt and Pepper restaurant in Liberty Market. FR showed disappointment about SS’s performance after his arrest. She said that SS volunteered all the information to the police. It was not a big issue for me, because we had ourselves recorded every piece of information in the form of minutes of our cell meetings. I could not understand what was bothering her, but as I learned later on, she might have heard something through a close contact. However, she did not talk about that. Then she told me that there was no future for our IST cell, that she had made plans to get married, and was saying goodbye to IST. She announced the dissolution of the IST cell and told me that she had found a courageous man with a real fighting spirit who had always confronted the hooliganism of the IJT at New Campus. She implied that both SS and I had perhaps never had the guts to even deal with the violence of the IJT, so how could we qualify for dealing with a bigger challenge. She said that any future activity was possible by taking this new man into confidence. The IST cell could continue if her newly discovered ‘comrade’ could be made part of the cell. Who is the guy, I asked? SD, she told me.

It was a much bigger surprise for me than my introduction to Trotskyism through FR. SD was a dear friend of mine and was affectionately called Sallu among friends. Sallu was a sweet, charming, soft spoken, apolitical, English medium Siraiki. He was a good man, but he was never active in left politics at Punjab University. He was very inspired by the American Dream, and his eyes used to twinkle when he talked of Howard Hughes, rock and roll music and California weed. Despite his high floating English medium dreams, he still loved his Siraiki roots and had a close friendship with ordinary mortals like me. He preferred to never get involved in physical fights, partly because he was a cultured Siraiki, and partly because it was very un-American. He did take part in a brawl against the IJT at the New Campus, but not as part of any Left-wing activity. This fight was undertaken by ‘The Vulgars’, a student group formed by my dear friend Zafaryab to vent the repressed feelings of a ‘mod squad’ of Lahori and non-Lahori students against sexual segregation at the Campus. These students composed their own irreverent anthem against sexual taboos, created their own rituals and at times used to pass remarks on pretty girls passing through the campus corridors. It was made for ‘fun’s’ sake. Many members of this group were our friends, but they had nothing to do with Left-wing politics. They had one big fight with the IJT to settle scores with some of their rivals, in which they made a round of New Campus and thrashed and scared all of their marked opponents. Since their fighting squad consisted of many well-built and physically trained members and they attacked their opponents by surprise, they created quite a scare on Campus. I am not aware of the actual cause of this conflict. The purpose of the fight seemed to be to assert their claim on the New Campus territory and keep their rivals off Campus limits. That was the only time when Sallu took part in any fight. Sallu was a good friend of myself and Zafaryab. But my reluctance in having Sallu as part of the IST cell was due to a very different reason.

Sallu and I used to smoke pot together but smoking from a joint pot is far different than striving for a world where all people are entitled to eat from the same pot. Sallu’s uncle Halaku Khan was Chief or Deputy Chief of the infamous Lahore Fort, where the most dangerous left-wing political activists were kept and ruthlessly interrogated and tortured. Hasan Nasir, the iconic Left-wing leader, was tortured to death in this Fort. To my knowledge, Halaku Khan was serving at Lahore Fort at the time of SS’s arrest and detention there. As I have already mentioned in relation to the support provided to FR and SS by their families in dealing with the state’s repression, family ties take precedence over political commitments in Pakistan when personal or familial interests are at stake. It would be no different in Sallu’s case. In view of this concern, I was not sure that an IST cell relocated under Halaku Khan’s shadow would be the most appropriate space to carry on the Trotskyite dream of ‘Armed Propaganda’. I had believed in the existence of the IST connection with Sri Lanka and London in the (religious) spirit of the belief in the unseen but could not trust with the same spirit in the case of Halaku Khan. Once bitten, twice shy. It seemed that FR had already made up her mind. She married Sallu, dissolved the IST cell and left for Canada to carry on her relentless war.

With this new development, ‘Armed Propaganda’ came to an end, but my ordeal did not. There was more to come. As the IST point man in Lahore had once said, “You can start the war against the state by your own choice, but you cannot end it at your own will.” The conflict ends if and when the state decides to end it.

My brush with the intelligence agencies

I want to digress to an important issue: the role played by intelligence agencies in influencing political activism. Things have drastically changed since 1979, but I am giving my personal narrative to provide some information on their methods, strengths, weaknesses and flexibility. It may help understand some political realities of the time.

I had my first encounter with a functionary of the Criminal Investigation Department (CID) when I was in tenth grade. It was the year 1966. The summer noonday sun was blazing with full heat and I was on vacation after my examinations. I heard someone ring the bell and went out to answer the call. I saw a man who was profusely sweating standing at the door. He had arrived on a bicycle. I asked his name and opened the door of our small sitting room for him. Like many traditional houses in Multan, this sitting room had a door opening in the outer wall of the house. The visitor told me that his name was Iftikhar. I still vividly remember his name and face. I asked him who he wanted to see. He took my name and told me that he had come to “advise” me that I should stop writing silly letters to irrelevant people. I asked him what had happened. He introduced himself as a constable of the Criminal Investigation Department (CID), the government’s spy agency that also kept track of undesirable political elements.

This ‘advice’ did not bother me because I had heard from my elders that a CID constable used to visit my father daily at our residence in the walled city of Multan. My father was legally required to tell him his daily plan of activities and inform him in advance if he planned to travel to any other city. My father had been sentenced to 10 years of rigorous imprisonment after the imposition of Martial Law in Punjab in 1953. His sentence was later reduced and he was released after two years. I was four at that time. This ended the fear of police and intelligence agencies in our family. Iftikhar told me that the letter I had sent to Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto – a most popular opponent of the military dictator Ayub Khan – was not taken well by the government. I told him it was my democratic right. He only told me that it would not have good consequences. I offered him a homemade cold drink. He had the drink and left. The number of political workers was so small at that time that the CID considered a high school student like me worthy of a visit.

CID constables used to carry a notebook under their armpit and watched literary, political and all other ‘sensitive’ gatherings. They would come to meetings of small literary circles, shamelessly introduce themselves, and ask for a narrating of the gist of whatever had been said, for reporting. This was considered a big favour by them, as it provided the person under scrutiny the opportunity to narrate the proceedings to their liking. Of course young and idealistic political activists considered it an insult to cooperate with them. But they tried to develop a working relationship anyways. Seasoned politicians and intellectuals understood the limitations of these people and did try to be helpful to them.

Two years after this event I enrolled as an undergraduate student at Punjab University (PU). At PU I was involved in many ‘undesirable’ activities and soon made it to the ‘watch list’ of the intelligence agencies. The operation of the intelligence agencies was much more sophisticated at this level, and they had planted their agents among the student activists also. My name must have first come to their attention when I was called to the Summary Military Court during General Yahya Khan’s rule, along with 11 other students, for hoisting the red flag on the top of the PU Auditorium on May 1, 1970. Then there were a series of other events in which my participation was well noticed: breaking the ballot boxes in protest against misprinting of ballot papers during the PU Students Union election in 1970; protesting against the arrival of an American Student’s delegation to PU during 1970 and 1971, and numerous other events.

Our department head, teaching staff and head clerk were all aware of my very active political role. I was the convener of the New Campus Unit of the NSO, which was not affiliated with any political party and was very critical of the populist politics of the Pakistan People’s Party (PPP). However, the general public considered us to be close to the PPP. Our department’s Head Clerk was Aga Sahib, who was considered very strict and dominating to the extent that the students feared him more than the Department Head. He was a sympathiser of the PPP and had a soft spot for me. He would inform me of fee concessions and scholarships announced by the department and get them approved for me from the Head without my asking for it. I never understood this mystery until one day he took me to a corner and with a puzzled look asked me what was going on? I asked what he meant by that question. Aga Sahib confided to me for the first time that a CID employee used to visit the department every now and then and asked for briefing on my activities. Aga Sahib used to give him an ok report. He could understand this during the rule of General Yahya Khan. What puzzled him was why it was happening after the PPP had come into power.

Aga Sahib told me that your organisation has been supportive of the PPP, so why was their government wanting to keep an eye on you? Go and get your name cleared. Aga Sahib was very kind and sympathetic with me. I thought the PPP knows the difference between ‘us’ and ‘them’, which Aga Sahib does not know about. So I consoled Aga Sahib and promised to follow-up. Perhaps I did not know the difference between the Government and the State that clearly myself either at the time. It is worth mentioning here that soon after this event I had the opportunity of meeting the then Governor of Punjab, Malik Ghulam Mustafa Khar. Malik Sahib wanted us to cooperate with the PPP, which I in my hotheadedness was not willing to accept. He made a very interesting comment at that time. He said, “Look, before the PPP, there were a handful of communists, and it was easy for the police to keep track of each and every one of them. With the PPP’s enormously popular politics, hundreds of thousands of new, highly charged activists have entered politics. They call themselves Socialists. It has become impossible for the intelligence agencies to keep track of all of them. After coming to power, we have also destroyed the records on many activists. This is not a small favour we have done for you. You should understand the value of our friendship.” He was right to a large extent.

However, the relationship between the intelligence agencies and political activists has been very strange and paradoxical. Local culture, traditions and the tactfulness of activists have affected how they are treated, although the general nature of the relationship between the intelligence agencies and individuals has not changed. Stories of abduction, torture and killing of ‘undesirable’ political workers are rampant in Pakistan. I distinctly recall a lecture delivered by the daughter of Pakistan’s world-renowned revolutionary poet Faiz Ahmad, Salima Hashmi, in Berkeley, California in 1985. Faiz was a leading light in the Afro-Asian Writers Association, Editor of Lotus, a close associate of Yasser Arafat, and winner of the Lenin Prize. He spent many years in jail in the 1950s after being charged with conspiring with army officers to overthrow the civilian government and install a communist regime. He spent many years in jail on different accounts. However, he was a very popular poet not only among communists, trade union workers and the masses, but among the elite as well. He was loved and respected by his bitterest critics for being very humble, big-hearted, creative and humane. Salima narrated that a CID constable was appointed at Faiz’s residence from dawn to dusk. Faiz was a very kind and polite man. He knew the hard time the poor constable had to go through watching him throughout the day.

As a gesture of his goodwill, whenever Faiz would retire to bed, he would come outside and tell the constable on duty, “I am going to sleep now. You may go now and rest.” Police constables had full faith in Faiz’s integrity and would leave. It so happened that one evening, after sending away the constable, Faiz received a call from the Inspector General of Police (IGP) Karachi, who happened to be one of his former students, to come over for a sitting. The IG sent his car to fetch Faiz. A common friend was visiting and they ended up spending a good part of the night together. Early in the morning Faiz was driven back home. When the IG looked at the constable’s Diary stating that Faiz went to bed at 9:00 p.m. so he went back home, the IG immediately dismissed the constable from duty. The constable came complaining to Faiz Sahib. Faiz Sahib picked up the phone and explained the situation to the IG. The constable was reinstated.

In 1992 Cassandra Balchin asked me to start writing for the Frontier Post. I wrote a column, “Socialism Revisited”. Soon after the column was published, I was visited by a constable of the Special Branch. I asked him why he had come to visit me. He said, “Sir, your books were closed. Now you have written a column and we have received a query from Lahore to get an update on you.” I convinced him to meet me in my office instead of scaring my mother at home. He agreed. He came with another young man. I asked him who this gentleman was, and he said, “He is a trainee.”

OPF

After dismissal of the case on the publication of Bolshevik, I moved to Islamabad to search for a job. The atmosphere was full of fear and suspicion. Ziaul Haq had unleashed a wave of terror to scare anyone from expressing dissenting opinions, following liberal values, or from defying authority. State power was used to intervene in social norms and values, as well as the private lives of individuals. University lecturers were transferred to rural colleges, journalists were flogged; married couples going for a walk were stopped and asked to show their marriage certificate. Selected criminals were flogged and hanged in public. The Constitution was abrogated but no treason case was registered against Ziaul Haq. Parliament was dissolved. Non-party elections and a fake referendum were held to give legitimacy to the usurpation of power. But the courage, resilience and defiance displayed by men and women of every walk of life was unprecedented. There was confusion and half-hearted compliance with Martial Law in the bureaucracy as well.

Due to cracks and holes in the law and order administration, it was possible for me to get and keep a job in Islamabad. The Ministry of Immigration and Overseas Pakistanis had established an Overseas Workers Foundation, which was later renamed the Overseas Pakistanis Foundation (OPF). My former boss Dr Munir was Director of Welfare, and the Welfare Division was looking for Welfare Officers. I and my friend Haseeb-ur-Rehman applied, and both were selected on merit.

After being confirmed in my Islamabad post by the police clearance, there was a police raid at my house in Multan. I learned that some posters against the military government were posted on the walls of the district court of Multan by the Communist Party or some other Leftist group, and my name had made it to the list of suspects. Police could not find me during the raid, nabbed my younger brother Ayyaz, and put him in the lock up at the Police Station Haram Gate. I was informed by my family to be alert. I told my mother that I could come back to get him out. My mother told me not to worry and said that she would manage. She then approached close family circles and after much effort succeeded in getting Ayyaz released after one week. At the OPF, Haseeb and our supervisors Najma Siddiqi and Farooq-e-Azam had some idea about my trouble, and they fully protected me.

Unlike my previous assignment, Dr Munir was pleased with my performance at OPF. Our Division dealt with exchange programmes and welfare schemes for overseas Pakistanis. As part of our work, we were asked to organise an international conference of overseas Pakistani workers. We prepared a very detailed programme and a list of invitees. One of the invitees was a very radical trade union leader from Norway. The Pakistani Ambassador in Norway had personally marked him as an anti-state element. When he learned about the participation of this labour leader in the Conference, he raised the issue with the Foreign Office. The complaint passed through various bureaucratic corridors and finally a case for anti-state activities was registered against four people, one of which was me. Things were getting worse with every passing day.

Soon after joining I was told that I shall be formally confirmed in my post after a police clearance. It was a routine requirement but caused me uncertainty. However, this clearance exercise worked out very smoothly. The police constable met me at my residence and we walked over to a nearby tea stall. He dictated a statement in police language, which I tried to write in three different handwritings and signed them all myself, using ballpoint, pencil and pen, and trying both my left and right hands. It saved the policeman extra work and helped me get clearance without delay. I gave him Rs 20 and he happily went on his way.

Considering these continued encounters with the police, I decided to find a way to move outside of Pakistan. I applied for admission to the PhD programme at Queen’s University in Kingston, Canada. I was not only given admission but offered a teaching assistantship as well. Khalid Bin Saeed, a professor from Queen’s, visited Islamabad during those days and congratulated me for being admitted to one of the top ten universities in Canada. Exactly one year after joining the OPF, I resigned from my job and moved to Canada, not to return for the next six years.

 

(To be continued)