PukhtunWomen

The other day I said that even counter-terrorism responses have been “outsourced” — imagine that Pakistani forces that fight on behalf of the Coalition are just one big Business Processing Outsourcing unit. A cost- saving measure to maximise results with minimum casualties for American ground forces. I see similar parallels in the attention paid to media personnel covering the War on Terror, comparisons between attitudes regarding Daniel Pearl and Hayaullah Khan for one. Hayatullah Khan has been constantly on my mind with the recent media blitz krieg in world capitals as she of the pouted lips Angelina Jolie launches her portrayal of Marianne Pearl in the film “A Mighty Heart’. So the world through celluloid revisits the Daniel Pearl story and the streets of Karachi as Hollywood views them. First things first—let me say I hold no ill will towards the Pearl family. In fact even though I am constantly chided by my good Muslim friends and colleagues, I continue to include Daniel Pearl’s name in the “rosary” of souls I beseech of God to grant heaven. My concern is that the face of the voice that speaks against terrorism and risks his life to bring you the truth from the front lines is constantly Caucasian. So there will be public memory of Daniel Pearl—Adam Pearl will have the emotional security of the platitudes of his father’s name and the gratitude of the country he will call home. But I do not need a crystal ball to foresee what will happen of Hayatullah Khan’s children. Earlier last year Khan’s eight-year-old daughter, Naila Hayat, and her brothers, Hamran, 5, and Fareshta, 6, had headed street demonstration by family members, loved ones and Khan’s fraternity. The children had pleaded of security forces (alleged to have kidnapped Hayatullah Khan) to “Give us our father back.” Then we heard news of Bashir Khan, the younger brother of Hayatullah Khan being killed...and today of Hayatullah's widow dying in a bomb blast.

And therefore I will quote Ghalib for you

"Dard-e-dil likhoo kab tak jaoon unko dikhlaoo.
Ungliyan figar apnee khama-khoon-chuka apna" (Ghalib).

Translated as, and very loosely translated as, by me: "When do I stop writing of the pain that wrenches my heart? Should I show my Beloved these bruised fingers of mine – the writing-reed that drips of my blood?" ?” So I ask of you how much blood has to flow in this long night of ours, for how long do our blood-shot eyes beseech of the heavens for dawn to come for us?