Author: thenewsrun

Cover photo credit: Canva

Op-ed writer: Rameen Shakil 

Pakistan has fallen victim to COVID-19 since 26th February 2020, when a student in Karachi University tested positive after returning from Iran. From February till July, the Sustainable Social Development Organisation (SSDO) reports that there has been a staggering increase of 200% in violence mainly against women and children.

A compilation of the national and provincial data broke the numbers down into 8 basic categories: early child marriage, child abuse, child labor, domestic abuse, kidnapping, rape, violence against women (VAW), and murder. 90% of these crimes were committed against women and children. This problem is not just confined to Pakistan. In fact, a spike in domestic violence around the globe has caused the World Health Organization to urge “governments to put women’s safety first” during the pandemic.

Policymakers need to realise that while lockdowns are necessary to curtail the spread of Coronavirus, the home is not a safe space for all. The virus has caused essential services such as helplines, shelter homes, medical facilities, and the police to become redundant. Countries like France have designed unique code words to be used at pharmacies by domestic abuse victims who are forced to quarantine with their abuser(s). This has triggered immediate intervention by the police, helping hundreds of women escape their toxic households. However, no such intervention has been seen by the Pakistani authorities.

One might have thought that the structural power imbalance within Pakistan could not get any worse, but the lockdown has further curtailed the mobility of VAW survivors, making it increasingly difficult for them to seek help. A sharp decline in economic activity has caused women to be forced out of their jobs and once again dependent on their abusers for survival. This has made them even more vulnerable to violence. The slightest disagreement over domestic matters, finances, or children could cause all hell to break loose. Furthermore, men who have been dismissed from the workforce are more likely to release their frustrations and aggression by physically, mentally, or emotionally abusing their partner and offspring.

Alongside women, children stuck in toxic households have become victims of child abuse. There is no denying that children are more vulnerable than adults to experience heightened emotional distress in the face of adversity or when their routines are disrupted. Being susceptible targets, children face the brunt of adult anger. Violence at home towards women causes a negative effect on children who are known to be good observers. Their mental health can be significantly affected, leading to trauma, anxiety disorders, and depression as they grow older.

With numbers rising each day, the future seems bleak. There seems to be no end in sight concerning the pandemic. Most children and young adults have been stuck within the confines of their toxic households for 24-hours-a-day since early March. This means that in cases where a parent or guardian tests positive for the virus, children are sent away to homes of relatives or acquaintances. We are already aware that most of the time, perpetrators of sexual abuse are acquaintances of the children. This puts them at risk of rape and sexual violence with no one to seek help from in the absence of their primary caretakers.

That being said, children are also at high-risk for mistreatment and abuse within their households. Child welfare organizations around the world, such as UNICEF, have sent out an alert, warning countries about a rise in child maltreatment. This includes sexual, physical, and emotional abuse. In Pakistan, it is not uncommon for parents to be the prime perpetrators of rape or physical abuse. Let’s not forget Maryam, the 13-year-old girl living in Korangi Town who was repeatedly beaten up and raped by her stepfather, and his brother. Maryam’s mother knew what her little girl was going through, but could not stand up for her. Whenever she confronted her husband, he threatened to divorce her and kill all her children.

While Pakistan has never been a safe space for women and children, it is time for the government to devise robust legislative frameworks, policies, and programs that protect vulnerable children and women stuck in toxic households. A multi-faceted, holistic approach needs to be adopted on both the national and provincial level if we wish to rid our society of this menace.

Rameen Shakil recently completed her Bachelor’s in Social Development and Policy from Habib University. She is the official blog writer at Primary Skincare and is also currently working as a full-time content writer. She hopes to become a clinical psychologist in the future. 

Cover photo credit: TedxLahoreWomen

Op-ed writer: Ushah Kazi

The tragic, final moments of George Floyd sent shock-waves around the globe. Just the latest in a burgeoning list of Black Americans who had been killed, his death was a painful reminder of everything that still hadn’t changed. Right down to the anguished words, “I can’t breathe.”

In the wake of the now viral video, protests were organised across the US, in turn inspiring protests and shows of solidarity around the world. Among this outpouring, were open calls from the global South Asian community, to stand in solidarity with Black Americans.

Pakistani celebrities also joined the conversation, almost immediately followed up by call-out culture. Zara Noor Abbas shared a gut-wrenching video of a young girl, breaking down as she talks about her experiences with racism. Someone responded that Zara’s dissent against racism was interesting, given that she had starred in the commercial for a fairness face wash. Zara’s reply was rather scathing. Literally ending with, “a face wash is killing no one.”

Following this, my Twitter feed was flooded. On the one hand, I saw videos of activists on the ground, hurting, and chanting; a powerful show of strength in the face of systemic injustice. On the other hand, I saw some prominent names in Pakistan either lauding celebrities for their stance on racism, or ridiculing them for tweeting “Black lives matter” when they’d endorsed fairness creams in the past. And, I couldn’t help but notice that there was a gap in this cascade.

I pointed out as much when I tweeted something along the lines of,

“Dear Pakistan, Lyari, which is where most of Sindh’s Black community (Sheedis) reside is undergoing gang-violence, and you’re tweeting about how racist fairness cream ads are. Check your privilege.”

One Step Back

Now, with a grand total of twelve Twitter followers, this was very much a shot into the abyss. I didn’t expect a response; it was much more of an outlet for my own anger.

Growing up in Sindh meant that I was cognisant of the Sheedi community. I vaguely knew that their lineage could be traced to Africa, but had very little information about their history, or why it mattered. Then one day, my mother, who was conducting a seminar on Sindhi language and culture at my high-school, gave an impassioned speech about Sindh’s forgotten heroes. She mentioned the names of our own hidden figures, comparing them to international stories that Pakistanis drew inspiration from. She spoke about the civil rights movement in the US, and how while we were inspired by the Black leaders risking their lives, we didn’t even know who Hoshu Mohammad Sheedi was.

That name stuck in my head, because I had at approximately seventeen, been completely unaware that a Black man had played a significant role in Pakistan’s history. I discovered that Hoshu Sheedi, as he is affectionately called, was a general in the Talpur army, who was most remembered for his military campaign against the British forces of Charles Napier. At the battle of Hyderabad in 1843, he died uttering the words, “we will die, but not give up Sindh.”

It dawned on me that his calls for anti-colonial dissent had preceded the ‘great Indian revolt’ of 1857 by fourteen years. And then another thought; I had read about the battle of Hyderabad before. In a history book, for school in fact. But, while this book mentioned Napier and his forces, the name of Hoshu Sheedi was not included on those pages. It should be noted that this was a history book approved for a British Council GCE course. So, years after independence, we were still being instructed in the colonial versions of our own stories. And, there seemed to be no place for Hoshu Sheedi in that narrative.

Lessons and Erasure

In the words of Czech writer Milan Kundera, “the struggle of man against power is the struggle of memory against forgetting.” In the culture of Sindh, storytelling has a very special place. It is the cornerstone of not just cultural preservation, but life itself. So, I have to wonder, when we take people’s stories away from them, what is the extent of our injustice?

My family is rather prominent, with longstanding ties to Sindhi media and journalism. So, some months later, as I sat across from a prominent journalist (also a family member) I was really excited to be quoting the story of the brave, Black general, who had given Sindh one of its most powerful slogans. His response took me by surprise. Not only did he discredit Hoshu Muhammad Sheedi’s influence, but he dismissed the idea that slavery had ever existed in Sindh. No explanations were given for a community that was carrying the burden of our collective past. It wasn’t a conversation; it was a delineation of what was important in contemporary Pakistan, and what wasn’t.

Some years later,  in a Canadian dorm, I discovered yet again how unfair this wanton disregard was. Reading a blog about our history, I discovered that Pakistan housed the largest population of Black South Asians, and that many traced their roots back to the slave trade. (Although, not all. The history of the Sheedi community is very complex and interesting.)

There is something to be said about how uncomfortable the region’s tryst with the slave trade makes contemporary South Asians. When popular narratives insist that all ‘people of colour’ are natural allies, how exactly can South Asians come to terms with the actions of their own ancestors? Perhaps then, the erasure is to be expected. But, it is born out of convenience, and hurts a community that deserves our support.

Color Blind

In 2008, Dawn did a feature on the Sheedi community, where they interviewed Yaqub Qambrani. At the time, he was one of the organizers of the All Sindh Al Habash Jama’at. When I read the article, one of his sentiments struck a particular chord, “we have the attached stigma of slavery; people still tell us we are slaves.”

I didn’t understand the extent of what he had said. Later, I realized that there are so many gaps in the documentation of the Black Pakistani experience, that an answer would be difficult to find. But more than a decade later, I did find one. Tanzeela Qambrani made history in 2018, becoming Pakistan’s first Sheedi lawmaker. When speaking about her journey, she was very candid not just about her own struggles, but about the history that she had inherited.

A promising and energetic student, she rose in the ranks of a political landscape. When she became a councillor in 2015, social media was ablaze with comments about how she would, of course, support the most monied, and powerful candidates. Because, as the “daughter of a slave”, this was a given.

Tanzeela Qambrani’s father was an advocate. Her mother, an educator. Her siblings have careers in the corporate sector. In her own words, she had a typical middle class, Pakistani upbringing. Save for one difference.

In an article detailing racism’s structural persistence in the US, Robin DiAngelo comments on various aspects of what she calls “white fragility”. It wouldn’t be fair to connect her research about systemic racism in the US to Pakistan, but I would like us to consider something. DiAngelo comments on the notion of “colour blindness”, and it should be noted that, “the argument that race shouldn’t matter, prevents us from grappling with how it does.”

In Sindh, a majority of the Sheedi community resides in Lyari, which also happens to be engulfed in gang-violence. Throughout their history, the community has been faced off against poverty, and struggled to empower itself. People like Tanzeela Qambrani showcase the fruition of their struggles. But that we had to wait until 2018 for a Sheedi lawmaker says a lot about how deep rooted racism in Pakistan is. And how far we still have to go.

In the Dark

Since I asked all of Pakistan to check its privilege, I think it’s only fair that I return the favour. As a fair-skinned Pakistani, I do not ever want to suggest that colourism is not damaging. Nor will I ever disregard the impact of fairness products. To respond to Zara Noor Abbas, no, a face wash never killed anyone (at least I hope not). But, making Pakistanis believe that something is wrong with the natural colour of their skin is a disgusting prejudice. And profiting off of it is shameful.

But, my sentiments remain. The murder of George Floyd raised questions about police brutality, systemic injustice and corruption. All of these apply to Pakistan’s own Black community. And, that we would shift the narrative to something a bit more controllable, is serving our own self-indulgent desires. But, it is also hurting an opportunity for us to know, and do better.

And, yet, when the violence is so long-standing, what exactly are we supposed to do?

Well, consider the story that I just told you. Like I said, given my minuscule Twitter presence, I wasn’t expecting anyone to listen to my words. I just set them out, because it was a truth that I was aware of. But, someone did listen. A day later, I got a message from Anam, the editor of The Newsrun. She asked me if I’d be willing to write about Pakistan’s Black community, because, “I want to educate myself and my readers.”

Today, you all are reading this rant (I mean think piece). And, I hope that the chain continues to grow. While I wrote this article, my younger sister said to me, “a story stays alive when you tell it.” And I think that’s a good place for all of us to start.

Ushah Kazi is a Pakistani culture buff and writer based in Canada. She has written for a number of Pakistani and Canadian publications. She has also published a book about Pakistani cinema titled, The Pop-Culture Junkie’s Guide to Pakistani Cinema, which is available on Amazon.

Cover photo credit: Canva

Op-ed writer: Bilal Mustikhan

Governments around the globe are struggling to strike a balance between saving lives and livelihoods. The Coronavirus has impeded routines, and is deepening both the health crisis and economic crisis. To add insult to injury, other crises are transpiring due to the status quo of the pandemic-stricken world. According to the World Food Programme, the virus, which has weakened healthcare systems and generated massive unemployment, may also lead to multiple famines.

Last year, approximately 135 million people faced food insecurity. The global pandemic could push approximately 265 million people to the brink of starvation. Massive political and social unrest will make it increasingly difficult to maintain fragile lockdowns imposed by developing countries. Protests have already erupted in parts of Africa and India, which are witnessing food shortages due to the disrupted global supply chain. An emerging swarm of locusts in global agriculture hubs has further exacerbated food security.

The onslaught of locusts can be traced to shifting weather patterns. An increasing frequency of cyclones in the Arabian Peninsula has dumped enough water to create an ideal breeding ground for locusts. Another cyclone hit northeastern Somalia and Ethiopia in December 2019, and set the stage for locust breeding grounds to flourish.

Grasshoppers and locusts come from the same family. However, grasshoppers prefer solitude and lack the ability to travel far. A certain species of grasshoppers transforms into locusts when they are brushed up together. This grouping allows serotonin to develop within grasshoppers, who then undergo certain behavioral changes, develop wings, turn yellow, and grow larger. Once they transform into locusts, they become egregious and eat everything in sight. They possess the ability to fly more than 100 kilometers while aided by wind, making them a dangerous migratory species. Their constant movement makes it logistically difficult to eradicate them.

Locust swarms have ravaged thousands of acres of land in parts of East Africa, seizing the spotlight from Coronavirus related distress as the risk of losing food poses a larger threat. The UN Food and Agriculture Organization fears that a  second wave is likely to occur in late June-July due to favorable breeding conditions throughout May. The second locust outbreak will likely be much worse, since it will further destabilize food security and destroy livelihoods.

Authorities have struggled to tackle this locust invasion due to trade disruption. Coronavirus linked lockdowns and world-wide travel restrictions have obstructed the delivery of pesticides. As a result, farmers in a village bordering Kenya are trying to combat locusts with traditional methods, such as banging metal pans, whistling and throwing stones. According to Ethiopia’s agriculture  ministry spokesman, a wave of locusts is emerging in new areas – the damage caused by locusts has driven Somalia to declare a national emergency.

While ravening locusts flutter through parts of Pakistan, the government is handing out rations and donations to address the plight of the pandemic-stricken poor. However, the provincial and federal governments have failed to organize a joint pandemic response, and continue to be distracted by internal politics. In Sindh, the public health crisis  has kept local officials pre-occupied as they grapple with the virus. As a result, the provincial govt has neglected the influx of locusts that are devouring standing crops in parts of Sukkur, Kandhkot-Kashmore, Shikarpur, Jacobabad, and Dadu. While the world is facing a grim recession, any damage incurred to agriculture, which accounts for approximately one quarter of  GDP, will be detrimental.

The UN’s trepidation over this locust phenomenon, along with the World Food Programme’s warnings, call for a prompt response. Pakistan’s provincial and federal governments should seriously address the locust issue in conjunction to avoid a future food crisis that will not only lead to social unrest, but also massive unemployment.

Bilal Mustikhan is a fourth year student studying Social Development and Policy at Habib University. He has interned as a sub-editor at the Dawn News business desk and is currently preparing for the civil services exam. He has a keen interest in international relations and world history.