Songs Of Blood And Sword: A Daughter'S Memoir (16 page)

For his part, Zulfikar committed his Foreign Office to aiding China within Asia whenever it could, most notably by helping to bring about an upswing in relations between China, the Middle Eastern nations and Iran, with whom Pakistan enjoyed close relations. Pakistan also turned its back on the Soviet Union, shunning its ‘Asian Security’ scheme because of its aggressively anti-Chinese tone.
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Pakistan under Zulfikar’s leadership enjoyed its strongest period of Pak-Chinese friendship, but the young President also opened his country’s foreign policy up to numerous other Muslim and Asian states. For once, for the first time in Pakistan’s history, Pakistan was not simply an American or Soviet lackey, but an independent nation exercising its sovereign powers through decidedly bilateral relations. Pakistan was part of Asia, no longer a satellite of the great powers. ‘Pakistan has sought to take the right position based on justice,’ Zulfikar wrote to his son Murtaza while he was studying at Harvard. ‘As long as I am in charge of the affairs of Pakistan, this shall always be the case whether it is the Middle East or any other theatre of the world.’
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Meanwhile, the issue of Bangladesh and the fallout of the war loomed. In late June, the summer Zulfikar assumed the presidency, he travelled to the Indian hill station of Simla to meet with Indira Gandhi, his Indian counterpart, to discuss the subcontinent’s new borders and the prisoners of war who remained captive in Indian and Bangladeshi jails. Zulfikar travelled to India from Lahore with a large delegation, apprehensive that the meeting would require Pakistan to recognize the new state broken from its borders and agree to a no-war pact with India.

The first session of the Simla talks was opened by welcoming words from Mrs Gandhi, who acknowledged the difficulties of the two parties in meeting to negotiate. Zulfikar reciprocated. ‘I want to
say, believe me, we are interested in peace. That is our objective and we will strive for it. We want to turn the corner. We want to make a new beginning.’
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The warmth of the first meeting, however, did not last. The second day of talks produced no concrete results. Both delegations met and discussed the roadblocks, including the Indian insistence on a refigured Line of Control in Kashmir – a matter of importance in the 1971 war that remained an eternally perplexing one for the two countries – and the Pakistani insistence on a plebiscite in Kashmir. On 1 July, near the end of the official summit, newspapers were reporting that the talks had stalled. Nothing firm had been agreed upon and both parties were reluctant to sign a treaty that belittled their respective countries. The following day, even Zulfikar was said to have admitted to the press that there was ‘some kind of deadlock’.
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Both sides continued to hold their breath and wait.

That evening as Indira Gandhi walked alone in the gardens of the hill station where the negotiations were taking place, Zulfikar, himself frustrated by the failure of their talks thus far, went out to join her. The two leaders walked alone, without delegates and advisors, for some time. They spoke freely and without the usual tension that seemed to dog their relationship on every other occasion. Both of them had come to Simla for peace, a peace that did not leave their countries beholden or indebted to the other but that guaranteed them both a measure of political equality. As they walked in the evening cool of Simla’s summer, Zulfikar and Indira came to an agreement.

The signing of the eleventh-hour Simla treaty was a diplomatic miracle. Neither Pakistan nor India lost ground and neither vanquished the other. No vital concessions were made, a feat between two aggressive and territorially proud countries; calm between India and Pakistan was once again a promised possibility. A new ceasefire line in Kashmir was agreed upon, trade, communications and flights were resumed between Pakistan and India and cultural exchanges were no longer blocked. The prisoners of war were not yet to be released, but it was the success at Simla that ensured they would be – 90,000 Pakistani soldiers would soon return home. People say that the agreement
between the two leaders was so sudden and unexpected that Zulfikar didn’t even have a pen on him when the treaty was passed to him to sign.

Upon returning home, Zulfikar told the crowd that met him at Rawalpindi airport that the success at Simla belonged to the Indian and Pakistani people who had struggled through three wars to reach this momentous peace. Twelve days later, the National Assembly approved the Simla agreement. A large oil portrait of the signing of the Simla peace hangs in what was Zulfikar’s office in 71 Clifton; he must have hung it himself. For so long as I can remember, it has always been the centrepiece of my grandfather’s book-laden office.

Zulfikar’s foreign policy triumphs continued as his time in office progressed. In February 1974, Pakistan played host to the Organization of Islamic Countries’ second ever summit. The city of Lahore was spruced up and its roads cleaned – citizens were told that they were to welcome their guests, the heads of thirty-eight Islamic states, even offering them their homes. Hotels and government guest houses were not sufficient to handle the number of dignitaries and functionaries coming so Zulfikar called upon the people of Lahore to open their houses and they did so with the knowledge that they were for once included in the solidarity movement of people across the Islamic
umma
. Sadat of Egypt, Boumedienne of Algeria, Gadaffi – who had a stadium named for him in the Mughal city – of Libya, Hafez al Assad of Syria, King Faisal of Saudi Arabia, whose country helped with the preparations, and Yasser Arafat, head of the PLO, all attended. While the Shah of Iran did not deign to make an appearance, Idi Amin did – uninvited and with a substantial familial entourage.

Zulfikar roused his guests and heralded the success of the OIC summit by declaring that ‘We, the people of Pakistan, shall give our blood for the cause of Islam . . . Whenever the occasion arises the Islamic world will never find us wanting in any future conflict.’
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The architect of Pakistan’s solidarity movement with the Muslim world would have had a coronary had he lived to see the day when Pakistan entered a war on two Muslim neighbours, Afghanistan and Iraq, at the behest of the United States, no less, and meekly opened the
frontiers of its borders and skies so that a foreign army’s planes could bomb undisturbed. He would have been all the more disgusted to know that the party he founded sits at the helm of such spineless collaboration.

Zulfikar had made good on his pre-election promises to strive towards closer bonds with Third World nations and fight for Pakistan’s sovereignty; since becoming head of state Zulfikar had withdrawn his country from the British Commonwealth and removed Pakistan from SEATO, the South East Asia Treaty Organization sponsored by the United States. He fostered close ties with Middle Eastern and African countries, the culmination of which was seen at the OIC summit where Colonel Gadaffi called Pakistan ‘the citadel of Islam in Asia’ and promised his country’s resources to Pakistan whenever it required Libya’s friendship and aid.
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I found myself in a bizarre scene, thirty-five years later, when, travelling across Europe researching this book, I found myself at the dinner table of one of Colonel Gadaffi’s son’s. I knew who he was, but I don’t think he had figured out who I was, genetically speaking. I leaned across the table and introduced myself, received a polite nod as we exchanged pleasantries in Arabic and then proceeded, in rapid fire, to tell him about the OIC summit (I had just finished my notes on what would be this chapter), concluding with the stadium, a place that has a unique history in many Pakistani imaginations. Poor Mr Gadaffi listened politely and when I ran out of breath, we moved on. Discussing Pakistan’s current President Zardari and a new bill he has signed punishing with imprisonment any one found guilty of ‘character assassinating’ his person or his past, Mr Gadaffi asked about Pakistan’s tenuous future. I tried to reassure him that things would change one day, they always do. He smiled broadly and recalled some of his father’s and elder brother’s visits to the once glorious country.

The OIC summit itself was a success and concluded by forming the Islamic Solidarity Fund and setting the foundations for the Islamic Commission on Economic, Cultural and Social Affairs. Pakistan also used the summit as an occasion to announce formally its recognition
of Bangladesh and in return Bangladesh withdrew criminal charges against some 200 Pakistani soldiers in its custody.

The OIC summit brought Zulfikar closer to those leaders in Asia who were natural allies: Muslim states coming out of recent liberation movements since the fall of colonialism in the post-war world. He spoke frequently to several of the heads of states, Saudi Arabia’s King Faisal and Sheikh Zayed of the United Arab Emirates among them, with regard to future summits and a proposed Treaty of Non-Aggression among Muslim countries.
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Besides détente with India, Zulfikar had moved Pakistan closer to China, continued the country’s relationship with America, now on more equal terms, and fostered stronger ties with neighbouring countries like Iran and Afghanistan.

Besides a radically altered foreign policy, for which Zulfikar will always be recognized in Pakistan, he made brave moves towards change in two other significant spheres – the formation of the country’s new and first democratically proposed constitution and in the field of feudal land reform.

The 1973 constitution came into law in August and built upon the foundations of the country’s previous constitutional charters with several important and far-reaching additions and amendments. First, the constitution put the structures in place for a bicameral legislature, giving the senate equal representation in the provinces by calling for its members to be indirectly elected by the provincial assemblies and having the national assembly given power by direct vote.
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The problem of provincial autonomy was remedied, at least in part, by these directives, which decentralized what had always been an enormously centralized state. A Council of Common Interests was set up to regulate policies covering the fields of oil and gas, industries, water and power, which also contributed to the more balanced governing of Pakistan’s most valuable resources.

Under the new constitution, Zulfikar assumed the post of Prime Minister, changing the mode of government to prime ministerial as opposed to presidential.
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As for the army, the constitution had previously contained – and would again later contain – the necessary strings to allow for acts of emergency to be called for under the dubious ‘doctrine
of necessity’. If the army deemed it necessary to take over, the constitution of Pakistan always granted it the excuse to do so. Under the new constitution, however, the federal government was empowered with ‘control and command’ over the armed forces.
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The soldiers in service were required to ‘uphold the constitution’ and avoid ‘any political activity whatsoever’.
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The new constitution chafed the army, which was not amused at being singled out for a reduction in its power. Eventually the Prime Minister would feel the same way too and he would seek to amend the constitution to lessen the restrictions on his power. Though it was, at the time of its drafting, a far-sighted document – the constitution, by virtue of a clause that obstructed the passing of any laws contrary to Islam, negated the notion of ever bringing Sharia law into a federal position at any time in the future – it was lacking largely in its treatment of the Ahmedi sect of Muslims, keeping this community’s second-class-citizen status and refusing to acknowledge them as Muslims.

At least initially, though, the army were not the only ones who suffered at the hands of the new people’s government. As part of his political campaigning Zulfikar had promised that his government would seek to amend the injustices of feudalism. It’s worth noting that Zulfikar’s family was one of the foremost feudal families in the country. There’s a story, popularly recounted, of a census taken during the Raj when a British officer instructed a subordinate to tally up the various holdings of Sindh’s elite. ‘Call me when you’ve finished detailing the Bhutto land,’ the officer was said to have instructed. Several days later, he had not heard from his colleague and returned to ask why he had not reported back. ‘I’m still working on the Bhutto lands,’ was the subordinate’s reply.

At its inception the PPP was made up largely of writers, intellectuals, union leaders and other progressive elements of Pakistani society. Feudalism was an ill that was universally recognized within the party apparatus and a vow was made to amend the inequities of Pakistan’s landed elite. Zulfikar held true to the promise of land reforms. The government instituted a ceiling of 250 acres of irrigated land and 300 acres of unirrigated land, making the reforms the most radical in Pakistan at the time. Zulfikar lost much of his family’s land in the reforms, slicing away his children’s inheritance.

But there were still problems that plagued the reforms, mainly that land was transferred in name only: large landowners managed to hold the bulk of their titles through changing the names on the deeds to those of powerless peasants and contractors while still raking in the cash themselves. Many landowners also attempted to sidestep the reforms by donating their time and services generously to the PPP, hoping closeness to the chairman would exempt them from having to surrender their land. Zulfikar acknowledged that the reforms had further to go and formulated stricter ceilings, 100 acres for irrigated land and 200 for unirrigated land, to be put into place during the second stage of land reforms, but they were too late. He would not have the time to implement them.

It was not only the landed gentry who saw their fortunes placed in jeopardy; the country’s industrialists felt the brunt of Zulfikar’s socialist policies early on in his government, when the regime introduced nationalization. Initially, only thirty substantial firms were nationalized – with more to follow – as the government saw the programme as vital in tackling Pakistan’s economic inequality and endemic poverty. Though nationalization seems to antagonize most serious capitalists the world over, those affected in Pakistan never ceased to blame Zulfikar for their economic castration. When my brother Zulfi, named for his grandfather, was in third grade – starting at a new private school in Karachi – he had a fight with another child in the playground. The child explained himself to Zulfi: ‘We can’t be friends,’ he insisted. ‘Your grandfather took away my grandfather’s bank.’ It wasn’t only the bankers’ relatives either. We heard similar tales of woe from the grandchildren of shipping magnates, insurance company founders, steel mill owners and various other beleagured captains of industry. Nationalization wasn’t personal – it was a matter of national policy. Unfortunately, in Pakistan, politics is nothing if not personal – it seems to be the country’s one constant. But rather than engage in the pros or cons of nationalization, it suffices to say that in a country where twenty-one men controlled the nation’s economy, nationalization was the only available means to redistribute wealth. The move might not have been permanent, but only a
short-term remedy on the way to a mixed economy. But, again, Zulfikar was not to have the time to test out his economic theories.