The rally, held after the Friday prayers, took place in Guru Mandir, the heart of Karachi, next to the Binori Seminary. Flags with the kalma imprinted were all one could see. Not a single woman, however, was present at the rally. Many a fiery speech was given, as the religious leaders called for the extradition of Rushdie to Pakistan, condemned world leaders, termed the knighthood of Rushdie as a Western conspiracy and even asked for his head, or at the very least, his blood.

At the rally, I met with a bunch of anti-Rushdie supporters. All of them called for Rushdie’s death. However, none of them had ever read the book “The Satanic Verses”. They said that since their clerics had read them, they were going to believe in the religious leaders, and did not feel the need to read the book for themselves. When I asked them how a religion that preaches peace could at the same time allow for fatwas that called for a person’s death, they said that anyone who gave their life in the name of religion would go to heaven.

I itched to tell them that heaven is a fairytale world, which really doesn’t exist in my book.

While all of the above is perhaps not frightening, considering an average Pakistani has seen and dealt with far worse, what really had my stomach churning was when I met this 21 year old boy, who was a student at the Binori Seminary. He said, and I quote, that if he met Rushdie, he would like to kill him as a suicide bomber.

Why a 21 year old would want to become a suicide bomber and kill a man he has never met and has never read the works of, is a question I would like to ask the Pakistani establishment, as they are responsible for the Islamization of this country. They solely, have encouraged young children to become terrorists, and have put a stop to free thinking in this country. The state and religion have become so deeply entwined its unbelievable.

All this in a country that was founded by a man who wanted Pakistan to be a secular nation.

I read The Satanic Verses when I was 15. While I was still a believer at the time [am now an atheist], at no point did the book shake my faith. Instead, it left me in a sense of awe at Rushdie’s writing skills, the man has a way with words that very few authors in today’s world have. Should I too be dragged to the gallows for not being a believer and for having dared to read a book that is REALLY a work of FICTION?

For the love of all things that one considers holy, please stop this vendetta of hatred. And for once, close your eyes and do a Lennon: imagine there’s no religion.

I have seen children dying in Baluchistan; I have seen families torn apart, and I have seen officials from aid agencies unable to help, pressured as they are by the government, who refuse to acknowledge that these dying children exist.

I have seen the media being attacked, and I have seen lawyers being baton charged.

I have seen the highest institution in the country being attacked by the government, and I have seen the Chief Justice of Pakistan treated worse than an animal.

I have heard hundreds of educated people call President Musharraf a dog, and then state that calling Musharraf a dog is an insult to a dog.

I have seen apathy at its highest, and I have seen the conscious of the elite being awoken for the first time.

I have seen Musharraf be hailed by US as an important ally, after he infringes human rights everyday, after the common man suffers from rising inflation, after the army has taken over every important position in the country, and after democracy has become a game to be played in the country.

I wish I was blind.

Sounds familiar? It is what Karachiites have come to be afflicted with in recent years. Our beloved City of Lights or rather City of Loadshedding has undergone tremendous changes in terms of its facade and none of these changes have been beneficial. Yet here we sit, reading our newspapers in air–conditioned comfort, sipping our flavored cappuccinos in the glitzy coffee bars sprouting all around Karachi, while we skim over the reports that would ordinarily shock the living daylights out of any conscious or more appropriately conscientious citizen.

The News reported that at the behest of the US Consulate officials, a private road has been constructed in the midst of one of the heritages of our city, Frere Hall. The road was built so that the American diplomats could commute in no time at all. It is of no consequence at all that thousands of commuters are inconvenienced daily, since they cannot pass by the Frere Hall since the city government has banned all public transport and motorcyclists from that particular route.

We sat back, saw it happen and did nothing. A national heritage has been sitting idle, thanks to ‘security concerns’. Weekly book fairs at the venue have been stopped due to ‘security issues’. Hundreds of people were inconvenienced, and deprived of the chance to buy low priced, good quality books. Obviously, a pile of books might cause grievous harm to the consulate. Perhaps a disgruntled pile of Faiz Ahmed Faiz’s poetry compilations might rise up and strike the consulate?

What really made this scribe feel that the citizens of Karachi had lost hope for the city’s betterment and development was when the Lahore Darakahat Bachao movement was formed in Lahore recently, spurred on by the announcement that 3000 trees were to be cut down on the Lahore Canal Road, to facilitate commuters. The movement is made up of prominent Lahori personalities, and also includes people from all walks of life. Their efforts have made the Chief Justice of Pakistan personally intervene in this matter. This is a brilliant example of how conscious citizens can help save their city from turning into barren land.

Yet when they cut down trees every day in Karachi to make space for more and more billboards, we drove by quietly, to be greeted the next day by a smiling pretty model, looking down at us from where a tree once shaded the pedestrians of this city, and were home to the birds of this city. The City Government has now decided to make Shahrah–e–Faisal a billboard free road.

All I know is that I will never be able to tell my children of that tree on Shahrah–e–Faisal where I once saw the prettiest butterfly ever.

We keep sipping our cappuccinos.

Construction is happening all over the city at a snail’s pace. Roads are dug up, and then conveniently forgotten about. Cable internet companies dig up roads all over residential areas, do their work and vanish. Potholes have become a permanent fixture on roads, and one begins to get shocked when they don’t pop up after a two minute interval.

The President visits the city and people die, trapped in ambulances stuck in road blockades and traffic jams, while the President whizzes by in his bullet proof BMW, purchased with the tax payers’ hard earned money. News reports get published, letters to the editor are written, yet the minute a high ranking official visits our poor city, it is the same routine all over again.

Oil spills took place at the Clifton beach. Thousands of marine life perished. People contracted diseases. Editorials were published, political leaders made grand statements.

The sea went black. The sand has turned a shade of granite grey, which makes one feel that they’re walking on cement. Clifton Beach provided entertainment to millions. Another pride of our city has lost its charm and grandeur.

We still sipped the cappuccinos, while electricity breakdowns take place daily, bomb blasts happen, petrol pumps are burned down and life comes to a standstill.

Our cappuccinos have gone cold and it is time to wake up. It is never too late to make a change and it HAS been done in the past. It is time we throw away our apathy pills, stop looking towards the citizen’s prominent personalities for help, and do something on our own.

Or we can continue sleeping our sleep of apathy. It’s time we make the better choice.

Me? I think there’s nothing new about this news story. BBC once did a 2 hour special on the brothels in the city of Peshawar, where boys not more than 16 were interviewed, all who were working as sex workers in shady motels in the city. Ever since I have been living in Pakistan [which has been 12 torturous, frustrating years], I have come across such stories time and again. Child sexual abuse, 8 year old boys with the profession of “sex workers” in brothels across Pakistan is rampant, especially in the northern areas of Pakistan, where sodomy is just a past time for the sex-starved men.

It would be unfair to say that only members of a certain province are involved in such heinous crimes, since this is an established trade, and not everyone belongs to a single area of Pakistan. However, this issue has been brought to the attention of the public and the forces that rule this nation, that child sexual abuse is RAMPANT here.

Of course, the government officials are too busy bending over for Uncle Sam, collecting bribes and building up the balances of their Swiss bank accounts to give a shit.

The public does not want to talk about it. Shove it under the carpet, do it in the privacy of your home or in a hotel where you can get a room and a little boy for company under US$1, just don’t involve us.

Apathy should be our national sport, not hockey.

It’s easy to blame someone for this. President Zia, with his Islamization process. The failed political system. The lack of infrastructure and funds.

Maybe playing the blame game should be our national sport.

But.

Explain that to a little boy, who cries every night, trapped under a 50 year old man, and wonders when it was, that all the happiness vanished.