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Kohistan in
context system Yeh Woh perspective Not
a child’s play Grave
offence
Kohistan
in context Over the past few
months, Kohistan has hit the headlines for reasons that symbolise much of
what’s wrong in Pakistan: short-sighted policies that have given a boost to
‘religious’ extremists, poor law and order and prosecution systems that
allow people to get away with murder, and conservative social values that
reduce women to the status of chattel who can be killed for the sake of ‘honour’.
The three incidents that
highlight these factors include the massacre of February 28, when about 20
men in military uniform ambushed vehicles travelling from Islamabad to Gilgit
on the Karakorum Highway, pulled off the Shia passengers and shot dead
sixteen men. Then, on May 4, a
92-year-old former parliamentarian warned women working in non-governmental
organisations (NGOs) against entering Kohistan district, threatening to
forcibly marry them off to locals if they persisted. ‘Maulana’ Abdul
Haleem, elected from Kohistan on a Muttahida Majlis-e-Amal (MMA) ticket in
2002, opposes non-religious education for women and thinks that Islam forbids
women to work outside their home. Officials dismissed him as an
attention-seeking senile old man, but many women found his words threatening. Last week, we heard about
the alleged killing of four women and two men for “singing and dancing”
with “na-mehrams” during wedding celebrations. The ‘sentence’ was
reportedly ‘pronounced’ by a cleric at a ‘jirga’ (tribal council).
After an outcry in the media, police arrested the cleric who denied the
charges and said that no such decree had been issued. These incidents highlight
the process of ‘talibanisation’ (a term used to cover the mindset shared
by the ‘taliban’ as well as the local self-proclaimed ‘jihadis’) that
has been growing in Pakistan due to several factors. One factor is the global
politics played out on Pakistani soil — particularly Saudi versus Iran.
Proxy wars in Pakistan, carried out through propaganda and weapons, have led
to not just a widening rift between different sects of Islam and between
Muslims and non-Muslims in the country, but to a tragic increase in violent
deaths, innocents being killed just for being born into a certain religion or
sect of Islam. These proxy wars have been
facilitated by another factor behind the ‘talibanisation’ of Pakistan:
the policies imposed by military governments, particularly under Gen. Ziaul
Haq, that set Pakistan on an ‘anti-India, pro-jihadi’ path. Decades of
such conditioning and indoctrination at all levels have made it difficult to
reverse these policies and chart a new pro-people, pro-peace course. A third factor is the
inability or unwillingness of the authorities to check crime at the local
level. This emboldens criminals on the ground, committing petty criminal acts
like blackening women’s faces on billboards, ransacking DVD shops and
pressurising people to wear clothes deemed more ‘Islamic’, or engaged in
larger crimes that bankroll the militants’ activities, like
drug-trafficking, gun-running and kidnapping for ransom. Police know that
even if they pursue and make arrests, a call from some ‘high-up’ will
free the accused, or if the case makes it to court, they will be released for
lack of evidence — Pakistan has no witness protection programme that would
protect those who speak out. When law enforcement
agencies fail to deal with real and perceived threats, it encourages
criminals, including the militant, extremist elements. This alleged murder of the
Kohistani women fits neatly into this picture. No one was surprised that
“singing and dancing” could bring on a death threat to those filmed in
the video — an incident dubbed as the “Kohistan video scandal” by
Pakistan’s scandal-seeking media (also, by terming the witness Afzal Khan
as an ‘accused’, the jirga decree as a ‘sentence’, and murders as
‘execution’ the media legitimises illegal acts). Because, after all,
women have been killed for less. But as is the case behind
most cases of ‘honour killing’, there was more to it than that met the
eye. As the District Police Officer (DPO) Kohistan Abdul Majeed Afridi said,
the case appears to be based on tribal rivalry and an attempt to defame a
family. It was apparently recorded three years ago. The fact that it was
brought to the attention of the media now indicates some enmity. The video, apparently taken
with a cell phone, shows four women in colourful traditional chaddars
squatting on a bare floor. They clearly don’t want to be filmed. They hide
their faces and look away. You hear a male voice speak and apparently
requesting them to sing and they start clapping hesitantly at first, then
more strongly. Their humming grows into a song. A young man gets up to dance,
arms outstretched in the graceful, birdlike dance of the tribal, mountain
people. The DPO thinks the video
was edited in an attempt to implicate the women and men in it due to a
dispute between two tribes. But even if the women were
in the room with these men, there is nothing remotely vulgar or
“un-Islamic” about what they were doing. And even if there was, it would
justify a “death sentence”? On Thursday, we heard the
good news that they are alive. But given the flimsy pretexts on which women
are sacrificed all over the country, they could well have been dead too.
According to the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan, there were at least 943
reported cases of women being killed for allegedly sullying their family ‘honour’,
around the country in 2011. Many of these murders are committed because the
woman is accused of ‘illicit relations’ with someone — the real motive
being to target the man with whom there is a property or financial dispute. The truth behind the
“Kohistan video scandal” will emerge. This is a district that “needs
extraordinary attention to usher the people to the modern civilization,” as
parliamentarian Bushra Gohar says. “Basically they are very good people and
not extremists but the radicalisation of the northern areas has affected the
area badly. There’s a need to take a larger, more holistic view of human
rights in such areas.” Meanwhile, the harsh
reality of millions of lives in Pakistan remains unchanged, with
‘religious’ militancy further adding to the conservative values that
already weigh down and hold back women. The writer blogs at
Journeys to Democracy www.beenasarwar.wordpress.com http://www.beenasarwar.wordpress.com.
Twitter @beenasarwar caption Dead or alive?
system The Federally
Administered Tribal Areas (Fata) comprises seven tribal agencies and six
Frontier Regions. In 1901, the British rulers of then undivided India had
formulated the harsh Frontier Crimes Regulation (FCR) to control the restive
frontier belt with Afghanistan and deal with the people who were, to put it
mildly, not seen as the most loyal subjects of the empire. The question of exclusion
of this region from application of the general law of the country has been
around for longer than the country itself. Even after Pakistan gained
independence, this exclusion of the Fata remained unchanged under all three
constitutions that the country has had — and administration of justice and
governance in the Fata takes place under the FCR even today, where both the
judicial and the executive functions are exercised by a political agent
appointed by the federal government. In the last few days, the
FCR has been in the spotlight in Pakistani and foreign media because of the
sentencing of Dr Shakil Afridi — the man accused of helping the United
States find Osama bin Laden. Afridi has been convicted to 33 years in prison.
Besides the expected rhetoric of him being a hero to one camp and a baddy of
the worst order to the other, the only positive to come out of his conviction
by a ‘tribal court’ in the Fata has been the attention the FCR has
subsequently got. Suddenly, more and more
people remember what a terrible, terrible piece of legislation the FCR is and
how that makes the Fata a human rights-free zone for anyone who has the
misfortune of coming across the ‘justice system’ there. Like all those who are
dealt with by courts of law in the Fata, Afridi too did not get any of the
due process rights taken for granted elsewhere in Pakistan. He was
practically condemned unheard, not allowed to meet his family or given a
counsel of his choice. Lawyers had objected to why he was tried in the Fata
when the supposed offence had taken place in Abbottabad. The reason for that
was obvious; so that he could not access the rights guaranteed to an accused
under the Constitution of Pakistan. But it is important to
remember that this ‘judicial system’ under the FCR has been in place for
nearly 110 years and Afridi is merely one of the more recent and more
high-profile victims. For all we know, there may already have been many more
since his case. Section 91 of the colonial
constitutional law of government of India had referred to what we know as the
Fata as “Excluded Areas”. Although Article 1 of the Constitution of 1973
mentions the Fata as one of the territories of Pakistan, and Article 8 says
that any law inconsistent with the fundamental rights shall be null and void,
yet the FCR remains outside the scope of Article 8. Since 1947, there have
been the occasional promises from the government to make changes in the legal
status of the Fata within the federation and to bring it into the national
mainstream, but that status and the FCR have remained largely unchanged. The Fata is not an
ungovernable territory, but the state has chosen to govern it through local
proxies and draconian laws. The region does not have representation in any
provincial assembly in the country. The parliamentarians from the Fata can
make laws for the entire country but not for their own area. Under Article 247 of the
Constitution of 1973, the Constitution itself provides an exception to the
Fata as the president rather than the parliament is authorised to decide
which laws should and should not extend to the Fata. Unfortunately,
successive presidents in their wisdom have chosen not to extend the
fundamental rights guaranteed in the constitution to the Fata and kept it
outside the purview of Pakistan’s judiciary. The most problematic areas
of the FCR have been lack of judicial review of administrative and
‘judicial’ action in the Fata, and the administration’s authority to
order punitive demolitions, collective punishment and arbitrary detention. Soon after the 2008
elections, the prime minister had announced to repeal the FCR and the federal
cabinet had decided to form a committee towards that end. However, the FCR
was not repealed. In the end, some amendments were made to the law in 2011.
According to the amendments, an appeal against any decision by the Political
Agent/District Coordination Officer lies with the Commissioner or Additional
Commissioner authorised so by the Governor. A revision against the appellate
authority’s decision lies with a three-member Fata Tribunal that can
entertain revision against the order/judgment of the appellate authority. Women and children (below
16 years of age) and men above 65 can no longer be arrested under the
collective responsibility clause. The entire tribe cannot be arrested, at
least not straight away. However, initially male members of the family, then
of the sub-tribe and later of other sections of the tribe can still be
apprehended. A new section has been added for compensation in case of false
prosecution in civil and criminal matters. Anyone deprived of his property
must be given compensation under the Land Acquisition Act, 1894. Funds at the
disposal of the political agent are now to be audited by the Auditor General
of Pakistan. Through another provision inserted in the FCR, members of the
Fata Tribunal can visit jails for inspections twice a year. The accused has
been granted the right of bail. An arrested accused must be produced before
the authorities within 24 hours. The Political Parties Order has been
extended to the Fata. These seem to be quite a
few changes, but a closer look suggests that they have been largely cosmetic.
The constitutionally guaranteed fundamental rights remain unavailable. In the
trials under the FCR, there is still no right to legal representation, to
present material evidence or cross-examine witnesses; incremental collective
punishment for whole tribes and communities is still there; as are punitive
actions against communities for actions of individuals. The decisions by the
Fata’s ‘judicial’ hierarchy still cannot be called into question by any
civil, criminal or constitutional court. Separation of power of the judiciary
and the executive remains elusive. The extension of the
Political Parties Act to the Fata in August 2011 was welcomed by the civil
society as it allowed the political parties to formally start activities in
the militancy-hit region. However, steps crucial for facilitating political
activities have not been taken as the Fata is outside the jurisdiction of the
superior judiciary, and there is no mechanism to ensure implementation of
fundamental rights such as the right to association, freedom of expression
and access to information in the region, which are critical for political
participation. The amendments have not
brought any real change to the system of governance and merely watered down
some problematic clauses. The vacuum that had existed in the enforcement of
human rights in the Fata remains, and the administration’s authority to do
as it pleases with the citizens in the Fata continues. The change in the FCR has
clearly not gone far enough. The focus of the 1901 law was “the suppression
of crime in certain frontier districts”. After the 2011 amendment to the
FCR, the objective is the “maintenance of peace, law and order and good
governance in the Federally Administered Tribal Areas”. There are those that say
that it is the strategic location of the Fata that is the root of its
exclusion and that until the state’s priorities of jihadi adventurism
change there can be no change in the fortunes of this ‘strategic space’. The onus is on the
political authorities to prove that that is not so.
Yeh
Woh ‘When a
journalist slanders someone in mass media, what can the aggrieved person
do?’ asks one of the only three women in a training workshop for some two
dozen radio and print journalists. It is a very unusual
question for a workshop on professional ethics. Front line journalists in
small town Pakistan are the least curious of the lot. They treat a discussion
on ethics the same way they deal with Friday sermon: listen respectfully
without hearing, much less questioning or retaining anything about upholding
universal values and avoiding unethical conduct. And here’s a young
journalist thinking about her audience? Impressive. Seerat introduced herself
as a freelance journalist and columnist for local newspapers but didn’t
have anything to show. Then towards the end of the three-day event she
privately reintroduced herself: ‘I am no journalist’. Now here’s an
honest one, I thought. The rest of the group could but never did admit that
they are journalists only because they are employed with a media organisation,
otherwise they know nothing about their rights and duties as journalists, and
the mythical ‘best practices’. ‘No, seriously, I mean
I’ve never worked with media. I am a teacher by profession’. She is
wearing a burqa, complete with a veil over her face, showing only her eyes,
and there’s no hint of a joke there. Okay ... nice meeting you Seerat the
teacher, what brings you here? ‘I wanted to meet journalists and see for
myself what kind of people they are’. Hmmm, not to get too personal, but
are your parents about to marry you off with a journalist? Or maybe it’s a
silly question, let me rephrase it: why? The answer to this one-word
query elicits an hour and a half of explanation. As head teacher, she sacked
a couple of female teachers she found below par. The women ganged up against
her and threatened to ruin her life through local media. ‘I didn’t take
them seriously. I mean media only says what’s true, right? So why should I
worry when I’ve done everything according to rules’. Ah the innocence,
the small town innocence of a university graduate. What helped her grow up
and learn the reality was an identical piece in two local papers a few days
later, displayed across the front page. ‘The head teacher is corrupt,’
announced the headline, with more sensational disclosures in the strap line:
‘teachers say she is mentally ill and tortures students and staff alike’. Her eyes water a little
around the outer corners: ‘Sir do I look like I am mentally ill?’ I try
to make out her facial expressions behind the thin veil, failing which I look
straight at the scar between her eyebrows and shake my head in sympathy. ‘You are teaching them
ethics, so tell me what can I do against unethical reporting that’s
tarnishing my image, bringing bad name to my family, and stressing me out
even after I quit that job?’ Nothing, I replied with emphasis on the first
syllable to denote absolute finality. ‘Nothing?’ she challenged me.
‘Well, a lawyer friend suggested that I should get the two newspapers to
retract the offending stories and publish an apology’. And did you? ‘Yes, I went
to one editor, he told me not to teach him how to be a journalist. And after
I left his office he called up the other party and received money from them
for not entertaining my point of view. Then I went to the other editor but
this time I had a few people call him before hand. He agreed the story
against me was one-sided but instead of an apology he offered to publish a
piece written by me. I gave him two and half pages of my side of the story,
but this is all they used,’ she thrusts a folded newspaper towards me. The
story is about three column inches and makes no sense, but the headline and
strap lines are definitely positive: ‘The head teacher refutes corruption
charges – says she is not mentally ill’. So that proves it you are
alright, I found something to say when I finished reading the story. The tear
drop in the corner of her eye grew bigger, and rolled down gingerly, mixing
with the kohl line and leaving a streak of grey that quickly disappeared in
the black veil. ‘I didn’t write this line, they added it on their own,’
she said weakly, not sure if this too is unethical journalism. masudalam@yahoo.com
perspective Zain, though only
five in age, seemed to know exactly where to hit his younger sibling and with
what force in order to produce the desired effect. His open hand fell across
Hiba’s right cheek, leaving an imprint of its five fingers on her face. She
screamed with pain. “Do not touch this again,” he shouted at her,
pointing toward his videogame console. The apparently harmless act
of physical violence described above is commonplace in our society. So
common, in fact, that we hardly ever notice it with much concern. The violence of this cute
and loveable little boy against his equally cute sibling needs to be
understood in its relation with this widely pervasive and essentially violent
technique of disciplining children by using physical force to cause pain —
the corporal punishment. Our society is currently
infested with violence and intolerance. Might there be connections between
the corporal punishments in schools and homes and the violence in society at
large. So as you read these words,
please take a step back with me and re-examine this interaction between the
two siblings to be able to see its connection with the increasing frequency
of violence in our society. We regard occurrences like
the one described above as part of the usual repertoire of behavioural issues
that children have. Children do get angry at each other. Quarrelling with
each other over what may appear to the adults as petty matters is part and
parcel of growing up. Zain was also angry with Hiba. Perhaps she had
inadvertently broken his videogame console. But Zain’s annoyance could not
have been the only reason behind his decision to slap her on the face.
Surely, Zain also tacitly recognised that his younger sibling was smaller and
physically weaker than him. In other words, he knew that she would not be
able to deliver the same pain to him in retribution. The individual who could
deliver similar pain to him had to be more powerful than he was. We could
reasonably expect Zain, if he were clever enough, to react differently if he
perceived the source of his anger to be mightier than him. Whenever corporal
punishment, or similar violence, is executed, the victim of such violence is
always weaker. Corporal punishment, by definition, is delivered from a
position of authority and superior strength. But this brings us to
another question: How did Zain, a little child himself, know of
‘slapping’ as a technology of inflicting enough pain to straighten people
into good behaviour. He certainly could not have intended to cause bodily
harm to his sister. Well, I would argue that he was simply doing to his
sister what was regularly being done to him by his parents and teachers. He
surely had a mother who occasionally taught him the value of a well-executed
slap on his face. Also, his first grade teacher had taught him the value of
pinching the ears. He knew this kind of violence was kosher, and also
effective, through what I would call an apprenticeship of pain. By subjecting
him to corporal punishment, both the parent and the teacher were not just
modifying his behaviour in the ways they considered desirable. They were also
giving Zain his first few lessons in violence. In the form of a younger and
weaker sibling, he also had plenty of opportunity to turn this craft into
practice. So what does corporal
punishment, this controlled physical violence, do to the children? The above
example shows that it teaches them how to be violent to those who are weaker
than them. It also, implicitly, teaches intolerance of noisy behaviours.
Arguably, it is only a step away from the uncontrolled violence that we
witness in our streets. It teaches children that violence is better than
negotiation. They learn that it is okay to silence the people who are
different by beating them into submission. The attitude that underpins
corporal punishment is different only in degree and intensity from that which
underpins other forms of violence that we witness regularly in our society. Let me give you another
metaphor to clarify my point further. Imagine us humans, metaphorically
speaking, as special kinds of batteries. The process of education, then, can
be loosely imagined as charging them with values, ideas, knowledge and
skills. They are expected to pay it back to the world. If we charge these
metaphorical ‘batteries’ with love, care, responsibility, critical
attitudes, tolerance, and respect for difference then that is what they will
give back to the world. Charged with violence, however, violence is what they
should be expected to return to the world. Children who get beaten
into discipline by their teachers and parents do the same to other younger
children. Adults who love to beat others into submission and discipline have
learnt to act in this way through the apprenticeship of violence. Corporal
punishment was the main tool of this apprenticeship. I am not arguing against
the responsibility of the parents and schools to discipline their children.
But, we must scrutinise the taken for granted wisdom of the age old adage
“Spare the rod and spoil the child.” It does not hold up. A corrective
measure that fills children with violence should only be expected to lead to
more violence, especially against the weak and disadvantaged. Subjecting children to
corporal punishment is also a lazy way of achieving the semblance of
discipline in the classroom and home. It demeans children, fills them with
violence, damages their self-esteem, and contributes to intolerance and
violence at the level of society. All of us are Zains and Hibas in our own
ways. Our teachers and parents may have believed that not sparing the rod was
in our best interests. Some of them may also have used it as a lazy strategy
to discipline children. Corporal punishment taught
us that physical punishment was an acceptable way of disciplining individuals
and society. Curtailing violence, therefore, will require putting an end to
this apprenticeship of violence. The writer is an
independent researcher in the politics and history of education reforms. He
can be reached at imuzaffar@gmail.com
Not
a child’s play Muhammad Umar, a
grade six student at a public school in a lower middle class vicinity of
Faisalabad, immolated himself in an open street in May this year. He
succumbed to his burns later. Umar had skipped school for about two weeks.
The school continued to insist that it would not allow Umar to sit in the
class unless his father appears before the school administration. Reportedly,
his all-the-time angry father refused to accompany him to the school. A butcher by profession,
his father, Khalid Pervez alias Javed, mostly stays depressed, according to
neighbours and acquaintances. They often see him quarrelling with his wife
and kids. After its extensive
coverage on the media, two more school-going students committed suicide in
different parts of the country. A 12-year-old student committed suicide
reportedly due to the harsh attitude of the local private school
administration. Abdul Mubeen, a student of grade seven in Abbottabad, hanged
himself at his residence leaving a letter in his pocket which read that he
had taken the step due to bad treatment of a school teacher and hostel
administration. According to the reports
collected by an NGO, Society for the Protection of the Rights of the Child (SPARC),
44 cases of corporal punishments have been reported only in Punjab in the
last few months. In a recent incident, a
child who was slapped on his face by a teacher lost his hearing in the
affected ear. “There is no institutional mechanism to stop this
psychological damage,” says Sajjad Cheema, the provincial coordinator of
SPARC in Lahore. “Pakistan has recognised UNCRC (United Nations Convention
on the Rights of the Child), but has not made any legislation at any
level.” “Violence is the biggest
reason of psychological disorders in children,” he says. “Children are
neglected at houses and parents shift the responsibility to teachers.
Children are beaten just because they are children,” Cheema says,
“Unfortunately, Section 89 of Pakistan Penal Code rather allows
‘reasonable’ beating of children.” Dr Zahid Mahmood, a
psychologist, says the main reason behind this tendency is despondency.
“School students, these days, are under huge pressure. They have academic,
financial, social, peer, and domestic/parents pressures.” According to him, another
reason of children’s depression and despondency is bullying in schools.
“This is such a thing which children, mostly, do not share with anyone,
even their parents.” “Corporal punishment is
another cause of depression,” says Sana Khawaja, another psychologist. She
says that in a positive reinforcement, a reward is given to a child for
desired behaviour, like a parent might allow a child to stay up an hour late
at night. While in a negative reinforcement something desirable is taken away
for the purpose of correction like stopping a child from watching his
favourite cartoon show because he didn’t complete his homework, which can
cause serious physical and psychological harm to the child. “It [negative
reinforcement] teaches the child that violence and use of force are
acceptable and appropriate strategies for resolving a conflict or getting
people to do what you want.” Khawaja views that media is
also responsible for spreading these trends by sensationalising issues rather
than highlighting them in a responsible way because it has no code of ethics.
“Even as doctors and psychologists, we hide the identity of victims of
corporal punishment, physical abuse, but media reaches their homes and
focuses on the victims, creating further depression in those children and
families.” She calls for planned
awareness campaigns and strong family bonds to look after the children rather
than leaving it all to the teachers. Article 19 of the UNCRC,
adopted and signed by Pakistan, says, “States shall take all appropriate
legislative, administrative, social and educational measures to protect the
child from all forms of physical or mental violence, injury or abuse, neglect
or negligent treatment, maltreatment or exploitation, including sexual abuse,
while in the care of parent(s), legal guardian(s) or any other person who has
the care of the child…” Article 28 of the UNCRC
also discourages violence and corporal punishment asking states to take
measures to encourage regular attendance at schools and reduce drop-out
rates. The article further says, “States shall take all appropriate
measures to ensure that school discipline is administered in a manner
consistent with the child’s human dignity and in conformity with the
present Convention.” Khawaja says, “Still,
there is no law in Pakistan and if there are efforts to make any such law
they are always discouraged.” She calls for adopting new methodologies of
teaching students without punishing and snubbing children. Meanwhile a private member
bill on corporal punishment is lying with the National Assembly proposed by
Dr Attiya Inayatullah. vaqargillani@gmail.com caption A rally in Lahore. —
Photo by Rahat Dar
Grave
offence About 50 per cent
of our population comprises children — that is persons below the age of 18. The tale of their miseries
and woes does not stop here: whatever legislation done so far to protect
their basic rights is being blatantly violated without having any strong
lobby in their support in the parliament and elsewhere. Perhaps, they have no
representation in the corridors of power and those having a say in the helm
of affairs are ignorant of the plight of children. Gravity of offences against
children and flaws in our laws have been explicitly pointed out in the
verdict in the rape case of 6-7-year old girl given by the Lahore High Court
(LHC) Multan bench in 2000. Justice Tassaduq Hussain Jillani, then a LHC
judge, ruled in the case that offence of raping a child was not only heinous
but also constituted a ‘terrorist act’ — that such an act could lead to
a sense of fear and insecurity. Sardar Muhammad Latif Khosa, a counsel in the
case, had said under Article 35 of the constitution, the state was mandated
to undertake legislation and take effective measure for child protection and
care, adding the word ‘child molestation’ not defined in the law
properly, could create problems in trial. He further said the
legislature must be asked to take measures for amending the law forthwith. He
also exposed lacunas in the law. About 12 years have passed
since this ruling. Justice Jillani has been promoted to the Supreme Court.
Advocate Sardar Latif Khosa has been raised to the prestigious position of
the Punjab governor. In between we have also seen change of governments —
but child molestation is still not an offense in the Pakistan Penal Code. Child pornography and their
exposure to seduction are other two offenses that are prohibited in all
civilised worlds. But these are not criminal acts in our country. It is generally believed
that these offenses do not exist in our society, and even if they do, they
are negligible. This argument is flawed
because majority of such cases are not reported. The Pakistan Pediatric
Association Child Rights & Association and the Save the Children had
conducted a study, ‘Exposure of Children to Pornography in Lahore’, in
2007 that recorded views of a former official of Pakistan Video Cassettes
Dealers Association. The official says locally produced porn movies, casting
young girls (under 18), reach the market through amateur film producers. The study further finds
that children are seduced in internet cafes, video shops and small cinema
houses in the poor areas of the city where pornographic films and videos are
available. The scope of the study is
confined to Lahore. But it is true for all small and big cities of Pakistan. PPP MNA Samina Khalid
Ghurki had tabled a bill, the Criminal Law (Amendment) Bill 2009, in the
National Assembly about three years ago. The bill proposes severe punishments
for perpetrators of offenses of child pornography and exposing them to
seduction, besides other offenses including cruelty to a child and
trafficking inside the country. This bill, touching upon the sensitive issues
of child rights, is still stuck in the lower house of the parliament on minor
objections. Lack of ownership and commitment seem to be the real hurdles in
the way of the passage of this bill. However, talking to TNS,
Samina Khalid Ghurki says she is trying to table it in the session to be
called after the ongoing budget session. She says she is hopeful that the
bill will be passed by the National Assembly unanimously — “We want to do
everything with consensus.” However, she did not
elaborate how much consensus has been reached so far. Child labour is another
curse to which our future is destined. To support family incomes, when
children are forced to work, they are abused, mentally and physically
tortured and kept in inhuman working environment. Child labour is not
completely banned in Pakistan unlike several civilised countries. After 18th Amendment, child
rights issue has been transferred to provinces. About violation of child
labour laws in the society, Senator S.M. Zafar says this is the result of
general apathy in our society, law enforcement agencies and the government
towards human rights violations. “We love our children and care for them,
but we have no feeling for the children working in inhuman circumstances,”
he adds. He says human rights issues
and education is never the priority of our governments. caption At risk. |
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