By Fatima Bhutto
On September 20, 11 years ago, Mir Murtaza Bhutto, my father and an elected member of the parliament, was returning home from a public meeting on the outskirts of Karachi. He was accompanied by Ashiq Jatoi, Sattar Rajpar, Shajad Haider Ghakro, Rahim Brohi, Yar Mohammad Baloch, and Wajahat Jokhio.
My family and I were not the only ones waiting for my father. There were 70 to 100 police officers placed yards away from our 70 Clifton residence, including several high-level police officials. Some of the officers were in sniper positions in the nearby trees. The streetlights had been shut, the roads cordoned off, and the guards of the nearby embassies were told to leave their posts and retreat within their premises.
As the car carrying my father approached our house, they were stopped by a police contingent. When my father exited the car, the police opened fire. All of the seven men were fatally wounded. My father was shot several times, but the shot that killed him was fired execution style on his neck. Ashiq Jatoi was also shot at point blank range at the back of his head. The victims were left to bleed without any medical attention the aim was murder, after all under the eyes and ears of the police officers for half-an-hour to 45 minutes. All of the seven men were then taken to different locations, none to emergency hospitals.
My father was taken to Mideast, a dispensary. I lost my father at midnight that night. Benazir Zardari was the prime minister at the time. Her government did not arrest any of the police officers. Her government chose to arrest all the survivors and witnesses, two of whom died mysteriously in police custody. The police remained free. In time, they were honourably reinstated to their positions and duly and doubly promoted. The tribunal set up to investigate my father’s murder concluded that the assassination could not have taken place ‘without approval from the highest level of government’. We know what the highest level of government was then and where the highest level of government is today but on this, the eleventh anniversary of my father’s assassination, I want to talk about the senior-most police officers responsible for the murder and the various ways in which they were rewarded for their role in the elimination of Mir Murtaza Bhutto.
All these men placed themselves at the scene of the murder. All of these men claimed there was an encounter; the tribunal concluded forensically that there was no such thing. It was an assassination. Here are the facts. Shoaib Suddle was the deputy inspector-general (DIG) of Karachi at the time of the killing; he was one of the most senior officers at the scene of the crime. In the run-up to the American invasion of Afghanistan, he was promoted to inspector-general (IG) and shifted to Balochistan where he could facilitate Operation Enduring Freedom. Mr Suddle was on the fast track for promotion and after he had secured the Wild West for the Americans, he was made director-general of the National Police Academy (NPA) where he chaired the Police Reforms Committee. Shoaib Suddle, a man charged with murder, handled the police reforms. He is currently heading the committee of the NPA that deals with crimes against women.
Wajid Durrani, alleged to be the coordinator of the assassination, was the senior superintendent of police (SSP) District South, Karachi, at the time of the killing. Mr Durrani, another upstanding member of the police force, was promoted to additional deputy inspector-general (ADIG). You may remember him from recent news headlines; he is now the DIG Traffic of Karachi and is being taken to task over some recent traffic jams. How just. Rai Tahir, who stopped the car and allegedly gave the signal to fire once my father exited the vehicle, was the assistant superintendent of police (ASP) in Clifton in 1996. He was promoted to district police officer (DPO) and moved to the Punjab, where he remains today. Shahid Hayat was another ASP from the Saddar district. He was promoted to ADIG, then DPO Thatta, and is now prowling Jinnah airport as the Deputy Director of Federal Investigation Agency (FIA). He handles immigration and passport control.
Agha Jamil was the station house officer (SHO) of the Napier police station in Karachi and was later promoted to work under his old comrade at the traffic department as a deputy superintendent (DSP). If this reads like a laundry list of police corruption, that’s because it is. Shakaib Qureshi was the Superintendent of the Police in Saddar. Mr. Qureshi absconded from the country illegally and now lives in London. He is alleged to have been involved in the killing of Ashiq Jatoi, who died with a point blank shot to the back of his head. He is currently working as a lawyer in the offices of Clifford Chance, a firm which calls itself a ‘truly global’ law firm and counts as its values ‘ambition, commitment, quality, and community’. Shakaib Qureshi has never returned to Pakistan to face the charges against him; not everyone is fortunate enough to have deals crafted in their honour. Masood Sharif was the director-general of the Intelligence Bureau, which reported directly to the office of the prime minister. In Pakistan, ‘police intelligence’ and ‘law and order’ are uniquely ironic oxymoron. Mr. Sharif, once he was honourably absolved of any guilt by the police department in an internal review, retired from his post.
He was not promoted as such, but Mr Sharif was absolutely rewarded. He was given a position on the Central Committee of Benazir Zardari’s PPP. Only the chairperson of the party, in this case Mrs. Zardari, can induct people into the hallowed and honourable Central Committee. These are not the only men complicit in the murder; they’re just the big guns (no pun). These facts are all a matter of public record. Impels people to ask about the not-so hidden hand, the highest level of government, so I will answer. Asif Zardari, lifelong senator and current PPP poster boy, now lives in New York City in the Trump Towers apartment complex on Fifth Avenue with his dog Maximillian.
In a somewhat magical move, he has been given a position on the board of the Oxonian Society, Oxford University’s networking organization. The president of the Oxonian society, a gentleman named Joe Pascal (joe@oxoniansociety.com), introduced Mr. Zardari, who joins CEOs, captains of industry, and Rhodes scholars, as a ‘Pakistani political prisoner’. Someone ought to write to Mr. Pascal (joe@oxoniansociety.com) and tell him that murder cases, narcotics cases, and corruption cases worth billions of dollars do not make a Nelson Mandela. I know I will Mrs. Zardari resides between London and Dubai. She plans to return to Pakistan in one month’s time and be hailed as your next prime minister and Gen Musharraf’s new best friend. Mrs. Zardari is currently being tried in a Swiss court for corruption. There is also a case in Spain’s courts against her for corruption the evidence was unearthed after the Spanish police were following paper trails after the 2004 Madrid bombings and came across some suspicious looking accounts belonging to Mrs. Zardari. Mrs Zardari has numerous corruption cases lodged against her in her own country. There have been allegations that she and her partner stole $1.5 to 2 billion from the Pakistani treasury. She’s on her way back for round three. Eleven years later and none of the above police officers were removed from their posts of duty. None of the above police officers upheld their sworn duty, which is to safeguard and protect the citizens of this country from harm.
Eleven years later they have all been rewarded for their role in the murder. Eleven years later we have a court case in which the defence shows no interest because they have no fear that they’ll ever face punishment for their crimes how many men and women were murdered in extra-judicial killings in Karachi from 1993-1996? Thousands. Check the records. My father is only one of those victims. They have killed many more and gotten away with it and they will kill many more so long as violence is politically rewarded and injustice is tolerated by the highest levels of the government.
ahmed sabir