These are a few images from the tribal regions of Pakistan that accompany a story written by Betsy Hiel of the Pittsburgh Tribune-Review. You can view this story along with several other stories, slideshows, and videos from Pakistan at http://www.pittsburghlive.com/x/pittsburghtrib/news/specialreports/trib-in-pakistan/
March 23rd
March 3rd 9:00PM
Islamabad—American writer, Ursula LeGuin once said, “It is good to have an end to journey toward; but it is the journey that matters, in the end.” As I sit here in my hotel room, a place that now feels more like home than my own home, my journey to Pakistan is coming to an end. Having spent over six weeks here, it is going to be hard to go back to my life as it was. Each day here has been a new adventure, full of excitement, fear, anger, sadness, joy, worry and stress. Every second was full of the unknown. I’ve witnessed so many things during my time here. I’ve seen terrorism first hand, the tragic loss of life in a suicide bombing, the face of children who beg for money but are happier with a piece of food, the voice of democracy as protestors take to the streets seeking a new freedom, the pride in a man’s eyes as he pulls back a barbed-wire fence with his bare hands only to get to the other side to shake the hand of a policeman, the sound of police and military beating their batons and firing teargas into a crowd, the pride in a woman having the opportunity to vote, the anguish of a hope lost with the assassination of a beloved leader, tears of joy and hope. Pakistan is a country constantly evolving and unfolding before your eyes. It’s a country on the verge. With each new day, Pakistan becomes an ever more integral part of the international community, and its war, if lost, will be have grave consequences around the world. Time is the only solution, and in time its path will be revealed. I’ve been very fortunate to be a witness to such remarkable-historic times. I hope for the sake of all the great people that I’ve met, and now call my friends, that peace returns to these lands, that their hopes are not left to fade, and that democracy and freedom rise above the horizon, dawning a new day in Pakistan. While my time here is up and I must soon leave Pakistan, Pakistan won’t soon leave me. I’m proud of the work I’ve done here. I’m proud that I didn’t waste a minute, and worked each and every day—even today, my last day. I’ll continue my posts even after I return home. I have so many more photos and stories that I look forward to sharing. These are a few images of some of my great Pakistani friends that I’ve met throughout the last six weeks.
February 26th 1:50AM
Rawalpindi—This morning as I awoke I pulled back my curtains, revealing the Margalla Hills and all the morning activities outside on the street. I went through my morning routine of checking email, preparing gear, reading the newspaper, and checking out the wire for recent events. As I turned on the T.V., flipping through the channels I stopped on a favorite movie of mine--Braveheart. I sat down on my couch with the newspaper in my lap and watched the movie as I’ve done so many times before. This time it was it was different. As I watched the scenes of the men fighting for their freedom, I looked out the window and pondered what is freedom’s cost. Even today people are still laying down their lives for the smallest taste of freedom. I thought a lot about one line in the movie where the William Wallace character says, “Fight and you may die, run, and you'll live... at least for a while. And dying in your beds, many years from now, would you be willing to trade all the days, from this day to that, for one chance, just one chance, to come back here and tell our enemies that they may take our lives, but they'll never take...Our freedom!” I thought about how many times I’ve awoken from my bed at my home and never once thought about all the freedoms I have, and then I wondered how many others have taken the same freedoms for granted. After that I could hardly sit still. I had my mind made up that I was going to go out and find some images. Not soon after that I received word of a suicide attack in Rawalpindi. I wasted no time and headed downstairs to get a car with Betsy. The drive seemed to take forever. When we finally reached the scene the road was blocked off so we headed closer on foot. I approached slowly, trying to test the water as to how close I could get and to decipher the whole scene. I saw a good position across the road and moved closer. Looking around I realized that I may be one of the few U.S. photojournalists still here at least at this scene I didn’t see any others. The scene was quiet despite hundreds of police, military and investigators. Only the occasional ambulance siren broke the silence. The suicide bomber, dressed as a beggar, killed the Pakistan army's surgeon general in the highest-level assassination since President Pervez Musharraf joined the U.S. war against terror. The lone bomber targeted Lt. Gen Mushtaq Baig’s vehicle killing him, his driver, guard, and five other civilians. The scene was complete carnage. The cars, nearly a half dozen, were mangled in a pile of steel and shattered glass. The workers picked up human remains and placed them in bags as hundreds of onlookers watched on. The debris stretched as far as a half of a block. Next to me a man stood by the vehicle he was driving when the blast went off. His windows were all blown out and a large piece of shrapnel tore through the backseat. I couldn’t imagine how we felt. As the scene died down, we decided we had enough and headed back to our car. Now, having covered my first suicide-bombing scene I truly hope it is my last. Enough innocent blood has been spilled in this country!
February 22nd 1:30AM
Islamabad—I woke up this morning, pulled back my curtains, reveling the majestic Margalla Hills in the soft morning light, and pressed my face to my window. Looking just up the street I looked to see if there was any activity near the judicial colony where so many protests had taken place. I had thought there might be one today, and I prepared my gear for it. Checking back to the window several times, I eventually noticed the military parked a tank at the entrance of the road, their sign to the protesters that “we are ready for you.” I turned on the local news to see if there was anything new on their end. They were reporting a protest by lawyers and members of civil society who protested at the courts in Karachi. As the protest turned for the worse, they showed footage of people being beaten by police and hit with pepper spray. I knew the same scenario would soon unfold here in Islamabad. Looking out the window again, I saw dozens of police vehicles heading into the colony. I was certain now. After a few hours of pacing my hotel room floor, ready for some action, I decided to run down to the local market to pick up some supplies I needed. After about an hour at the market I returned back to the hotel to see a crowd of people gathered on the street that runs directly in front of my hotel and the road that leads up into the judicial colony. I rushed out of my car, hurried through security and up to my room to grab my gear. When I hit the street I picked up my pace as I neared the colony. As I looked up the road I saw that the protest had begun. Wasting no time, I fought my way to the front of the protesters. A small group of Western journalists where all gathered together between the police and their barbed wire barricade and the flag waving protesters who chanted and screamed for the release of chief justice Iftikhar Mohammad Chaudhry who is being held under house arrest in the judges colony. Within minutes they begun pulling away the barbed wire with many of us photographers trapped in the middle of it. It wrapped around our legs, tripped us, and knocked us over. We all scrambled to our feet and quickly found refuge on the opposite side of it with the police at our backs. As I always do, I looked for my escape route if things got real bad, but soon realized there wasn’t any. I was trapped. I remember one thing going through my head, “this is what I’m here for,” and with that I jumped into the chaos. The protesters charged the police, pushing their way into their wall of shields and batons. People where falling over, pushing and yelling as the photographers jostled for their positions. The police seemed to use incredible restraint. At times they were even laughing at the antics of the protesters. On the other side, the protesters where not so light hearted. This was their democracy they were fighting for and they are ready to battle until they feel they’ve won it. Although, the protesters took particular care not to injure us photographers, even at one point stopping their charge to allow the photographers to free themselves from the barbed wire. Just as the event began to lose its momentum, a convoy of cars pulled up the road. The crowed immediately surrounded the vehicle. It was Nawaz Sharif, the leader of the PLM-N party, who rose from his seat in the car and propped himself out the window to wave at his supporters. Those photographers who were close by clamored around the SUV and the large crowd followed. The vehicle moved a bit further up the road, and Sharif again came out from the window to address the crowd on a megaphone. He continued his calling for Musharraf to step down and for the restoration of the judiciary. Despite my attempts to find a way though the crowd, I couldn’t get as close as I had hoped. Elbowing and pushing is a common practice by the local media, a style that I never like to use when I work. I did my best to find a spot and raised my camera for a few hail Mary shots, which I absolutely despise, and headed back out of the crowd to find another angle. As he finished his speech and climbed back into the window his car and convoy that followed pulled into the compound of the Ministers Enclave. Everyone was restricted to stay on the other side of the gate and not allowed in. After about 20 minutes passed, I noticed a few Pakistani media crews being escorted through the crowd and into the compound, so noticing an opportunity I approached the armed guards and said, “I’m the U.S. media and I need in there.” He asked me how big my crew is and I said just the two of us, so he opened the gate and I slid by the rest of the media and entered the compound. I didn’t have the slightest clue why I wanted in or what the rest of the media was doing, but was quite proud of myself for getting by the security. I followed the rest of the media down the road to a house. I asked one of the photographers, “What is going on here.” He told me that Nawaz Sharif was inside and will be leaving to meet with Asif Zardari, the co-chairman of the PPP party. So, I pretty much figured there was nothing to get here. Just then a photographer introduced me to Sharif’s personal photographer who invited me inside for tea. Again, always wanting to go where others were denied I said of course. I passed through security inside the house and was invited into a room to have tea with Sharif himself and a group of people. The photographer instructed me to not take any photos, so I sat back and enjoyed the tea and laughed to myself that I had gotten myself into this place. Soon after I left and walked back to the hotel. When I got to the room I was exhausted, but could hardly wait to see what my camera captured. Just another day in Pakistan.
February 20th 4:00PM
Islamabad—Well, we are back in Islamabad after traveling to cover the elections. Now that I have internet capabilities again I’ve decided to update my blog with some images, stories, and videos from the last few days and weeks. We’ve had the chance to meet some amazing people including an economist and former commerce minister, a senior advocate of the Supreme Court of Pakistan, Pakistan's Minister of Interior, a former captain in the Special Investigation Group (SIG), a former Army Chief of Staff & General, the grandson of one of Pakistan's twelve founding fathers, and a former president of Pakistan just to name a few. These are some photographs of these amazing men.
February 18th - Pakistanis Vote Video
Here is a video I put together of the election day here in Pakistan. You can also view the video and read Betsy Hiel's story at http://www.pittsburghlive.com/x/pittsburghtrib/news/middleeastreports/s_553119.html.
February 18th - A Nation in Crisis Video
This is a video I put together of the issues facing Pakistan. You can also read more about this subject in Betsy Hiel's story at http://www.pittsburghlive.com/x/pittsburghtrib/news/middleeastreports/s_552848.html.
February 18th 5:50PM
Karachi—As night begins to fall I watch time pass by from my hotel window. The end of this day brings an end to the elections in Pakistan. The past weeks have been filled with anticipation for the coming election. These people have looked to this election with so much hope and yet so much fear. It is hard to imagine living in a country that you love so much, but not having the freedom of a democracy. For those who choose to step from the shadows and risk their own lives to vote is something few Americans would understand. The people of Pakistan want a government that they can trust—a government that can lead their country. Leadership comes in many forms here, but their ability to lead is often dampened by the hand of corruption and violence. Imagine if you held an office in the U.S. and your constituents didn’t agree with your choices so they would simply threaten your life or even murder you. How can one lead under such circumstances. How can a government filled with such corruption ever find truth. Today, the people of Pakistan used their voices. Those who went to the polls went with the greatest of all hopes. Voting ended less than an hour ago, and now the people of Pakistan and the world wait for the results. The massive violence that was expected did not come. Although several bombings, kidnappings, and attacks did occur the scene here in Karachi was for the most part—quiet. The streets, which are usually filled with the hustle of the 16 million people who live in this city, today were empty. While the presence of people was missing the presence of paramilitary forces and police were not. At every polling station armed men stood guard as men and veiled women lined up to vote. They showed their thumbs, marked with indelible ink with such pride, quick to tell you that they voted today. We visited several different polling stations to find much of the same at all of them—low turnout. Those who we talked to had little confidence in the system and feared this election would be like so many before which were tainted by the hands of those in power. When I asked them why take part in a process that you have no confidence in they simply answered that they want to change the system, "enshala" God willing.
February 17th - Dera Ghazi Khan Video
Here is a video I put together from Dera Ghazi Khan. You can also check out the story by Betsy Hiel at http://www.pittsburghlive.com/x/pittsburghtrib/news/middleeastreports/s_552938.html.
February 17th 7:00PM
Dera Ghazi Khan—As the election approached we packed up our stuff and headed off to meet up with Pakistan’s former President Farooq Leghari in Dera Ghazi Khan. We had to fly from Islamabad to Lahore from Lahore to Multan (a place that no foreigners are allowed), and from there we had a three-hour drive to DG Khan, deep into the interior of Pakistan. We were the personal guests of President Leghari and were invited to stay at his home, a beautiful walled-compound where wildlife wondered the grounds and palm trees stood sporadically across the manicured lawn. President Leghari is one of those rare people—truly a gem of a human being. A charming man he makes everyone feel welcomed and at home. He is a prince, and is loved and looked upon with great respect by the people of Pakistan. They simply call him Sardar—which means leader.
We had an amazing dinner with the president and one of his sons, Jamal, who is also a Senator. As we finished our meal the two discussed the plans for the days campaign rally. It was 10:30PM and time to head to the rally. We jumped in Jamal’s SUV and headed off. President Leghari was to leave a half-an-hour behind us. As we drove along the narrow one-lane dirt road a convoy of security followed close behind. Nearing the event hundreds of people rushed the car to see Senator Jamal. They threw rose petals at him and chanted his name, they reached their hands to the window to shake his hand or offer a salute. As the crowd grew and the street became congested we chose to walk the rest of the way. At that point Sen. Jamal was completely surrounded and getting close to him was nearly impossible. As we jostled our way through the crowd the sounds of the fireworks filled the night. It was chilling to hear their booms and bangs. Just a few hours back we received word of a bombing at another such event in northern Pakistan, so everyone was nervous and on edge. Even Jamal felt bad about this event. They feared the same sort of attack on them, even so much so to not have President Leghari’s other son attend the event so that at least one Leghari would survive to carry on the family’s name and duties. As I made my way through the crowd it was hard to not think about the dangers, but this is what I was here to do and pressed on. We only stopped when someone would light up a bunch of fireworks. The crowd would separate so that the projectiles wouldn’t hit anyone as they lit up the night creating thick white clouds of smoke. Nearing the stage I tried to find a spot at the bottom. President Leghari, who drove himself to the event without any security, was already seated on the stage and gestured for me to come up on stage along with Betsy. I found a spot near his feet to watch the event unfold. It was quite a sight. The people would break into songs and chants, “Long live Leghari.” It was impossible to move from my spot. The crowd had pushed its way up to the stage and seemed to continue down the street for as far as the eye could see. Armed men stood guard, but few had any confidence that they could prevent an attack by a determined militant. This was politics in Pakistan at its purist. As the event ended we were whisked off the stage and directed into the President’s SUV that was parked directly behind the stage. I jumped into the backseat as the crowd quickly surrounded the vehicle. “Watch out for the machine gun,” Betsy said to me. I reached down between my feet to pull a sub-machine gun up. “I’ll take that,” Jamal said as he climbed in with me. “Just wave to them,” he said about the swarm of people, “that’s all they want.” As the crowd parted for the President’s vehicle to pass we headed off, back to his home. Having been traveling most of the day we were exhausted and headed off to bed. We woke today and tried to get caught up on some computer work, although we would have to get by without the internet. Later in the day we joined President Leghari as we went to visit a small village to pay his respects for an elder who passed away. I could hardly tear my eyes from the window. The long fields seemed to go on forever, only broken up by palm trees and small villages along the way. I could hardly keep count of the great photographs we were passing, but having been in this country long enough to understand I just sat back and enjoyed the ride. My pictures would come. As we headed back after visiting the village we packed up our bags once again. It was time to head to Karachi to cover the election. . No one knows what to expect tomorrow. Not sure what to cover or where to go we decided the best bet for action would be in Karachi, which was everybody’s guess for violence. I was anxious to see what was going to happen on this long anticipated day.
February 16th 12:00PM
Islamabad— The last few days we have continued to meet with dignitaries, citizens, and members of civil society. We spent several days out on the streets trying to find the real pulse of the people. We visited several towns and villages around Islamabad. As the days passed, life on the street was relatively subdued compared to what was expected and what was happening just days before. I kept waiting for something to happen, but nothing did. The protests seemed to have dwindled off and campaign activities were sparse. It is very hard to get to any rallies because they are not openly advertised, but rather last minute ordeals. No one seems to know when or where anything will be until after it is done, so it’s very time consuming trying to follow everything that is going on in Islamabad let alone the rest of the country. It can also be quite frustrating. One day I went downstairs to the lobby of the hotel to visit the barbershop to get my beard trimmed, which was desperately needed. (At one point the elevator operator wouldn’t let me onto the elevator because he thought I was suspicious.) In the lobby several journalists where rushing into a conference room. When I read the sign I realized they were holding the release of Benazir Bhutto’s book for all of Pakistan at our hotel. I had no idea and of course they hadn’t advertised sooner. So, I rushed back up to the room to get my gear and headed back down to the conference room to cover the event. My beard would have to wait for now. After passing through security I entered the large room that was filled with filled with more journalists than people. The video cameras lined the room in an L shape with two cameras deep. I had counted over 100 and that isn’t counting the reporters and still photographers. It was a zoo. Not having the pressure to produce anything in particular I worked the outskirts of the room. At one point I basically crawled along the floor to the front of the room. I was the only photographer from that vantage point. Directly across from me was Getty Images photographer John Moore, who had shot the last photos of Benazir. I stayed for about an hour, bought a copy of the book, and headed off for my needed barber appointment. With the event still going on next door to the barbershop I was worried that if there was a bomb blast while I was getting a straight razor shave the barber might jump and slice my throat. Its funny the things you think of in a place like this. The sad part is you have to. Luckily though it didn’t happen, and now my beard is a bit more manageable. That is how it is here. One second everything is quiet and calm and the next second your thrust into the story of the day. For now, I’m left to pack up my stuff and begin my preparations to go to Multan and then Karachi to cover the elections.
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