As our jet banked left to land at Lahore airport, I was feeling a little like Tin Tin on one of his exotic travel adventures about to turn into a mystery thriller. Watching Zero Dark Thirty on the flight from Sydney was, in hindsight, not a wise choice to inspire confidence. I was beginning to wonder whether I should have listened to those advising against accepting the invitation to visit a school in Hafizabad that the Barkat Foundation, of which I am a board member, has been supporting for five years.
We stayed in a Lahore parish where Jacob Barkat, son of the person after whom the foundation is named, is parish priest. We also visited the Lahore Sisters of Charity of Jesus and Mary, a Belgian order. While most wear traditional habits, sisters in this order have the option of a Pakistani style dress.
The cultural visits included the Lahore Museum with a contemporary art exhibition by women artists called “Women Changing Cultures”, the Badshasi Mosque (up till 1987 the biggest in the world), Lahore Fort, palace of the Mughal kings and various gardens and tombs of the Mughal period.
The Wahga border crossing is the only working crossing between India and Pakistan. There, each afternoon, thousands of people assemble on each side of the border in Stadia to watch the lowering of the flags, which becomes a ritualised expression of enmity between the two countries resembling something of an AFL grand final. The drums grow to a crescendo of Pakistani nationalism. Impressive goose-stepping of warriors, sporting majestic black and silver high fan-shaped Mughal turbans, faced off against the somewhat more “pretty” bright orange turbans of the Indian side. Whilst at times it seemed almost a parody, I am hoping it was also a celebration of a dreamed-for restored unity of a sub-continental empire and that one day this symbol of colonial interference could be dismissed and thus reunite Afghanistan, Pakistan, India and Bangladesh.
The purpose of the Pakistan adventure was to visit Hafizabad. The program began with us being taken in a horse drawn buggy with full ceremonial turban, floral garlands and a gold umbrella. This grand entry to Hafizabad turned out to be the curtain-raiser for a school spectacular by the children at St Mary’s school. We presented the children with books and satchels and school uniforms and provided a nice lunch for them. The brand new ambulance, driven up from Lahore that morning, was presented to the sisters. This was a most unforgettable experience of hope, although the pain this country is in and the plight of the Christian minority is never far from the surface, no matter how hard the locals tried to shield me from that reality.
I will not forget Haroon’s passionate speech about peace in a world of terrorism (see picture). This 10 year-old boy was speaking from the bitter reality of his own short life in his country as he pleaded for wider access to education to break the cycle of poverty and free his homeland from terrorism, injustice, discrimination, senseless violence and untold heartache. A moving moment indeed, and barely comforting to this “do-gooder” being treated like a king for a day, as I realised the modesty of our efforts for these gracious and grateful people.
As if Hafizabad was not enough of a wake-up call for this travelling westerner, nothing could prepare me for the next astounding experience. Driving through guttered dirt alleyways we arrived at the newly renovated and brightly painted gates of Joseph Colony, a solely Christian community. Crowded into small dwellings, going up to make space for growing extended families, poor Christians make best use of the little land they share. You may recall this was the community where 114 houses were burned to the ground as police looked on, purposefully helpless, as Muslim mobs rampaged over an accusation of blasphemy. The complicity of the police was clear, in that they actually warned everyone to leave hours before the attack. At least no one was killed, as they heeded the warning. Their abandoned homes were filled with flammable chemical and set alight. These poor people lost everything they had, including dowries that had taken years to collect for the marriages of their young women.
The global publicity that ensured homes were being quickly rebuilt by the local Chief Minister, the smiles of young ones so eager to shake hands with this strange white man with the simple greeting “salem”, and the sincere welcome of the community leaders could not cover the despair and hopelessness in their eyes as they graciously and proudly welcomed this foreigner into their modest dwellings. I can only imagine they took it as an honour that someone from the outside tackled the dusty alleyways containing their broken homes and broken dreams.
Next we visited the Imam Maulana Syed Muhammad Abdul Khabir Azad who showed us pictures of a significant meeting of leaders of various faiths which he hosted in response to the Joseph Colony troubles. He was very interested in the efforts of the Marrickville Multifaith Roundtable, which recently hosted a Muslim speaker to assist us to understand Islam better.
I had been carefully protected from physical danger by my hosts. But I could not be protected from questioning my complicity in their poverty and the violent world they live with every day; the meaning of religious freedom and the enormous task ahead to overcome prejudice, injustice and discrimination. However, Pakistanis share the same aspirations for a peaceful life, a job, justice, family and love as we do. It has left me wondering about Australia’s border security, pathetic foreign aid policy and cruel immigration laws, let alone Australia’s treatment of asylum seekers.
