Few journalists can claim to have a career that spans the entire life of their country. M B Naqvi (1928-2009) covered every twist and turn of Pakistan practically since it was created. Born in Amroha, near Lucknow, Naqvi moved to Hyderabad in Sindh and began work as a reporter with Indus Times in the 1950s.
He never looked back. Naqvi Sahib, as he was known, died literally with his boots on and his pen in hand, writing his last column days before he died at the age of 81 in November last year, leaving behind the complete manuscript of his book Pakistan At Knife’s Edge.
The book is a comprehensive look at all that has happened to Pakistan in the past 60 years, and what each event of the past could mean for the future. Readers not as well versed with those events could be baffled by the speed with which Naqvi dashes between the decades, recounting events of Partition and the creation of Bangladesh before diving into a chapter about the “restoration of judiciary” movement that brought down Musharraf. Naqvi’s recounting of his country’s history may resemble the roller coaster his nation has experienced but at no point does he lose the thread of history, a history he lived everyday in newsprint. He also never loses his idealism, or his belief in democracy, in better relations with India, and his vision for Pakistan, not as a cat’s paw for world powers but a responsible and respected nation.
Naqvi is equally factual and insightful when it comes to discussing Pakistan’s foreign policy. Neatly dividing the histories of relations between Pakistan and India, China, the US, Afghanistan in one of the chapters, he concludes his book with a clinical look at Pakistan’s future, with three distinct scenarios.
Indian readers may balk at Naqvi’s reversion to Pakistani stereotype at points. His version of Partition very clearly divided the country into “Hindu India” and “Muslim Pakistan”, and that could be ascribed to his Mohajir identity. But that is about the only place where Naqvi colours his recital of history. Maybe one should admit to one other exception that Naqvi makes to that rule, and that is in his practical deification of the Chief Justice of Pakistan Justice Iftikhar Muhammad Chaudhry and complete vilification of President Musharraf. Chaudhry’s galvanisation of citizens groups to fight his dismissal by Musharraf in 2006, no doubt, brought a revolution to Pakistan.
Naqvi’s description of that movement, in fact, forms the crux of his book. What is missing, perhaps, is his explanation for Chaudhry’s actions prior to his dismissal. Chaudhry was, after all, elevated by Musharraf and had in 2000 validated the General’s coup. But clearly Naqvi was impressed by Chaudhry’s bravery in the face of military’s might and he describes the scene with an added emotional emphasis absent elsewhere in the book: “Justice Chaudhry was called before the president of Islamic Republic of Pakistan, who sat in full military regalia, surrounded by four other lieutenant generals, also in military dress…..Chaudhry had one look at the scandalous (charge)sheet and he said he would prefer to be tried in an open court and he would not resign or go quietly.“ But despite his admiration for Nawaz Sharif’s role in that movement (his dedication at the beginning includes a “salute to the leadership of Mian Nawaz Sharif of Raiwind, who inspired and mobilised these people”), Naqvi doesn’t pull his punches on Sharif’s actions in the past, including the PML’s assault on the judiciary in the early 1990s and the allegations of corruption against the Sharif brothers. Interestingly, Naqvi says little about his own role as one of the leading civil rights activists in the democracy movement.
Like most journalists of his generation, Naqvi flinches from writing in the first person, a far cry from a host of journalist-authors writing about Pakistan today, including the current favourite, Fatima Bhutto’s.
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Even in his columns, Naqvi never used the word “I”, except when absolutely essential. Not that he couldn’t — as he demonstrated in a powerful column some years ago entitled A Nightmare, where he recounted a gut-wrenching visit in 1971 to Dhaka University’s Jagannth Hall, shortly after the massacre of students there by the soon-to-be-ousted Pakistani army. “I went there 43 days after the event and the places had been washed. The vertical part of the staircases carried telltale spots and discolouring, showing that the dead bodies had been dragged down with blood still oozing out of them.”
Naqvi confessed to sleepless nights over what he saw in east Pakistan at the time, no doubt a painful chapter in Pakistan’s memory that few other journalists there tread on with quite the same honesty.
M B Naqvi will be missed for his columns and his lifelong commitment to covering the news without the hysteria that is dominant these days. His dry humour showed up in so much of his writing (calling Pakistani opposition unity a “will o’ the wisp” last year) and his scathing attack on then president Musharraf for publishing his memoirs, In the Line of Fire, and profiting from the publication while in office. At the time Musharraf had replied, “Well, do you want me to write my book after I am dead?” In his passing away just a few months prior to this book’s publication, Naqvi may just have given Musharraf his most cutting rejoinder yet.
PAKISTAN AT KNIFE’S EDGE
M B Naqvi
Roli Books
Rs 350; 264pp