I woke up with a rotten cough this morning, and filled with self-pity and ginger tea, turned to the front page of the Times. I saw the headline, and the tea came right back up my throat.
Benazir Bhutto, the former Pakistan prime minister and opposition leader, has been assassinated at her most recent public speaking event— the result of a shooting followed by a suicide-bomber who killed scores of others.
The news shocked me, yet I wasn't sure why— since the moment Benazir returned to Pakistan, I couldn't imagine how she would escape repeated murder attempts.
Now that it's finally happened, no one will escape her death's repercussions.
I often daydreamed about private conversations Bhutto must've had with her loved ones, particularly her two daughters, to discuss her destiny. Did she feel like she had any choice in the matter? I wondered if she had the hubris to imagine she'd survive and triumph in Pakistan's future, or whether she believed that her greatest legacy would be confrontation till the death, like her heroine, Joan d'Arc.
As I consider these alternatives, (and hear of her last "merci-et-adieu" Blackberry messages to childhood friends like Peter Galbraith), it seems obvious to me that her expectations were the latter. Her father, two brothers, and a sister, were all murdered— she was the last.
She was a real fighter— how often do we see a woman on the world stage like this anymore? She was driven to atone for her complicity in Pakistan's (and A.Q. Khan's) nuclear technology free-for-all, in which everyone with a gripe and pile of cash could make an entertainable offer. Each time Bhutto wrote or spoke of keeping the her country's "Dr. Strangegloves" in check during her regime, her tone was wreaked with guilt.
A lot of people will talk about Bhutto's past of corrupt deeds... but she is hardly distinguished in that area. Her wild streak was her urge toward democracy, peace, secularization, and literacy— that's what made her threatening, not her share of the graft.
The Times reporters' biography of Benazir, such as it is, angers me, because of its characterization of her career.
The writers described Bhutto as performing a "dance of veils" over the course of her political battles. Unbelievable! Someone needs to stuff their Arabian Nights fantasies back in the bottle. Whatever criticism is leveled at the central figures in this drama— and there's plenty to ladle out— I'd like to see the press avoid the most rank sexist clichés. Otherwise, I demand to hear of George Bush's "Dance of the Seven Neckties."
The military leaders of Pakistan— I don't have their names at my fingertips because that's the way they like it— control their country, and ha-ha-President Musharraf is their pull toy. So is the White House, for that matter. Who will quack?— And who will die next?
President calls Pakistan "Our Great Ally in the WOT." Anyone on the street can tell you Pakistan's "deciders" are the progenitors of the most dangerous fundamentalist violence and aggression in the world today. Heckuva job, ya gotta say— and a helluva lot blood on the hands of "Mr. Mission Accomplished."
The fundie-armed patriarchs at every side are the geniuses of the it's-just-too-dangerous-type atmosphere which makes for perfect excuses of why there can never be an election, (too risky!) never be democracy, (terrifying!) or ever realize human dignity (the ultimate shock). Danger trumps all, doesn't it— that's why totalitarianism feels so safe and cozy.
You think about America's response to our own assassination history, and you realize there is nothing worse for a country's store of hope. Along with this year's mouth-dropping coronation at Time magazine's for Vladimir Putin as "Man of the Year!" we have entered the era of gilded gangsterism as national governance— let the mob, in all their anonymity, run your country for you.
Maybe, at the thugs' leisure, they'll let you live. Kill the press, don't let any light shine anywhere, let no deal proceed forward without a back-room press. As far as women go... they can be whores or heir-making hens for their masters.
I am in awe of Bhutto's image because she represented neither feminine caricature— she defied the pink ghetto. Not to pick on the Times alone, but check out which other women are spotlighted in today's issue: Notably, Ivanka Trump, a sex symbol who takes off her clothes to promote daddy's real estate empire. The only other female in the entire news world who's making serious headlines today is a Siberian tiger named Tatiana at the San Francisco Zoo, who was taunted out of her cage and killed everyone she could get her claws on before she was gunned down.
I'm always moved by martyrs— and I know the women in their ranks have a capacity for fire and sacrifice that pales their male counterparts. But I'd rather they lived— every one of them. I don't need another martyr, or further fuel to contemplate the thug life that surrounds their demise. I'd rather address nuclear escalation directly. Or the bitter fruit of colonial kingmaking. I'd rather call religious sectarianism out on the carpet. There is no safety without democracy, there's no diaper pin that's
going to stop the grenade if we just shut up and do as we're told. I'd rather repudiate infantilism, and tell Big Daddy we're through.
UPDATE: This afternoon, in their continual updates, the Times edited their original bio of Bhutto, and deleted the "dance of veils" reference. It was so offensive, I'm sure many readers remarked upon it. See below in comments for more...
Photo: Bhutto, coming home to Pakistan after her recent years in exile.
I usually shy away from contests of any kind, as a judge or a contestant, since I'm the kind of softie who thinks every boy and girl should win a big kiss and a pie.
