buy cheap generic viagra

buy cheap generic viagra

I received Aitzaz Ahsan’s call to observe Black Flag Week through many media platforms. A good old-fashioned email first alerted me about the protest. I then viewed Ahsan’s appeal to commemorate this turbulent week and champion the judiciary’s cause through a video he had posted on YouTube. In the next few days, I received event invitations via Facebook, the online social networking site. During Black Flag Week, new emails and Facebook alerts have been informing me about related events, protest schedules for Pakistani cities as well as Boston, and unfortunate developments such as the bomb blasts in Lahore. The Pakistani blogs that I follow have been posting up-to-the-minute coverage of Black Flag Week events and encouraging wide participation. Earlier this week, I received requests for the submission of photographs of people wearing black armbands and cash donations to make Black Flag T-shirts, as well as an invitation to respond to Ahsan’s YouTube video with one of my own. Meanwhile, clips from private television channels that have been broadcasting Black Flag Week-related rallies and gatherings pepper the Internet. One medium, however, seems to have been glaringly omitted from this largely successful mass mobilization effort: radio.

buy cheap generic viagra

On February 18, Pakistanis won a small victory by casting a symbolic vote for democracy over dictatorship. Last weekend, that victory was undermined by the government’s renewed attempts at media censorship. Politicians, presswallahs, and Pakistanis across the diaspora were barely done patting each other on the back for a palpable election result when the government’s antics – particularly its attempt to block the video-sharing website YouTube – undermined the newfound hope that a democratic setup in Pakistan was indeed possible. How many times do we need to say it: you can’t have a democracy without freedom of expression. Silence the press, and you’ve effectively silenced the people (and in the case of the botched YouTube ban, you’ve explicitly silenced the people)

Over the weekend, the government launched a two-pronged attack on the media, striking out at both a television station and a website. On Friday night, Aaj TV was pulled off the air for allowing broadcasters Nusrat Javed and Mushtaq Minaz back on the channel. Although the channel was up and running by Saturday, the message was clear – broadcasting an anti-government stance or snubbing PEMRA is unacceptable. Since the November 3, 2007, block of all private television channels in Pakistan, the media has been on a short leash. It seems as if that situation has not been alleviated by the people’s resounding vote for democracy.

buy cheap generic viagra

On Valentine’s Day, a (relatively) young girl’s thoughts should turn to love. Instead, I sit here fretting, anxious that the February 18 elections will signal the indisputable failure of democracy in Pakistan. My concern for the country’s democratic future is exacerbated by the fact that I am in the US, where another election is underway. The contrast between the excitement around me and the dismal reports from home is frightening, even when I remind myself that the comparison between a superpower and a state on the verge of failure is unfair.

Late in the evening on Tuesday, Barack Obama won the primary in Virginia, crept past Hilary Clinton in the all-important delegate count, and edged ever closer towards winning the democratic nomination for president. His thumping victory over Clinton highlighted the plausibility of his campaign rhetoric and proved that Americans have it in them to avail of the democratic setup that they luckily have at their disposal.

buy cheap generic viagra

The relationship between a city and its inhabitants is much like a torrid love affair. Sadly, these days, Karachi and its ‘ites’ are giving off too many mixed signals. The tension is forgivable, since 2007 was one of the city’s most difficult years since the nineties. Ethnic fires were stoked; the vulnerability of the city’s basic infrastructure was exposed during several bouts of inclement weather; the fact that the city can be starved and brought to a standstill if the hinterland so desires was highlighted; cultural activity was suspended as parts of the city burned, and parts of it blew up.

And yet, at the close of such a turbulent year, the city nazim released a book titled ‘Karachi Rising’, a pictorial document of the City District Government’s myriad achievements over the past two years. To his credit, Mustafa Kamal recognized the odd timing of the publication, and proclaimed at the book launch that Karachi was indeed being destabilized by a host of faceless ‘enemies’. Still, the title of the CDGK’s tome rings with false optimism. If the city is rising, it must be in the manner of a phoenix from its ashes. But many Karachiites are beginning to wonder about their city’s resilience.

buy cheap generic viagra

The relationship between Pakistan and the US is one of operatic dimensions, with at least two leading ladies and a slew of contenders for the lead male role oscillating between love and hate. The US has often interfered in Pakistani politics, with cryptic public statements, sanctions, harsh admonitions, and long phone calls in the middle of the night determining the course of this nation’s history. Now, however, a role reversal seems to be underway. Pakistan – with its centre-stage positioning in the 2008 presidential race – is all set to influence the course of US politics and thus, indirectly, the global landscape.

The impact of Hilary Clinton’s suggestion in the run-up to the New Hampshire caucus that the US and UK jointly secure our nuclear facilities suggests that a strong Pakistan policy is key in this US election. Clinton is far too savvy a foreign policy analyst to champion an idea that undermines Pakistani sovereignty and delivers what many consider our most precious commodity into western hands. But talking big about Pakistan these days is sure to ignite some election heat. Say something provocative about “the world’s most dangerous place”, and you’re sure to make headlines. And while I can’t prove the exact correlation between Clinton’s comments and her subsequent victory in the presidential primary, the media coverage she received is bound to have made a difference.

buy cheap generic viagra

Misery, they say, loves company, which is why I can’t help but turn towards Kenya to make better sense of what is happening here in Pakistan. On December 27, 2007, while we were frantically flipping between television channels, reluctant to accept that Benazir Bhutto had in fact been assassinated, Kenyans were informed that Mwai Kibaki had been re-elected as president in what seems to be a shamefacedly rigged election. Since that fateful date, swathes of Sindh have erupted into flame, stocks have plummeted, banks have burnt, Pakistan Railways has been derailed, and senseless arson and violence have claimed the vehicles, and worse, lives of many. Meanwhile, according to the Kenyan Red Cross, over 300 Kenyans have been killed in post-election turmoil, while up to 100,000 have been displaced. The image of a smoldering church in which 50 people fleeing election violence – most of whom were children – were burnt alive is seared in the minds of horrified onlookers across the world. Much like Sindh, western Kenya remained ablaze for days.

Sadly, the similarities between Pakistan and Kenya do not end there. In both cases, the fate of a leader has disappointed a nation. Bhutto’s passing has left Pakistan in a frenzy, with little understanding of how to decipher her death or stumble towards a democratic set-up. Kenyans, on the other hand, have had to see Kibaki ‘steal’ – to use the words of his opponent Raila Odinga – the election by resorting to rigging. His actions have rankled with Kenyans who remember that when he first came to power in December 2002, he was hailed as a reformer who promised clean governance in the wake of Daniel arap Moi’s corruption-ridden stretch in office. Of course, the disappointment of Pakistanis and Kenyans stem from vastly different causes, but the loss of hope, the sense of despair, and the frustration that national politics refuse to evolve for the better are bound to feel similar.

buy cheap generic viagra

The shock and confusion I feel after learning about Benazir Bhutto’s assassination is strangely familiar. One incarnation of Benazir, a woman I thought I knew and wanted to be, died on September 19, 1996, when she was implicated in the death of her estranged brother Mir Murtaza Bhutto, who was brutally shot to death, allegedly by police officials in a planned attack outside his home. I was barely 16 years old, learning how to flirt and sneaking cigarettes at the first dance party I was allowed to attend, when the power was switched off and an eerily dark Karachi echoed with the sound of gunfire. In the coming days, opposition politicians, armchair pundits, and my parents grumbled about state terrorism, rampant corruption, and Pakistan’s devolution into a police state. This incident occurred during Benazir’s second stint as the prime minister of Pakistan. I continued to sneak cigarettes and marveled at the ease with which icons can crumble.

Until 1996, Benazir had seemed like a real-life Wonder Woman, having expanded the conditions of possibility for Pakistani women for over a decade since her entry into politics. While the boys at school emulated buff cricketers, my girlfriends and I would drape white scarves across our heads and try to imitate Benazir’s awkward accent when speaking in Urdu, a vestige of her privilege and power. And who could blame us?

During her first term as prime minister, Benazir was a role model, the likes of which Pakistan will be hard-pressed to find again. In 1988, at the age of 35, she became the youngest person, and the first woman, to head a Muslim nation. Too young to understand the dynastic politics that spurred her career, I saw in Benazir a vision of femininity that had yet to materialize in the world around me. She was a sister who outshone her brothers by carrying forth her father’s legacy; a daughter of privilege who knew the travails of solitary confinement; a woman who deigned to marry only after she was confident that her career would not stall; a young bride who her kept her last name; a mother who did not let pregnancy get in the way of politics; a Harvard and Oxford graduate who could move with ease amongst the throng of truckers, farmers, and day laborers who attended Pakistan Peoples Party rallies.

buy cheap generic viagra

As Benazir Bhutto is laid to rest after her brutal assassination in Rawalpindi on Thursday, the world is waiting to find out whether her death has in fact dealt the final blow to democracy in Pakistan. Conflicting reports about whether the January 8 polling will continue as planned are circulating, despite Nawaz Sharif’s declaration that his party will boycott the elections. Without the involvement of Pakistan’s two major opposition parties, the PPP and PML-N, any electoral effort will be a sham. On the other hand, the indefinite postponement or cancellation of the elections will be a clear sign that Bhutto’s death has derailed the democratic process in Pakistan. No doubt, this lose-lose outcome was the very goal of whoever fired the fatal shots at our nation’s doyenne of democracy.

Now more than ever the possibility that democracy cannot be revived in Pakistan is becoming increasingly plausible. There are widespread calls for President Musharraf to step down from power after failing to stem the terrorist threat as well as owing to his inability to provide adequate security for opposition candidates. But who can occupy the power vacuum that will be created by his resignation? Will martial law be the band-aid that is slapped on Pakistan’s deep wounds yet again? Will General Kayani be relied on to rule the roost, boasting as he does a foot in each camp, having served as both the deputy military secretary to Bhutto in her first government in 1988 as well as a member of Musharraf’s inner coterie? If so, the renewed calls for democracy spurred by Bhutto’s triumphant return to the country in October may be silenced for the foreseeable future.

buy cheap generic viagra

A three-step plan for restoring democracy? If President Musharraf has known all along about this hop, skip, and jump towards an open, healthy system of governance, he should have shared his wisdom with his old pal George Bush and saved the US a lot of trouble in Iraq. I refer here to the president’s Christmas Day speech at the Quaid’s Mazaar, during which he claimed that the upcoming “free and fair” elections were the last step towards entrenching democratic norms in Pakistan, after empowering women and minorities and granting freedom to the press.

Well, even if one were to give Musharraf the benefit of the doubt and trust that the January 8 elections are not going to be rigged, his recent speech has made it clear exactly how ‘free’ and ‘fair’ the voting process will be. The trajectory does not bode well. Step One towards democracy has resulted in the razing of a church in Lahore on Christmas as well as an ongoing campaign by fundamentalists in the northern areas to prevent women from casting their votes. Step Two hardly needs further discussion as Geo TV is barely flickering back on our television screens after being blocked, and subsequently shut down, during the recent state of emergency. Step Three is bound to be as fledgling.