A Man, A Mission, A Murder

The brutal assassination may have silenced Arshad Sharif, but it has engendered an ongoing echo… the voices of those seeking answers and crying out for justice

Arshad Sharif was in an undisclosed location outside Pakistan when I spoke to him on the phone on September 11. I think he believed that now, beyond Pak borders, he was safe. So did all his friends and well-wishers. I inquired where he was – in London or somewhere else. He was evasive. Realising the sensitivity of the situation, and his reluctance to respond to the question, I did not press the matter. This was my first and last telephone conversation with Arshad after he left Pakistan on August 10.

Our phone exchange was brief, but it was light, and full of optimism. I was unaware of the immense danger he was in, and asked whether he was having fun. And Arshad, being Arshad, played along, in his usual calm and composed style. We agreed that his forced exile too would pass, and in three to four months it would be safe for him to return to Pakistan. He did not mention the difficulties he was facing, or talk about any possible looming danger. We talked shop a little longer, and closed the conversation with a promise to remain in touch as and when required.

Many journalists, especially the ones who have been engaged in conflict reporting at some point of their career, develop a dark sense of humour. They laugh, crack jokes, and appear normal as they try to report facts and tell the story even amid unfolding tragedy, grief and the abnormality around them. And they often put themselves in the line of fire to report from the frontlines of any natural or manmade disaster, including conflict and war.

Arshad Sharif was one of the ace conflict reporters in Pakistan. He had been to the most dangerous and remote areas, and covered multiple really tough assignments, often placing himself at risk. And he did all of this shorn of any theatrics. Just the cold, hard facts…This was journalism at its best.

I never had an opportunity to work with Arshad in any organisation. He was based in Islamabad and I mostly in Karachi, and so we met in person only a few times. Yet, even from a distance, one could see his evolution from investigative reporter to one of Pakistan’s most prominent current affairs’ show hosts.

As an anchorperson, he used his experience from the reporting days to enrich programmes with facts and investigative reports. He asked pointed questions, but his good manners and shy smile often took the sharp edge off these queries. And his ability to disarm his talk-show guests even as he put them on the hot seat made him stand apart from the rest of the on-screen crowd.

Much to the dismay and anger of Pakistan’s small but influential liberal fraternity, Arshad was among the frontline soldiers of what once was described as fourth or fifth generation war. As a passionate Pakistani nationalist, he led from the front during Pakistan’s struggle against homegrown terrorism, often dashing to the conflict areas to report from the front. On ideological grounds, too, he boldly stood by the country and state institutions whenever there was an organised smear campaign against them. And as a diehard nationalist, he wore his heart on his sleeve.

It is ironic then that this man, the proud, unabashed patriot, Arshad Sharif, had to leave Pakistan for doing what he had always done – taking a stand for his country and continuing to press the anti-corruption narrative. Like countless Pakistanis, and even many in the media, Arshad was not able to reconcile with the sudden change of fortune of Pakistan’s two main political dynasties – the Sharifs and the Zardaris – who had been accused of massive corruption, misrule and mismanagement by the country’s top courts and institutions.

Like many others, Arshad too was angered by how suddenly the direction of the wind changed. The accountability law was altered specifically to suit a handful of political families and their aides. In sparsely attended National Assembly sessions, there was not even any pretense of serious debate on the amendments to the accountability law. Overnight, the same people who were not just involved in the loot and plunder of the country, but who had run organised campaigns against the Armed Forces, tried to bribe the forces’ officials and divide the institution, were back at the helm of power.

The trauma which many Pakistanis felt at this controversial change of guard in Islamabad could be seen in Arshad Sharif’s current affairs shows. Day-after-day, defying all odds and pressure, he kept questioning and exposing the new powers-that-be. And as a result, he first lost his job, and then was forced to leave Pakistan in search of a safe haven. It was only after the encounter with the Kenyan police, that people in Pakistan learnt he had taken refuge in Kenya after reportedly being asked to leave Dubai.

The way Arshad Sharif was killed in an alleged police encounter raises endless questions about his final moments. The Kenyan Police’s shifting and contradictory statements underline the fact that Arshad’s killing was no accidental case of mistaken identity.

Initially, the police said that Arshad’s vehicle was fired upon when he did not stop at a check post or barricade. But this version is hard to believe as Arshad being an experienced conflict zone reporter, would have never tried to dodge the police. All journalists, particularly those who have operated in hostile environments, know the standard drill whenever there is a security post: stop your vehicle, if it is dark, turn off the headlights, switch on the cabin light, and place both hands on the steering wheel so that the security personnel know you pose no threat to them.

It is also bizarre that the police fired around nine bullets and, that too, not targeting the driver or the wheels of the vehicle, but only on the passenger side.

This contradicts the Kenyan police version that it was a case of mistaken identity — that they believed the vehicle Arshad was in was a stolen auto, allegedly involved in a kidnapping. As a rule, in hostage situations the police do not fire, to avoid hurting the kidnapped victim. They try instead to immobilise the vehicle.

The third claim is even more implausible, in fact, it is downright nonsense — that the police resorted to firing in retaliation to a shot fired from the vehicle.

Indeed, this murder needs an independent and high-powered inquiry. Will the Shehbaz Sharif government’s judicial commission be able to conduct it and that too, in a far off land? It is anybody’s guess. The past shows that the majority of high-profile murders in Pakistan have remained shrouded in mystery, despite the tall claims of investigations and promises of the dispensation of justice.

On September 20, a few weeks before his tragic death, Arshad Sharif signed a contract to join Bol News as its senior anchorperson. Before signing, he had a line inserted at the top of his contract which said that the “joining date will be mutually decided after a month, subject to personal security concerns and threat assessment.”

This underlined that he was aware of the threat to his life.

As the media fraternity and Arshad Sharif’s family, friends and fans mourn his untimely death, the fundamental question remains: why was a journalist of his profile and background compelled to leave Pakistan? It is ironic that after his assassination, the government and institutions are paying such glowing tributes to Arshad’s contribution in the field of journalism, and to his boldness, courage, honesty and uprightness — all of which were probably the dry reason for the fate that befell him.

Arshad was punished for speaking his mind and fearlessly articulating the voice of many Pakistanis who stand opposed to corruption, the power of the elite and dynastic politics. Both, in his profession and in the nature of his death, Arshad Sharif has become a larger-than-life journalist, whose actions and words will continue to resonate in the days to come. In a politically polarised country like ours, for many nationalist Pakistanis as well as journalists, Arshad Sharif will remain a symbol of courage and defiance. He had had all the opportunities to make a compromise, probably at any asking price, but he refused to do so. He clearly valued his honour more — even if it meant putting his life on the line.