My cousin is a doctor at a Christian Hospital in an ancient city an hour north of Islamabad, Pakistan. On Friday, August 9th, 2002, her mother, my aunt, wasn't feeling well and the two decided not to go to chapel – about a hundred metres from their home. It was a good choice, for them. Three men, dressed ordinarily, talked their way past a guard at the hospital entrance, and then held another guard at gunpoint. They waited until the worshippers were leaving the chapel and tossed live grenades at them. Three nurses were killed; 25 others were injured. One of the attackers killed himself fumbling with a grenade.
In February 1997, a crowd estimated as large as 20,000 tore through Christian villages outside of Lahore, burning homes, churches, property, cars. At the time I had family living in that district. The rampage – known as Shanti Nagar, for the village most affected – seems to have grown out of an earlier arrest.
In January that year, police had raided the home of Raj Masih on information that he was running an alcohol and gambling operation. They found no evidence to support the claim but arrested him nonetheless. Rumours spread in the Christian community that one of the policemen had ripped open Masih's Bible. The local Christians protested. Counter rumours spread that a Christian had torn open a Koran. Then a vigilante mob gathered.
Rumours are sometimes enough in Pakistan. As much as five per cent of Pakistan's 145 million are Christians. (Statistics vary on this point.) Masih is a common name for Christians, being a variation on Messiah, and is often used derisively. This relatively insignificant population (of which I was a member by birth) is besotted by rumours, which are further abetted by the blasphemy law.
Section 295-C of the Penal Code, added in 1986 by president Zia ul-Haq states in part: "derogatory remarks in respect of the Holy Prophet … either spoken or written, or by visible representation, or by any imputation, innuendo, or insinuation, directly or indirectly … shall be punished with death, or imprisonment for life, and shall also be liable to fine." In other words, anybody who blasphemes the Prophet, in any way, can be put to death.
And that is often how it is used: accusations are made, people are arrested. The law has been used spitefully on hundreds of occasions: business deals gone bad, neighbourhood tensions, personal and professional jealousies. The accused, often a Christian, is charged with uttering something against the Prophet, or desecrating the Koran. Though the charges are rarely supported in higher courts, often the damage is well done by then. Local mobs burn homes and businesses; family members are beaten or killed. Just the specter of the accusation is enough to disperse long established families.
One of the earliest stories I heard was of a boy, also named Masih. He was accused of writing something derogatory on a mosque. I am told he now lives in Germany with his father and all charges have been dropped against him. But, along the way an uncle was murdered, the family is separated and permanently scarred.
In another story – these are commonly traded by Pakistani Christians – the prosecuting witness stated he couldn't possibly relate the nature of the crime since he'd then be blaspheming himself. The presiding judge accepted that and the trial continued without due diligence.
Despite myriad appeals to presiding presidents and prime ministers the blasphemy law remains. Pakistan is not a theocracy, but the power of religious institutions is great and politicians do not dare contradictions. Meanwhile, Pakistani Christians live in a constant state of anxiety. Any normal human relationship could disintegrate to a blasphemy accusation; or, they could be arbitrary victims of a Sunday morning bombing.
