I met Jasmine Shah 1 year ago to the month. A young engineering graduate from IIT, Chennai, Jasmine had just walked away from a promising career in the corporate sector to lend his hand and voice to nation building. Looking at him, I remember thinking: “How can someone so mad look so normal?” But if Jasmine is mad, what India needs right now is one billion lunatics.
Jasmine is the brain behind Jaago Re! One Billion Votes, a web-based voter registration campaign launched by Janaagraha (www.janaagraha.org) in partnership with Tata Tea to enlist every eligible Indian citizen as a registered voter before the 2009 General Elections.
“Before I joined Janaagraha in November 2007, I was a model example of the typical Indian youth,” says Jasmine. “I was cynical, I was insulated from the political system, I had never voted, and had absolutely no knowledge about or interest in the voting process.” A year later, Jasmine is the Coordinator of the phenomenally successful Jaago Re! One Billion Votes campaign that has, at the time of writing, “awakened” 1,63,860 people, handed them a steaming cup of tea, and put them on the voters’ list.
“I didn’t do it alone,” says Jasmine emphatically. “Janaagraha not only gave me the opportunity of a lifetime, it enabled, equipped, and backed me 150%. The One Billion Votes team is beyond amazing! Many young people have given up successful careers to devote themselves full time to the OBV cause and new volunteers are joining us every day.”
Firmly united behind a single, clearly defined goal, every member of the OBV team brought something to the table as they worked with feverish urgency to transform an idea into a national movement in less than 12 months.
So, what turned the cynic into an evangelizing believer? “That can be a book by itself,” laughs Jasmine, (read it in his own words here http://jasmineshah.blogspot.com/2008_01_01_archive.html) “but seriously, how long are we going to talk about the things that are wrong? What is preventing us from doing something about it? If broken systems need fixing, only the people in the system can fix it. I worked with ITC for 3 years managing their engineering and infrastructure projects. My work exposed me to the best and the worst side of urban governance. I had visited Europe and I was blown away by the quality of life citizens enjoyed there. The contrast was so stark. I knew my calling had come”
With that knowledge, Jasmine decided to walk the talk. He became his own reference point as he tried to understand why India’s youth had such distaste for political engagement. Why did they shrink away from the polling booth? “I stayed in Chennai for 5 years and I didn’t vote even once simply because I didn’t know that I only need to live in a place for 6 months to vote there. Even had I known this, the challenge of navigating through the system was so daunting, it intimidated me.
Thankfully, Jasmine didn’t stay intimidated for too long. He had identified 2 clear challenges: lack of access to quality information about the electoral process and a system that severely tested the patience of youngsters who don’t have much patience to begin with. “It was clear to me we urgently needed to develop a hand-holding customer service model for citizens that would make voter registration a pleasant and easy experience requiring minimum time and fuss – and it had to be through a medium interesting and familiar to the youth.” All of which the Jaago Re! One Billion Votes campaign is. But doesn’t a web-based campaign cater only to urban India? “Urban India is a lot more apathetic than its rural counterpart when it comes to civic participation in governance,” says Jasmine. “On a personal note, I’m a product of urban India. Like most urban citizens, I don’t like the state of our cities. To transform the quality of life that cities offer their citizens, we need better quality governance for which we need quality candidates for which we need urban India, especially the youth, to vote. One-third of the Indian population comprise citizens who are between 18 and 30 years. Hardly 20% votes. We cannot stay outside the political system and expect it to transform on its own”
But there are no “quality candidates,” I argue. Our choice is really that of voting for the lesser evil. “This is a classic chicken and egg argument,” Jasmine counters. “Urban India doesn’t vote because there are no good candidates; good candidates don’t enter the fray because urban India doesn’t vote. We have to start somewhere!” Granted. Somebody has to blink first. But does he really believe we can bring about lasting change by simply exercising our franchise? “Yes, I do believe that. Like I said, we have to make a start. If urban India starts voting and then holding their elected representatives accountable to their election manifestos, we will see qualified people with merit getting into politics.”
Jasmine’s idealism is infectious. His message is clear: “We have to demand more from ourselves. We have to take our roles as citizens more seriously. We cannot simply keep talking about it. Each of us has to find an issue to become passionate about and then work with that issue to effect the change we want to see.”
‘Change’ is such a powerful word but where do you start? I ask somewhat overwhelmed.
“There is only one logical place to start,” says Jasmine quietly, “you start with the person in the mirror.”
To be the change you want to see, log on to www.janaagraha.org
To learn more about Jaago Re! One Billion votes, log on to www.jaagore.com
Monday, December 08, 2008
Monday, December 01, 2008
"We have met the enemy and they is us" - Walt Kelly
I'm not responsible for what happened in Mumbai - I know right from wrong; I'm right - you're wrong. I live in the largest democracy. I enjoy the liberties that democracy affords me - my democracy actually allows me to enjoy my rights placing no burden of responsibilities on me. My elected representatives (oh, by the way, I don't even vote, so I don't elect them either) are accountable to me but I'm not accountable to anyone - not to them, not to the democracy that I enjoy, not to the state of my society, not even to myself; so I throw garbage on the streets, for example, and hyperventilate because the damn government machinery doesn't function effectively enough to pick up my garbage. I have the right to throw garbage wherever I please and it's the government's duty to pick up after me. I pay taxes, don't I?
I didn't vote but look at the monkeyface you elected! He's not qualified (though he's well quantified), he has no sense, no experience, he doesn't care about my nation (I care a whole lot which is why I don't commit the crime of taking myself to the polling booth), he's corrupt, he's insensitive, he's a fanatic - and don't blame me - I didn't put him in his chair.
But I have all the answers. I know what "intelligence failure" is and I know how intelligence could've avoided failure; I know how my law enforcement agents should be trained; I know what the police should do, what the army should do, what the prime minister should do, what my neighbours should do, what you should do -hey! I know what everyone else should do! Why can't people simply listen to me? I'm very eloquent, I have space and air time, and boy! can I make a speech! So everyone, get up and do as I say - I'm so patriotic unlike you who are out there in the line of fire (whether you're a cop or a politician) rolling up your sleeves and getting your hands dirty while I watch you on TV and it's so clear to me that you're a goddamn fool!
You! Keep my country safe! Keep me safe! I'm paying you taxes - you can't ask me to grow up!
I didn't vote but look at the monkeyface you elected! He's not qualified (though he's well quantified), he has no sense, no experience, he doesn't care about my nation (I care a whole lot which is why I don't commit the crime of taking myself to the polling booth), he's corrupt, he's insensitive, he's a fanatic - and don't blame me - I didn't put him in his chair.
But I have all the answers. I know what "intelligence failure" is and I know how intelligence could've avoided failure; I know how my law enforcement agents should be trained; I know what the police should do, what the army should do, what the prime minister should do, what my neighbours should do, what you should do -hey! I know what everyone else should do! Why can't people simply listen to me? I'm very eloquent, I have space and air time, and boy! can I make a speech! So everyone, get up and do as I say - I'm so patriotic unlike you who are out there in the line of fire (whether you're a cop or a politician) rolling up your sleeves and getting your hands dirty while I watch you on TV and it's so clear to me that you're a goddamn fool!
You! Keep my country safe! Keep me safe! I'm paying you taxes - you can't ask me to grow up!
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Big Mac - The McMeltdown
I lived in a great white house
With rolling lawns and awesome views
I shopped often with the spouse
Never thought I had to pay my dues
Without actually paying, I spent a lot of money
To buy me the best life money could buy
The point when it stopped being funny
Was when I woke up one morning to the lie
I had no job nor a bank balance
In fact I couldn’t find my bank at all
Friends and foes kept pace with my pretense
So now I’m taking everyone down when I fall
The climb is steep, the road is long
So sit tight in your saddle
Quite simply – though the metaphor is all wrong –
We’re up the creek without a paddle
With rolling lawns and awesome views
I shopped often with the spouse
Never thought I had to pay my dues
Without actually paying, I spent a lot of money
To buy me the best life money could buy
The point when it stopped being funny
Was when I woke up one morning to the lie
I had no job nor a bank balance
In fact I couldn’t find my bank at all
Friends and foes kept pace with my pretense
So now I’m taking everyone down when I fall
The climb is steep, the road is long
So sit tight in your saddle
Quite simply – though the metaphor is all wrong –
We’re up the creek without a paddle
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Ads in the time of cholera
Wanted: A country with a stock market that's not psychotic. Contact the White House - (Name withheld on request)
For Sale: Silicone babies for instant parenthood; can ingest melamine without the side effect of dying - Democratic Republic of China
Coin a tagline and be re-hired by the King Kong of Good Times! Complete the following slogan in not more than 1 word: Men who wear earrings are _ _ _ _ _ _ _ - Indian Aviation Industry
Attain Nirvana! File for bankruptcy and leap off a cliff! - Spiderman
Enter my beauty contest! Win a round-trip to Pakistan! - Pervez Musharraf
Discover why the monk had to sell his Ferrari - read Thomas Friedman
50,000 dollars will be yours if you can find Dick Cheney!- Os(b)ama
What is more frightening? Global warming or Global meltdown? Al Gore says he doesn't know because he's out of a job -watch Al Gore's interview tonight in Sarah Palin's living room: Russia!
For Sale: Silicone babies for instant parenthood; can ingest melamine without the side effect of dying - Democratic Republic of China
Coin a tagline and be re-hired by the King Kong of Good Times! Complete the following slogan in not more than 1 word: Men who wear earrings are _ _ _ _ _ _ _ - Indian Aviation Industry
Attain Nirvana! File for bankruptcy and leap off a cliff! - Spiderman
Enter my beauty contest! Win a round-trip to Pakistan! - Pervez Musharraf
Discover why the monk had to sell his Ferrari - read Thomas Friedman
50,000 dollars will be yours if you can find Dick Cheney!- Os(b)ama
What is more frightening? Global warming or Global meltdown? Al Gore says he doesn't know because he's out of a job -watch Al Gore's interview tonight in Sarah Palin's living room: Russia!
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Our Greatest Achievement
After 61 years of independence, we have made the Indian farmer the fodder of the nation.
Jai Hind
Jai Hind
Saturday, May 03, 2008
Vote for Tony Blair
My life is insured by a government run insurance company, so I made my annual piligrimage recently to one of their anachronistic offices to pay my premium. Like government offices all over India, this one too was populated by groaning ceiling fans, irascible people with cobwebs, East India Company files, a forlorn-looking Gandhiji on the wall, and an unbalanced security guard in army fatigues and a whistle whom everyone called "major". The walls, floor, and ceiling were all broken, stained, and leaking; each chair had a different missing part and I don't think there were any tables at all - files were piled so high in front of each person, no one would've noticed if major had stolen all the tables and auctioned them to pay for his fatigues and his evening drink. Huge old steel cupboards were backed into far-flug corners and omniously locked with ponderous looking 18th century heavy metal. I was sure if someone unlocked them, decomposed bodies would tumble out ("Ok, we can now tell Mrs. Sharma to withdraw the 'missing persons' complaint she filed about her husband during the Quit India movement"). Glass panels separated the public from the mildly demented staff who sat behind the glass panel glowering, barking, and baring their fangs at the likes of me who had gone there to make them happy by paying them money for our lives - they were very bitter; perpetually watched over by Gandhi made their experiments with truth very uncomfortable.
I went to the section titled "PREMIUMS" and immediately noticed I was the only one there; there were serpentine queues at every other desk except this one; that was because the chair behind the glass panel was empty.
"AWOL," major offered helpfully.
All of AWOL's colleagues turned and glared at major and me and I quickly found an interesting pattern to study on the floor.
"Where should I pay?" I asked major softly under my breath (for I didn't want to disturb grateful dead Gandhiji).
He waved his arm in a general north-east/north-west direction and yawned and I thanked God I was not lost in Kosovo with major as my guide - then, I realized that actually, I was.
I joined the queue closest to me. Have you noticed inside a government office, people are scared to talk to each other? No one will help you (which on second thoughts might be a good thing because the blind leading the blind isn't such a good idea - look what happened to Tony Blair).
"Excuse me," I said softly to the person in front of me; he looked at me out of the corner of his eye but didn't turn around.
"Are you standing here to pay your premium?" I whispered.
He shook his head in a way that could mean, 'yes', 'no' or 'maybe.'
I looked around helplessly and decided to join a different queue.
"Excuse me," I whispered to the back of a new head.
"Shhhhh," he hissed without turning around.
Not knowing what to do, I approached the glass panel; the entire queue became restive and started to growl. I heard "queue," "line," "go back," and even "monkey".
"I just want some information," I said desperately to no one in particular.
"YES! WHAT DO YOU WANT?" someone barked from behind the glass.
"I want you to burst into flames," I almost said but of course didn't.
"Where do I pay my premium?" I asked timidly.
"WHAT DO YOU THINK EVERYONE IS DOING HERE STANDING IN THE QUEUE?" the voice spat back.
"I thought they're celebrating Kosovo's independence," I muttered and joined the queue. Someone giggled."SILENCE PLEASE!" the voice thundered and everyone, amazingly, fell silent!
"Why shouldn't we talk? Has someone died?" I asked recklessly.
"MADAM, THIS IS AN OFFICE!!"
"Yes, I noticed it's not a funeral parlour," I said.
He muttered abuses under his breath (which I cannot repeat here due to lack of space).
When my turn came to pay, I paid up and asked for an ECS form.
"He's on leave," the non-combustible character snapped without looking up.
"Who? The form?" I asked.
"THE PERSON AT THE COUNTER WHO DISTRIBUTES THE FORMS IS ON LEAVE," he said slowly and loudly like talking to someone very vacant.
"Can someone else give me the form?" I asked.
"NO! COME TOMORROW!" he commanded.
"Yes, I'd love to see your pretty face again," I almost said but of course didn't.
The next day, they were out of forms; the day after was a public holiday; the day after that was a second Saturday; the day after the day after the day after the employees were on strike, and the day after all these days someone should've torched the place but didn't.
MORAL OF STORY: When you find him, vote for Tony Blair.
I went to the section titled "PREMIUMS" and immediately noticed I was the only one there; there were serpentine queues at every other desk except this one; that was because the chair behind the glass panel was empty.
"AWOL," major offered helpfully.
All of AWOL's colleagues turned and glared at major and me and I quickly found an interesting pattern to study on the floor.
"Where should I pay?" I asked major softly under my breath (for I didn't want to disturb grateful dead Gandhiji).
He waved his arm in a general north-east/north-west direction and yawned and I thanked God I was not lost in Kosovo with major as my guide - then, I realized that actually, I was.
I joined the queue closest to me. Have you noticed inside a government office, people are scared to talk to each other? No one will help you (which on second thoughts might be a good thing because the blind leading the blind isn't such a good idea - look what happened to Tony Blair).
"Excuse me," I said softly to the person in front of me; he looked at me out of the corner of his eye but didn't turn around.
"Are you standing here to pay your premium?" I whispered.
He shook his head in a way that could mean, 'yes', 'no' or 'maybe.'
I looked around helplessly and decided to join a different queue.
"Excuse me," I whispered to the back of a new head.
"Shhhhh," he hissed without turning around.
Not knowing what to do, I approached the glass panel; the entire queue became restive and started to growl. I heard "queue," "line," "go back," and even "monkey".
"I just want some information," I said desperately to no one in particular.
"YES! WHAT DO YOU WANT?" someone barked from behind the glass.
"I want you to burst into flames," I almost said but of course didn't.
"Where do I pay my premium?" I asked timidly.
"WHAT DO YOU THINK EVERYONE IS DOING HERE STANDING IN THE QUEUE?" the voice spat back.
"I thought they're celebrating Kosovo's independence," I muttered and joined the queue. Someone giggled."SILENCE PLEASE!" the voice thundered and everyone, amazingly, fell silent!
"Why shouldn't we talk? Has someone died?" I asked recklessly.
"MADAM, THIS IS AN OFFICE!!"
"Yes, I noticed it's not a funeral parlour," I said.
He muttered abuses under his breath (which I cannot repeat here due to lack of space).
When my turn came to pay, I paid up and asked for an ECS form.
"He's on leave," the non-combustible character snapped without looking up.
"Who? The form?" I asked.
"THE PERSON AT THE COUNTER WHO DISTRIBUTES THE FORMS IS ON LEAVE," he said slowly and loudly like talking to someone very vacant.
"Can someone else give me the form?" I asked.
"NO! COME TOMORROW!" he commanded.
"Yes, I'd love to see your pretty face again," I almost said but of course didn't.
The next day, they were out of forms; the day after was a public holiday; the day after that was a second Saturday; the day after the day after the day after the employees were on strike, and the day after all these days someone should've torched the place but didn't.
MORAL OF STORY: When you find him, vote for Tony Blair.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Insomniacs, Killjoys, and other friendly people
Even in my dream, I knew it was a dream. No cellphones. No sales people. No Sonia Gandhi. I snuggled into my dream.
The telephone exploded. I fell out of bed and grabbed it.
"Hello," I croaked groggily.
"Good afternoon ma'am. I'm Raju from _____. As you're our valued customer, we're offering you a free SIM card..."
"Dear Raju from wherever you are..." I whispered half asleep and then fell into bed and right back into Dreamland. Karnataka had a government. Everyone understood Mamata Banerjee when she spoke. Britney Spears had finally grown up. Newspapers ignored Paris Hilton, Tom-Kat, and the Beckingham Palace. People admitted all they did in Davos was have fun. George Bush was hiding...the phone screamed again.
"Good afternoon ma'am. Are you Aparna Muralidhar?"
"Who wants to know?" I yawned.
"Ma'am, Aparna Muralidhar has won a trip for 2 to Malaysia in a raffle."
"What raffle?"
"Are you Aparna Muralidhar?"
"I am now."
"Congratulations Ma'am! You've won a trip to Malaysia!" he squealed.
"Okay okay, no need to get excited," I said irritably. "How did I win?"
"Are you married?"
"Not that I'm aware of..."
"You visited the exhibition at ______ with your husband where you filled in..."
"Shoot! I missed my own wedding," I muttered.
"...a form for a lucky dip on the 6th of this month at 10 a.m..." he prattled.
"I did not. I was at work."
"Are you sure?"
"Of course I'm not sure. I suffer from Alzheimer's. I'm never sure of anything. When can I go to Malaysia?"
"Err..uh...ma'am are you Aparna Muralidhar?"
"I'm not sure," I said distractedly, "look what you've done... you've confused me," I said and hung up.
I curled up under the covers once more. Reader's Digest was a great magazine again. Music was not recycled. Paper was. I was 18. Deccan Air stayed in the air. State buses crunched only gravel. Everyone had a last name. The BJP was young and was now called Batty Jatty Patty. The phone was ringing....THE PHONE WAS RINGING.
I groaned and snatched it from its cradle.
"Hello?"
"Good afternoon, ma'am. I'm Amit from ______ bank. We're offering you a personal loan..."
"Great!" I yelled into the phone. "I need a loan right now . I have Alzheimer's and I'm going to Malaysia with a husband I didn't know I had," I tried to sound as hysterical as possible.
"Hello!?!" he said perplexed.
"You can call Raju and check..." I yelled. Amit hung up.
I went back to bed.
I'd barely tucked myself in when the phone shrieked.
"Hello?"
"I'm calling from ____ insurance. We have a wonderful package..."
"Great! I'm going to Malaysia so I need travel insurance. Can you give me your number? I'll call you back."
He gave me his office number, his mobile number, and his home landline. Bingo and big mistake.
I took the phone off the hook and slept till 12 a.m. I woke up at 12 a.m., dug out Mr. Insurance's home landline and dialled.
"Who is it?" demanded an alarmed voice.
"I just wanted to say I'm not going to Malyasia and I don't want insurance," I said sweetly and hung up.
The telephone exploded. I fell out of bed and grabbed it.
"Hello," I croaked groggily.
"Good afternoon ma'am. I'm Raju from _____. As you're our valued customer, we're offering you a free SIM card..."
"Dear Raju from wherever you are..." I whispered half asleep and then fell into bed and right back into Dreamland. Karnataka had a government. Everyone understood Mamata Banerjee when she spoke. Britney Spears had finally grown up. Newspapers ignored Paris Hilton, Tom-Kat, and the Beckingham Palace. People admitted all they did in Davos was have fun. George Bush was hiding...the phone screamed again.
"Good afternoon ma'am. Are you Aparna Muralidhar?"
"Who wants to know?" I yawned.
"Ma'am, Aparna Muralidhar has won a trip for 2 to Malaysia in a raffle."
"What raffle?"
"Are you Aparna Muralidhar?"
"I am now."
"Congratulations Ma'am! You've won a trip to Malaysia!" he squealed.
"Okay okay, no need to get excited," I said irritably. "How did I win?"
"Are you married?"
"Not that I'm aware of..."
"You visited the exhibition at ______ with your husband where you filled in..."
"Shoot! I missed my own wedding," I muttered.
"...a form for a lucky dip on the 6th of this month at 10 a.m..." he prattled.
"I did not. I was at work."
"Are you sure?"
"Of course I'm not sure. I suffer from Alzheimer's. I'm never sure of anything. When can I go to Malaysia?"
"Err..uh...ma'am are you Aparna Muralidhar?"
"I'm not sure," I said distractedly, "look what you've done... you've confused me," I said and hung up.
I curled up under the covers once more. Reader's Digest was a great magazine again. Music was not recycled. Paper was. I was 18. Deccan Air stayed in the air. State buses crunched only gravel. Everyone had a last name. The BJP was young and was now called Batty Jatty Patty. The phone was ringing....THE PHONE WAS RINGING.
I groaned and snatched it from its cradle.
"Hello?"
"Good afternoon, ma'am. I'm Amit from ______ bank. We're offering you a personal loan..."
"Great!" I yelled into the phone. "I need a loan right now . I have Alzheimer's and I'm going to Malaysia with a husband I didn't know I had," I tried to sound as hysterical as possible.
"Hello!?!" he said perplexed.
"You can call Raju and check..." I yelled. Amit hung up.
I went back to bed.
I'd barely tucked myself in when the phone shrieked.
"Hello?"
"I'm calling from ____ insurance. We have a wonderful package..."
"Great! I'm going to Malaysia so I need travel insurance. Can you give me your number? I'll call you back."
He gave me his office number, his mobile number, and his home landline. Bingo and big mistake.
I took the phone off the hook and slept till 12 a.m. I woke up at 12 a.m., dug out Mr. Insurance's home landline and dialled.
"Who is it?" demanded an alarmed voice.
"I just wanted to say I'm not going to Malyasia and I don't want insurance," I said sweetly and hung up.
Friday, January 04, 2008
What about the children?
Along with Iraq, Pakistan is now officially in a free fall. Everything that can possibly go wrong with Iraq and Pakistan, has. In Iraq, tragedy is now bordering on the ludicrous. On Jan 1, 2008, a funeral procession for a bombing victim, was bombed. A year after Saddam Hussein was hanged by a kangaroo court and many years after the world woke up to the fact that Iraq never posed any sort of threat to anyone, Osama Bin Laden, the object of George Bush's desire, continues to cock a snook at him. Whatever his faults, Osama has proved a far better human being than Bush: at least, he's hiding.
Pakistan has been running with the hares and hunting with the hounds a long time now. Her embattled President, framed within many a rifle's cross-hairs, is not a man you can loft on to a horse and hope for a ride-into-the-sunset goodbye. After years of feeding him cookies under the table and patting him on the head, Bush now finds himself staring not at the loyal Poster Child he'd hoped to find purring gratefully. With Benazir Bhutto's death - which has been greeted with a convincing show of outrage around the globe - the beleaguered General has marched his nation to the edge of the abyss; in fact, where he is now, the abyss must look pretty inviting to Pervez Musharraf. Pakistan doesn't know who the enemy is anymore; worse, they
don't know who's whose enemy which is more than a little alarming for a nuclear power. Typically, America has stopped the cookie-under-table arrangement overnight and has now queued up behind the Lal Masjid clerics, the Pakistani public, the Pakistani Army, the ISI, Nawaz Sharif, Imran Khan, the Taliban, and a handful of assorted tribes and warlords across Pakistan and Afghanistan who make up Musharraf's distinguished list of enemies.
Then, there is Afghanistan (though barely) where the Taliban continue to have a free run despite (or 'because of' depending on your political leaning) Hamid Karzai. Karzai, Musharraf, and Nouri al-Maliki (the Iraqi PM) all have a common nemesis: George Bush. Only Bush could've accomplished such unmitigated disaster with such cheerfulness. His foreign policy (like him) is ultra simple: Get oil. But make it look like you're getting Osama. And get out of my way (toss grenade over shoulder). Famed as much for his brain and his tongue being in different time zones as for his juvenile rhetoric, Bush has demonstrated how much a sleepy conscience and a me-cowboy smugness can accomplish. Tripping on countless bodies and body parts while supposedly chasing Osama around the globe, the trail of destruction he has left in his wake now spans 3 countries that have plunged into a desperate humanitarian crisis. It is now officially accepted that every Iraqi family has lost or knows someone who has lost at least one person to the war.
Think about the trauma of a long-running war on the children. Their childhood snatched from them. No education. No play. No employment. No future to look forward to. No hope. And the cycle of violence and death playing itself out incessantly in front of their young eyes - all the essential ingredients to incubate assembly-line suicide bombers.
We should stop pretending this is "their" problem - it's now "our" problem. Children know no barriers of geography, race, religion, or colour. They are children of the world.
Will 2008 be the year that we give our children a reason to live and not a reason to die?
Pakistan has been running with the hares and hunting with the hounds a long time now. Her embattled President, framed within many a rifle's cross-hairs, is not a man you can loft on to a horse and hope for a ride-into-the-sunset goodbye. After years of feeding him cookies under the table and patting him on the head, Bush now finds himself staring not at the loyal Poster Child he'd hoped to find purring gratefully. With Benazir Bhutto's death - which has been greeted with a convincing show of outrage around the globe - the beleaguered General has marched his nation to the edge of the abyss; in fact, where he is now, the abyss must look pretty inviting to Pervez Musharraf. Pakistan doesn't know who the enemy is anymore; worse, they
don't know who's whose enemy which is more than a little alarming for a nuclear power. Typically, America has stopped the cookie-under-table arrangement overnight and has now queued up behind the Lal Masjid clerics, the Pakistani public, the Pakistani Army, the ISI, Nawaz Sharif, Imran Khan, the Taliban, and a handful of assorted tribes and warlords across Pakistan and Afghanistan who make up Musharraf's distinguished list of enemies.
Then, there is Afghanistan (though barely) where the Taliban continue to have a free run despite (or 'because of' depending on your political leaning) Hamid Karzai. Karzai, Musharraf, and Nouri al-Maliki (the Iraqi PM) all have a common nemesis: George Bush. Only Bush could've accomplished such unmitigated disaster with such cheerfulness. His foreign policy (like him) is ultra simple: Get oil. But make it look like you're getting Osama. And get out of my way (toss grenade over shoulder). Famed as much for his brain and his tongue being in different time zones as for his juvenile rhetoric, Bush has demonstrated how much a sleepy conscience and a me-cowboy smugness can accomplish. Tripping on countless bodies and body parts while supposedly chasing Osama around the globe, the trail of destruction he has left in his wake now spans 3 countries that have plunged into a desperate humanitarian crisis. It is now officially accepted that every Iraqi family has lost or knows someone who has lost at least one person to the war.
Think about the trauma of a long-running war on the children. Their childhood snatched from them. No education. No play. No employment. No future to look forward to. No hope. And the cycle of violence and death playing itself out incessantly in front of their young eyes - all the essential ingredients to incubate assembly-line suicide bombers.
We should stop pretending this is "their" problem - it's now "our" problem. Children know no barriers of geography, race, religion, or colour. They are children of the world.
Will 2008 be the year that we give our children a reason to live and not a reason to die?
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