My mother left a legacy of hope — let us seize it
I saw my mother as an activist for the first time in 1983, a few years after the infamous Hudood Ordinances had been introduced by military dictator Gen. Zia-ul-Haq. These were strict Islamic laws that enshrined punishments including whipping and stoning to death, and under which the law of evidence for non-Muslims and women was reduced by half. Most devastatingly, rape could only be proved with the testimony of four adult male witnesses — a standard that is almost impossible to meet — and, subsequently, many women who alleged rape but could not prove it, and uneducated couples who had not registered their marriages, ended up behind bars.
One such case was of a 13-year-old blind girl called Jehan Mina, raped by her uncle but unable to prove it and thus sentenced to whipping in public. My mother Asma Jahangir and other women activists from the Women’s Action Forum organized a protest against Zia. This was the first time Zia’s laws and his ugly regime were publicly challenged.
Those were dark times. My mother was thrown into prison. We were told she would be made an example of. The Zia regime left no stone unturned in going after her, but nothing ever daunted her where injustice was concerned. She was threatened, called names such as “talak o masi” or home-breaker, publicly maligned, and her clothes were torn by the police during protest marches. Zia even slapped a false blasphemy charge on her and used the media to whip up a frenzy against her. At the time, human rights were considered a Western concept in Pakistan and Asma was branded an agent of foreign governments. The list of her alleged transgressions grew but so did her moral courage to stand up for the downtrodden and the wronged.
My mother continued to run a busy legal practice at AGHS Legal Aid Cell, which she had co-founded in 1980 with her sister Hina Jilani and two friends, providing free legal representation for vulnerable women, children, bonded laborers, prisoners and religious minorities. In 1987, she co-founded the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan, the only independent watchdog for human rights with a nationwide presence. She was not afraid of confronting difficult issues such as the military’s role in politics, the persecution of religious minorities or equal rights for women. She was the first to highlight the issue of honor killings. In what would go on to become an iconic case, one woman, Samia Sarwar, was murdered in the name of honor in my mother’s very office for marrying a man of her choice.
As a young child, I went to court with my mother when she was defending a 12-year-old boy, Salamat Masih, and his uncle, who had been sentenced to death by hanging on false blasphemy charges. She was confronted with a menacing scene: A 5-foot-tall woman against a mob of bloodthirsty religious hard-liners verbally abusing her and pushing her before the judge. Outside, hundreds of right-wingers bashed up our car and tried to break down the courtroom door. But my mother stood her ground. Later, our family was attacked and a co-accused and the judge in this case were murdered. But Asma was ready to risk her life for a child who was going to be hanged on a false charge. Today, in Pakistan, religion is being openly used for personal vendettas and to clamp down on political dissent. My mother fought against this till her last breath.
On last year’s International Women’s Day my family and I were left in a cloud of sadness and anxiety. This year, we take solace from the fact that our mother has left behind a legacy of hope, of rights, freedom and equality, of love and peace not only in Pakistan but around the world. We know that we cannot fill her shoes but we follow in her footsteps.
Sulema Jahangir
In the early 1990s, Asma represented a young Muslim woman, Saima Wahid, who wanted to marry of her own choice. Even though the law in Pakistan was settled that an adult Muslim woman does not need parental consent to get married, my mother had to fight tooth and nail in this case. The judges cowed down as hundreds of members of the ultra-right turned up to court with bats and bricks demanding blood. They sat on the judgment for a year as all kinds of pressure was piled on Asma to withdraw as counsel. She did not. When the judgment came, she had won.
In the face of terror, I sometimes thought my mother was standing alone. But, later, I realized that she had many people by her side. Over time she became an important opinion-maker. Some people called her the barometer of democracy; others called her the voice of the oppressed. She faced arrest during the lawyers’ movement for the restoration of democracy in 2007, but she raised her voice against the same judiciary when it acted beyond the limits set in the constitution. She genuinely felt that an independent bar would lead to an independent bench. In 2010, she won and became the first woman to be elected president of the Supreme Court Bar Association of Pakistan, the highest body of lawyers. She formed a new group in bar politics as she saw the injustice and corruption that takes hold when there is an established monopoly, even in the justice system itself. Her group continued to win and now forms the leadership of the major bar associations of Pakistan.
My mother recognized that Pakistan was a state that had become lost in coming to terms with its identity. New definitions of patriotism were drummed out every so often depending on who was coming to power and who opposed him or her but, ultimately, what we ended up with was a national security state. Asma not only started the debate on human rights but also made it part of mainstream politics. The same people who dubbed her a Western agent now say their slogan is human rights. But, for her, human rights was not a job, it was a conviction.
In Pakistan now, there are hardly any organizations that provide quality legal aid to vulnerable groups and violations of human rights have only grown. Asma’s demise was personally crushing for us but it also left a huge vacuum for ordinary Pakistanis. Many feel that there is a voice missing now — an Asma who will speak up for their rights when they are down and out.
To memorialize her vision, we have created the Asma Jahangir Foundation, which provides support to her law firm, AGHS Legal Aid Cell, and the Human Rights Commission of Pakistan. Given Pakistan’s increasingly hard-line stance on human rights organizations and the growing rate of violations and impunity for perpetrators, these organizations remain an oasis for many.
In 2017, AGHS provided free legal representation to about 730 people. In 2018, despite the shock and crisis of Asma’s passing away, the number of people AGHS represented grew. It provided free legal representation for 1,068 people last year, including 157 constitutional cases in the superior courts. AGHS also campaigns for reforms in the law and has influenced 17 legislations advancing the rights of women, children and religious minorities.
On last year’s International Women’s Day my family and I were left in a cloud of sadness and anxiety. This year, we take solace from the fact that our mother has left behind a legacy of hope, of rights, freedom and equality, of love and peace not only in Pakistan but around the world. We know that we cannot fill her shoes but we follow in her footsteps.
– Sulema Jahangir is the daughter of internationally renowned rights activist the late Asma Jahangir and a board member of AGHS Legal Aid Cell, co-founded by her mother. She is an advocate of the high courts in Pakistan and a solicitor of the senior courts of England and Wales.
