Chaudhry Zulfiqar Ali, prosecutor over Benazir Bhutto assassination, murdered in Pakistan

Ali was gunned down in Islamabad’s G9 area this morning as he drove to a court hearing for the Bhutto case.

Five years after Pakistan’s former prime minister, Benazir Bhutto, was assassinated as she campaigned in 2007, the prosecutor investigating her murder has been murdered, on the eve of another election.

Chaudhry Zulfiqar Ali was gunned down in Islamabad’s G9 area this morning as he drove to a court hearing for the Bhutto case. His car was besieged by bullets, which were fired by two unidentified gunmen on motorbikes. According to doctors, he was killed by ten bullets in his chest and shoulder. He was rushed to hospital but died of his injuries. A female pedestrian was also killed after the driver lost control of the car, and Zulfiqar Ali’s bodyguard was injured.

The Bhutto murder investigation is highly sensitive, and, along with other members of the team, Zulfiqar Ali had received death threats. As a result, he was given extra government security last year. Yet his death was unexpected to those closest to him. “I cannot comment. I’m in a state of shock,” his deputy Azhar Chaudhry told AFP when asked to comment.

As yet, no-one has claimed responsibility for the attack. But, as one of Paksitan’s most senior criminal lawyers, Zulfiqar Ali had worked on many high-profile terrorism cases and had many enemies. While it is the Benazir connection that has made the headlines, at the time of his death he was also prosecuting seven men for the alleged role in the Mumbai terror attacks of 2008. The attacks, orchestrated by militant group Lashkar-e-Taiba, killed 166 people.

Police have not yet speculated on why Zulfiqar Ali was shot. But Pakistan’s rumour mill is already in action. In a country where conspiracy theories are the national pastime, some suggest that the army could have played a role. Former military dictator, General Pervez Musharraf, is currently under house arrest in Islamabad, facing prosecution for failing to provide Bhutto with adequate security in the days before she was murdered.

The charges date back several years; in 2010, a UN inquiry concluded that Bhutto’s assassination could have been prevented, and the Musharraf’s government did not do enough to protect her. Soon afterwards, in February 2011, a warrant was issued for his arrest. This was impossible to enforce as Musharraf was in self-imposed exile abroad – but after he returned to Pakistan in March to contest elections, the charges resurfaced.

After Musharraf was arrested in April, Zulfiqar Ali said that the accusations against the former dictator amounted to aiding and abetting Bhutto’s killing.

People often say that most countries have an army, but in Pakistan, the army has a country. As a result, many have been saying for weeks that the army would not allow Musharraf to be tried for acts committed while he was head of the military. The murder of Zulfiqar Ali will do nothing to dispel these suspicions.

As the dust settles, all we can do is wait to see if one of Pakistan’s numerous militant organisations claims responsibility for the attack.

Chaudhry Zulfiqar Ali. Photograph: Getty Images

Samira Shackle is a freelance journalist, who tweets @samirashackle. She was formerly a staff writer for the New Statesman.

Azaz, on Syria's northern border with Turkey. Photo: Getty
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Syria's broken people: how Assad destroyed a nation

 Whoever leads the country after this conflict comes to an end will inherit not just the rubble and ruins, but a ravaged people, too. 

For a moment, the residents of al-Fu’ah and Kafriya dreamed of a better future. After living under siege for more than two years, civilians from these two Shia villages in the rebel-held Idlib province of north-western Syria were finally allowed to leave earlier this month.

Buses arrived to evacuate them to regime-held areas in Aleppo province, snaking through hostile territory. They eventually stopped at an agreed crossover point, between regime- and rebel-held areas in the Rashideen district of western Aleppo.

These journeys are long: it can take hours, sometimes days, to travel just a few miles. Checkpoints, angry negotiations and deep distrust between opposing factions (even when they are apparently on the same side) ensure that such transfers are never as efficient as they should be.

As families waited at the Rashideen checkpoint, with some disembarking to stretch their legs or to let their children play outside, a powerful car bomb exploded. More than 126 civilians were killed in the blast – the deadliest attack of its kind in more than a year.

The fatalities included 60 children. The act was made all the more unconscionable by the way that they were deliberately targeted. A truck ostensibly providing humanitarian relief parked beside the buses and began distributing sweets and ice cream, causing the children to swarm towards it. Then  it exploded.

One of the most striking features of this conflict is its seemingly endless capacity to spiral into greater depravity. Both sides have butchered and brutalised one another in a fashion that would make the Marquis de Sade recoil. At times, it can seem as if each side is competing with the other to adopt more sadistic and cruel methods. When they do, it is ordinary civilians who invariably pay the biggest price.

Even children have not been spared from the privations of this vicious war, as the events in Rashideen demonstrate. Last August, it was the image of Omran Daqneesh, the stunned and bloodied five-year-old boy in the back of an ambulance, which epitomised the suffering of another besieged group: the mainly Sunni residents of eastern Aleppo, encircled by government forces.

To characterise the Syrian conflict as wholly sectarian is reductionist, but factional infighting has become one of its defining elements. The imprimatur of sectarianism is leaving indelible marks across the Levant, tearing the region apart.

Bashar al-Assad, Syria’s embattled president, set the tone for this when the uprising first began in 2011. To undermine the protest movement, he characterised the opposition as Sunni extremists who were driven by sectarian hatred (Assad is from the minority Alawite community; a heterodox Shia sect).

His unaccountable loyalist militia, the shabiha (“ghosts”), brutalised the opposition not just physically but also with sectarian slurs, introducing a caustic and corrosive mood to the uprising. This pathology has continued to metastasise ever since.

The current policy of displacing besieged residents has further enhanced the sectarian aspects of this war. For years, the Syrian regime has used siege warfare to bring rebel areas under control. Once the inhabitants have been worn down, the government moves them to rebel-held areas, away from its sphere of control. In this way, President Assad has consolidated control over important and strategic areas closer to home while edging disloyal elements further away.

Occasionally, new residents are brought in to repopulate evacuated areas, typically from minorities more inclined to support the government. What is taking place is a slow demographic recalibration, in which errant Sunnis are moved to the periphery and loyalist minorities are moved closer to the core.

These transfers are now so common in Syria that a dedicated fleet of green buses is used in the process, and has become an iconic image of this conflict. The buses catch the eye and are used for moving besieged people. Their sanctity is not to be violated. In a conflict that has ignored almost every norm, this one had lasted – albeit with occasional violations – until the assault in Rashideen.

There are moments when important leaders appear to transcend the divide. Moqtada al-Sadr, an Iraqi Shia cleric who rose to prominence after leading a militia against British troops in Basra after the 2003 invasion, recently called for Bashar al-Assad to step aside.

In doing so, Sadr became one of only a few prominent Shia leaders to publicly acknowledge Assad’s bloodshed. His comments came after the chemical weapons attack in Idlib earlier this month, which claimed more than 80 lives.

Statements such as Sadr’s have huge symbolic value, but are easily forgotten in the aftermath of the next atrocity. Speaking to the American broadcaster NBC last October, General David Petraeus summed up the mood of many military planners in Washington when he concluded that Syria may have passed the point of no return. “Syria may not be able to be put back together,” he said. “Humpty Dumpty has fallen and again I’m not sure you can piece it back together.”

His comments came even before the most tumultuous events of the past six months, which have included the fall of Aleppo, the emergence of a more empowered jihadist coalition (composed principally of al-Qaeda members), the use of chemical weapons and now the Rashideen bus bombing.

Petraeus’s remarks were prescient. As a result of the cycle of bitter vengeance and retribution, often fuelled by deep sectarian suspicion, the Syrian Civil War will continue its descent into chaos. When Assad first unleashed the shabiha to quash the protest movement, the militia warned the opposition: “Assad, or we burn the country.”

In this respect, at least, it has kept its word. Whoever leads the country after this conflict finally comes to an end will inherit not just the rubble and ruins but a ravaged people, too. 

Shiraz Maher is a contributing writer for the New Statesman and a senior research fellow at King’s College London’s International Centre for the Study of Radicalisation.

This article first appeared in the 20 April 2017 issue of the New Statesman, May's gamble

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