Reflections on the Martyrdom of Benazir Bhutto
I. Ahmad Wani
December 27 marks eighteen years since the assassination of Shaheed Mohtarma Benazir Bhutto—a date etched in collective memory across South Asia. In Pakistan, the day is observed with mourning and reflection, as citizens remember a leader who symbolised democratic continuity, political courage, and women’s empowerment in a deeply conservative milieu.
At Garhi Khuda Bakhsh in Larkana, the Bhutto family mausoleum, tributes were led by President Asif Ali Zardari, PPP Chairman Bilawal Bhutto Zardari, and Aseefa Bhutto Zardari. Messages issued on the occasion reaffirmed Benazir Bhutto’s belief that democracy, inclusion, and gender equality were non-negotiable foundations of a stable society.
Benazir Bhutto’s political life was defined by defiance—against dictatorship, patriarchal norms, and violent extremism. Educated at Harvard and Oxford, she returned to Pakistan not as a symbol of privilege, but as a political actor willing to endure imprisonment, exile, and constant threat. Twice elected Prime Minister (1988–1990, 1993–1996), she became the first woman to lead a Muslim-majority country, challenging assumptions that power and leadership were male preserves.
Her assassination on December 27, 2007, at Liaquat Bagh in Rawalpindi was claimed by extremist elements who viewed her as an existential threat. Her support for democracy, her opposition to militancy, and her advocacy for women’s rights placed her squarely in their crosshairs. They silenced her voice—but failed to silence her ideas.
During her tenures, despite political constraints, Benazir Bhutto took concrete steps to improve women’s status: ratifying CEDAW, establishing the First Women’s Bank, setting up women police stations, promoting female health workers, and appointing women to senior public offices. At the 1995 Beijing Conference, she famously asserted that women must be empowered to control their own destinies—a statement that still unsettles extremists across regions.
I recall the day of her assassination vividly from Srinagar. The Urdu daily Kashmir Uzma carried the stark headline: “Bin-e-Mashriq Khamosh”—The Daughter of the East Silenced. For most Kashmiris, the moment evoked shock and sorrow. But it also exposed an uncomfortable truth: a small fringe of radicalised elements quietly celebrated her death.
That reaction was not representative of Kashmir—but it was revealing.
As someone writing from Jammu and Kashmir, it is impossible to ignore how extremism has devastated this region above all else. For over three decades, violence driven by radical ideologies has claimed thousands of lives—teachers, journalists, political workers, civilians, and security personnel. It silenced dissent, destroyed pluralism, and hollowed out civil society. Those who believed in dialogue, resilience, and democratic courage often paid the highest price.
Extremism here did not liberate; it consumed. It targeted women seeking education, minorities asserting their identity, and Kashmiris who rejected the gun. In that sense, the celebration of Benazir Bhutto’s death—however limited—mirrored the same moral collapse that justified killing voices of moderation within Kashmir itself.
This is not an accusation against a people, but a warning about an ideology.
History is unambiguous. Wherever extremism gains ground—be it the Taliban’s denial of girls’ education in Afghanistan, or the ethnic cleansing of Kashmiri Pandits in the 1990s—it corrodes society from within. It is a fire that eventually burns its own keepers. Benazir Bhutto warned of this clearly in her book Reconciliation: “Extremism thrives where moderation is silenced.”
Encouragingly, Jammu and Kashmir today shows signs of moving away from that abyss. Schools are functioning, tourism has revived, and young people are choosing opportunity over outrage. Yet complacency would be dangerous. Radical narratives mutate easily—online, across borders, and through misinformation. Countering them requires firm law enforcement, inclusive education, and moral clarity from society itself.
Eighteen years on, Benazir Bhutto’s legacy remains relevant beyond Pakistan. She represents what extremists fear most: a Muslim woman who believed in democracy, dialogue, and dissent without violence. Figures like Malala Yousafzai have acknowledged that such leadership paved the way for future generations of women to speak without apology.
Remembering Benazir Bhutto is not merely about mourning her death. It is about rejecting the ideology that celebrated it—whether in Rawalpindi, Kashmir, or anywhere else. It is about standing with those who chose resilience over rage, and courage over coercion.
She was silenced by extremists—but her ideas outlived them. And that, history shows, is the only victory that matters.
When Extremists Rejoiced at Her Death
Reflections on the Martyrdom of Benazir Bhutto
I. Ahmad Wani
December 27 marks eighteen years since the assassination of Shaheed Mohtarma Benazir Bhutto—a date etched in collective memory across South Asia. In Pakistan, the day is observed with mourning and reflection, as citizens remember a leader who symbolised democratic continuity, political courage, and women’s empowerment in a deeply conservative milieu.
At Garhi Khuda Bakhsh in Larkana, the Bhutto family mausoleum, tributes were led by President Asif Ali Zardari, PPP Chairman Bilawal Bhutto Zardari, and Aseefa Bhutto Zardari. Messages issued on the occasion reaffirmed Benazir Bhutto’s belief that democracy, inclusion, and gender equality were non-negotiable foundations of a stable society.
Benazir Bhutto’s political life was defined by defiance—against dictatorship, patriarchal norms, and violent extremism. Educated at Harvard and Oxford, she returned to Pakistan not as a symbol of privilege, but as a political actor willing to endure imprisonment, exile, and constant threat. Twice elected Prime Minister (1988–1990, 1993–1996), she became the first woman to lead a Muslim-majority country, challenging assumptions that power and leadership were male preserves.
Her assassination on December 27, 2007, at Liaquat Bagh in Rawalpindi was claimed by extremist elements who viewed her as an existential threat. Her support for democracy, her opposition to militancy, and her advocacy for women’s rights placed her squarely in their crosshairs. They silenced her voice—but failed to silence her ideas.
During her tenures, despite political constraints, Benazir Bhutto took concrete steps to improve women’s status: ratifying CEDAW, establishing the First Women’s Bank, setting up women police stations, promoting female health workers, and appointing women to senior public offices. At the 1995 Beijing Conference, she famously asserted that women must be empowered to control their own destinies—a statement that still unsettles extremists across regions.
I recall the day of her assassination vividly from Srinagar. The Urdu daily Kashmir Uzma carried the stark headline: “Bin-e-Mashriq Khamosh”—The Daughter of the East Silenced. For most Kashmiris, the moment evoked shock and sorrow. But it also exposed an uncomfortable truth: a small fringe of radicalised elements quietly celebrated her death.
That reaction was not representative of Kashmir—but it was revealing.
As someone writing from Jammu and Kashmir, it is impossible to ignore how extremism has devastated this region above all else. For over three decades, violence driven by radical ideologies has claimed thousands of lives—teachers, journalists, political workers, civilians, and security personnel. It silenced dissent, destroyed pluralism, and hollowed out civil society. Those who believed in dialogue, resilience, and democratic courage often paid the highest price.
Extremism here did not liberate; it consumed. It targeted women seeking education, minorities asserting their identity, and Kashmiris who rejected the gun. In that sense, the celebration of Benazir Bhutto’s death—however limited—mirrored the same moral collapse that justified killing voices of moderation within Kashmir itself.
This is not an accusation against a people, but a warning about an ideology.
History is unambiguous. Wherever extremism gains ground—be it the Taliban’s denial of girls’ education in Afghanistan, or the ethnic cleansing of Kashmiri Pandits in the 1990s—it corrodes society from within. It is a fire that eventually burns its own keepers. Benazir Bhutto warned of this clearly in her book Reconciliation: “Extremism thrives where moderation is silenced.”
Encouragingly, Jammu and Kashmir today shows signs of moving away from that abyss. Schools are functioning, tourism has revived, and young people are choosing opportunity over outrage. Yet complacency would be dangerous. Radical narratives mutate easily—online, across borders, and through misinformation. Countering them requires firm law enforcement, inclusive education, and moral clarity from society itself.
Eighteen years on, Benazir Bhutto’s legacy remains relevant beyond Pakistan. She represents what extremists fear most: a Muslim woman who believed in democracy, dialogue, and dissent without violence. Figures like Malala Yousafzai have acknowledged that such leadership paved the way for future generations of women to speak without apology.
Remembering Benazir Bhutto is not merely about mourning her death. It is about rejecting the ideology that celebrated it—whether in Rawalpindi, Kashmir, or anywhere else. It is about standing with those who chose resilience over rage, and courage over coercion.
She was silenced by extremists—but her ideas outlived them. And that, history shows, is the only victory that matters.
