Followed by a blatant cover up
We are introduced to Heraldo Munoz, former Chilean ambassador to the UN, as he is called up by Ban Ki-moon and asked to lead a commission into the assassination of Benazir Bhutto, killed in the full face of the public on 27 December 2007, on her return to Pakistan after exile.
Munoz has his reservations before he is urged to “go ahead and accept”. One feels for him as he points out that he is far from an expert of the region, and that the remit of the commission will have its limitations. It will only seek to shed light on the circumstances of the former prime minister’s murder and not attempt to establish criminal responsibilities. So “I could not force anyone to testify, my powers would be limited, and public expectations would be high.” A lose-lose case, Munoz fears, and so, in some respects, it turns out to be the case for this book too.
Written with all the charisma of a UN report, with repeated facts, repeated unknowns and also the repeated refrain that the culprits behind her death may never be known, this is the opposite of a dramatic read. Given the nature of the assassination – the Kennedy-style crowd killing in front of political supporters who felt Benazir might finally, this time, bring home the dream of democracy to Pakistan – it could have afforded to amp up the drama, even a little.
Munoz stresses how little we know about the killing because the crime scene was swiftly hosed down, among other systematic obfuscations. He also reflects on how the sinister activity around the aftermath of the assassination can be traced upwards – to the ISI (the Pakistani intelligence agency), to the police and the military. Sadly none of it is definitive, or deeply revelatory, though there are smaller moments that reveal detail, such as the idiocy of the emergency services that took Benazir not to the nearby hospital that stocked her blood type, but the one that didn’t.
The second aspect of the book comes as a potted history of previous high level assassinations in Pakistan, from Benazir’s grandfather, to both her brothers and former PMs Liaquat Ali Khan and Zia ul Haq, as well as a brief analysis of Pakistan’s relationship with America, and the history of Benazir’s special relationship with the West. It is necessary to contextualise her death but at the same time, these mini history lessons slow the assassination story down. Neither is Munoz’s analysis of Pakistani politics particularly profound. Other books have given us much more penetrating argument, such as Anatol Leven’s recent study.
There are a few human interest touches and in the absence of any deeper revelation, one wishes that Munoz had sprinkled more of these into his workman-like prose: that Benazir shopped for bulletproof vests with another of the Bhutto clan; that she received such a vest as a gift; and that not long before she died, she was offered a cookie on a plane and after first refusing because she was on a diet, she quipped: “Oh what’s the difference. I’ll be dead in a few months anyway.” Sadly prescient words.
Excerpts:
Certainly, there were some political actors openly opposed to our investigation. We also anticipated possible resistance and obstruction within sectors close to the army and the ISI secret service.
An article in The Guardian summarized the challenge we were facing: “The three-man unit… will find themselves plunged into a murky work of conspiracy theories, power politics, and conflicting agendas.” Indeed, Bhutto’s assassination was steeped in controversy. But The Guardian did not go far enough. The commission soon encountered a country deeply skeptical of authority and the justice system because of widespread corruption, abundant behind-the-scenes political deal making, and the regular impunity that had met previous unsolved political assassinations.
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The first visit to Islamabad began with a meeting with our chief contact in the Pakistani government and one of the principal advocates of the investigation, Interior Minister Rehman Malik. He was the key interlocutor in our investigation not only as the official point of contact in the government but also as the ex–security adviser of Benazir Bhutto and one of the close aides who had accompanied her on the day of the murder.
Rehman Malik resembled an Italian actor from a B movie. Graced with jet-black curly hair and sporting a mustache, he dressed sharply in impeccable suits – colorful ties, silk handkerchiefs regularly adorning the front jacket pocket – and pointed leather shoes. His capacity for hard work impressed us. On several occasions, we met with him at midnight, conversed until 2:00 or 3:00 in the morning, and saw him again at breakfast by 8:00 a.m., where he appeared fresh and ready while we struggled with jet lag and exhaustion due to lack of sleep.
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On this first meeting at the Ministry of the Interior, Malik expressed his satisfaction with the United Nations having agreed to conduct this investigation and with our personal commitment to carry out this challenging duty on behalf of Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon. Much to our astonishment, Minister Malik informed us that their own internal investigation had made great strides, that the police had confessions from four individuals accused of Benazir’s murder, and that they were in custody.
“I think your work will be made easy when you read this document,” Minister Malik said as he handed me a bound report entitled Summary of Investigation and Trial Conducted So Far for UN Fact-Finding Commission. The seventy-page report was dated June 20, 2009, signed by the Ministry of the Interior, and labeled “Restricted.”
“Thanks; I’m sure this will be very useful,” I responded while I quickly leafed through a few pages and saw that the index included annexes such as witness statements, a summary of the Scotland Yard report, a list of seized articles at the crime scene, names of court judges, special prosecutors, defense lawyers, and so forth.
“This is very complete,” Malik added. “This is your own report ready to be issued, of course, with the changes and additions that you may see fit.”
I looked at my fellow commissioners in puzzlement. The interior minister was handing us what he expected would be the draft final report of the Commission of Inquiry. In short, his message was that our investigation could very well conclude there and then; we did not have to bother with any detailed inquiry. It was a sign of things to come.
Our relationship with Minister Malik was rocky. He never satisfactorily answered our questions about his role and actions during the moments surrounding Bhutto’s assassination. Our insistence on checking details – for example, the distance between his vehicle and the scene of the crime at the moment of the attack – clearly made him uncomfortable. Malik informed us that he had received important information from a “brotherly country” about serious threats to Benazir Bhutto and himself; but despite our requests, he never furnished the details of those threats. On other occasions, he would provide us with incomplete information to be developed at a next conversation.
Our complaints were generally accommodated; but a few months after the start of our work, we did not feel as warmly welcomed as we did at the outset.
Visiting the scene of the crime was complicated. As it involved leaving the “red zone,” we made fake arrangements to go by helicopter the following day—Friday, July 17th—in the afternoon. We even put the details in our updated agenda. Instead, we left at 5:00 a.m. in a caravan of vehicles to avoid detection by anyone interested in blocking our work or harming us and to avoid the press that followed us everywhere.
The roads to Rawalpindi had little traffic, and they actually looked deserted, as the police blocked cross streets along our route for us. At Liaquat Bagh, the park where Benazir was assassinated, we expected to meet senior Rawalpindi police officers who had firsthand information about the events of December 27, 2007.
When we arrived at Liaquat Bagh, we found that the police had cordoned off a two-block perimeter. As we got out of our vehicles, I noticed a small crowd about two blocks away, behind police barriers. Peter Fitzgerald, the Irish commissioner, pointed out what was going on: “It’s the press, Heraldo. There are bunches of them.” In fact, we could see the cameras and telephoto lenses pointed toward us. Someone had tipped off the press about the exact time we would be at Liaquat Bagh.
The senior police officers guided us along the course that Benazir had taken to enter the parking lot and the back of the platform from where she had addressed the crowd. We went up the wooden steps, and I walked around where the dais would have been located that day. From there I commanded a good view of the entire park and the adjacent buildings. I saw sharpshooters on nearby rooftops who had been posted for our security. A Thai UN policeman in charge of my close protection promptly asked me to leave the platform. “This is not safe. You are too exposed,” he said.
We descended into the parking lot and walked the path Bhutto had followed out of Liaquat Bagh and stopped at the exact spot of her assassination. We asked many questions: Why had she turned right instead of left as originally planned? Why was the access to the left blocked? What preventive work had been done before her arrival? How many policemen and police vehicles were escorting her? Why were there so many people around her vehicle? Our staff took abundant notes. The policemen gave ample explanations that attempted to show they had done their job. Our retired Irish deputy police chief, Peter Fitzgerald, was skeptical. If everything had been so perfect, why then had the prime minister been assassinated? he asked me. We announced to the Pakistani officials that we needed to interrogate the Rawalpindi police officers separately during our visit.
Local media provided abundant coverage of our visit to Rawalpindi. The newspaper The Nation wrote that “amid tight security,” the UN commission team “parked a vehicle as was used by Benazir Bhutto at the time of assassination and examined the killing scene.” Then, the news story continued, “the team also examined the nearby buildings and trees at Liaquat Bagh. The U.N. officials took snaps of the site and made sketches, and also examined the stage where Benazir Bhutto had delivered her last address.”
We found many witnesses of the crime—politicians, diplomats, friends of Benazir Bhutto, and members of civil society—more than willing to cooperate, providing us with their testimony, opinions, and hypotheses about the murder. Military officials and policemen tended to be cautious and, in some cases, were visibly edgy about speaking to the commission. But some active and retired intelligence officials were much more forthcoming.
At the Sindh House, where we conducted the more sensitive interviews, we saw high uniformed officials become agitated and perspire profusely as they attempted to answer our queries. One fellow commissioner, former Indonesian attorney general Marzuki Darusman, was particularly calm about asking incisive questions and pointing out contradictions. The Rawalpindi policemen’s behavior shifted from initial arrogance and self-assuredness to defensive nervousness as we pressed them with detailed questions. “This guy is lying,” our former Irish cop announced at one point when Police Chief Saud Aziz repeatedly changed parts of his testimony or suddenly recalled facts he had claimed to have forgotten only after we presented him with evidence we already possessed.
Toward the end of the first visit, the commission’s media adviser, Ben Malor, counseled us to give a press conference to satisfy media curiosity and avoid speculation. The press conference, held at the Serena Hotel, attracted about six dozen journalists from media outlets around the world. As chairman of the commission, I gave a brief statement explaining the nature of our mandate. I hoped to lower expectations somewhat. The odds were against us that we would be able to identify culprits. As I told the journalists, our plan was to conduct interviews on a voluntary basis in Pakistan and abroad as needed. Then I described our agenda of official meetings during that first visit, thanked the government for providing us with detailed materials, and emphasized that since ours was not a criminal investigation, it was up to the competent Pakistani institutions to establish responsibilities in the crime. I also stressed that our work would be guided by objectivity, independence, and professionalism. Many questions were posed, some that revealed skepticism about the eventual outcome of the commission’s inquiry. Only one or two questions suggested a veiled hostility, including one about whether we would interview fugitive Taliban leader Baitullah Mehsud.
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As the work of the commission progressed, some interests in Pakistan apparently came to view it as menacing. Prior to our third visit in February 2010, our invitation to use the Sindh House was withdrawn, supposedly due to a request by the governor of Sindh. After we protested to Minister Malik, the house was again placed at our disposal. Commissioner Marzuki Darusman’s flight via state-owned Pakistan International Airlines from Jakarta to Islamabad was canceled, causing him to miss that third visit; some Pakistanis interpreted the cancellation as having been intentional.
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As we departed after our initial visit, protocol officials accompanied us to the airport VIP lounge. One individual, whom I remembered seeing during our arrival and who identified himself as a “diplomatic liaison,” approached me when I was seated, looking over papers and, after expressing that he hoped we had had a good visit, asked me who I thought had committed Benazir Bhutto’s assassination.
“Look, we just began our inquiry,” I said, trying to be courteous, “and as you know, it’s not up to us to identify culprits.”
“Yes, I understand. But do you at least have any sense about who might have done it?” he insisted.
“As I said, this is not part of our work,” I replied, a bit annoyed.
“But just think of it as a hypothesis: What’s your best hunch about who might have perpetrated the murder?”
It was such an obvious ploy to gather intelligence that I simply stood up and walked away to join the rest of the team members on the other end of the room.
When, aboard the plane, I told my colleagues about the disagreeable dialogue I had just had with the “diplomatic liaison” in the VIP room, one of them told me he had experienced exactly the same interrogation from the same individual. We never saw the “diplomatic liaison” again on any of our subsequent visits.
Benazir Bhutto’s Assassination and the Politics of Pakistan
Hardcover, 268 pages
Published by Norton
Available at Readings, Rs1995/-