By IPS Correspondents
RAWALPINDI, Pakistan, Oct 27 2006 (IPS)

Sitting on a red plastic stool behind the iron bars that form a caged courtyard outside Cell 74, Mirza Tahir Hussain, though only 36, looks like an old man. His white untrimmed beard, the long salt-and-pepper hair and a slight shuffle in his gait expose a life of constant worry.
IPS spoke with Tahir at the prison before the news came that his execution – he was to be hanged Nov. 1 – had once again been postponed.

Sitting on a red plastic stool behind the iron bars that form a caged courtyard outside Cell 74, Mirza Tahir Hussain, though only 36, looks like an old man. His white untrimmed beard, the long salt-and-pepper hair and a slight shuffle in his gait expose a life of constant worry.

His stress comes from living 18 years with a death sentence over his head for the murder of a taxi driver, which Tahir says was committed in self-defence. Though he was found innocent in criminal court, the native of Leeds, England was sentenced to die by a ruling of the religious Federal Shariat Court in 1988.

Tahir’s execution has been postponed four times now. The latest reprieve was announced last week in the wake of mounting international pressure from the highest authorities in the United Kingdom and the European Union. The most recent plea came from Charles, the Prince of Wales, who is scheduled to arrive in Pakistan with his wife Oct. 29 for a six-day visit.

Tahir was scheduled to be hanged Nov. 1, three days after Prince Charles was due to arrive. Pressure had been put on the prince by some British parliamentarians to cancel the trip. The prince’s spokesman said in a statement that the heir to the British throne expressed his concern for Tahir’s fate in a letter to Prime Minister Shaukat Aziz and called for Tahir’s immediate release.

Prince Charles’ letter joins earlier pleas on Tahir’s behalf. British Prime Minister Tony Blair raised the issue with General Pervez Musharraf when the Pakistani president visited London last month. Blair told the House of Commons Oct. 18 that he had raised the issue “constantly with Pakistani authorities” and called on Musharraf to pardon to the Briton.

Away from the political maelstrom, Tahir takes it all in his stride as he sits on the stool outside his four-by-three-metre cell and talks with this reporter who has been smuggled in as a family member. During the interview, during the Holy Month of Ramadan, neither Tahir nor the interviewer knew of the president’s decision to postpone the execution.

“We’re powerless in our choice of death. And it does not matter how we die. What matters is that we have prepared ourselves to face our Creator by our good deeds and if He will be pleased with us or not,” says Tahir, with no inkling of irony in his voice.

He is only one prisoner among the 5,000-plus inmates in the Adiala Jail, which was built to accommodate 2,000 prisoners. He is also the only one who is not wearing the rust-coloured shalwar kameeze jail uniform. Instead, he wears white, the colour of purity. It is a concession the guards have made only for him.

“The jail authorities have been very kind and let me wear white. I love white, especially while praying during Ramadan.” he says. He speaks politely and gently. He keeps his dignity in spite of his surroundings.

He has come a long way from the raw 18-year-old who, when he first heard the court order, felt as if the “earth had suddenly been pulled away from underneath my feet and that I seemed to be falling into an abyss.”

Now, he appears calm, accepting his plight. “I have been preparing for my death,” he says. Tahir adds that he has always been religiously inclined, and it is this unwavering faith in God that has helped ward off his fears.

Though formal education for him stopped with the shot of a gun when he was 18, Tahir continues to learn. He bides his time reading the Quran and assimilating the philosophy of his favourite poet Allama Iqbal. He has learnt 15 of the 30 chapters of the Quran by heart, “although I think I’m beginning to forget and need to review them.”

Asked if he has ever prayed to God that he die a natural death before he can be taken to the gallows, he does not answer directly, replying, “It does not matter how you die for this sojourn is a mere transit.”

Still, he knows well the execution procedure. During his 18-year ordeal, he has lived in two prisons, Kot Lakhpat in Lahore and now in Adiala. In that time, he estimates he has seen more than 50 prisonmates go to the gallows.

“Just two days before you are to be executed, you are taken away and put in a different cell, near the gallows. Right before the execution you are asked to take a bath and pray. The execution always takes place in the thick of the night,” he explains calmly, almost without emotion.

He knew most of the executed well, for “we were after all in the same boat.” It’s depressing, he says, to bid them the final goodbye. Some leave in a dignified manner, others resist and create a ruckus, while some become eerily quiet.

In August, another month during which he had been scheduled to die, he had written a letter to the taxi driver’s family begging forgiveness. Two years ago, he met the deceased’s uncle Sohbat Khan in the Lahore prison and personally asked for his mercy. So far the family has demanded just one thing – his death.

Tahir says he can understand their anger. They have suffered these long years just as he has.

That burden – the fact that he has ended another man’s life – weighs heavily on him. He cannot change the past, he says, adding that it had to happen, as it was ordained by God.

Still, if the victim’s family did accept the settlement of blood money, it would ease President Musharraf’s political dilemma. One would think that the Pakistani people would be slightly vexed that so much attention was being paid to a British Muslim, when scores of Pakistanis also languish in jails all over the country.

Yet Tahir has managed to retain public sympathy, probably because of the compelling circumstances of the case. Tahir was 18 and visiting his homeland for the first time by himself when he was held up by the taxi driver. Tahir fought back, the driver’s gun went off, killing the driver. Tahir, panicked, drove the taxi to the police station to report the incident.

Because Musharraf refused earlier clemency pleas, political analysts believe that if he pardoned Tahir now, it would be seen as bowing to Western international pressure. In his seven-year rule, the president has not once granted clemency to anyone on death row.

Rights activists, however, maintain that appeals for his release should not be granted because Western pressure has been applied, but rather on humanitarian grounds.

For the moment, Musharraf appears to cope with the case by simply moving the execution date each time the deadline approaches.

While each delay brings temporary relief for Tahir’s family, it also brings a torment that the nightmare never will end. His brother Amjad Hussain, who has spent 18 years mobilising support, says that with each new date they all die a little.

Constant reprieves are “just not good enough,” Amjad says. “He has spent enough years in prison.”

Amjad’s goal is to persuade Musharraf to commute the sentence to life imprisonment, which typically means spending 11 to 14 years behind bars. Because Tahir already has served 18 years, he would be eligible to be freed, Amjad says.

The years in prison, the constant mental stress and the preparation for his execution have not left Tahir unmarked. In addition to the premature aging, Tahir may well suffer from a sense of alienation, post-traumatic stress syndrome or paranoid tendencies, according to psychologist Asha Bedar.

Tahir has not experienced life or seen what the outside world looks like for half his life. He has learnt what he has by reading books of scholars and the Quran. By choice, he neither reads contemporary literature nor watches TV, “for the filth it churns out.” Instead, he tries hard to live with the sin of having killed someone.

Still, Tahir does not appear to have lost hope: He still plans ahead to a life outside of prison.

When asked where he would like to settle if he were to be released, Tahir answers, “If my family agrees, I’d like to stay in Pakistan and look for a way to support myself, although I’m really not qualified.”

Excerpt:

By IPS Correspondents
RAWALPINDI, Pakistan, Oct 27 2006 (IPS)

Sitting on a red plastic stool behind the iron bars that form a caged courtyard outside Cell 74, Mirza Tahir Hussain, though only 36, looks like an old man. His white untrimmed beard, the long salt-and-pepper hair and a slight shuffle in his gait expose a life of constant worry.

His stress comes from living 18 years with a death sentence over his head for the murder of a taxi driver, which Tahir says was committed in self-defence. Though he was found innocent in criminal court, the native of Leeds, England was sentenced to die by a ruling of the religious Federal Shariat Court in 1988.

Tahir’s execution has been postponed four times now. The latest reprieve was announced last week in the wake of mounting international pressure from the highest authorities in the United Kingdom and the European Union. The most recent plea came from Charles, the Prince of Wales, who is scheduled to arrive in Pakistan with his wife Oct. 29 for a six-day visit.

Tahir was scheduled to be hanged Nov. 1, three days after Prince Charles was due to arrive. Pressure had been put on the prince by some British parliamentarians to cancel the trip. The prince’s spokesman said in a statement that the heir to the British throne expressed his concern for Tahir’s fate in a letter to Prime Minister Shaukat Aziz and called for Tahir’s immediate release.

Prince Charles’ letter joins earlier pleas on Tahir’s behalf. British Prime Minister Tony Blair raised the issue with General Pervez Musharraf when the Pakistani president visited London last month. Blair told the House of Commons Oct. 18 that he had raised the issue “constantly with Pakistani authorities” and called on Musharraf to pardon to the Briton.

Instead, Pakistani authorities appear to have simply postponed the hanging. He is now scheduled to be executed Dec. 31. Pakistani authorities denied the decision to extend the stay of execution was a result of foreign pressure. Nor, they add, does the reprieve show of weakening on the part of the president. Instead, it is meant to give relatives time to reach a mutually acceptable compromise, they said. Under Pakistani law, if relatives of the murdered man agree, the accused can go free.

“We’re powerless in our choice of death. And it does not matter how we die. What matters is that we have prepared ourselves to face our Creator by our good deeds and if He will be pleased with us or not,” says Tahir, with no inkling of irony in his voice.

He is only one prisoner among the 5,000-plus inmates in the Adiala Jail, which was built to accommodate 2,000 prisoners. He is also the only one who is not wearing the rust-coloured shalwar kameeze jail uniform. Instead, he wears white, the colour of purity. It is a concession the guards have made only for him.

“The jail authorities have been very kind and let me wear white. I love white, especially while praying during Ramadan.” he says. He speaks politely and gently. He keeps his dignity in spite of his surroundings.

He has come a long way from the raw 18-year-old who, when he first heard the court order, felt as if the “earth had suddenly been pulled away from underneath my feet and that I seemed to be falling into an abyss.”

Now, he appears calm, accepting his plight. “I have been preparing for my death,” he says. Tahir adds that he has always been religiously inclined, and it is this unwavering faith in God that has helped ward off his fears.

Though formal education for him stopped with the shot of a gun when he was 18, Tahir continues to learn. He bides his time reading the Quran and assimilating the philosophy of his favourite poet Allama Iqbal. He has learnt 15 of the 30 chapters of the Quran by heart, “although I think I’m beginning to forget and need to review them.”

Asked if he has ever prayed to God that he die a natural death before he can be taken to the gallows, he does not answer directly, replying, “It does not matter how you die for this sojourn is a mere transit.”

Still, he knows well the execution procedure. During his 18-year ordeal, he has lived in two prisons, Kot Lakhpat in Lahore and now in Adiala. In that time, he estimates he has seen more than 50 prisonmates go to the gallows.

“Just two days before you are to be executed, you are taken away and put in a different cell, near the gallows. Right before the execution you are asked to take a bath and pray. The execution always takes place in the thick of the night,” he explains calmly, almost without emotion.

He knew most of the executed well, for “we were after all in the same boat.” It’s depressing, he says, to bid them the final goodbye. Some leave in a dignified manner, others resist and create a ruckus, while some become eerily quiet.

In August, another month during which he had been scheduled to die, he had written a letter to the taxi driver’s family begging forgiveness. Two years ago, he met the deceased’s uncle Sohbat Khan in the Lahore prison and personally asked for his mercy. So far the family has demanded just one thing – his death.

Tahir says he can understand their anger. They have suffered these long years just as he has.

That burden – the fact that he has ended another man’s life – weighs heavily on him. He cannot change the past, he says, adding that it had to happen, as it was ordained by God.

Still, if the victim’s family did accept the settlement of blood money, it would ease President Musharraf’s political dilemma. One would think that the Pakistani people would be slightly vexed that so much attention was being paid to a British Muslim, when scores of Pakistanis also languish in jails all over the country.

Yet Tahir has managed to retain public sympathy, probably because of the compelling circumstances of the case. Tahir was 18 and visiting his homeland for the first time by himself when he was held up by the taxi driver. Tahir fought back, the driver’s gun went off, killing the driver. Tahir, panicked, drove the taxi to the police station to report the incident.

Because Musharraf refused earlier clemency pleas, political analysts believe that if he pardoned Tahir now, it would be seen as bowing to Western international pressure. In his seven-year rule, the president has not once granted clemency to anyone on death row.

Rights activists, however, maintain that appeals for his release should not be granted because Western pressure has been applied, but rather on humanitarian grounds.

For the moment, Musharraf appears to cope with the case by simply moving the execution date each time the deadline approaches.

While each delay brings temporary relief for Tahir’s family, it also brings a torment that the nightmare never will end. His brother Amjad Hussain, who has spent 18 years mobilising support, says that with each new date they all die a little.

Constant reprieves are “just not good enough,” Amjad says. “He has spent enough years in prison.”

Amjad’s goal is to persuade Musharraf to commute the sentence to life imprisonment, which typically means spending 11 to 14 years behind bars. Because Tahir already has served 18 years, he would be eligible to be freed, Amjad says.

The years in prison, the constant mental stress and the preparation for his execution have not left Tahir unmarked. In addition to the premature aging, Tahir may well suffer from a sense of alienation, post-traumatic stress syndrome or paranoid tendencies, according to psychologist Asha Bedar.

Tahir has not experienced life or seen what the outside world looks like for half his life. He has learnt what he has by reading books of scholars and the Quran. By choice, he neither reads contemporary literature nor watches TV, “for the filth it churns out.” Instead, he tries hard to live with the sin of having killed someone.

Still, Tahir does not appear to have lost hope: He still plans ahead to a life outside of prison.

When asked where he would like to settle if he were to be released, Tahir answers, “If my family agrees, I’d like to stay in Pakistan and look for a way to support myself, although I’m really not qualified.”

Excerpt: