Three months into his worst ever crisis, President Musharraf is cracking down on Pakistan's vibrant, independent media, writes Graham Usher in Islamabad On 31 May, military analyst Ayesha Siddiqa launched her book Military Inc: Inside Pakistan's Military Economy, an investigation into the army's penetration of the Pakistan economy, an "empire" Siddiqa estimates to be worth $10 billion. But the launch was unusual. The venue -- an NGO office in Islamabad -- was very small. The audience was not only several hundreds. It included political leaders, diplomats, the international press corps and at least one former foreign secretary. The launch was to have been held in the prestigious Islamabad Club. But one or other of Pakistan's intelligence agencies warned it to withdraw the facility. They also warned every hotel in the capital not to offer alternatives. Even public parks were off-limits on the grounds that the launch might constitute illegal assembly. "It reflects the military's mindset,' said Siddiqa at the launch. "The government is very nervous. Everything now is seen as an assault on the army". The ban (and the audience) also exposed just how polarised Pakistan has become -- three months after President Pervez Musharraf suspended his Chief Justice Iftikar Mohamed Chaudhry and kicked off what has become the most serious crisis he and his army has faced since they seized power in a coup in 1999. Three recent decisions have levered the crisis to a higher plane, say analysts. The first was a notice from Musharraf on 30 May that the Pakistani media should not "politicise" the chief justice affair through "unbalanced reporting and presentation". The second was the army leadership's endorsement on 1 June of Musharraf's dual position as president and army chief of staff (it has been a core demand of those supporting the chief justice that Musharraf give up one or other post; it is the view of the chief justice that Musharraf's continued holding of both positions is unconstitutional). The third was the government's decision on 2 June to ban TV stations broadcasting live coverage of opposition or pro-chief justice rallies. The next day saw the government jam a discussion programme on the chief justice being broadcast by Pakistan's Geo TV station. A letter was circulated to other media outlets "advising" them not to air programmes that have an "anti-state attitude" or cast "aspersions against the judiciary and the integrity of the armed forces of Pakistan". Finally, three well-known journalists in Karachi received bullets wrapped in envelopes -- no small threat in a country that has had 19 journalists killed since 2001. There is no mystery why the independent media would be targeted. Rarely in Pakistani history has the media been so influential in determining public perception of an issue. In the view of analyst Ayaz Amir, the crisis caused by the chief justice's suspension is "the first tele- movement in the country's history, its impact such that entertainment programmes have had to yield place to judicial and political news. When the chief justice goes to address a Bar Association, the nation, glued to its TV sets, goes with him." It was television that gave the public its first defining image of the crisis -- Musharraf in uniform dismissing the chief justice in court dress. But more than this, the independent media have been at the eye of the storm from the moment it broke out. In March, police ransacked Geo TV's studios in Islamabad, an act that caused outrage across the nation and forced Musharraf into going live on TV to apologise. On 12 May Aaj Television -- another independent outlet -- was caught in a crossfire between pro and anti-government forces in Karachi that not only left nearly 50 people dead but exposed, overwhelmingly, that it was the pro-government forces doing the firing. And on 26 May both Geo and Aaj gave uninterrupted coverage to another rally outside the Supreme Court where speakers not only demanded "Go, Musharraf, go!" but called for the army's return to barracks. It was clearly the last straw. But will censorship turn the tide? On 2 June Chaudhry addressed the Bar Association in Abbottabad, a town 75 miles from Islamabad. An estimated 50,000 people turned out to greet him. They included the usual judges, lawyers and opposition activists but also workers, students, housewives and Pakistanis from every walk of life. Nor were the slogans just for Chaudhry's reinstatement, Musharraf's resignation and an independent judiciary, they were also for lower prices, better schools, a fairer distribution between rich and poor and an end to Musharraf's pro-American foreign policies. "The chief justice has become the symbol of opposition to all aspects of military rule," says Amir. Monir Malik agrees. He is head of the Supreme Court Bar Association in Islamabad and a leading advocate in the chief justice's defence team. He says that with the chief justice crisis a "line has been crossed" and the people will no longer accept a "general as president" or even the army in politics. But he is anything but complacent about the government now turning the screws on the media. It augurs further pressure and violence, he says. But it may be unavoidable. "Dictatorships rarely give up without a fight."
