Quetta Blast on Eid Day; Mechid TV

کوئٹہ میں بم دھماکہ، پانچ ہلاک

دھماکے کا نشانہ بننے والے افراد کا تعلق شیعہ مسلک سے ہے
پاکستان کے صوبہ بلوچستان کے دارالحکومت کوئٹہ میں ایک بم دھماکےمیں پانچ افراد ہلاک اور دس زخمی ہوگئے ہیں۔

یہ دھماکہ میں گلستان روڈ پر اس وقت ہوا جب لوگ عید کی نماز ادا کرنے کے بعد واپس اپنے گھروں کی جانب جا رہے تھے۔

دھماکے میں ہلاک اور زخمی ہونے والے بیشتر افراد کا تعلق شیعہ مسلک سے ہے۔

اس دھماکے میں زخمی ہونے والوں میں بچے بھی شامل ہیں جنہیں دیگر زخمیوں کے ہمراہ فوری طور پر کوئٹہ کے سول ہسپتال اور سی ایم ایچ منتقل کر دیا گیا جہاں بعض زخمیوں کی حالت تشویشناک ہے۔

کوئٹہ سے بی بی سی کےنامہ نگار ایوب ترین کے مطابق پولیس حکام کا کہنا ہے کہ بظاہر دھماکہ ایک گاڑی میں نصب ریموٹ کنٹرول بم پھٹنے سے ہوا تاہم تحقیقات کے بعد ہی اصل صورتحال سامنے آئے گی۔

دھماکے سے جائے وقوعہ پر کھڑی متعدد گاڑیوں کو نقصان پہنچا اور ان میں آگ لگ گئی۔ اس واقعہ کے بعد سکیورٹی اہلکاروں کی بھاری نفری موقع پر پہنچ گئی اور علاقے کو گھیرے میں لے لیا۔

وزیراعلٰی بلوچستان نواب اسلم رئیسانی نے اس واقعے کی مذمت کی ہے اور پولیس کو دھماکے کے ذمہ داروں کے خلاف فوری کارروائی کا حکم دیا ہے۔

ادھر ہزارہ ڈیموکریٹک پارٹی کے چیئرمین عبدالخالق ہزارہ نے دھماکے کی مذمت کرتے ہوئے صوبے اور بالخصوص کوئٹہ شہر میں شیعہ مسلک سے تعلق رکھنے والے مسلمانوں کے خلاف کارروائیوں پر تشویش ظاہر کی ہے۔

انہوں نے بلوچستان کی حکومت سے مطالبہ کیا ہے کہ اس قسم کی کارروائیاں کرنے والے افراد کے خلاف سخت ایکشن لیا جائے۔

Source,

http://www.bbc.co.uk/urdu/pakistan/2011/08/110831_quetta_blast_zs.shtml

Quetta blast kills 5, injures 17 (Hazaras) on the eve of eid

Last Updated On 31 August,2011

A police official says a car bomb has exploded in Quetta, killing at least 5 people.

Abdul Jamil says the blast occurred on Wednesday as hundreds of people were leaving a mosque in Quetta, the capital of Baluchistan province.


The crowd had just finished morning prayers to mark Eid al-Fitr. Jamil says at least 17 people were wounded in the attack.
No group immediately claimed responsibility. A car bomb Wednesday killed at least five people and wounded 10 others in the restive southwestern Pakistani city of Quetta, police said.

The bomb exploded in a parking lot after Eid prayers, senior police official Mohammad Hashim told media.
"At least five people were killed and 10 others wounded," Hashim said.


"The bomb was planted in a car and an unidentified man parked it at the site and left."
Hashim said there had been no immediate claim of responsibility and police could not speculate who could be behind the bombing, although the blast site was in an area populated by minority Shiite Muslims.


Hospital official Rasheed Jamali said there was one woman among the five dead brought to hospital.
Witnesses said several cars parked nearby also caught fire and a house was damaged.


Live television footage showed swirls of thick, black smoke as people ran into the street, some pushing their cars to safety, while ambulances carried away the wounded.

Source,

http://www.dunyanews.tv/index.php?key=Q2F0SUQ9MiNOaWQ9MzczOTU=

At least 5 (Hazaras) die in Quetta blast: Samaa TV

Staff Report

QUETTA: At least five people were killed and 11 wounded when a powerful bomb went off outside Hazara Eidgah in Quetta on Wednesday.

The blast took place on Gulistan Road a few moments before the start of Eid prayers.

Rescue teams reached the scene and shifted the dead and the wounded to nearby hospitals. Some of the injured are reportedly in critical condition.

The blast also caused damages to several vehicles and nearby buildings.

Security forces cordoned off the area and started investigation.

Quetta Azadari Council has announced weeklong mourning against the blast.

In a separate statement, Hazara Democratic Party (HDP) has condemned the terrorist attack. SAMAA

Car bomb outside Quetta mosque kills four (more than 7 Hazaras) in Pakistan; BBC

31 August 2011 Last updated at 05:58 GMT


A car bomb has exploded in the south-western Pakistani city of Quetta, killing at least five people.

The bomb exploded in a parking lot as hundreds of people were leaving a mosque after Eid prayers, a senior police official said.

Police said the car with the bomb was parked at the site by an unidentified man. Nearly a dozen people are injured.

Pakistan is celebrating the festival of Eid which comes at the end of the fasting month of Ramadan.

News source,

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-south-asia-14727621

Bonds of hope and hardship

Ben Doherty and Kate Geraghty
August 20, 2011

Fearful ... Mohammad Akbar Sohrabi, fourth from left, with members of his extended family in their rented home where he remains largely in hiding. Photo: Kate Geraghty


A decade after their disastrous voyage, the Tampa asylum seekers sent back to Afghanistan are still on the run. Story by Ben Doherty. Photos by Kate Geraghty.
Sarwar had been home a week when they came for him. After more than two years away from Afghanistan - on leaky boats and in refugee camps, seeking a new country to call home - he returned to his village in Ghazni province.
"He was at his home for one week when some men, some Taliban, came on motorbikes. They took him from his house and they killed him. They dragged him outside and choked him to death with barbed wire.
"His wife and children saw him killed. They fled. I don't know where they are now," Mohammad Akbar Sohrabi says.


Sohrabi carries a photo of Sarwar. It's mixed up among the meagre possessions he has from his time overseas, alongside a flimsy passport with an incorrect birth date and a Nauru stamp in it.
The shopkeeper and the metalworker were firm friends at Topside, the Australian-run refugee camp on Nauru. The photograph shows them in happy times, seated, making preparations for one of the occasional parties the detainees held. Then, they believed they would be resettled in Australia.
Eventually though, pressured to return to Afghanistan, they flew home together, "but we faced the same problems, the same people, waiting for us".


It was Sohrabi who warned his friend not to go home, that his village wasn't safe. "But he went, and he died. He was innocent, he was a very decent man. God willing," Sohrabi says, "I am still alive."
But he remains in hiding.
Over the course of the seemingly endless warring of his Afghan lifetime, Sohrabi has lost three family members to insurgent attacks. He lives in fear he will be next.
He rarely leaves his home, except to work, and worries for his children who run serious risks simply by walking to school every day.
IN THE eyes of the Taliban, the sins of Rauf* are legion.
He is Hazara, an ethnicity regarded as un-Afghan, barely human, by the Pashtun militants. He is a Christian, an abomination in Islamic fundamentalist eyes, and a left-wing political activist. But his greatest crime, perhaps, was teaching girls to read.
Rauf can no longer live in Afghanistan and is in hiding in a South Asian country. His family cannot contact him and the friends who once sheltered him have told him it is no longer safe for him to stay.
Sitting in a secure room in a foreign city far from his homeland, Rauf remains wary; he faces the door as we speak and asks that the curtains be closed.
He describes an isolation that has enveloped his entire existence: "I see only one friend. Always, always I am very lonely."
After being returned to Afghanistan from Nauru in 2003, he moved back to his village in the Jaghori Valley in the central province of Ghazni.
The schools there had been ruined, the buildings robbed of books and stationery, the teachers chased out of town.
Rauf had taught English to other asylum seekers in detention on Nauru so, using what little money his family could gather, and funds from international donors, he set up literacy centres in some of the poorest communities in Afghanistan.
In one village in Uruzgan, where not a single woman or girl could read, he started teaching girls in a tent-cum-school. "On the third day, the Taliban attacked," he says, his voice faltering.
"It was just becoming dark, they had come there by motorbikes … [and] everything they took, the stationery, the books, they burned the tents. They destroyed everything."
Other schools survived longer. From one centre in Qarabagh, 34 women were able to graduate a basic literacy course.
But last year, he was kidnapped, bundled into a car, blindfolded and beaten for five days before he was released, threatened that unless he paid off his captors they would come back and kill him.
Since then, he has been on the run, moving between houses, between cities and countries.
"I cannot return. They will come for me again, and they can do anything. No one can stop [them]. They will kill me."
A decade after his first attempt to reach Australia failed, Rauf is trying again. Now recognised by the UNHCR as a refugee, he is in the process of applying for a protection visa, having been denied one last year.
"I want to go legally. To Australia I hope, but anywhere, and I hope soon, because I cannot live like this."
SARWAR and Rauf were just two of the 433 asylum seekers, mostly ethnic Hazara from Afghanistan, who boarded the undersized and ill-prepared Palapa in Jakarta on August 23, 2001.
Barely 24 hours later, the engine failed and the stricken boat began to take on water before those on board were picked up by the Norwegian freighter MV Tampa and carried to Australian waters. So began a dramatic chain of events that would eventually see 179 of the asylum seekers sent back to Afghanistan. (See story, page 6.)
A decade on from the Tampa, the Herald has spent six months tracking Tampa returnees who had been sent back to Afghanistan from Nauru.
The group, bound together by two years in detention on the remote and isolated island of Nauru, has become a splintered diaspora.
Few keep in contact. Few can. Rumours of what has happened to others sweep across the scattered group through chance meetings and common contacts.
Many Tampa returnees have simply disappeared: walked to work one day and never come back. Others have fled again, to Iran, Pakistan, Tajikistan, on to Europe or back to Australia. Some - it has been reported as many as 20 - have been killed by the Taliban in their homes and villages. And some have died trying to escape again.
There is no archetype of a Tampa returnee's story. But common threads run through many. Financial hardship, near ruin, is one.
While some Tampa asylum seekers were poor, seeking economic opportunity as well as safety, many on board were people of means. Several whom the Herald met were business owners in the days before the Taliban.
They sold everything they owned - businesses, stock, homes and cars - to finance their shot at getting to Australia. And despite Afghanistan's shaky wartime economy, some have since managed to rebuild lives of relative prosperity. But most now eke out an existence on Afghanistan's crowded margins.
Mohammad Zahir Rasouli sold his farmland, his house and his partnership in a car to finance his trip to Australia. Still it wasn't enough for the people smugglers, so he borrowed heavily. A decade later, he is mired in debt.
"After all these years, I haven't paid them back. They are friends, so they never ask, but I am still in debt and I can't pay it back," Rasouli says.
He now works as a shop assistant in a grocery store, trying to feed his own family - his wife and three sons - as well as two nephews, the children of his brother who was killed by the Taliban.
"I work here as a shop assistant and I can only earn [enough to] take care of the food. What I earn, that much we eat."
Separation from family is another recurring theme.
Shir Ahmad Ahmadi's eldest child was kidnapped when the family's political enemies came to his house looking for him. He paid a large bribe to have his 19-year-old son released and then told him to flee. He does not expect ever to see him again.
"I said to him: 'you must run now … don't come back, because you know what happens to people here'."
Mohammad Naim Akbari's wife and seven children live in his home village in Jaghori.
He sends them money when he can, from wherever he is, occasionally as close as a couple of hundred kilometres.
"I have seen my family only twice in the last five years. They are in my home, but I cannot go to my village, it is not safe for me there. The Taliban will kill me.
"I personally think I have been in hell, not on earth, but I was forced to. What can I do?"
Finally, the element that appears common to almost all the Tampa returnees' stories - wherever the past decade has taken them - is the fear they are not yet safe.
They have lost family members, seen fellow asylum seekers killed. They have been kidnapped, beaten and robbed, been frozen out of jobs and reduced to begging. They have faced death threats and had their homes razed.
The salient story of Mohammad Hussain Mirzaee, told time and again to the Herald across south and central Asia, seems to haunt many of the returnees.
In 2008, Mirzaee, a Tampa returnee and a former anti-Taliban fighter, was caught by insurgents and dragged to his home village. There, in front of 35 members of his family, he was beaten and thrown down a well.
His tormentors threw a hand grenade down after him, decapitating him.
Naim Akbari was his friend.
"We all worry, because who is next? This is the ending story of all of us."
*Not his real name.

Source Article,

http://www.smh.com.au/national/bonds-of-hope-and-hardship-20110819-1j2ct.html

Interview with Phil Grabsky, Director of The Boy Mir: Ten Years in Afghanistan

Author: Rickflix — Published: Aug 27, 2011 at 9:51 pm

I recently had the opportunity to interview Phil Grabsky, director of The Boy Mir: Ten Years in Afghanistan, a new feature-length documentary that offers an unusually intimate portrait of a young boy growing up in the remote reaches of Afghanistan over the last decade. From eight to about eighteen, we watch Mir's life unfold with his family, as they struggle to survive, distant but impacted by the battle's for Afghanistan's future. This is actually Grabsky's second feature film about Mir. The award-winning "The Boy Who Plays on the Buddhas of Bamiyan" (2004), followed Mir and his family during a single year as they struggled to survive in the aftermath of Taliban rule, living in the shadow of what had been the tallest sculptures in the world - the Buddhas of Bamiyan - which the Taliban had destroyed to international outrage in 2001.

A large part of the appeal of both films is Mir himself - an intelligent, charismatic boy facing daily hardships that force him to often interrupt his schooling to work in the fields to help sustain his family. As he grows into a teenager, his hopes dreams, humor - and even his material wishes (a bike, a motorcycle, a cell phone) will seem familiar to kids and adults the world over.

Grabsky, based in Brighton, U.K., remembers the very event that triggered both Mir films. On July 2nd, 2002, a U.S. aircraft accidentally fired on an Afghan wedding, perhaps reacting to perceving celebratory gunfire as a threat. The attack killed and wounded dozens - and haunted Grabsky, "I thought to myself, alright, step back from that. Imagine your own wedding day, my wedding day, out of the blue sky - they don't even see this plane - out of the blue sky, one minute everyone's dancing and happy, and the next minute people are literally in bits."
"I thought, who are the Afghans? They can't all be terrorists, they can't all be mute women behind burkhas. And I was just interested, and I thought I'lll just go and find out myself."
Though well traveled, Grabsky had never been to Afghanistan and didn't speak the language - yet he wanted to tell a personal story. A filmmaker with over twenty-five years of experience, he began with a guiding principle.
"I think as a filmmaker," he explains, "there comes a point when you do everything you can to get into a position where you're engineering yourself to be lucky."
In an unfamiliar - and sometimes dangerous place like Afghanistan, his first task was to find a local fixer, "but they're more than that - they're journalists, they're security advisors - your Afghan right hand man. That's absolutely key, and that was an important entrée into society. He was the one that talked to everybody. He was the one who put my questions in a way that they would understand and respond to. He organized my food, my security and my transport."

Grabsky's greatest responsibility, then - and something he feels many documentary filmmakers often "get wrong" - was to show respect. "You are not a big deal. You mustn't think that because you have the camera and you're from England, you're from the West - somehow these are "little people" and they should be grateful that you turned up. " Grabsky's subjects had been through war - they had lost relatives, and seen others tortured. They lived traumatized lives. He found that most adults by that time were exhausted and depressed - but their children - like most children - still had hope.

Still, the challenge of creating an honest film required establishing a level of trust with his subjects - and a recognition of Grabsky's own impact on his surroundings. "I think that the minute you pull out a camera you are intervening, and actually it's much more realistic to think to yourself, 'How do I manage the intervention?'"

As a camera at a demonstration might encourage some to say or do something they wouldn't do otherwise, Grabsky was acutely aware of his own intervention in Mir's life. Much of his time with the family wasn't spent filming, but talking with Mir, his family and others - building trust and getting to know his subjects - off camera.

It helped that Grabsky's crew was small - generally only himself and his Afghan colleague - and a small, unimposing camera (beginning with Sony's legendary PD-150), a couple of radio microphones, and an on-board directional microphone. There were times when his colleague, who also developed a high level of trust with the family, would shoot in situations where Grabsky's presence wasn't possible or preferable. As a result, The Boy Mir includes rare insights into the relationship between MIr's parents and Afghan family dynamics, and fascinating glimpses into common misconceptions of the western world.

Perhaps Phil Grabksy's most important consideration was Mir himself. Intervening in an adult's life was one thing - intervening in a child's life was an even greater consideration.

Early in the project, at the close of his second trip to Afghanistan, Grabsky asked Mir if there was anything he would like to have. Mir responded, "A cuddly toy." Only then did Grabsky realize that MIr had never had a cuddly toy. During the rule of the Taliban, human and animal representations of any kind - even children's toys - were banned. Returning home to England, Grabsky shared the story with his young daughter, who had a menagerie of cuddly toys. She chose one in particular - an Applalachian brown bear (an artifact of another Grabsky film about Dolly Parton's "Dollywood" theme park). When Grabsky returned to Afghanistan, he brought the cuddly toy to Mir, and "he was overjoyed when I gave it to him, to the extent that I had to say, you know what, you've got to hide that," to preserve the perceived authenticity of the film, "but he couldn't, because he loved it so much."
The greatest appeal of The Boy Mir is the director's clear respect for his subject - and it's a respect that extends far beyond the on-camera portrait and gifts of toys and clothes. It continues to this day.
After conferring with colleagues and Afghan aid experts, Grabsky decided to provide modest compensation for the family throughout the filming. While there are some documentarians might consider the practice unethical - and might consider it disruptive, Grabsky believed that "ultimately, it was the right thing to do."
He decided to provide compensation equal to three months wages, but carefully avoided a level of compensation that could encourage dependency. He also showed respect to those in Mir's village - providing funding to fix the roof of Mir's school, for example - but making it clear it was at the request of the family - and not his own decision.
Grabsky also created a trust fund for Mir, contributing to it through the years as he children's own account. As an adult, Mir will soon have access to some of the funds - which could allow him to rise out of the abject poverty of his youth to further his education if he wishes, or even go into business for himself (For more information on Mir's fund and the film, check out theboymir.com).
Though the culture and situation may be alien to most westerners, coming of age and family themes are universal. Audiences connect with Mir, perhaps, because they see themselves.
The Boy Mir: Ten Years in Afghanistan, though, is about a real person - his fate now forever altered by a filmmaker who told his story - and respected his life.

Source,

http://blogcritics.org/video/article/interview-with-phil-grabsky-director-of/page-3/