the_taliban_shuffle_-_kim_barker

whenever we hit a town, or even an intersection, crowds swarmed,
bringing trac to a standstill. People ran through the maze of cars,
clutching handfuls of rose petals, trying to nd Chaudhry, whom they
called “chief.” At times it seemed like the SUV would be buried in
petals or people. Supporters pounded on the windows so insistently
that it occasionally felt like a zombie movie. They shook the vehicle.
Stickers and posters showed Chaudhry superimposed over crowds of
thousands like a political leader, or Chaudhry and the words “My
Hero.” Our soundtrack veered between cheering crowds and
loudspeakers, blaring a new hit song that repetitively asked army chief
Musharraf, “Hey, man, why don’t you take off your uniform?”
We reached Abbottabad at a ludicrous 11 PM—driving seventy miles
in fourteen hours, meaning an average speed of ve miles an hour. A
crowd of ten thousand people, mainly lawyers in their black suits and
white shirts, had waited in front of a stage since the afternoon.
Rebellion was everywhere. A moderator announced that the head of the
youth wing of Musharraf’s ruling party had quit to join the chief
justice’s movement. The mayor of Abbottabad, a military town, gave
Chaudhry a key to the city. The head of the courts for the province said
the government had asked him to stay away from the rally, but he
decided to come anyway.
Onstage various people gave speeches, but the highlight of the night
was denitely the lawyers, who sporadically burst into dancing conga
lines, tossing rose petals in the air. This felt like a party, but no one was
drunk.
Chaudhry nally took the stage at 2 AM. He looked at his notes, gave
ve minutes of thank-yous, and said he would make no political
statements. Instead he put on his glasses and diligently read a fteenminute
speech about the value of an independent judiciary and the
equality of law. He looked down at his notes and occasionally seemed
close to whispering. He reminded me of Andy Kaufman’s character
Latka on the sitcom Taxi, avoiding the hand-waving theatrics essential
to any popular Pakistani speaker.
It didn’t matter. The crowd roared.
This had been the longest day I had ever spent in Pakistan. It felt like