MQM Targets Sunni Tehrik

Karachi is the biggest and most unfortunate city of Pakistan, as Motahhida Qaumi Movement has literally taken it hostage and it’s terrorists have choked the city. Their recent target is the Sunni Tehrik.

After getting rid of the whole of leadership of Sunni Tehrik in Nishtar Park Karachi couple of years ago, now MQM is doing serial killing of the sector incharges and prominent leaders of Sunni Tehrik.

According to the media reports, two leaders of Sunni Tehrik were killed last week after being kidnapped in a fresh wave of terrorism in the city of Karachi which has become accustomed to such atrocities. MQM goons kidnapped these two persons and their bodies were recovered after some time.

Their bodies were recovered in the jurisdiction of Rizvia, Nazimabad no 2 police station. They were shot dead after being severely tortured. Incidents like this have become a routine, and all fingers are pointing towards Governor House, Sindh.


4 thoughts on “MQM Targets Sunni Tehrik”

  1. Its sad when i see my brothers fighting over little things,either MQM or SUNNI TEHREEK we are all brailvi muslims and from mohajir back ground…we need to be united and show some unity against those wahabi,deobandi,salafi kafirs,who are killer of innocent muslims and sunnis.2006 nishter park blast,was done by deobandi wahabi terrorits…so please forget the difference,save our sunni and mohajir community……….wasalam

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  2. assalamo-alikum brother & sisters in islam

    this incident reminds me of a english poem written by a african writter.”not my bussiness” i think the poem title would already have auggested you what i am going to say next

    We all care for ourselves and say to ourselves its not our turn yet so there;s no need to worry about these MQM goons, we are safe

    But one day allah na karey we face this (inshallah) , so we need to start defending each other rather being selfish and saying its not our turn yet and we are safe from these goons and do something together.

    REad the poem below and the interpretation

    Niyi Osundare: Not My Business
    This poem is about shared responsibility and the way that tyranny grows if no one opposes it. It is composed, simply, of three stories about victims of the oppressors, followed by the experience of the speaker in the poem. The poet is Nigerian but the situation in the poem could be from many countries. It echoes, in its four parts, a statement by Pastor Martin Niemöller, who opposed the Nazis. Speaking later to many audiences he would conclude with these words, more or less:

    “First, they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out because I was not a socialist. Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out because I was not a trade unionist. Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out because I was not a Jew. Then they came for me, and there was no one left to speak for me.”
    The oppressors are not specified, only identified by the pronoun “they” – but we suppose them to be the agents of the state, perhaps soldiers or police officers. The first story is Akanni’s – he is seized in the morning, beaten then taken away in a jeep. We do not know if he ever returned.

    The second victim is Danladi – whose family is awoken at night. Danladi is away for a long time (though there is a hint that this person eventually comes back). Last comes Chinwe, who has been an exemplary worker (she has a “stainless record”) but finds that she has been given the sack without any warning or reason.

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    After each of these three accounts, the speaker in the poem asks what business it is of his (or hers) – with the implication that these people’s experiences are not connected to him. The speaker’s only concern is for the next meal (“the yam” in “my savouring mouth”).

    The poem ends with a knock on the door, and the oppressors’ jeep parked outside. There seems some justice in the timing of the appearance of the jeep: “As I sat down to eat my yam”.

    The poet makes it clear that the oppressors thrive when their victims act only for themselves – if they organize, then they can be stronger. Niyi Osundare also criticizes the character in the poem for thinking only of food – or perhaps understands that, in a poor country, hunger is a powerful weapon of the tyrant.

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    It is easy to take for granted the freedoms some of us enjoy in liberal democracies. But these are not found everywhere. There are housing estates, places of work and even schools where these basic liberties may be lost for some reason – anywhere where bullies find that their victims do not stand up for themselves or resist their power. Osundare makes it clear that it is always our business.

    The poem has a very clear structure – we are told the time of each of the episodes and what happened, followed by the refrain: “What business of mine is it…?” Except for the last occasion – because it is obvious now that it (the state terror) is everyone’s business. And now it is more obviously the speaker’s business. We do not yet know what “they” have in store for this next victim, but we do not suppose it to be pleasant. And it turns out that merely to keep quiet and try not to be noticed is no guarantee of safety. Why not? Because the oppressors are not reasonable people who pick only on the troublemakers – they sustain a reign of terror by the randomness of their persecution of harmless or innocent people.

    Now read the poem

    Not my Business

    They picked Akanni up one morning
    Beat him soft like clay
    And stuffed him down the belly
    Of a waiting jeep.
    What business of mine is it
    So long they don’t take the yam
    From my savouring mouth?

    They came one night
    Booted the whole house awake
    And dragged Danladi out,
    Then off to a lengthy absence.
    What business of mine is it
    So long they don’t take the yam
    From my savouring mouth?

    Chinwe went to work one day
    Only to find her job was gone:
    No query, no warning, no probe –
    Just one neat sack for a stainless record.
    What business of mine is it
    So long they don’t take the yam
    From my savouring mouth?

    And then one evening
    As I sat down to eat my yam
    A knock on the door froze my hungry hand.
    The jeep was waiting on my bewildered lawn

    Waiting, waiting in its usual silence.

    Niyi Osundare

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