Farewell Akhyar

Source: The News

Date: September 24, 2010

It is humbling. Reading about someone who you opposed politically with ferocious conviction, who you do not like at all for his views on people, places and the world at large, and then feeling so thoroughly compassionate about him as a person who has a family, friends, regular contenders and outright foes, and of course who carried his own share of personal grief. For once, I felt that about ZA Suleri after reading a very objective analysis of his person by daughter Sara, in `Boys will be Boys'.  Until the 1980s, there were three functional ideological camps among the journalists, so to speak. One, the Suleri and Nizami type Muslim Leaguers, two, the ones who were influenced by the Jamaat-i-Islami, and three, those who belonged to the left. The groups would contest each other at the level of ideas as well as fighting turf-wars when it came to matters of their union and the press clubs. Although this acrimony would rarely get translated into personal feuds but the social and political circle in which people like us grew up would reject Suleri and the likes for the positions they took on issues faced by the Pakistani state and society and brand them as `reactionary', `pro-establishment' or `right-wing'. One such `right-winger' was M Abul Akhyar. Being a close associate of ZA Suleri once and a deeply conservative man when it came to religion and politics, he would abhor progressive political ideals. But at a personal and professional level, he remained close and dear to leftist stalwarts in Karachi like Anis Hashmi, Dr Ashraf, Zamir Niazi and Wahid Bashir. When I was assisting Zamir Niazi in compiling a book of his writings in Urdu, I remember meeting Akhyar Sahib in Niazi's office and then at his home. For long, Niazi was seriously ill but continued his invaluable work on press history and freedoms in Pakistan and finished his books, `Press under Siege', `The Web of Censorship' and `Hikayat-i-Khoon'chakaan (Urdu)'. Irrespective of their political differences, Zamir Niazi would discuss and review his findings, analysis and chronology of events with Akhyar. Because Abul Akhyar was a journalist first and foremost -- a dedicated professional who would speak the truth about an event or a happening and restrain himself and others from giving an unwanted, prejudiced spin of personal views when he was reporting or editing. He will not reject the fact if it challenged his faith. He may analyse the cause differently.  Abul Akhyar was tough on novices on the desk and in the newsroom. When my younger brother joined `Business Recorder', Akhyar asked him and another two colleagues of his who were fresh, to sit in his room for two months and directly report to him. "They don't teach you anything in the college or university. I am going to make you learn." For two months, he grilled them hard. My brother tells me that he would do the same with everyone and put in so much time and energy in making young people learn the profession.  Abul Akhyar is no more. He was 83 and worked until January last. A journalist friend laments the blurring of lines between journalists and non-journalists in this age, and keeps reminding me that only that person can claim the identity of a journalist who lives off journalism. Perhaps what he should worry about more is the lack of both calibre and character amongst those who are qualified to be called journalists.  The writer is an Islamabad-based poet, political analyst and advisor on public policy. Email: harris. khalique@gmail.com