Karachi city, Pakistan – This is the fourth general election I have covered in Pakistan in the past 16 years. Previous elections have been chaotic in a city where skin color, music and ethnicity vary by region.
The situation remains chaotic and confusing. I started my day by voting at my local polling place. One question I've always wondered about is, “Should journalists vote?”
And on Thursday, reporting from Pakistan's largest city with 22 seats, more than the entire province of Balochistan, I realized that not only was Pakistan's democracy on trial, but so were the city's loyalties. .
The Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf (PTI) party, led by former Prime Minister Imran Khan, won 14 parliamentary seats in the 2018 Karachi elections, and is the leader of the Muttahida Qaumi Movement (MQM), which has traditionally dominated Karachi's political landscape. ) drove away voters. As the MQM has split into multiple factions since 2016, disillusioned voters from Karachi's wealthy southern regions to northern Karachi have found solace in Mr. Khan's party.
I was standing outside a polling station in Clifton, just 1 kilometer (0.6 miles) from Bilawal House, the Karachi stronghold of the Bhutto Zardari family that heads the Pakistan Peoples Party. The PPP has historically been the most powerful political force in Sindh province, whose capital is Karachi.
But on Thursday, most of those who turned out to vote in this upscale part of Karachi were PTI supporters, many of them women who first came out at 8 a.m. to cast their votes.
N. Tariq, 50, who did not want to give his full name, said he came first in the morning to put the voting staff in a good mood and hoped the voting process would be smooth and quick. queue.
“I vote for the person who is in trouble right now. He needs our votes,” Tariq said. she said with a laugh, referring to Khan, who received multiple sentences in various cases last week.
My next stop was one of the largest polling stations in Defense Phase 4, a residential area in Cantonment run by Pakistan's powerful military, which Khan's supporters say is the reason for the party's derailment. – a symbol whose leaders are in jail and candidates cannot even use the party.
The polling place in the upscale neighborhood was already crowded, but it didn't have the celebratory mood of the 2018 election, when I spent several hours outside the polling place.
By this time my cell phone and data connection were disconnected and I was unable to contact anyone. As a Karachite native, losing cell phone connectivity is not new to me, but it was a day when law and order could be violated, and it was very disturbing.
I headed to Lyari, the base of PPP. Driving through Cher Chowk in Lyari, the usually very noisy and crowded area, home to decades of gang warfare, was eerily quiet. It was so quiet that I felt uncomfortable.
Flags and banners were raised, but there was no music, no dancing, no blaring of the PPP's viral anthem, Dilan Tia Villa.
While visiting various polling stations, I met many elderly female voters.
Rehmat (75 years old) and Kulsom (60 years old) came to the polling station together, but I was not allowed to enter the polling station even though I was certified. Kulsom said he voted for the PPP only because it is the party of former Prime Minister Benazir Bhutto, who was assassinated in 2007.
“Bilawal is her son and they have given us everything. Water, gas and the PPP, which has brought peace to the region, have given us everything. And so on. What do we need? I will always support the PPP until the day I die,” Kulsom said. She was referring to PPP leader Bilawal Bhutto Zardari, 36.
Rehmat said her children don't have jobs, but PPP is also her choice.
She voted for Bilawal's grandfather, former prime minister Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, in 1970, then for Benazir, but has now decided to vote for Bilawal.
“They work for us and take care of us. How can we not love the Bhutto family?” she said.
This was not a sentiment shared by everyone in Lyari. Mohamed Yazdan, an 18-year-old first-time voter, said promises are made before elections but are never fulfilled.
“I will vote for Imran Khan PTI because those who do their jobs will always be held back by them. Look at what they have done to him. I will continue to support him. ”
I went to the city center, to the old Golimar district, a working-class district. There were small groups of Tehreek-e-Rabbaik, MQM and Jamaat-e-Islam supporters on the streets supporting voters.
Tehreek-e-Labbaik, a far-right party formed in 2017, has gained support through its religion-centered politics. Jamaat-e-Islami, another religious right-wing party, is one of Pakistan's most organized political forces, with a charity organization, the Al-Hidmat Foundation.
Voters were found to be reluctant to admit to voting for a PTI candidate who had to fight as an independent.
One female voter, who requested anonymity, said: I wanted to be a voting agent today, but I was told by a PTI candidate's official that there was a safety issue. ”
In Pakistan Employees Cooperative Housing Society, an older neighborhood known locally by the acronym PECHS, one of the larger polling stations is a university campus with an unpaved dirt entrance and stairs leading down to the main courtyard. . After crossing the bridge, voters had to climb to the first and second floors to reach the voting booth, making it difficult for elderly people and people who have difficulty walking or climbing stairs.
Dr Raza, 60, who lives in the constituency and gave only his last name, said the university has always been allocated as a polling station. He said he had written multiple times to the Election Commission of Pakistan to reconsider the location as it is difficult to access for people with physical limitations.
“Whether these are fair or not, it is my duty to be present. But not everyone can. This polling station is not available to everyone,” he said.
In Gulshan-e-Iqbal, located near the National Stadium, the city's largest cricket venue, voters at the school campus polling station, who had been there since 8 a.m., were stopped by Election Commission staff. When he arrived at 11 a.m., he complained that he still didn't have a ballot. document.
A long line snaked around the building, barely moving. As I shuffled through the crowd, at least eight men and women filed out of the scene to ask what was going on and how voters were effectively casting their votes. They asked me to report whether I was being discouraged.
It was difficult to make our way through the crowd, and the lead officer, who was sitting in an empty room on the same floor, said there was nothing that could be done and that, yes, the staff were delayed.
I headed to the area next to Gulistan-e-Johar where there are a lot of apartment buildings. Although it was a public holiday, most people were going about their daily tasks. Shops were open, day laborers and painters were waiting for contracts, and shops were busy selling flowers and street food.
The line of women moved quickly at the polling station inside the apartment complex, and 81-year-old Rehana Raj was among those waiting in line to vote.
“I'm older than Pakistan,” Raji said with a twinkle in his eye. “I came here to vote, but everything is done very systematically. Who I am here to vote for is a secret.”
Zohaib Khan, 36, waited outside the polling station with his young daughter while his wife waited in line to vote. He was voting in Malir, more than 14.5 kilometers (9 miles) away, while his wife was allocated a polling station in Gulistan-e-Johar.
“We have come this far because we have to vote for PTI candidates. We need more time for PTI to prove that it can do a real job for Karachi. “I want to,” he said.
Karachi's electorate has clearly changed. However, the city's poorer neighborhoods remain as they were decades ago. Water, cooking gas, cleaner cities, adequate sanitation – these remain central concerns for the city of 17 million people.
Will they ever be resolved? And in a city so complex, can one party really claim Karachi as its own?