Conspiracy of silence one year after Bin Laden's death

Who was he?

He hesitates, then mutters, “He was from Saudia,” and runs off.

Surrounded by greenery; the whispering of pine trees and the picturesque mountains all around, at first glance this idyllic scene does not seem an appropriate hideout of the world’s most wanted man, which then also witnessed US Navy Seals in action a year ago.

But a second glance reveals the tell-tale signs – the demolished concrete; discreet but unknown men who stand around staring and whispering to each other; and journalists who shoot the remains for the anniversary story.

A year ago, the residents of this small town called Bilal Town in Abbotabad, Pakistan woke up with the sound of an explosion, to discover a few hours later that the noise was from a helicopter crashing during an operation carried out by US Navy Seals inside a walled compound to eliminate Osama bin Laden, the head of al-Qaeda and the world’s most wanted man.

Some of those local residents sit a little apart, wary and tired. An old man sitting on a grassy patch is not happy to be accosted. Reluctant to talk, he then just erupts and says that Osama did not live there.

“There were ordinary people, families who were killed by them. But there was no Osama,” he says, as he gazes ahead, not willing to make eye contact.

But there is not just anger. There is fear too in his words and actions. He stops one journalist from taking a photograph and tells him to go shoot the “strangers” standing near the compound.

A younger man is more forthcoming. When asked if he too thought Bin Laden never lived there, he launches into a long exposition on world politics which he first summarises with a few words: “Osama, Obama, money and drama.”

This is not the view of an extremist or right-winger. He dismisses “the so-called jihad” and points out that he did not consider Bin Laden as anything more than a “fighter” of some kind.

But some of his views are shared by many Pakistanis across the north-west. And it reflects less on their extremism and more on the gap between them and the rulers. Conspiracy theories flourish in the absence of information, and this is why Pakistan is a hotbed of whispers, rumours and conspiracies, local and international.

Be it the mysterious deaths of Pakistani leaders or of wanted men or events in Balochistan, the information provided by the state is so hazy, confusing and incomplete that only gossip can fill the gaps.

A year later, there is little or no information on the May 2 action and the compound in Abbottabad. The only solid information has come via his Yemeni wife’s account; she said he changed houses five times and fathered three children while on the run – in various cities of Pakistan. This too was leaked. The authorities have maintained a stony silence.

This has been the situation from the start in Pakistan when the Americans announced the news of his death.

Except for unseemly bickering among the military and the politicians and the avalanche of rhetoric about sovereignty and its violation, there was little else.

Saeed Shah, a freelance journalist who works for foreign publications and spent days camped out in Abbottabad, reminisces: “There was great pressure for news from the Western outlets, but there was a vacuum of information on the Pakistani side.”

He adds that within a day or two of being in Abbottabad even the neighbours of Bin Laden were averse to sharing any tidbits because they had been warned off.

Nothing has changed a year later. The information continues to come out of Washington. In 12 months, the world has learnt much about what prompted Washington. But in Pakistan, there is an embarrassing silence.

The Abbottabad Commission is getting nowhere after months of meetings, trips and interviews. We are not even sure what it is looking into – the “violation” of Pakistan’s sovereignty by the Americans or to hold accountable someone because the world’s most famous terrorist was caught from a house in an urban centre.

Such is the vacuum of news that it proves impossible to even find out who ordered the demolition of arguably Pakistan’s most famous but underwhelming house.

One local journalist says it was the army. Another says it was the Abbottabad Commission. A call to the commissioner of Hazara, Khalid Khan Umerzai, provides an interesting insight. When asked who ordered it, he chuckles before saying: “The government.” 

But which government?

“The government of the day,” he says, and the amusement in his voice does not encourage more questions. He then explains that the land will be used to build housing for government officials.

Another resident of Abbottabad asks why the government could not use the land to build a library for children. People elsewhere have argued that the house be maintained as a reminder of a dark part of our history. But such options remain unheard.

“A state that does not realise the importance of informing those it is accountable to does not bother to heed voices that are trying to initiate a debate on what the compound signified,” says a security analyst.

But perhaps there is a far more unfortunate reason at work here. As a historian pointed out, nations rarely maintain physical reminders of their darker moments. Auschwitz, the Nazi concentration camp that was turned into the Holocaust museum, survived because it was located in Poland, which had been invaded by Germany during the Second World War.

Another reason such memorials come into being is because the status quo changes. The victims of yesteryear become the rulers and they want to hang on to their memories of their victimhood.

But May 2 provides no such parallel. Those who shaped the policy that has led to questions about the complicity of someone powerful in Bin Laden’s presence in Pakistan continue to be in power. The status quo has not changed.

“Bin Laden’s presence in our midst simply raises questions about the policies of our continuing state structures,” said an analyst.

Which nation holds on to a building that simply is a reminder of unanswered questions?