Asia Bibi Quotes

I believe in my religion and in Jesus Christ, who died on the cross for the sins of mankind. What did your Prophet Mohammed ever do to save mankind? (as quoted from Asia Bibi sentenced to hang for anti-Muslim blasphemy)

I argued again for an American strike on Iran’s nuclear facilities. America could still stop Iran from developing atomic bombs that would endanger America, Israel and the peace of the entire world. An American action now would give an enormous boost to the standing of the US and its president. Obama’s response floored me and Itzik Molcho, who sat beside me. “Bibi,” he said, “Nobody likes Goliath. I don’t want to be an eight-hundred-pound gorilla strutting on the world stage. For too long we acted that way. We need to lead in a different way.” I was stunned. In the Middle East as I knew it, with Iran racing to nuclear weapons, and with the shifting geopolitical balance toward Asia, I would want to be a 1,200-pound gorilla, not an 800-pound one. Often when I met officials of the Obama administration they waxed lyrical about the marvels of soft power. Culture, values, even Hollywood can do wonders to change the world, they said. “Soft power is good,” I acknowledged, “but hard power is even better.” By hard power I meant the judicious use of formidable military or economic power, or both. The values of individual liberty and national freedom give meaning and strength to free societies. But they are not enough. Power has the unfortunate quality of not being limited to the morally superior and the well intentioned. If malign forces amass enough of it and have the will to use it, they will overcome the less well-armed forces of good, especially if the good lack the tenacity to fight. Being a moral people won’t save you from conquest and carnage, which was the history of the Jewish people for two thousand years. Being perfect victims who harmed no one, we were perfectly moral. Being utterly powerless, we were led to the slaughter again and again. The rise of Zionism was meant to correct this flaw by giving the Jewish people the power to defend themselves. Enhancing this capacity was the central mission of my years in office.

Week-Day fairies show up in numerous folktales, and no summary of this idea would be complete without the Iranian / Central Asian Bibi Seshanbe (literally, “Queen of Tuesday”). In the deeply Islamic country of Uzbekistan, in Central Asia, she appears as one of the popular female “Saints” whom women can turn to for aid.

I often wonder how my neighbours from my old cell are doing. There are around a hundred of us women locked up here, mostly accused of adultery. But in reality many of them have been raped. Although these women are victims, they’re regarded as guilty.

What should - or can - Christians say if a Muslim asks them if they believe in Allah and the Prophet Muhammad? I was brought up to believe in Christ, the Virgin Mary and the Holy Trinity. I respect Islam and the Muslim faith, but what can I say when they ask me? If I say I believe in God and Jesus Christ rather than Allah, I’m regarded as a blasphemer. If I say I believe in Allah, I’m a traitor, like St Peter when he denied Jesus three times. These are questions I never used to think about.

It’s terrifying to think of all those thousands of people going out into the streets to shout that I should die – me, a poor insignificant woman! Against my will I’ve become a symbol of the blasphemy law.

Asia Bibi is a Pakistani wife and mother living under sentence of death. Since 2009 she has been in prison in Sheikhupura, in the province of Punjab, where she is held in appalling conditions unworthy of a democracy. Her crime? She’s a Christian who drank a cup of water from a well used by her Muslim friends.

Asia Bibi is the only woman this century to have been condemned to death for blasphemy. Her lawyer appealed against the decision, but until the date for the hearing is set by the High Court in Lahore, Asia risks being murdered at any time, or simply dying of exhaustion. A mullah in Peshawar has offered a reward of 5,000 euros to anyone who kills Asia. This sum is a fortune in Pakistan.

Yet we all know that the Islam advocated by the fundamentalists bears little resemblance to the great religion upheld by Muslims for centuries. In surat 5 of verse 32, the Koran teaches that anyone who kills an innocent person kills all humankind, and anyone who saves a life saves all humankind.

Asia Bibi is innocent. The Pakistani government knows this, but does nothing for fear of reprisals.

Pakistan is a great nation and Pakistanis are great people. They are friendly and hospitable and the Islam they follow is a religion that welcomes others, as I know from my own experience. In a population of 180 million, there is only a handful of extremists. But, by instilling terror, those few extremists are holding back the development of the entire country.

I still have my tears: they flow often enough, but I’m done with sobbing. My tears are my cellmates. They remind me that I haven’t completely given up, that I’m a victim of injustice. They remind me that I’m innocent.

And talking of my God, by whose will I’m in this prison now, how long will He make me suffer? I was a good Christian before all this, and the fact that my children miss me so much means I must have been a good mother.

My husband found me as pure as the Virgin Mary on our wedding night. And every Christmas after that his mother used to congratulate him for marrying me. I was a good wife, a good mother and a good Christian, but now it seems I’m good only to hang.

Now I’m like all the other blasphemers in Pakistan. Guilty or not, their world has been turned upside-down. The lucky ones have their lives destroyed by years of prison. But more often those who have committed the supreme offence - Christians, Hindus and Muslims alike – are killed in their cells by a fellow prisoner, or even by a warder. And even if they’re eventually acquitted, which very rarely happens, they are always killed when they’re released from jail.

But though I’m kept in a tiny, windowless cell, I want my voice and my anger to be heard. I want the whole world to know that I’m going to be hanged for helping my neighbour. I’m guilty of having shown someone sympathy. What did I do wrong? I drank water from a well belonging to Muslim women, using ‘their’ cup, in the burning heat of the midday sun.

But I have no confidence in this justice system that lashes out against poor people like me who have nothing. If, by some miracle, I’m not killed in my cell before my appeal is heard, I’ll end up murdered anyway.

If I’m acquitted, my life won’t be worth much in Pakistan. I’ll have to be adopted by some other country, since my own no longer wants me. I’m condemned to flee my beloved native land, but the fury I’ve built up in prison over the last two years has given me the strength to want to go on living, abroad, with my family, who are also threatened with death.

My life is not worth much and the religious fundamentalists won’t be satisfied until they have exacted their cruel punishment. But I also want my story to be useful to others like me, who are unjustly condemned in the name of this law.

The policemen supposedly looking after me must think it’s time to leave before things turn nasty. They bustle me out of the courthouse through a hidden door. Then they throw me into the van like an old sack of rubbish. It seems like the verdict has taken away all my humanity in their eyes. They even chain me to the seat, as though I’ve turned into a wild animal. They didn’t do that on the way to the court.

I wept with joy at the idea of seeing my family again and leaving the hell of prison.

Death by hanging – how horrible! And as if killing me wasn’t enough, they’d also said I had to pay a fine of 300,000 rupees! I’ve never had that much money and never will. Why are they doing this to me? Am I supposed to pay to have myself killed?

How can they rejoice at someone’s death? Human beings need to get better, they need to progress! Why am I so different? Why don’t I feel pleasure at the sight of the sufferings of others? I’m not made the same way as them; that must be why they reject me, why they want to see me gone.

The prosecutor looked very serious. He wrote in a big book, in silence. I was physically exhausted by our conversation and shaken up by having to make the effort to remember all the details of that horrible story. If I could, I’d wipe the entire thing from my memory. Better still, I’d like to go back in time and never go fruit-picking at all.

I try to say a few words out loud, to see if my voice still works. Ashiq didn’t come last Tuesday, so I haven’t used it for more than ten days. I use it so little since I’ve been isolated in here that I wonder if my voice won’t give out one day. I’ve also lost a lot of weight. My health isn’t very good. My muscles don’t work the way they used to, I feel less alert, and wonder how I can ever go back to the things I used to do – fruit picking in particular is physically tiring and hurts your back. I feel like I’m 100 years old and, even if I’m one day released, I won’t be able to go back to the same life.

I fix my attention on the spider, trying to create a moment of calm, get my breath back and forget, if only for a second, how dangerous people can be. I watch it busily weaving its web, delicately and with great attention to detail. The sight is soothing. Unlike me, this spider seems to know exactly what it has to do; it does its work without a moment’s hesitation and seems so confident. This little spider doesn’t seem to have any cracks in its world, while mine is falling to pieces.

I’m cross with myself for speaking so angrily to God. God is all love and can’t be held responsible for human madness, for all the hatred in the world.

I’m such bad news that even the big black fly has flown away. It must have realised it too might be killed through contact with me, like Salman Taseer and now Shahbaz Bhatti.

Even if I could look in a mirror, I don’t know if I’d dare. I’m so afraid I wouldn’t recognise myself. Basically I think I don’t want to know; I prefer to think I’m pretty like Ashiq always says, as beautiful as the day I turned twenty.

My life belongs to the Lord, I know, and if I’m still alive today, despite everything that has happened to me, it can’t be an accident. It’s because God has given me a mission. Perhaps, through my story, I, a poor uneducated farmer’s daughter, can help others like me, and maybe save them from the death penalty. If I can stay alive, perhaps one day the blasphemy law will be changed. And even if I don’t survive much longer, I have no right to kill myself.

Now we’re all alone.’ Tahir answers me firmly: ‘No, Asia. We aren’t alone. Shahbaz Bhatti has a brother called Paul. He has taken up the torch and he’s going to fight on. I know he’s seen Pope Benedict XVI.’ ‘The Pope?’ My heart leaps inside me. ‘Yes, and he didn’t go alone. The Bishop of Faisalabad, Monsignor Joseph Coutts, went with him, and the imam of the Badshahi mosque in Lahore, Syed Muhammad Abdul Khabir Azad.’ ‘The imam went too?’ It’s one surprise after another. Ashiq says nothing, but a timid smile appears on his lips. ‘Yes, the imam went too. He’s a brave man. That’s why we mustn’t give up hope. You must stay strong, Asia. You are not alone.

The one thing that keeps me going, despite all the deprivation, anger and this terrible fear that never leaves me, is the certainty that I am innocent. The certainty that I am being treated unjustly. And the desire to bear witness, to do what I can so that my fight will help other people. I’ve got no education, I’ve always lived very simply, but today I think perhaps my life will have an impact on the life of my country.

So now you know a bit more about me, it’s you I want to speak to. You’ve read my story and you’ve learned about my country, our life that’s happy in spite of everything – or could be. I’m just one woman among all the very many women of this world, but I humbly believe that my suffering is like that of others. I long for my persecutors’ eyes to be opened, for the situation in my country to change.

Now that you know my story, tell other people you know about what has happened to me. Spread the word. I believe this is the only chance I have of not dying in this dungeon. I need you. Help me.

I’m very frightened for my family. They’re in danger too. They left our village a long time ago and my husband hasn’t been able to work since I was arrested. They’re hiding at the home of some cousins in Dingo, but my husband told me they’ll have to leave soon because it’s no longer safe for them in the village. They’ve received threats.

So my fate was to be in the hands of the President of Pakistan, Asif Ali Zardari. I knew his name because he was our president, but I didn’t have any opinions about him. I’m not educated enough to understand politics. Everything I know has been picked up here and there, listening to my father and my uncle talking about him when we saw him on flyers and posters. Women of my position don’t ask questions or join in discussions of that kind. It’s only now that I realise what a shame it is that men think women don’t need to know anything about things like that. After all, we are subject to the same laws.

I put my hand on my chest, now flat as a plank of wood. My belly has hollowed out, my thighs have melted away, my arms are shrinking to nothing and from looking at my hands you’d think I was dead already. I’d like to cry, but today I have no tears left. I’d like to shout, but I can tell I’ve got no voice. My feeble breath is just enough to keep me in the world. I’d tear out my hair, but I like it too much to lose it. In this place I’ve learned how to die while I’m still alive.

Zarmina was a Muslim, accused of blasphemy like me. Her story was totally absurd. She had just got married when she and her husband had a motorbike crash in Shergarh, several hours’ drive from here. Luckily they weren’t badly hurt, but when her husband lost control of the bike with Zarmina riding pillion behind him, it careered into a monument dedicated to the Prophet Muhammad. Zarmina and her husband were both accused of blasphemy and thrown into prison. And now Zarmina is dead. She was nice; I will miss her. Why have we two been accused of blasphemy, my Muslim sister who died last night and me? I don’t understand it. Have people gone mad?

In isolated villages like ours age doesn’t matter. Ageing is a part of life, like the passing of time and the changing weather.

I think of my children, who must also be feeling desperate. I’m not dead yet, but it won’t be long now. It’s been ten days since the judge passed his sentence and I know I could find myself with a rope round my neck at any moment.

Back in my cell, I still can’t believe it. The Holy Father, the Pope himself, is thinking of me and praying for me. I wonder if I deserve so much honour and attention. Why me? I’m just a poor country woman and there must be other people in the world suffering just as much as me – or worse. Thank you, thank you, God, for all the good you have done me today. For the first time I go to sleep in my cell feeling happy.

With each footstep my heart beats faster. I don’t feel the cold any more, but I’m overwhelmed by fear. I’m convinced all this bustling about is to do with me: they’re going to come and take me away to hang me, as Judge Iqbal decided more than ten weeks ago. This fear that takes me over is so strong that I lose touch with reality. What seems to me like hours is almost certainly only a few minutes.

Khalil always gives me food as though I’m worse than a dog. Misty-eyed, I note he doesn’t look the same as usual. He stares at me. He’s about to say something, laughs and tells me: ‘Your guardian angel has just been assassinated because of you. Your beloved Governor Salman Taseer, that Muslim traitor, is now bathing in his own blood. He was killed with twenty-five bullets in Islamabad for defending you. Good riddance! You’d better keep your head down!’ Salman Taseer was a good man. He was governor of my province, the largest and richest in Pakistan. With its ninety million inhabitants, they call Punjab the ‘land of the five rivers’ and ‘the land of the pure’; Salman Taseer was one of those. He wasn’t a typical politician, he wasn’t power-hungry and greedy like some, he was a humanist who was quick to oppose the Taliban and the Islamic extremists. When he heard about my death sentence, he defended me in public.

We went in. I was dazzled by a yellow light. There were a lot of people in there, making a lot of noise. A tall, heavily built man in glasses came towards me. ‘Hello, Asia, I’m Salman Taseer, the Governor of Punjab. I’ve heard about what happened to you and I know that you’ve been victimised. I’ve organised a press conference, so you can tell the whole world that you are innocent.

The governor started talking at once. He told the journalists that I’d been unjustly accused, that the law against blasphemy was open to criminal misuse against the most vulnerable religious minorities, that not only was it against the principles of Islam but it did nothing to serve that religion. Then he stopped speaking. I understood that it was my turn. I was terrified - I didn’t think I could do it. Women of my kind aren’t expected to speak at all, let alone in public, and certainly not in front of strangers. I didn’t know what to say and started to stammer something inaudible. The governor quickly came to my aid. He interrupted me and, with a little nod of encouragement, asked me to tell the journalists what had happened in the village.

I explained what had really happened with those women, who’d turned hysterical at the thought of drinking water served by a Christian; how, after the argument, I was chased by a mad crowd and beaten by several villagers who dragged me to the police station; how, once there, I was unjustly accused of having blasphemed and the police threw me into a cell, under pressure from the crowd and the village mullah. At that point in my story Salman Taseer thanked me warmly. I was relieved to have been able to tell the truth.

I, Asia Bibi, have become a pariah and anyone who gives me any kind of help or support is considered to be a blasphemer too.

Later my lawyer told me that lots of prisoners accused of blasphemy never even get to court because they are killed in their cells before they can go for trial