The majesty of hope...

My world is changed. The person I now see in the mirror is so very different from the little girl who learnt to swim in a tube well and climbed mango trees to read books about heroes in the sun-lit branches.

I was born in Pakistan in a city built on the ruins of a once seat of the regional court of the Mughal Empire. Although the Mughals had no formal written law, there was a keen interest amongst each of the Emperors to deliver efficient justice for their citizens. All, except perhaps the Emperors themselves, could be held to account for their actions and punishments were often severe. This system of law and justice is still revered today as one of the finest in history.

But that old majesty and splendour is now barely a whisper, a light wind scarcely brushing past the millions of people that populate the region. Many cannot and will not consider the luxury of justice and every one of them knows the high price of truth. The law is a commodity of sorts, reserved for those with time and money.

Although the old Durbar (Mughal court) is now nothing but a pile of rubble, I still like to visit the site every time I’m in the area to breathe in its past life and to imagine the splendour that must have accosted each petitioner who brought his or her dispute to its attention.

There is still a court in the city, another beautiful structure built during the British Raj with fountained courtyards and lawyers young and old, impressive in their black ceremonial robes and serious expressions of concentration, milling in the squares with red ribboned briefs held closely to their chests. A graceful image of the commonwealth’s gift to the world and yet beneath the surface the system is not just flawed, it’s in pieces. A final ruling on a case can take up to 20 years in Pakistan, with “justice” bought or delayed by those with the deepest pockets.

This easy corruption permeates to every level. I see the poverty and desperation all around me and I can accept and appreciate the decision of a father taking some money for an act which he may or may not recognise as wrong if it means that he can feed his family. To hold on to your principles in the face of your child’s hunger is not something many of us in the West will ever suffer.

But it goes beyond money. What of honour killings where a wife or sister or mother is killed for such reasons as refusing to marry, standing up for herself or her children, crying out at abuse or simply not being young or beautiful any more? Imagine being burned alive or showered in acid or just simply being beaten to death by those you are taught to trust – your own family.

In the Pakistani province of Baluchistan, thirty-eight women died at the hands of relatives who killed them on the pretext of protecting their honour between July and September 2008. Their killers are unlikely to be arrested or imprisoned for these crimes.

As I write this, the world is protesting and raising a united cry against the dictatorship in Tehran. A young woman is killed and the world watches on YouTube and holds it’s breath in disbelief. Earlier this year, I felt numbed and useless at the news of the mass murder of over 20,000 people in broad daylight in Sri Lanka. And the crisis in the Pakistan Swat Valley is real and present, with thousands of men, women and children living without shelter, food or hope. What of Darfur?

These are all bit players on the world stage, nameless and easily forgotten once they're gone. And yet without their lives and their sufferage, our world would be a very different place.

My work in the subcontinent is focused on judicial and legal reform. Although much of what I do is at the State level, I’m hopeful the changes being made to the way justice is accessed in the region will permeate down to the grass roots in time. But the law is only one side of the weighted coin, the other is governance and there too the people of the region are suffering through corruption and dishonesty.

The little girl in the branches of the mango tree reading of heroes is gone. She saw the world with eyes free of cynicism, pessimism and distrust. I can’t say the same of the woman I now see in the mirror. But my hope sustains me still.