A police escort clears the way for a somewhat dubious VIP.

King of the Road, thanks to peace journalism
(SOMEWHERE BETWEEN SUKKUR AND KARACHI, PAKISTAN)—I’ve been told about the legendary traffic jams on Pakistan’s roadways, so it was with much trepidation that my colleagues and I undertook an 8 hour trip south from Sukkur (where we’d just held a seminar) to Karachi.

But just as we reached our first jam, a mysterious and wonderful sight maneuvered in front of our car—a beat up Toyota pickup truck with carrying several uniformed men. Our cavalry had arrived—a police escort!

This was thing of transcendent beauty. Our escorts, which traded off every 30 or 60 minutes or so, stayed in front of us, blaring their sirens while enthusiastically gesticulating to traffic clogging the passing lane (our new home), waving over sluggish motorists, or motioning for them to stay put in the slow lane. We got some dirty looks, and more than a few curious ones. After all, they wanted to know who was getting this VIP treatment. When they saw it was me, their curious looks turned into puzzled ones. My amused colleague Husnain especially loved it when we sailed through toll booths, noting that “we’re living like kings.”

Even big trucks quaked in our presence

Why did we have a police escort? One colleague said that police want to escort all foreigners as they traverse the open road, just in case there’s trouble. Yet, that seems an impossible task, both in terms of having enough escort cars, and keeping track of the movements of all the foreigners. The only way the police knew about us (me) was through a hotel I had stayed in that had contacted the officials, saying that we were on the road.

So then, why did I merit this VIP treatment? One might think that it’s because I’m here representing the well-respected East-West Center (EWC). However, the president, vice president, and a program officer from the EWC were in Pakistan not too long ago, and were not escorted. Since I have just worked for the EWC for a few months, I will probably not rub in the fact that I was escorted and the higher ups were not.

My marginally plausible theory is that we (I) got the escort because the authorities are big fans of peace journalism.  Husnain readily agreed, noting that peace journalism teachers are respected worldwide. We theorized that the police Googled my name, learned about my activities promoting peace journalism, and tripped all over themselves arranging my escort. I’m pretty sure Husnain wasn’t entirely serious about this.

At any rate, the escort saved us 30-45 minutes.

After this arduous journey, we arrived at the hotel, and I was upgraded, at no extra cost, to a suite. Obviously, it was peace journalism at work once more.

Nothing stood in our way, thanks to our police escorts.