Benazir Bhutto's book available soon; "Reconciliation: Islam, Democracy & the West by Benazir Bhutto to be published by Simon & Schuster on February 12 at £17.99". And a very interesting appraisal of Islam and the West it is too. In an extract in the Sunday Times she writes about the assassination attempts one of which involved a baby wrapped in explosives, Just another example of the depths to which these sub human Islamists will go:
As the sky darkened and my armoured campaign truck progressed almost by inches through the growing masses, I noticed that street lights began to dim and then go off as we approached. The jamming equipment that was supposed to be blocking cellphone signals (that could detonate suicide bombs, or even remote-controlled toy planes filled with explosives) for 200 metres around my truck did not seem to be working.
My husband, watching the live coverage on television in Dubai, begged me not to expose myself directly to the crowd from the top of the truck. I said no, that I must be in front and greet my people.
Sometime after 11pm I saw a man holding up a baby dressed in the colours of my party, the PPP. He gesticulated repeatedly to me to take the baby, which was about one or two years old. I gesticulated to the crowd to make way for him. But when the crowd parted, the man would not come forward. Instead he tried to hand the baby to someone in the crowd. Worried that the baby would fall and be trampled upon or be lost, I gesticulated no, you bring the baby to me.
Finally he pointed to the security guard. I asked the security guard to let him up on the truck. However, by the time he reached the truck, I was going down to my compartment in the vehicle’s interior because my feet hurt. We now suspect the baby’s clothes were lined with plastic explosives.
My feet had swollen up after standing in one place for 10 hours, and my sandals were hurting. Downstairs I unstrapped and loosened them. A little while later my political secretary, Naheed Khan, and I went over the speech that I would be delivering later at the tomb – one of the most important of my life.
I was saying that perhaps we should mention my petitioning the Supreme Court to allow political parties in the tribal areas to organise as part of our plan to counter extremists politically. As I said the word “extremist”, a terrible explosion rocked the truck. First the sound, then the light, then the glass smashing, then the deadly silence followed by horrible screams. My first thought was: “Oh, God, no.”
A piercing pain tore my ear from the force of the blast. An eerie silence descended. Then a second explosion – much louder, larger and more damaging – went off. Almost simultaneously, something hit the truck, which rolled from side to side. (Later I saw two dents clearly visible on the left side of the truck, where I had been.)
I looked outside. The dark night was bathed in an orange light, and under it crumpled bodies lay scattered in the most horrific scene.
I now know what happened to the baby. Agha Siraj Durrani, a PPP parliamentarian, was watching the access to my truck. When the man tried to hand the baby up, Agha Siraj told him to get lost. The man then went to a police vehicle to the left of the truck, which also refused to take the baby. The man moved to the police vehicle in front of the first. A woman PPP councillor, Rukhsana Faisal Boloch, was on this vehicle, as was a cameraman.
As the man tried to hand the baby to the second police vehicle, the first police vehicle warned: “Don’t take the baby, don’t take the baby, don’t let the baby up on the truck.”
Both these police vehicles were exactly parallel to where I was sitting inside the truck. As the man scuffled with the police to hand the baby over, the first explosion took place. Everyone in that police van was killed, as were those around it.
Within 50 seconds, a 15-kilogram car bomb was detonated, scattering pellets, shrapnel and burning pieces of metal. According to some eyewit-nesses, snipers began firing.
There seemed to be some chemical in the air. Although I came out of the truck about eight minutes later, I suffered like others from both a perforated eardrum and a racking dry cough, the likes of which I had never had before.
Dr Zulfikar Mirza, who helped take the dead and wounded to hospital, told me of the strange state of the bodies. The clothes of some were totally burnt off. Others were clothed, but when one moved to pick up the body, it would melt and disintegrate. Many with pellet wounds subsequently died, making us suspect that the pellets had been soaked in poison.
I was whisked away through back-streets in a jeep. Security boys clung to it, providing a human shield around me. We were unarmed and we wondered whether assassins might have a backup plan to kill us, knowing we had to reach my home.
I entered the house that my husband had built for us after our marriage, which was named in honour of our son Bilawal. Going up the stairs, I saw the pictures of my three children peering back at me, and I realised the absolute terror they must be experiencing, not knowing if I were dead or alive.
I had been traumatised by my father’s arrest, imprisonment and murder, and I know that such mental scars are permanent. I would have done anything to spare my children the same pain that I had undergone – and still feel – at my father’s death. But this was one thing I couldn’t do; I couldn’t retreat from the party and the platform that I had given so much of my life to. The enormous price paid by my father, brothers, supporters and all those who had been killed, imprisoned and tortured – all the sacrifices had been for the people of Pakistan.
I spoke to my husband and assured him that I was not injured. I could not speak to my children. Thankfully they had gone to bed and had not seen the blast on television.
My daughter told me later she went to bed happy thinking of the warm reception I was getting, only to wake to a text message from a friend: “Oh, my God, I am so worried. Is your mother all right?” With her heart pounding, she ran to the room of her father, who gathered her in his arms, reassuring her, “Your mother is fine.”
WHEN all the bodies had been counted, the number of those killed went up to 179 dead and nearly 600 wounded, some disabled for life.
Later I was informed of a meeting that had taken place in Lahore where the bomb blasts were planned. According to this report, three men belonging to a rival political faction were hired for half a million dollars. They were, according to my sources, named Ejaz, Sajjad and another whose name I forget.
One of them died accidentally because he couldn’t get away fast enough before the detonation. Presumably this was the one holding the baby. Read this appraisal of Islam and the West>>
Nothing is beyond these cowardly scum in the "Islam is peace" religion. Babies and mentally handicapped people used as bombs. How soon before the Islamists in the West employ these tactics?
Ray Boyd Commonsense Against Islam
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