I find that whenever I am in power, or my father was in power, somehow good things happen. The economy picks up, we have good rains, water comes, peo… - Benazir Bhutto

My mother is a Shiite Muslim, as are most Iranians, while the rest of the
family was Sunni. But that was never a problem. Shiites and Sunnis had lived
side by side and intermarried for over a thousand years and our differences were
far fewer than our similarities. What was fundamental was that all Muslims,
regardless of their sects, surrender to the will of God, and believe that there is no
God but Allah and Mohammed is his last Prophet. That is the Quranic definition
of a Muslim and, in our family, what mattered most.

Looting. Rape. Kidnappings. Murder. Where no one had cared about Pakistan when I arrived at Harvard, now everyone did. And the condemnation of my country was universal. At first, I refused to believe the accounts in the Western press of atrocities being committed by our army in what the East Bengal rebels were now calling Bangladesh. According to the government-controlled Pakistani papers my parents sent me every week, the brief rebellion had been quelled. What were these charges then that Dacca had been burned to the ground and firing squads sent into the university to execute students, teachers, poets, novelists, doctors and lawyers? I shook my head in disbelief. Refugees were reportedly fleeing by the thousands, so many of them strafed and killed by Pakistani planes that their bodies were being used to erect road blocks.

How many times since have I asked God to forgive me for my ignorance? I didn't see then that the democratic mandate for Pakistan had been grossly violated.