Fight Flub

Sherzada, 50, a day laborer from Khoza Khel village in Swat, not only doubts the government's promises, he also blames the Army for the death of his mother, who, he says, was killed in a helicopter attack that destroyed their house in May. (A number of IDPs claimed that the military offensive caused more death and destruction than the Taliban ever did.) He is bursting with questions that no one has answered. "How will I rebuild my house? How will I eat? Where will I find a job? What if the Taliban come back?" he asks two NEWSWEEK reporters at the Yar Hussain camp, which houses some 31,000 IDPs.

A few IDPs even complain that they are being "forced" to go back prematurely by deteriorating camp conditions. Rashid Khan claims he and his family in the Yar Hussain camp have not received fresh water this week, and that he is constantly beaten by the police and camp officials during the daily scrum as refugees fight for food rations. "We are being forced back by this camp's bad conditions," says Khan, who came from Mingora, Swat's capital. "If officials can't run this camp property, what kind of help can we expect when we return home?" he asks.

To be sure, none of this means that Pakistan's attack on the militants in Buner and Swat has failed outright. This was the biggest and most successful offensive ever: it drove militants deep into the hills and killed scores, perhaps hundreds, of them. But that hardly means Pakistan has crippled their highly motivated leadership or frightened them into permanent hiding. Even if the Army keeps its pledge to stick around for a while, it runs the risk of appearing as an occupying force in this region unused to centralized control. It is also unclear if the government could deliver better governance, and access to justice, relief, rehabilitation, and economic opportunity—the main agents in turning popular support away from the militants.

Ali Yousaf, for his part, is nervous but happy. The 27-year-old returned to Daggar, Buner's capital, last week and reopened his textile shop along the one-street commercial section where fruit and vegetable markets and other shops were already open. "We are hopeful, but still quite frightened," he said as busloads of IDPs roared passed his shop, where he used to sell music cassettes and CDs until the Taliban blew it up one night in 2007.

A few kilometers up the road, Bakhtiyar Khan wondered if it was a good idea to come home as he stood with his family on a country road just north of Daggar Chowk. A relative had just brought both good and bad news: the family's house is still intact, but at night armed groups of up to 30 men still roam in his forest village, and several houses have been looted. "If there's peace, I can rebuild my life," said Khan. "But hearing this, I'm not so sure." Then a car screeched to a top. Four men got out and told refugees not to travel any farther north. "There are still Taliban sympathizers in the villages nearby," one said. He then warned that three political workers for the secular Awami National Party were abducted and beheaded three days earlier by militants near Pir Baba, less than 10 kilometers farther on.

Back at Daggar Chowk, Shamshir and his family of nine conferred with Rashid, still lying on the rope bed, as a dozen pickup trucks carrying Pakistani troops with their automatic weapons at the ready raced by. Suddenly, a loud explosion rang out, followed by the whistling of an artillery shell fired from a cannon nearby and bound for the area near Shamshir's house. "The government told us we could return to our village in safety," said the 50-year-old, white-bearded farmer. Glancing at his wife and children sitting on their bundles at the dusty roadside, he wondered, "Now we are without a home once again … Where can we spend the night? When can we return to our village?"

© 2009