عمران خان کے سوشل میڈیا کا مقابلہ کر��ے کے لئے ذہنی مریض سرکاری ملازم کچھ فیملی فروشوں کو لانچ کر رہا ہے۔ ان کا مکو ٹھپنے کے لئے تیار رہیں۔
#خان_قوم_تیرے_سنگ_رہے_گی
#ذہنی_مریض_نامنظور
I’ve cried several times writing this.
Arshard Sharif always reminded me of Srilankan journalist, Lasantha Wickrematunge.
When he was murdered in 2009, his newspaper published a column he had written, his own obituary. He had known his death was coming, and he faced it with the clarity only truth tellers have.
I will use some of his quotes from his obituary below, so moving, so emotional, and so inspirational.
“For this I, and my family, have now paid the price I have long known I would have to pay. I am, and have always been, ready for that. I have done nothing to prevent this outcome: no security, no precautions. I want my murderer to know that I am not a coward like he is, hiding behind human shields while condemning thousands of innocents to death. What am I among so many? It has long been written that my life would be taken, and by whom. All that remains to be written is when.”
In that single paragraph, he stripped fear of its power. He knew who would kill him, a president who had once been his friend. He knew what would follow, the hollow inquiries, the noise, the denial. And he wrote anyway.
Another quote where he is addressing his killer, the Sri Lankan President:
“You have told me that your sons are your greatest joy… Now it is clear to all who will see that that machinery has operated so well that my sons and daughter do not themselves have a father… For truth be told, we both know who will be behind my death, but dare not call his name.”
He was not a martyr seeking glory; he was a father who loved his children, and a journalist who would not lie to them.
“As for me, I have the satisfaction of knowing that I walked tall and bowed to no man.”
14 years later, the same script repeated, this time not in Colombo, but in Nairobi.
Arshad Sharif, too, once moved close to power. He covered the corridors of the military with the familiarity of an insider, and yet, when conscience called, he turned against the very institution that he had once embraced and loved. For him, his journalistic values were way above any personal relations.
And like Lasantha, he refused to bend. He too received the threats, saw the writing on the wall, and still chose to report the truth, about corruption, coercion, and the silent wars waged in Pakistan.
I still hear him asking “وہ کون تھا؟”
Both men believed journalism was not a profession, but a form of public service. Both men knew that exposing power could cost them everything. Both men died in exile from safety, each silenced by those who could not silence the truth itself.
Lasantha: “People often ask me why I take such risks… Of course I know that: it is inevitable. But if we do not speak out now, there will be no one left to speak for those who cannot.”
In Lasantha’s words, we find Arshad’s echo. Two fathers who left behind children; two journalists who left behind a challenge, that courage must not die with them.
“I hope my assassination will be seen not as a defeat of freedom but an inspiration for those who survive to step up their efforts.”
So, let this be a reminder. The men who spoke truth to power were not naive; they were brave enough to know the cost and still pay it. That their deaths were not coincidences, they were consequences. And that the machinery of silence, no matter how efficient, cannot erase truth once it has been written.
Lastly, both were fathers and here’s the last quote from Lasantha’s obituary;
“After all, I too am a husband, and the father of three wonderful children. I too have responsibilities and obligations that transcend my profession, be it the law or journalism.”
My tribute to both gentlemen and their respective families.
موجودہ حالات میں سائرہ بانو بھی مرد ( حر ) کا کردار ادا کر رہی ہیں
نواز شریف کو عدالتوں سے معافیاں ایسے ملی جیسے گھر میں پڑی میت کو لوگ اللہ واسطے معاف کر دیتے ہیں 😂
آخیر کر دی سائرہ بانو نے بھی 🙌🔥🔥