The sight of gun-toting men with rugged features and in kurta shalwar and turbans, sitting in the back of a double-cabin pick-up truck and often gesticulating wildly at nearby cars to make way for their vehicle, is common in Karachi, particularly in the city’s posh neighbourhoods.

It is the same in the rest of Sindh, as it is in the provinces of Balochistan and Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, and parts of rural Punjab. The chequered security situation and the high incidence of internecine tribal rivalries and conflicts are used as a justification for their presence.

But despite their visibility, the backgrounds and daily lives of and reasons for these men becoming hired guns remain largely opaque to most observers. Much has been written about the poor pay, excessive work hours and poor training of many uniformed guards in the employ of private security companies. But most people don’t know that these informal guards of the landed rich and powerful have it much worse.

CODES OF HONOUR AND EXPLOITATION

These tribal guards are primarily in the employ of their tribal chiefs or spiritual leaders, usually without a formal contract. They are bound by ties of loyalty, often spanning generations, and the fear of reprisal, not just against them, but also their families living in their hometowns that are under the control of their tribal chief or spiritual leader, are their daily lot.

At the same time, these tribal guards get paid less than the minimum wage, have poor safety gear and no insurance cover, or training and refresher courses in shooting or safety.

While the challenges facing guards working for private security companies are well documented, very little is known about the tribal men who protect their chieftains…

Instead, these men hailing from a martial culture, are driven by values of tribal honour, says Gohram*, one such armed guard who is from the Bugti clan. He was part of a shoot-out that saw hundreds of bullets being fired between two factions of the tribe in a busy commercial area in Karachi’s Defence area a few months ago, resulting in five fatalities, including at least one guard.

“In Baloch culture, failing to retaliate would disgrace my family and haunt me,” Gohram tells Eos. For him, to surrender is to betray the tribe and its chief. Retaliation isn’t optional — it’s demanded. The fear of shame drives individuals to fight, even in grave danger. “Now, I’m seen as a warrior,” he says.

While many others share Gohram’s sense of honour, they do so keeping self-preservation in mind.

Wazir*, a former gunman, tells Eos that his party was ambushed by dacoits while travelling with their sardar [tribal chief]. “They stole everything — our weapons, phones, money — and beat us,” he continues. “But when we returned to the sardar’s bungalow, he punished us again, furious that we hadn’t fought back.”

Wazeer says that if they had fought back, they were likely to be killed. But that wasn’t the sardar’s concern. Wazeer adds that he was later implicated on false charges and imprisoned for four months, a consequence of his employer’s political clout.

After his release, he decided to join a different profession. “Today, I’m a labourer, and I thank God for my cowardice — it saved my life,” he tells Eos.

Most tribal guards face the situation that Wazeer had to contend with, as they have no formal contract with their employer or any legal protection such as that enjoyed by those associated with private security companies.

Although many gunmen grow up surrounded by firearms, their knowledge is rudimentary at best — limited to tasks such as loading, unloading and aerial gunfire. Despite this exposure, they lack proper training in the effective handling or maintenance of weapons, making them ill-equipped to serve in their supposed roles as protectors.

A VICIOUS CYCLE

The tradition of becoming a gunman is often passed down through generations. The children of armed gunmen, who typically lack access to education and agricultural or vocational skills, frequently follow in the footsteps of their fathers. This generational cycle further entrenches the power of the feudal elite, as entire families become dependent on their employer for survival, with little hope of breaking free from this inherited role of servitude.

To reward loyalty, some feudal lords get their guards appointed in government departments — as janitors, gardeners or drivers — though these roles are usually only on paper, with the guard continuing bungalow duties while drawing a salary for rarely performed work. Occasionally, the sons of senior guards are given minor government jobs as a token of their fathers’ loyal service.

Such jobs help augment the guard’s income, who often earn as little as one-third of the current minimum wage, which stands at Rs37,000 in Sindh.

Mir Jangi Khan Magsi, an expert on rural dynamics, says that only a few loyal gunmen earn a salary of Rs9,000 to Rs12,000, with perks like meals and accommodation only available when the employer is present. With meagre earnings, many such guards resort to scheming and sycophancy. “They earn extra by flattering visitors or accepting money from officers visiting their sardar’s residence,” he tells Eos.

In contrast, the same tribal gunmen, when employed by urban businessmen, can hope to receive better wages and improved living conditions. Arif* and Sajjad*, cousins from rural Sindh, now work as gunmen for a Karachi businessman. The businessman hired them on the recommendation of their tribal chief — likely as a token of gratitude.

“We now earn 35,000 rupees each per month, much better than the 12,000 rupees we were paid by the sardar,” they tell Eos. This not only benefits the tribal guards, but also those employing them. The cousins say their employer previously spent Rs160,000 monthly on guards of a private security firm, who worked 10-hour shifts. “Now, he pays us 70,000 collectively for the same round-the-clock service, while we also handle errands, such as grocery shopping, driving and other tasks,” they say.

They know that they are likely to get even better remuneration and support if they joined a private security company, but they find the recruitment process challenging. “Plus, we are already much better off, so we are happy with what we have,” they add.

CONTRASTING REASONS, SIMILAR OUTCOMES

One reason for men becoming a tribal guard is to escape the hard labour of working the farms. Others do it for fame and fortune, or to be associated with a powerful figure.

Then there are those who work for a sardar or chieftain because they know it would get them immunity from crimes already committed. They become part of the chief’s ‘militia’, a parallel force that ensures the sardar’s will is the law and any resistance is crushed.

“I had several theft and robbery charges pending,” Muzaffar* tells Eos. “The police chased me, but they stopped after I became a gunman for a powerful sardar,” he points out.

These tribal guards are often accused of terrorising residents in metropolises at the behest of their sardars. Even if there is a complaint against a particular guard, it is easy for them to vanish in their hometowns, with the local police unwilling to take action.

Nabeel*, a resident of Karachi’s Defence Housing Authority, tells Eos that gunmen stationed outside a house in his neighbourhood constantly harass families. “Our street is full of them and complaints to their owners go ignored,” he says. “We fear for our security, unsure if they’re trustworthy or criminals.”

Without adequate laws in place, and an obsequious police force, residents in urban and rural centres have no option but to be wary of such armed men, forever careful of not stepping on the toes of their tribal overlords. One word from the sardar can have these scary-looking men wreak havoc on anyone, even a driver who cut too close to their vehicle.

Recruited from impoverished communities, these gunmen reinforce feudal dominance and instill fear. But lured by status and protection, they themselves endure a precarious, manipulated existence. Addressing this issue requires urgent legal reforms and socio-economic changes to dismantle the power structures that enable feudal lords to wield unchecked authority.

**Name changed for privacy*

The writer is a freelance journalist and researcher. He can be contacted at ali_mugheri1987@yahoo.com.

Published in Dawn, EOS, December 15th, 2024