Benazir Bhutto

I am shocked by the death of Benazir Bhutto. We first became friends when we were students together at university, when she at times seemed almost carefree, enjoying life, still called "Pinkie" by those who had known her at Harvard, yet showing acute political antenae, even for student union elections.

Later, whenever we met, we reminisced about those times which must have seemed to her to be so distant from the harrowing, dangerous life she followed after entering politics after the assasination of her father, to whom she was very close. Further tragedy was to follow: the deaths of both her brothers, five years in jail, mostly in solitary confinement and in recent years exiled by the military after two terms as Prime Minister.

Just this summer, when clearing out my attic, I found old notes and postcards she had sent me. It is less than a year since I introduced her at a meeting in Leeds civic centre. Now, I shall never be able to talk to her again.

She was acutely aware of the risks she was taking upon returning to Pakistan. She had invited me to join her on the flight back. She courageously hoped to restore democracy and win against both the military and the fundamentalists. In the end, her enemies proved too ruthless, brutally killing her and many others, and risking the descent of Pakistan into viscious civil conflict.