“So tell me, are you going to donate the animal hides at this Eid to Imran Khan?” I asked my hafiz-e-Quran nephew, who is a 21-year-old, shy, college student in Karachi. I knew he typically stayed away from active politics but I thought I should inquire about his predilections. In my opinion, he possessed all the characteristics of a Pakistan Tahreek-e-Insaf (PTI) supporter: a middle-class, educated, urban young man with some religious inclination. “No, not at all, instead, we intend to help the ‘Bhai log’,” he said with a smile on his face, obviously referring to the Muttahida Qaumi Movement (MQM). I was taken aback by my nephew’s response as I was visiting Pakistan after many years, thinking of a mega ‘tsunami’ and having an entirely different opinion of the younger generation. Before his response, I was certain he would name a party with at least some religious inkling like the PTI, Pakistan Muslim League-Nawaz or Jamaat-e-Islami (JI). Traditionally, the JI had a large support base in Karachi, but to my surprise, he did not favour any one of them; instead, he was in support of an ‘infamous’ ethnic political party. “Are you afraid of the Bhai log since you live in Gulshan-e-Iqbal, the centre of their political strength?” This was my way of asking him if he had already been approached by the unit in-charge of the area or his associates and been harassed by them. My nephew clearly understood the undertones of my question, and with a smile on his face again, he denied all kinds of threats. “What would happen if they showed up at your door step, asking for the animal skin and you refused to hand it over to them?” I had decided to nail him down with my pointed questions by asking him directly and trying to unearth his ‘fears’. “Nothing will happen to us; we have never donated to them in the past and they probably know this too,” he said plainly. The discussion was not going in the direction I wanted to take it. I was eagerly waiting for an opportunity to bash MQM but this young kid was not giving me an opening. Based on my assessment of the political situation in Karachi from outside, he should have been extremely nervous, unable to formulate a response to express his fears, and petrified to share his concerns about the safety of our family. Nevertheless, to my disappointment, he did not sound frightened at all. “Are you going to vote for them too?” I asked him angrily and in disbelief. “Obviously, yes,” he responded confidently. This could not happen to me, my heart said to me; my own family member could not be supporting a ‘fascist organisation’. “Only they can deliver in Karachi,” he continued, referring to the five-year term of Mustafa Kamal as the mayor of the largest city of Pakistan in which the MQM had initiated and completed more than 100 projects of public interest. At that time, we were entering the Liyari Express, an incomplete, one-lane bypass route that connects the main city and the seaport with the Super Highway in Sohrab Goth. “You would know the difference on our way back from the city when it will take you two hours on the local roads instead of 20 minutes on the expressway,” he said. “If the MQM had been in power for another six months, this project would have been completed that has been deliberately left unfinished for the last four years.”He sounded proud of their performance, especially in building the infrastructure of Karachi. On the other hand, I was running out of patience now; I had to blurt out my anger and confront him about the rationale behind the target killings and land grabbing mafias, both allegedly sponsored by the MQM. “So why would you help an organisation that is the most violent among all political parties?” I could not restrain myself any more. “You are right about the ‘political parties’, but what about the ‘non-political’ parties?” my nephew questioned me, referring to the organised criminal gangs surreptitiously sponsored by many mainstream political parties, in addition to the increasing sectarian violence in the city lead by the non-political Taliban-minded Sunni extremists. To validate his point further, the young man brought something surprising to my attention: “Did you notice those black flags on the rooftops of most of the apartment complexes in Sohrab Goth before we entered the Expressway? Just a few years ago they used to be mostly red; but they have been replaced recently.” I knew he was talking about the Taliban and the Awami National Party (ANP) black and red flags respectively. Without knowing their significance at that time, I remembered I had observed miles-long series of apartment buildings covered by black flags on both sides of the Super Highway. “Do you know what the future of Karachi is?” my nephew asked me this time, and went on to answer his own question as if he was talking to himself. “Everyone has to lay down his arms; political or not, regardless of the ethnic backgrounds, we all agree on that. But the real future of the city rests in the hands of the state if she wants to seriously solve the problem with a single, fathomable strategy against extremism that has bewitched Pakistan from Khyber to Karachi,” he said. “Or be ready for the black flags from the north to the south.” The writer is a US-based freelance columnist and can be reached at skamranhashmi@gmail.com