The first stone was thrown by an old woman. Paul tried not to flinch, as it sailed past him and struck Matthew on the arm. The impact of the missile staggered Matthew momentarily, but men on both sides quickly reached out to steady him. With their help Matthew regained his balance and continued to walk forward, holding his arm to his chest with his other hand. Paul struggled to control the trembling of his body, as the seven men in his line continued slowly toward the Governor's house. He could hear the footsteps of the other men behind them. They advanced together with steady strides, two thousand men in ragged lines of seven, marching in Karachi to the house of the Governor to demand justice for the burning of the village of Shantinagar.

Paul had been shocked when he first heard the news of the attack on the Christian village in northern Pakistan. A whole community of men, women and children had been driven out of their homes and then their houses had been robbed and set on fire. Reports in the newspapers confirmed that the assault on Shantinagar was religiously motivated. It was claimed that a Christian had blasphemed by tearing pages from the Qur'an, the Muslim scriptures, and writing his name on them, before throwing these desecrated pages into a mosque in a nearby village. The charge was ludicrous. If any Christian were ever to deface a Qur'an, he would never write his name on the pages and then put them where they could be found by angry Muslims. And it was hardly credible that any Christian in Pakistan would deface a Qur'an, no matter how angry he was at his Muslim neighbors. It was simply too dangerous.

Christian contacts in Lahore, the nearest large city to Shantinagar in the Punjab, had confirmed that the story of defacing the Qur'an was a fabrication to hide the facts. The truth was that the attack on the village resulted from an argument between a Muslim and a Christian. A Muslim policeman had entered a Christian home in Shantinagar hoping to discover illegal gambling. When he was unable to find any evidence to use against the homeowner, the frustrated policeman picked up a Bible that was in the home, threw it to the floor, and kicked it. Incensed by this desecration of the Bible, the Christian had filed a complaint against the Muslim policeman at the nearby police station. To retaliate against the Christian, the policeman had made up the story about the Qur'an being defaced and stirred up neighboring Muslim villages against the people of Shantinagar.

Paul heard more noise behind him now, but he didn't dare look around. The police lining the road were putting on their gas masks. The marchers would be attacked before they reached the house of the Governor of Sindh, the province in which Karachi was located. It was crazy to try to march to the Governor's house, but what could they do? They had to protest the devastating attack on Shantinagar. The young men in the Christian colonies of Karachi, where they lived crammed together in what were really slum ghettoes, were outraged and ready to fight. If the older men didn't channel the anger of the youth into a protest march, there might be random attacks by Christians on Muslims and mosques. Then mobs of Muslims would attack the Christian colonies, and the lives of thousands of people would be put in danger. The elders of the Christian colonies knew they had to take the risk of organizing a nonviolent protest march.

It was an illegal march, of course, as the government would never have granted permission for the demonstration. The organizers hadn't even bothered applying for a permit. But that meant they had to expect to be arrested. Their only protection was in numbers and in publicity. If hundreds of persons were charged with unlawful assembly, it would be hard to prosecute them and the news would be carried in the international press. Adverse publicity might force the government not to prosecute those arrested. Moreover, the reaction from abroad to the arrests might also push the government into compensating the people of Shantinagar for the destruction of their homes.

The ultimate goal of the elders, however, was to force the government to investigate the involvement of the local police in the attack on Shantinagar. It was crucial to identify the individuals who were responsible for instigating and allowing the mobs to turn on their neighbors. Christians all over Pakistan would not feel safe unless the perpetrators of the assault on the village of Shantinagar were punished.

Paul thought of how the people of Shantinagar must have felt, as the raging mobs surged toward their community and the armed police vehicles drew closer. The men and women of Shantinagar knew they couldn't stand and fight. They had no guns, only sticks and knives. The only way to save their lives was to flee. So they had gathered up their children and old folks and run into the fields. Of course, that was just what the attacking crowd wanted. Once the people had fled, the mob and the police moved in and took whatever they could carry, loaded it onto trucks, and then set fire to the houses.

The assault was well planned. The villagers were given time to leave, so no one was killed. Animals were rounded up and taken away to be slaughtered, so there would be meat to sell and no evidence of the theft. Vehicles were driven or towed out of the village, so they could be hidden and stripped later for spare parts. Finally, chemicals were sprayed into some of the homes before they were torched, increasing the intensity of the heat of the fire and leaving a sticky residue on the walls. The attack on Shantinagar was not the violent act of an unthinking mob but a well-planned and executed assault. Police and leaders of the nearby Muslim villages were informed but either afraid to intervene or happy to go along.

The Karachi police in front and beside them now had their masks on and were massing for an attack on the marchers. Paul felt the moisture under his arms and on his face. There was a cool breeze this morning, but that wasn't why he was shivering. He was absolutely terrified. He'd been in a demonstration before, but he'd never seen the police prepare to attack. He could feel the blood pounding in his temples, as he slowly walked forward with the others. His mind raced, looking for a way to avoid the bloodshed that now seemed inevitable.

More stones flew past him, hitting other men in his line. Two of the men were bleeding from facial cuts. Another man was holding his arm as though it were broken. Paul glanced at Samuel in the middle of the front line of marchers. Samuel was one of the most respected elders in the Christian colonies in Karachi. He seemed remarkably calm and his step remained firm. Paul marveled at his courage. Samuel had led many protest marches in Karachi and had been arrested on several occasions. His strength was an inspiration to many of the men beside and behind him. Suddenly, Paul felt ashamed at his fear and turned his face forward again to face the police in front of them.

Over ten thousand people in Shantinagar had fled their village and watched it burn. For four hours the blaze had raged, as the people huddled in the fields and watched the dark smoke swirling into the sky. This morning government officials had issued a statement promising an investigation, but the policeman who had instigated the attack was still at large and the Christian accused of defacing the Qur'an was languishing in jail. How could they trust that a government inquiry would bring justice to the people of Shantinagar?

Suddenly, a tear gas canister landed with a thud in the street about ten feet in front of Paul and the white gas began to spew out of canister and move in a swirling cloud toward them. Paul looked at Samuel. Now that there was gas in front of the marchers, they would have to stop and sit on the street, awaiting arrest. It was absolutely critical to keep discipline among the marchers, even though it would be extremely difficult. Each marcher had been told to bring a handkerchief or a towel, in case of tear gas. And they had been told, if gas was used against them, to sit with their faces covered and to breath as close to the street as possible, so they could avoid most of the fumes until the gas had blown away.

Samuel gave the signal to stop and sit by raising his right hand. If he had raised his left hand, they would have stopped and remained standing. The signal was passed back through the lines by the man in the middle behind Samuel and those behind him. Paul reached into his pocket for his handkerchief and pulled it out. But before he could sit down, he heard a shot and saw Matthew, standing in the line just behind Samuel, fall backward clutching his chest.

As more shots rang out, the marchers panicked and began to run. Paul saw that Samuel was kneeling over Matthew, and that Joseph had come forward from behind Matthew and was shielding Samuel with his body. Joseph was like a son to Samuel. He loved him and would give his life for him. Paul crouched, trembling, not knowing what to do or where to go. Behind him he heard the sounds of men yelling and fighting. The marchers had been carrying sticks with signs stapled to them. The signs had been ripped off now, and the marchers were swinging their sticks fiercely at the police charging into their ranks from both sides of the street.

In front of him the officers were only a few steps away. Everywhere desperate men were struggling in the gas, coughing and gaging as the fumes became too much for them, and falling as they were clubbed or shot. As the line of police pressed in upon the front row of the marchers, Paul covered his head and ducked. He felt a sharp blow on his back, which knocked him to his knees. "Jesus," he groaned, as the intense pain quickly surged from his back throughout his whole body. Another blow glanced off his shoulder and knocked him to the pavement. Quickly he curled up to protect his groin and face. He pressed his handkerchief over his nose, gasping as the gas grabbed at his throat and burned his eyes.

What must have been only a few seconds seemed like forever, as he lay on the street, coughing and crying. But after the gas had begun to disperse, Paul began to breathe more easily. He cringed, expecting to be kicked or hit again, but the sound of fighting was moving away from him. Wiping the tears from his eyes, Paul raised his head and looked back toward the marchers who had been behind him. The police were steadily moving through them and cutting the protesters down with their clubs like harvesters through a field of hay. Men were lying all over the street, moaning and holding their heads or arms, where they had been hit. Further back, those still standing were swinging their sticks or trying to break through the police lines to escape the vicious assault.

Joseph was leading Samuel away to the left, but Matthew remained in the street, a pool of blood beside him. Realizing that the police were now all behind him, Paul staggered to his feet. His back and shoulder throbbed with pain, as he began to run forward toward the Governor's house. There were still a few officers in front of the gate, but the streets to the side were unguarded. All thoughts of protesting had been purged from his mind. Paul only wanted to get as far away from the scene as fast as he could. Tears ran down his cheeks, and he gasped for breath. He tried not to cough, but the gas he had inhaled continued to sear his parched throat.

Quickly, Paul ducked into the first side street that was unguarded, and then paused to look back. The street behind him resembled a battlefield. Through the clouds of gas he could see bodies lying everywhere. Hundreds of the marchers must have been injured and who knows how many arrested. He gritted his teeth against the pain throbbing through his back and shoulder. They hadn't anticipated such a violent response from the police. They had expected to be stopped and arrested, but they hadn't foreseen that they would be attacked.

Paul couldn't see where Samuel had gone, but he knew Joseph would take care of him. Now he had to take care of himself. Turning, he crouched and ran down the side street as fast as he could. He was ashamed to be running away, when many of his friends were lying injured behind him. But he couldn't help them now, and if he went back he would be arrested. Just the thought of being in police custody sent a shudder through his body, and he staggered as fear gripped his stomach. He thought again of those who would be arrested, and then rage and frustration surged through him and overcame his fear.

"Damn them!" Paul yelled, "God damn them!" But furtively he glanced around to see if anyone had heard him. The elders expected him, a Catholic priest, to set an example for the other men. And the older men couldn't allow their frustration and anger to stir up the younger men. They had to confront the injustice all around them with nonviolent direct action. They had to resist evil with the power of good. They had to face hate with love and brutality with compassion. It was a daunting demand, yet they had no better alternative. They couldn't win a fight, and they had to appeal to the goodwill of Muslim leaders in Pakistan as well as to the sympathy of foreign governments. Gandhi in India and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. in the United States had shown what nonviolent direct action could accomplish. It was the only way.

But what was their next move? If they couldn't protest in the streets, what could they do? As he slowed to a walk, Paul suddenly felt a great weariness overcome him. His mind was numb, and his arms and legs were trembling from the strain. He wiped his eyes with his handkerchief, and slowly pushed it into his pocket. It all seemed so hopeless.