“Like a Hair Drawn from Flour”: Everyday Militarization and Female Recruitment for Church Security Teams in Pakistan

This article considers what motivates Christian women in Pakistan to volunteer for security teams that protect their religious communities from political violence. Our qualitative data show how the acquisition of manpower —namely the military’s capacity to enlist support from civil society—has also shaped these subaltern groups into informal specialists on violence. School caterers, homemakers, laborers, garment factory stitchers, sanitary workers, and welders all ﬁnd their place in the security complex of urban Lahore. This complex, where transborder networks of state incumbents, parasitic social groups, diasporas, and strongmen usually subsist, has absorbed women who live at the lowest social strata. As a result, traditionally autonomous domains of civic action, including the women’s sense of duty and sacriﬁce, have been invested with securitizing norms. In these church security teams, the “governmentalization of the state” contains residues of pastoral power and this power requires women to embody the right disposition.


Introduction
In the complex of emergencies facing minorities in the early twenty-first century, security relies on new patterns of social entrepreneurship among women as well as traditionally male state actors who do security. This article uses qualitative data to explore how subaltern women's experiences in Pakistan's waning Christian community of 2.8 million are socially excluded and literally unreadable or illegible to the disciplinary power in this formation. We will move on to the way international relations and security studies scholars in their respective fields may attend to the experience of Youhanabad's Christian women as a subaltern demographic that subsists alongside the paramilitary response to insurgent violence in the Global South. Our focus in this introduction is on how the disciplinary orientation for studying women's incorporation into structures of security that emphasizes their relative autonomy from militarism, for women who belong to one of the most vulnerable populations in the Global South, may need to also attend to forms that appear to be "pre-political. " We want to see what pre-political or cultural resources are available to Christian women in Pakistan from the poorest classes to learn how they can ever constitute political actors in challenging the dominant claim for priority by men, including Christian men, within [a] democratizing polity at the microsocial level (Tilly 2003, 92). This is the normative impulse of our account. Our data, it is hoped, will shed light on the possibilities for a space for contention where populist discontent is being galvanized by Islamist elements into ritualized violence along communal lines and where the state has failed to provide security to its citizenry. Although constitutional provision is made for Christian avowal and practice, the sections (295-298) of the Pakistan Penal Code that prohibit the "outraging [of] the religious feelings of any class of the citizens of Pakistan" also render them vulnerable to malicious accusations of blasphemy. The contemporary drivers of communal violence are occasionally lethal for Pakistan's Christians, including for our residents in Youhanabad Colony.
One theoretical possibility for our cohort and their strong vocation to protect their community lies in Michel Foucault's account of pastoral power, and especially for "movements that also seek, possibly at any rate, to escape direction by others and to define the way for each to conduct himself" (Foucault 2007, 194-95, emphases added). Using our qualitative data, our findings show how the religious vocation fostered by spiritual leaders is unlikely to provide Youhanabad's Christians, including our cohort of women, with a plausible repertoire of dissent. This is not because Foucault's alternative genealogy of the State in the dissident religious sects is a male enterprise; our account shows how the habit of obedience is a byproduct of the way security itself is ritualized by the church in Youhanabad. Foucault cites the pastoral ethos of the Christian group as the origins of security for the policing State, a thesis given historical force in a wholly different way from Foucault by Michael Walzer in The Revolution of the Saints: A Study in the Origins of Radical Politics (1982). The sections below detail how the dynamic Foucault sketched in his account can be discovered beyond Europe. By documenting the experience of security among Youhanabad's women, we will show how obedience to the group continues to be a vehicle for the transmission of values beyond meeting the security needs of the minority community.
The simple answer at the very outset to the potential for asserting social agency by a religious minority would be to wholly discount any room in civil society for such subaltern voices. This conventional response to the problem of violence would cast the sociopolitical identity of Christian women alongside most Muslim women in Pakistan as wholly subsumed by a monolithic national culture that admits "liberal/secular resistance [as a] strategic interruption" to "patriarchal political hegemonies in Pakistan" (Zia 2018, 180). At least in terms of Muslim women, the political hegemony is nearly total: in the propaganda for recruitment, both Tehrik-e-Taliban (TEL) and the Pakistan military "call on women to subordinate themselves in fairly similar ways and provide circumscribed, gendered avenues of participation that reinforce their specific Islamo-masculinist claims" (Khoja-Moolji 2021, 124). The law, instead of affording protection to these citizens, functions as an instrument of fear in the hands of regressive elements that need to be routinely placated by a weak center that is trying to govern according to secular norms. If the mass rallies organized by a coalition of religious parties in the wake of the Supreme Court's decision to free Asia Bibi-the first woman to be accused of shatim-e-Rasool (insulting remarks against the Prophet)under Pakistan's blasphemy laws are anything to go by, Foucault's autonomy through reformist conduct is also unavailable to our female Christian subjects. However, this would mean prematurely concluding that 2 percent of the total population experience structural violence invariantly and permanently. In this argument, "liberal/secular resistance" is unavailable to them because of the strict limit in the Penal Code to the right to religious freedom in Article 2A of the Objectives Resolution (Galtung 1996, 199;Walbridge 2003, 89). However, as we hope to show, this would be a problematic oversimplification of the actual dynamics on the ground. Does volunteering for security teams afford Christian women access to a mode of political subjectivity beyond the type available to Muslim women? What is certain is that all the participants in this study will have to live in the country; unlike Asia Bibi, they will not be escaping the dynamics we describe here.
Our fieldwork in Lahore's Christian enclave, Youhanabad, shows how, when the need for security is met by the norms of obedience-obedience that is often required by nonspecialists in violence-there is a logic to which some women subscribe, and many do not (Wibben 2018, 144). Women's social agency is formed with organized violence as a normal backdrop. Women often have to foster greater fortitude than men when facing the aftermath of communal violence. In documenting this element of social life, the task we set ourselves was to go beyond the narrative of human rights for Pakistan's religious minorities that development workers and civil society actors routinely reproduce at the instigation of think tanks like the Sustainable Development Policy Institute, the US government's favorite think tank in Islamabad. Most of the professional women's movement in Pakistan-since at least CEDAW (Convention on the Elimination of all forms of Discrimination against Women, held in New York in 1979)-is concerned about documenting the authoritative or constricting characteristics of every social position to infer the agency of women within "existing structures" as the basis or proto-politics for reform (McNay 2007, 42).
Instead of acknowledging a truism that these structures are "reproduced by human agents who modify and change them," we want to diagnose how women inhabit the norms of security using Foucault's account of security as raison d'état (McNay 2007, 60). Using Foucault's formulation of security as a multiplicity of regimes, we draw on fieldwork to describe how women inhabit the space where disciplinary power distributes individuals. Although Foucault astutely describes the heterogeneity of security as existing in terms of "regimes of practices," in his diagnostic account of the emergence of the state form-according to the imperatives of security and policing-he simply omits women in the distribution of bodies carried out by this power. Martin van Creveld's thesis, self-described as "the Most Radical Reinterpretation of Armed Conflict since Clausewitz"-capitalized in the original-contains an "Aside" addressed to the subject "Women" (Van Creveld 1991, 180). According to van Creveld, women's fortitude may be "as great, or greater than, that of men," even though they remain peripheral to the kind of security Foucault describes as the origins of European statecraft (Van Creveld 1991, 180).
The Christian minority's right to freely profess its faith, practice its religion, and develop its culture is ostensibly protected in Article 2A in the Objectives Resolution of the Constitution since 1949 (Annex, Constitution of Pakistan). Our research in Youhanabad colony shows that women's consciousness of security cannot be discounted in the evolution of policing space for a vulnerable population. In addition to security as tactics-questing for suspects and informantsthe practice of security in this community shows us the partial transition from the Christian pastorate to modern governmentality. Like the men we interviewed in Youhanabad, men who are engaged in menial work such as plumbing and sanitation, welding, machine operator in a garment factory, the female volunteers were not entrusted with any ordinary administrative function other than recruitment for the security team. Two of the three nuns whose views we also collected, in contrast to the female volunteers, had an equivalent education to the five male clergies at St John's and had eight years of teaching experience in high schools. The "ritual" ceremony of the Catholic mission, where the subaltern women were bestowed by the priest with a stole to mark their importance symbolically also had the unintended consequence of arousing a little resentment from other women attending the services.
Conceptually, our account explores the social transformation (the formation of multiplicities with which sovereignty and discipline are concerned) by drawing on the voices of subaltern classes in a Muslim-majority nation that is in many ways at the epicenter of the "Fourth World" (Foucault 2007, 12;Duffield 2014, 15). Women experience the social divisions of territory differently than men. This paper draws on a single narrative related to Foucault's prolific account of territorial security as the foundation of governmentality. Can we imagine any social division of territory to the norms of sovereignty, discipline, and security that is not experienced by women differently? We address the problem of space that is common to sovereignty, discipline, and security when it comes to organizing the circulation of goods and bodies where female bodies are treated by practitioners of security as a material given (Foucault 2007, 18-19). Go to any public space and see how its fertile emptiness is ordered according to the multiplicities imagined by men and in this specific sense, "illegibility … remains a reliable resource for political autonomy" for women from the securityindustrial complex (Scott 1998, 54). This is not to say that women cannot inhabit the apparatus or dispositif of security imagined as "a system of relations between elements" (Dean 2013, 46). However, this national geography is a truly strange world where the reproduction and circulation of policed bodies are entirely void of women. Foucault is clear: the genesis of governmentality is "the coexistence and communication of men with each other" (Foucault 2007, 326). Although Ayesha Siddiqa's analysis of the military-civilian nexus in Pakistan has a wholly different focus to Foucault's, there is similarly no presence of women in the evolution of what she calls milbus or military capital (Siddiqa 2007). When it comes to the economy of affect for military capital during the annually televised Youm-e-Difah or Defence Day, women continue to play a distinctly symbolic role as grieving mothers, wives, sisters, and daughters in the dominant androcentric discourse of the valorous shaheed or martyred dead (Rashid 2020).

Background: Blasphemy and Penal Code 295-C
According to figures collected by the Centre for Social Justice in Pakistan, Asia Bibi was the first of thirty-six women charged with blasphemy out of a total of 1,549 people (between 1987 and 2017) (Jacob 2019). Bibi's angry reaction to the "caste" prejudice shown by a group of the other women (who, unlike her, were Muslim) after drinking from a cup of water shared by the villagers at a communal well in Ittanwala, forty miles south-east from Lahore, led to a mass mobilization by the religious parties. One of these, the TEL, whose tactics we will be coming across below, came third (6 percent vote share) in the Punjab in the 2018 General Election that brought Imran Khan's party to power, albeit in coalition (Haq 2019, 97). Although the Supreme Court in Islamabad reversed the judgment of the Lahore High Court for lack of evidence after a decade and Asia Bibi and her family were given asylum in Canada, seventy-five accused who were murdered in police custody or by the mob have not been so fortunate (Jaffery 2019). Perhaps in reaction to the global attention paid to Bibi's case, Imran Khan's government has been swift in ordering the release of an eight-year-old Hindu boy accused not of defaming the Prophet or burning the Qur'an-the customary allegations made against minorities-but of urinating in a madrassa library in a "conservative" district of Rahim Yar Khan (Janjua 2021). Despite the Pakistan government's banning of the TEL, a party whose singular focus was on maintaining the country's blasphemy laws in the wake of the Asia Bibi case, communal violence remains a felt reality for Pakistan's religious communities.
We are going to document the motivation of Christian women who routinely volunteer as members of a security team in the aftermath of organized violence by a mob that targeted not individuals like Asia Bibi but the whole Christian community in their own enclave. We want to begin by foregrounding the normal courage of Christian women in Youhanabad Colony. One of the participants in our study, "Sajida Shah" (forty-five), was an eye witness to the suicide attack on their Catholic church in Lahore on Easter Sunday, March 15, 2015. Sajida explains to her daughter, also present in the church that fateful day and who now refuses to set foot in the church, that she does not fear doing security ("mujhe woh khauf nahi ke security karti hun") and that anyone who comes in peace, we will embrace ("Jo aye ga uske galay to hum lagein gay hi").
Unsubstantiated claims circulated in the British media about the collective reaction of British Muslims to the prospect of the UK government's granting asylum to Asia Bibi and her family, a Christian family of rural laborers from Pakistan. The case serves as one of those perennial episodes of volatility advanced democracies are susceptible to when it comes to their Muslim populations. Pakistan, on this occasion, failed to be a site of tension for a public and political class preoccupied by exit from the European Union (Cohen 2011, xxxvi). The British Foreign Office, however, did express reasonable fears for the safety of consular staff in Pakistan as one of the possible outcomes should the Christian family, originally from rural Punjab, escape communal violence by coming to the United Kingdom (Barker 2018). Other countries, including Canada, led the way in offering asylum to these victims of communal populism (Sherwood 2018;Wintour 2018). On this occasion, the "moral security" associated with the international community's evangelical humanitarianism failed to emerge from the other species of security-financial, democratic, and constitutional-contending for the politico-social imagination of the British public (Amar 2013, 7). The British public was concerned about hazards, real or imagined, to its own moral security. The failure to mobilize on behalf of this persecuted Pakistani Christian woman-in contrast to Malala Yousafzai-was part of the backroom effort by diplomats as a stage before "parastatal formations," such as policing and development aid that are resumed in redirecting some intercontinental flows of security practices and protection discourses (Amar 2013, 7).
The response by the international community on Asia Bibi's behalf was in the wake of attention to the difficulties faced by the new Imran Khan administration in quelling mass protests. During a rally in late November 2018, the leadership of the TEL (the "I am here" movement, after the iteration in prayer), a coalition of Islamist elements dedicated to defending the blasphemy laws against any reform by the judiciary or parliament, urged the security detail of three Supreme Court judges to murder them. The judges had decided to free Asia Bibi after eight years in prison for alleged blasphemy (Barker, 2018).
Campaigns of the kind organized by the TEL are not new in Pakistan. They are a troubling feature for the country's governing elites, which is why the Imran Khan government banned the party in 2021 (Barker and Iqbal 2018). These mass protests in the wake of Asia Bibi's verdict resemble those after the execution of Mumtaz Qadri, a bodyguard who shot Salmaan Taseer, the provincial governor of Punjab in 2011; that campaign was also successful in drawing out thousands in Islamabad, Rawalpindi, Lahore, Karachi, Mardan, and Kasur. Taseer had called for a change in the country's blasphemy laws (Pakistan Today 2019). Since Qadri's execution, ordered by the Supreme Court, the bodyguard has been elevated to the status of a saint. The security guard lies in his own mausoleum that resembles the tomb of the Prophet in Medina. Religious entrepreneurship in Pakistan takes on a newly invigored form with the TEL's Barelwi specialists (Adil 2016). For many, the Pakistan Supreme Court's decision could only be the subversion by judicial means of the norms of a society where love and devotion to the Prophet as an immortal and living presence in the world fall upon all Pakistanis as a religious duty in order to combat the dark forces of jahiliyya (or ignorance) fostered by western emulation. This mission, in TEL's case, means exerting its moral authority over Pakistan's masses by calling for the preservation of Penal Code 295-C that punishes with death anyone guilty of the "Use of derogatory remarks, etc., in respect of the Holy Prophet" in this denominational spirit. The appalling call by the late Pir Afzal Qadri, now removed from YouTube, for the murder of the justices on behalf Khadim Rizvi's TEL ought to be taken seriously. In 2011, the TEL also killed Shahbaz Bhatti, the then Punjab Minister for minorities and a Catholic because of his outspoken defense of Asia Bibi (Pandey in Guha 1984).
If it is not the vocal coalition of Islamist political entrepreneurs, who are keen to use the minority question for exactions from the center despite historical failures at the polls, it is specialists in violence with an extra-constitutional relation to the state. More recently, a splinter group from the TEL, the Jamaat ul Ahra (Assembly of the Free), claimed a suicide attack in Lahore's Gulshan-e-Iqbal on Easter Sunday on March 27, 2016, with fourteen amongst the seventyfive dead identified as Christian. The message to Nawaz Sharif, the then Prime Minister, pointed to the sub-political coalition of the ISI's (Pakistan's intelligence agency) use of insurgent groups like the Haqqani network (based in the Federally Administered Tribal Areas; FATA): "We have carried out this attack to target the Christians who were celebrating Easter. Also this is a message to the Pakistani prime minister that we have arrived in Punjab [the ruling party's home province]" (Brown and Rassler 2013;Sidiqqui 2016, 38-40, 101). The Easter 2016 attack was the latest of targeted campaigns in Lahore against the Christian minority by parties and non-state specialists in violence that are eager to use communalism as a pretext for claiming rent from the federal government because they have also been on the losing end of drone wars and military operations in FATA for some years now.
For our case study that examines the local impact and security implications for Pakistani Christian women, we want to draw attention to one of two congregations in Lahore that were subjected to synchronized attacks by dehshatgard (suicide bombers) during Sunday service on March 15, 2015, leaving fifteen dead, including two police officers, and eighty-five wounded (BBC News 2015). Before turning to the residents of Youhanabad, it is worth noting that two days after the fatal attack on Christian worshippers, as a reprisal, a garment worker in search of work in the city and a glasscutter were lynched by Christian mobs as suspect handlers for the suicide bombings. This situation follows an established pattern of communal violence afflicting Youhanabad's estimated 100,000 Christian population. The internal inducements to violence that Pandey refers to when he talks about the defense of the nation as a sacred community by the liberal nation state also leave Pakistan's Christian minority having to actively reconstruct security as a mirror of militaristic state norms. Pandey calls it "a recognition of [] violence … as a 'normal' condition of political life" (Pandey 2006, 15).

Paramilitarism in the Global South
Corporate interests in the Global South continue to mask violent extraction with aid giving, the situation which Frantz Fanon described as an emergency for decolonizing nations as long ago as 1961 (Grove 2019). At scale, the elementary extractions from the "underdeveloped" periphery for otherwise poorly performing Euro-American capital requires from its clients ever new degrees of brutality when it comes to how the poorest face "home [as] … a war zone, a plantation, a mining corporation, or dead land" (Sassen 2014, 16). The challenge for postcolonial states like Pakistan, with its own version of this extractive relation between the Global North and South, as a frontier against the war on terror for America, is the singular failure to convert "moral security" into individual security. This is the assumption development workers make as a normative base for claim-making through the discourse of citizenship, but an insightful interpretation for achieving "humanized securitization" in the Global South necessarily entails a closer examination of the impact of "police paramilitarism" on subaltern populations (Amar 2013, 7). Naz Bano, the mother of Akash Bashir, aged twenty years, whose heroic sacrifice prevented the suicide bomber from killing even more of the congregation gathered on Easter Sunday, will attest to this failure of deriving moral security from the police response to communal violence in her own words. This failure of the provincial government to afford protection to a highly visible minority in their own enclave is the practical reason for staffing security team with volunteers. For now, it suffices to note that privatized paramilitarism is ubiquitous in the Global South. Should anyone attempt to walk through newly zoned cities such as Lahore or Islamabad that are designed to police vagrant classes, deformations in the urban fabric become immediately apparent. Checkpoint after checkpoint impede all human movement. Mass surveillance in shopping malls keeps the poor out of elite spaces of consumption; a remittanceborn suburbia features mostly vacant housing that requires large barricades with private armed guards who survey the risk on the street from turrets together. Militarized urbanism is the response to the fact that suicide bombings regularly occur in Pakistani cities (Graham 2011, 21). One of the tangible impacts on civil society is that "new forms of authority and [expansive] zones of alternative regulation" are called forth by global governing elites (Duffield 2014, 14). One of these incursions is an investment of £10 million, to date, in civilian courts where insurgents face execution as part of the British state's development work in Pakistan (Townsend 2018).
As a result of "low-intensity conflict" in the semimilitarized zones, such as the former FATA, Pakistan, in common with many other democratizing states, has begun to invest traditionally autonomous domains of communal identity and civic action with securitizing norms. We note sudden escalations in the coordinated destruction of property of the kind residents of the poorer enclave of mainly Catholic residents in Joseph Colony faced from Muslim mobs in 2013, opportunism by and complicity between state incumbents and foreign-funded aid professionals in the capital Islamabad, and for our participants, more acutely, the failed negotiation in the daily context of medium-level or ordinary aggression between local patrons and their clients (CLAAS 2019). These formations of insurgency and paramilitarism in the Global South should be understood as morbid instances of transition: the uneven-thus, complex-and lucrative nexus of development and security even constitutes "a Fourth World" (Duffield 2014, 15).
To experience normal life beyond security zoning and the crude management of populations by paramilitary forces, one must go to the rural hinterland of Pakistan, but even there, unemployed youth dream of escaping abroad due to chronically high underemployment. In the "shatter zone" of FATA (integrated into Khyber Pakhtunkhwa since 2018), the Pakistan military now operates deradicalization centers for the Pathan men in danger of recruitment by groups such as the Jamaat ul Ahra (Assembly of the Free), a splinter group of the TEL, that claimed a suicide attack in Lahore's Gulshan-e-Iqbal on Easter Sunday on March 27, 2016, with fourteen amongst the seventy-five dead identified as Christian (Scott 1998;Rozkkov 2014). Ignoring these rogue state-owned or parastatal assets that have a direct impact on Christian life, Youhanabad's youth, including Akash Bashir's younger brother, are susceptible to milbus and express an eagerness to enlist in one of the nation's most prestigious institutions.

Gender Narratives and Security
We situate our concerns in the contested field of analysis of Security Studies. The emergent field of Critical Security Studies has seen a number of feminist interventions since Cynthia Enloe's now historical observations about the military's capacity to enlist women and the home front in peacetime for a perpetual "culture" of war (Enloe 1990(Enloe , 2007. In the wake of the Cold War, this prefiguring of a truly vast securitization of women's lives in Euro-America has also been adopted by militaries in the Global South. The militaries of postcolonial states are also busy creating a simulacrum of war-as-peace for women in the urban centers that are vulnerable to attack. Feminists in political science and its subfields continue to problematize the conceptual linkages made by specialists between security and critical security studies where even the latter mode of analysis finds women's mundane experiences difficult to comprehend as its object of analysis because "security is profoundly gendered" (Wibben 2018, 139).
We provide a narrative focus on subaltern women's experience of security to make women's experience of militarism security more salient. In so doing, we draw attention to some of the anomalies that arise once hakumat or "governmentality" is noted as a tactical rather than an "operational" feature within the social fabric's islands of urban security. In other words, we are going to treat women's experience of security in our local context in terms of the role they think they are playing as volunteers for a paramilitary mechanism of social control. Precluded from planning any campaign of surveillance, a task men have assigned to themselves, the women's narratives were focussed on activities to do with engaging the local population (King 2014, 6). Our record of testimonies promises rich results for understanding the microsocial level of policing space in Muslim societies for this reason. The methodological consequences of Foucault's description of the way control of a population is diffused through practices as "an economy of power" at this tactical level can, ideally, help us understand how our subjects attain the position of a focalizer once security in the formal order of things is treated as dispositif-"a system of relations between elements" (Dean 2013, 46). A focalizer is the character that is told through a typical story, and what we realize in our study is that in tactical engagement with the threat of communal violence, the subaltern women of Youhanabad also reveal the plural forms that governmentality takes. What Sassen, Duffield, Amar, and others are noting in different ways is how the juridical and disciplinary elements multiply in the Global South once "the remarkable entrance of a new personage, the population" occurs, but we want to record how adjacent Youhanabad's female volunteers are to this nexus (Dean 2013, 49).
Populist mobilizations where Islam is used to articulate an anti-elite rhetoric are not infrequent spectacles in Pakistan's urban centers. The aggregate at mass rallies or julus for religious parties in Pakistan, in this reading, either represents the failure of liberal governmentality in a society like Pakistan's-the customary view-or is a reaction to its qualitative penetration of the social order. The controversy over the Department for International Development's program for Pakistan's legal system to try terrorism suspects illustrates the postcolonial dynamic for security as dispositif. Whether the subject is the mother of a suicide bombing victim, a civilian volunteer who has decided to lead a security team, the surviving witness of a terrorist event, or the cleric that encourages volunteers from his congregation, the narrative of individual concern by our Christian participants about their community constitutes a fabula or a story of inspiring martyrdom for all the volunteers we interviewed. Methodologically, "Paying attention to focalization can help to indicate the subtle infusion of the narrative with particular ideals" (Wibben 2011, 49). We want to draw attention to this heterotopic form of security as discipline for postcolonial Pakistan that Foucault posited as the defining feature of security by turning to our participants' voices. In the next section, though, we want to explain in more detail why our participants must subsist with civic norms that have security at their heart.

Method
This study is an exploration of the circumscribed freedom that security affords some of Youhanabad's poorest women. The qualitative focus on Christian women is contrasted with the normal agency and effort in Pakistan's hostile environment, where regional conflicts and international efforts result in "internal inducements" to maintain the Nizam-e-Mustafa (Rule of the Prophet), religious proscriptions on state power. As part of a three-year project examining the experience of Pakistan's Christian minority in Youhanabad, we asked advocacy groups-including activists belonging to Minority Rights Watch and local community organizationsto help us find volunteers to share their views about work, faith, the role of their church, community leadership, the prospects for security, and a future for Christians in Pakistan. Meetings with organizations, such as the Social Action Transformation of Humanity (SATH) in Youhanabad, which are effectively gatekeepers in providing access to our participants who volunteer for security groups, began on September 1, 2017; the first interview was recorded on September 10, 2017, and the last interview was recorded on May 25, 2018. These were uniquely troubling times for our participants.
The duration of fieldwork was for nine months. Thirty-four individuals came forward to respond to our semi-structured questions, including eight members of clergy for our qualitative study. We also wanted to hear from women in the church concerning the motivation of female volunteers to security teams. Three ordained women, Catholic nuns, from the group of clergies, came forward. In all, we talked to fourteen female volunteers from two security teams, the youngest aged twenty-four years and the oldest aged sixty years. Their male counterparts, again from working-class backgrounds, numbered twelve, including a volunteer who has been leading a team for sixteen years after founding a program with the "youth wing" of the church security team. The interviews typically lasted forty-five minutes and, in the case of the Christian women, took place at their family homes after initially being conducted in a room booked by a preaching representative of the church, affectionately known as "Babu," and his wife. The hospitality of Youhanabad's poor is of special note.
We have anonymized all participants except those who expressed a strong desire to us not to. These included the family of Akash Bashir, a victim of the 2015 Easter suicide attack, who is also formally memorialized by the Christian community; his father, mother, and brother strongly wanted to speak to us. The family occupies an important symbolic place for Lahore's Christians. In order to establish a trust relation because we are nominally Muslim, especially in the political environment described above, we were accompanied by the laity of St John's Catholic Church and others who are involved in the mission. Soliciting the female voice in the institutionally male security complex that dominates many urban centers in the Global South presented an obvious methodological limitation, but our decision to listen to Akash's parents, especially his mother Naz Bano, encouraged women's participation.
We did not use "project people," development field workers who are employed on fixed-term contracts, in order to avoid the traditional problems of misreporting, fabrication, or simple failure where project success is a prerequisite insisted upon by donors from the very outset. Had we employed a fieldworker from one of Pakistan's many female NGOs, outcomes may possibly have been different. However, we were prepared to offset this risk if it meant overcoming disputes that attend development practices once policy ideas become a field of contestation by institutional interests that are more accustomed to "operational systems" beyond the relatively simple goal of listening to their target demographic (Mosse 2005, 17). In the end, we did not want this; we were interested in listening directly to the female subaltern voice as it engages in security as a masculine reality. We relied on the formal and informal atmosphere of advocacy in Pakistan's Christian urban enclaves and in the end, the women's narrative of their own experience of security norms came from this politically engaged culture where both men and women are striving for redress. For the sake of accuracy and efficiency, our interviews with the female volunteers were carried out in accordance with the norms of Pakistani society; a twenty-four-year-old female resident of Youhanabad accompanied us. We emphasize that many of the women were as eager to share their experiences of life as volunteers as the men. The questions we asked volunteers ranged from what their original motivation was to join the security detail to what impact the 2015 Easter attack on their church has had on recruitment, especially the Pakistan Penal Code's "blasphemy law" on the long-term future of their community or quom. For the clergy, we also asked questions about what challenges their Christian mission faced, and especially the contribution Christian women have made in shaping the collective response to the communal mobilizations by Islamist movements. Our empirical goal was to explore the impact of specialists in violence like the TEL and the Pakistani Taliban who use the Nizam-e-Mustafa as a political strategy to recruit a mass following as well as suicide bombers on the women in Youhanabad.

Findings: The Need for Security
Over six of the nine months, we recorded the voices from volunteers in two security teams and we realized how, at the surface, the claim-making potential of women is shaped by a resurgent logic that is ordinarily deployed by postcolonial elites in the form of patriotism, but this falls short of institutional redress from state authorities at the local level. At face value, this is to be expected since the aim of postcolonial elites is to restore extractive formations under the guise of modernity, through military means, if necessary. The menacing shadow of military institutions in India and Pakistan has survived the formal transfer of power (Bayly 2009, 287). Although the project that Parashar and others have described can never entirely succeed in engrossing all civil society, to the subaltern classes, the indigenous form of nationalist order as "an ensemble of 'power, authority punishment'" is instantly recognizable as Danda (literally, stick) (Guha 1997, 28). Despite this, most of the men and women we interviewed, especially from the subaltern classes, continue to assert their civic equality, literally shehri haquq, with the 96 percent most of Muslim majority. The idiom of citizenship sans militarism, rather depressingly, was historical; it was the inclusive ideal of Pakistani belonging that was originally, complicatedly, part of the internationalism of its founder, Mohammad Ali Jinnah, the Quaid-e-Azam or Great Leader. Jinnah asserted the ideal of a civic nationalism in a speech delivered to the new nation on August 15, 1947, on the threshold of a new era under the auspices of the newly instituted United Nations (Jinnah 1947a).
Jinnah's vital emphasis on maintaining security externally by co-opting indigenous parties in the North-West Frontier, the stronghold of Congress, is an interesting and prophetic feature of Pakistan's historical struggle considering the country's experience since 9/11 (Dawn Media Group 2015). In Jinnah's astute political imagination, the goal of "peace within and without" is consistent with the message to minorities within the domain of the new state, but the Quaid's disciplinary idiom of loyalty also belongs to the semifeudal norm of danda to Pakistan's poorest classes. David McBride (fifty-two), a boiler engineer, the leader of one of our two church security teams for sixteen years because the police were not conducting their "zimedari" (responsibility) for security, he says, alludes to Jinnah's ecumenical vision of civic nationalism where "The government has no business in knowing what your religion or creed is" (Jinnah 1947b This faith in the compatibility of mulk and quom, of country and ethnos, as an order, a commandment (hukm), has not been entirely sacrificed by politicians. The constitutional protection afforded to Christians as a minority, by, for example, reserving seats in the federal assembly cannot be pointed to as a progressive measure when reforms such as forcing police to substantiate claims of blasphemy before arrest have entirely failed to make any impact on actual practice (Gregory 2012, 203). The question is what a woman like Naz Bano does with this legacy of nationalism; her son Akash Bashir, aged twenty, was killed after physically interposing himself between the dehshatgard and the congregation to stop him from entering St John's Catholic Church on Easter Sunday on March 15, 2015. In the absence of effective community leadership, how does a woman formulate her grievance? The absence of leadership was strongly attested to by some of our male (rather than female) participants. This failure by secular politicians to represent the interests of their Christian coreligionists, since Jinnah's formal message of preserving, at least initially, religious plurality to a population traumatized by communal violence, shows how the nation state and democracy have become institutionalized as conflicting logics in the way David draws our attention to (Shah 2014, 55). Naz Bano explained how she tried to dissuade her son from volunteering. As a mother, she refused to sign a form issued to all volunteers by the church that waives any responsibility for any death or injury. However, when it came to her son's determination to enlist into the security team, in the end, she decided to defer to her husband. He decided the matter. The son took her hand to plead while she was preparing a meal, she says, asking her why he should not volunteer, especially if he chose to do security "duty" instead of joining the army as one of the most prestigious institutions in Pakistan, politically and economically: The police were there, this duty is not your work, it is the police's work. [ Who knows what Akash thought, she asks. To our question, concerning an increased fear in the community and perhaps a declining rate of volunteers, David responds: "The boy Akash, wrestled [the suicide bomber] him into his grip, he sacrificed himself but he saved his church, his people, his nation (emphasis added)." Strength and sacrifice are the defining features in the public imagination for Naz Bano's son.
Five years younger than David McBride, Sajida Shah (forty-five) has been volunteering for six years. She had originally been inspired to volunteer, along with twenty other women, on the festive fiftieth anniversary of the local church. The Catholic church in Lahore has invented a ceremony for these defenders of the faith. The bishop, Sajida says with pride, bestows "patian" or yellow stoles on the women, "When the congregants saw our stoles, everybody realised how good it was, everybody listened to us and sat where we asked them to." The stoles are a marker of authority but curiously, perhaps paradoxically, Sajida asked the lay preacher and representative of the clergy, Babu, to leave the room before talking to us. Sajida states, "There are reasons why I have never told anyone [about the terrorist attack], I kept it pressed as a secret in my heart. And I cannot get it out of my mind." Sajida had witnessed the attack on St John's Catholic Church; her son had also volunteered as a security guard and was busy checking people for the Easter Mass that Sunday. For a month before the attack, Sajida had been unable to sleep while keeping watch by the gate as if it were a premonition. Her children had asked her why she persists if she is "khofzada," afraid. Her reasons are personal; they are not institutional: "I was very attached to Akash." She reassured Akash and asked him to ignore the ordinary gossip of society about his shortcomings. Women like Sajida, with their wis-dom, maintain the morale of male youths; therefore, older women are preferred as volunteers. When we asked, if despite her traumatic experience of the suicide bomb in the church, others continue to volunteer, Sajida uses a particular expression, "Thanks to the Lord, that after this tragedy, security attained respect; many people began to respect us." At a practical level, it made the work of searching individuals easier, "Nobody refuses to be checked." When asked if they bore arms, Sajida replies that "Our hands are our weapons." The female teams make their own uniforms out of colors chosen by the bishop. The church does not provide uniforms to the women and when asked about the training, Sajida expressed the desire to be trained but unlike the men, Sajida replied, the religious leaders, especially the father, do help the community, in paying school fees for children.
In addition to tailoring their own uniforms, there is a formal ceremony to identify volunteers among the flock as deserving of respect, izzat, so that they can carry out searches without resentment. In addition to first aid certificates and a letter to waive responsibility for injury or death, there are identification (ID) cards issued by the authority of the "priest-in-charge." The ID cards warn volunteers of the consequences of misusing this privilege, "You are [sic] fired from job in case of any unethical activity/[sic] miss behave." This language obviously needs attention because the volunteers are not paid for offering their service but more importantly, there is no dedicated training for the women in how to carry out body searches for suicide belts or training for any long period in how to carry arms. The weapons are the property of the church and are kept there overnight but female volunteers, in contrast to nearly all their male counterparts, do not surveil the grounds with any weapon. When we asked the two female clergy, aged thirty-seven and thirtythree, what they thought of this discrepancy, one replied that the father guided them ("thora bahut unko rehnumai father ji karte hein") and the other, Sister Jamila Inayat, replied that although women are exercised vigorously in the Pakistani army, in the end they only attain clerical roles and that men in the police are trained more than female officers, "and this is the same reality [in English]." These are women who have achieved professional success as principals after eight and seven years of teaching. They believe in active participation in the world. Sister Jamila's rationale for security as far as the pastorate is concerned is worth reproducing at length; after the attack in Youhanabad, "hum ne bahut nojawanun ko aurtun ko mardun ko bhi yeh motivations [in English] di." We have motivated many young men and women with this message: often, doing security work for the church is a means of saving lives. This is very true, the Lord has caused all humans to be born, sent them to the world, and only He has the right to take life away. This is the motivation we provide, that you give security outside [the church] and if God wills it, your life is a gift [nazrana] [to God] that may save many lives. Thanks be to God that because of [the womens'] domestic habit/education [gharelu tarbiyat] or the moral education of the church, they want to do good for others. This is why they serve in the cold, often, and the hot weather during Sundays and for large events, we never mind when they arrive or leave because they serve the church with all they have.
Tara Aslam, twenty-seven, a volunteer for eight years, was originally asked by Babu to recruit women at Pentecost (Ruh-ul-Qadus). She had been given Babu's "barkat" or blessing and delivered to Providence ("humein Khuda ke khwaley kiya ke Khuda tum logun ki madad kare ga"); she had twenty-five yellow and green stoles to offer. Tara trains female volunteers; any suspicious (mashqooq) behavior or any armed attack is referred to the men, and when we asked how, it is the men that carry walkie talkies. "Father ji," the officiating priests, also have these. Not all the women Tara trains are awarded certificates, save four or five. The police attend the church to advise how to recover victims at the sound of an ambulance. Elizabeth, fifty-five, described how there is no planning or strategy; both emotion/morale (jazba) and interest (shauq) arise from within a spiritual place deep inside her covolunteers, both young and old. Although Tara has the "haq," or the right to recruit younger women, Elizabeth is clearly happy that Tara favors older women: girls are not preferred because it is difficult to leave the home ("ghar se nikalna mushkil hota hai") but the older women because they are married and have children and are readier to serve God through their security duty.
Shahnaz Diba, forty-five, who has been volunteering for six years expresses a different rationale for recruiting older women: there are Muslims outside the church and the women do not want the younger women to be harassed; they withdraw out of fear ("seham jati hein") because they are unmarried. Shahnaz uses a beautiful phrase should the need arise for women to serve: "buland honslun ke malik"; the women possess high or great resolve/patience. Malik is the Semitic noun phrase for kingship. It is a fine appropriation of masculine Stoicism; it is the perfect verbal encapsulation of leadership. We asked Shahnaz about training, but she has had none; again, she declares that their hands are their sole arsenal ("asla"). There is no docility here. Shahnaz attested to the clergy, their father, in the wake of the attack on Youhanabad, "he gave a great deal of support, he did not let our strength break, he did not allow us to be divided." However, we should not believe that all the women are incapable of questioning the church because of lofty avowals; a housemaker, Rachel Saul, forty-five, has asked the padre how she is to defend herself when he has visitors. Similarly, contradicting Sajida Shah, another volunteer, Nusrat Ali, forty-nine, meets resistance for large events, "The women say, father has dressed you up to stand there, who do you think you are? But we remain silent". Haroon Sardar, thirty, a welder, comments on how the men in his team are trying to take women for specialist training. The women, aged from twenty to fifty years, he says, have great feeling/morale, more than the men, perhaps, "Koi bhi masla ho humse share [in English] karti hein, jazbe ke saath khari hoti hein".
They share any issues with us, they stand with feeling. They [the women] do not care whether it is hot or shade, or rain. The police stand by the side, but our ladies and boys do not care about the conditions. Amar cites contradictory human-security logics when it comes to how Global South sites are integrated into northcentered financial globalisms (Amar 2013, 37). Do our participants realize that their effort for the security of their communities is an intensely sociological ritual in the way Foucault describes (Foucault 1991, 75)? Foucault's point about the epistemological effect of security, as a regime of practices that exceeds the immediacy of hazards, helps to release us from the traditionally deterministic account of individuals as victims of power in the Global South as an indigenous site that has proved so lucrative for those engaged in the development-security nexus. The ideals that inform how a narrative is retold always rely on presentation "from within a certain tradition-a particular economic, social, symbolic, and political order" (Wibben 2011, 48). Focalization by the "objects" of power will necessarily entail a choice among various "points of view." For us, the juridical effect of security-as-regime at least aims to shape the conduct of imag-inary subjects at the site of postcolonial statecrafts by providing "the material content of practices" (Stern and Öjendal 2010, 7). The focalization of security by Christian women who volunteer their time away from home, as we see, shows us how what is to be known about the citizen is conditioned by norms of jurisdiction rather than security as an empty field of power in which anomalies present themselves to discerning experts charged with policing the national space. We are exploring the nexus of development/security as a technique of governmentality, the fifth "storyline" in Stern and Öjendal's account, and in particular how the jurisdictional scope of security, in the liberal way of war, can include men as traditional actors but not subaltern women. Having said this, security as the technique of governmentality actively encourages these pious women to deliver themselves and their "points of view." We are using our observations from the fieldwork to explore why it is the case that security narratives fail to include women's experience where outcomes for both men and women are the same. We note how security is a profoundly gendered practice in our micrological instance. This social fact effectively means that security fails to be the norm from which women may claim their political identity, a process that would be a natural stage in a democratizing or democratic polity (Wibben 2018, 139). Historically, it is true that militarism manifests itself to women as traditional outsiders in the making of war. The domain of security practices, in contrast, is experienced as a pervasive assemblage of militarist logic at every level of social existence. Pakistan has had a longer history of this infiltration of civil society by military norms than India because of sporadic periods of direct military rule, since 1947 (Shah 2014). However, it does not matter what "capacity" both postcolonial nations have in proscribing the domain of contentious politics in the name of security; it is certainly the case that subaltern women cannot escape the expansion of militarist culture fostered by state elites in South Asia (Tilly 2003, 48;Parashar 2018, 129). Having indicated how security-as-militarism is reproduced as a norm in the consciousness of subaltern women, where ordinary politics requires the winning of hearts and minds as a strategic necessity, we now want to document how ecclesiastical norms of conduct originate from the soul as a more lateral space for conditioning behavior.

Obedience and Pastoral Power
We see how communication between men is a priority for policing space in Youhanabad. Naz Bano, Akash's mother, observes the increase of police, of paramilitary rangersas well as her fellow Christian neighbors-when defending Youhanabad. Rangers are the localized distillation of essentially sovereign power in Pakistan's militarized society. Akash's father, Bashir Emmanuel, proudly speaks on behalf of his wife as a mother who had appeared on national television urging other mothers to offer their sons for heroic sacrifice. One can say that a qualitative focus on the management of women by the Christian pastorate when it comes to how women experience the practice of security reveals why they fail to become subjects in Security Studies; it is as if the three Raison d'État Foucault identifies in the evolution of "security as apparatus," its scandalous novelty, its temporal scope, and its intelligibility obscure how women are abstracted out of this economy. In Stern and Öjendal's story for the nexus, subaltern women's induction into governmentality as practice remains fundamentally "incomplete" (Stern and Öjendal 2010, 13). Although "police is directed toward men's activity," insofar as the postcolonial state cannot or will not legitimate itself through welfare, the virtue of the "man as the true subject" of policing as a science, man's obedience, man's labor, that Foucault cites, will be inseparable from the optimum of women's virtue, obedience, and labor (Foucault 2007, 322). In this sense, the scandalous novelty of security as dispositif continues to belong to the ascetic regime of pastoral power and it is to this dynamic that we now turn.
Father Karamat Younas, thirty-eight, who has been practicing as a priest for five years, offered the most comprehensive account of the initiatives in security and the Youhanabad female volunteers' place in them. From the supervisory perspective, he is emphatic that in Quetta women participate equally beside men ("mardun ke shaana bashaan") when it comes to instilling discipline in Sunday schools; in Karachi, women are also in medicine, teaching, navy, and armed forces. The new priest noted the special modernity of Karachi and how the security teams are more integrated; the spiritual welfare of congregants is served to both men and women who come to the priest with their ordinary dilemmas.
The central concept or metaphysic of pastoral power as an analogy for obedience in policing is kirdar. The role, ethos, deeds, and character of volunteers are all connoted by kirdar; the clergy must observe the kirdar of individuals, and according to the life of Jesus Christ, women's participation in the first community of believers was not negligible: "We see the role of women according to that which women had in the life of the Lord Jesus Christ; they were his followers and were with Him every step of the way. So, according to this, women are given a goal, they are given respect, and thanks be to God, they are satisfied and contented being a woman, contributing their role. In no respect are they behind the men." For Father Karamat, the security teams are a means to realize kirdar; in "Walida Church," in Mother Church, in the groups established for Christian congregants, when whole families are recruited, as in Karachi, or when men take responsibility for women, they will avoid evil company. The security arrangement is a microcosm of hierarchical order, according to God's plan. When we asked how this egalitarian ethos is maintained in a place like Quetta and in Baluchistan, unlike the more cosmopolitan urban cultures of Lahore and Karachi, Father Karamat maintains that the poorest families know that they will be protected and offered an education. When we asked whether this was education in a convent, Father Karamat cited the Dominican, Franciscan, and Sisters of Saint Joseph in "leadership" roles for emulation: "the women see ladies, like the sisters, good/chaste women run schools so why shouldn't they educate their daughters? They are motivated, they can focus on a role model." We saw how Sister Jamila Inayat's experience problematizes this view. When Christian women in Pakistan face sexual violence, conversions after fraudulent marriage, when such cases arise after, for example, "they are forced to do certain things which they should not do [in English]," or when they have to look after a parent in a hospital, whether in an office or factory, if they have the right attitude then they cannot be abused. "At the same time, we have to learn how to defend ourselves," Sister Jamila states. On the face of it, this onus on individual discipline to ward off violence from men appears to be regressive but the nun goes on to cast this effort as the only possibility for minority women: "No matter what the culture, you should know yourself how to mentally prepare yourself, that I must save myself and support my family." Sister Jamila's emphasis is on how a remedial consciousness can help her coreligionists survive predation, but this self-discipline that is essential for Christian minority women also represents the fundamentals of oikonomia where the disposition or kirdar of subjects in an aleatory backdrop where some individuals must be left out of the obedient community entails the following: Oikonomia … means the human-made order of thought that is set forth in order to persuade the multitude. This artificial order is contrasted to the natural order of occurrences (Leshem 2016, 22).
The Lashkar-e-Maryam ("Legion of Mary"), Maryam and Rosary groups, such as the team from whom we have interviewed volunteers in Youhanabad, are all nominated moieties or parts in Christ's economy. For our participants, the ritual of security from terrorist violence is analogous to the protection of the communion from the profane world of human violence and sinfulness. Instead of interpreting the narrative of Akash's martyrdom by our participants as fatalism, we ought to think about the focalizing of his death in Pakistan's violent order of events by priesthood and clergy as a Patristic evocation of positive (kataphatic) knowledge of God's ordained circular economy of nature (Leshem 2016, 38-39). This divine intelligibility, our participants believed, protected the community of believers from the suicide bomber who had entered St John's Catholic Church disguised in Sunday best for the Easter Mass. Naz Bano corrects her husband, Bashir Emmanuel, a painter and decorator, about the exact details of Akash's death, whether he was first killed by a bullet at the gate or not; she emphatically narrates her son's purported last words on a memorial (yaadgaar) to the well-dressed bomber who entered the church by trying to pass off as a Christian. The bomber told Akash to stand aside, that he has a bomb, that he should run and save his life (according to David McBride's report). "You may have a bomb, we will both be killed but I won't let go of you." A fellow volunteer who escaped death reported these last words and they resonated with all the volunteers we interviewed. However, Naz Bano here represents the point of view of the whole of Youhanabad. Father Karamat explains how the church committee maintains discipline among the volunteers, "the [female] volunteers are told what to do, they cannot exceed these limits. They do their work within the limits; [to avoid] conflict and the deterioration of the moral culture, they are first told what their work is." Obedience to authority, to Danda, by subaltern classes in our context calls for a reflexivity concerning how "security [is] the most important constitutive narrative of political order" (Wibben 2011, 68-69). If women adhere to the norms of conduct prescribed by the morality of Mother Church, security can function as a reflection of providential order. Foucault is at his most speculative concerning security as dispositif, especially when actual figures in authority tactically imagine where specific points of resistance are likely to arise in the general multiplication of effects, juridically, scientifically. However, Foucault's highly original historicism reveals a vital sociological fact about the tendencies we have been documenting among the female volunteers of Youhanabad.
Foucault describes how the desire among men to be led by "other shepherds … other objectivities and forms of salvation through other procedures and methods," produces ambiguity in conduct. This ambiguity is largely responsible for "movements that also seek, possibly at any rate, to escape direction by others and to define the way for each to conduct himself" (Foucault 2007, 194-95, emphases added). We saw how domesticity was considered the perfect training for "professional" conduct when female volunteers encountered the hazards of a Muslim-majority society. Women's focalization as subjects that own the knowledge of security, despite the division of labor authorized by the church, illustrates how the norms of modern governmentality emerge from pastoral power. In this specific sense, women are as much currently unorganized political actors as Foucault's description of men in sect, statecraft, and economy (Tilly 2003, 29). Take intelligibility as a species of rationality for security as dispositif. In Foucault's historiography, policing is the vital technological advance in the modern formation of the diplomatic-military system when it comes to the management of populations. For Foucault, just as pastoral power escapes patristic authority to shape the conduct of men to make other kinds of male leadership possible, policing ensures "The coexistence and communication of men with each other [that] is ultimately the domain that must be covered by the Polizeiwissenschaft" (Foucault 2007, 326).

Conclusion
After decolonization, social orders around colonial bases were no longer susceptible to control by British and American militaries; the lock hospital and the barrack brothel that served standing armies were replaced by "delicate negotiations for leases with independent governments whose officials might seek to ally with great power militarists but who nonetheless have to be far more discreet so as not to appear to be giving away portions of the nation's sovereignty" (Enloe 1983, 217;Levine 2003;Jabbar 2011). We have explored how the agency of a small sample of subaltern women is shaped by a regime of practices that seeks to use the ethos of the pastorate, a nascent l'etat providence, or welfare of the flock, as multiplicity to invest security with purposes beyond those we traditionally associate with l'etat gendarme. The phenomenon whose contours we are tracing in our local context is bound to be missed by the modular emphasis on the causes and solutions to conflict in international relations (Fox 2001). The analytical tools required to detect how the ethic of self-discipline in religion becomes the imaginary or "pre-political" basis of security for the group, in Foucault's genealogy, are not yet well developed enough in international relations. It is even more difficult to discern the origins of security in the mundane imperative of the Christian subject to cultivate this virtue in order to protect herself from moral hazards. Documenting how adaptations in a pastoral etat providence occur by listening to the voices of these urban dwellers near the bottom of the social order helps us go some way in this direction. The mobilizing of women to defend the community of believers from terrorist events takes us, to the normative origins of how the residents in this enclave of 200,000 residents perceive their current place in an often-inimical public culture since the foundation of the colony in 1965.
A qualitative emphasis on the mobilization of women in policing Youhanabad, where violence becomes a routine occurrence, also teaches us how the militarization of everyday life transforms the overtly nonviolent ethos of Christian life. Nobody among our thirty-four participants hid their shinakht or identity when among Muslims. For Sajida Shah, who had been billeted on the gate on Easter Sunday, March 15, 2015, it was nothing short of an act of providence that she and her daughter were spared, "But sir, God saved us, mother and daughter, as if a strand of hair from flour." The data in this article documented the motivation of female volunteers from the lowest social strata in urban Pakistan. The pastoral ethos of nonviolence among Christians is being shaped by the routine violence that subaltern groups face in Lahore by specialists in violence. In this microculture of Christian women from two security teams, including clergy, where the militarization of ordinary life-in the ab-sence of state capacity to protect life-is a fact for all Pakistanis, it is apt that God's kataphatic scrutiny of danger should resemble a mother's patient gaze while sifting flour.

Ethical Approval
Faculty of Humanities and Social Sciences Ethics Committee Approval, University of Portsmouth: 15/16:38