The Travolta extortion trial declared a mistrial

Of all things possible, John Travolta and his wife (actress, Kelly Preston) didn’t expect a mistrial (over the extortion trial) that the couple has faced in the wake of their teenager son’s death in the Bahamas earlier this year.

John and Kelly (who had been secluded for most of the year ever since) have been active in the extortion trial, which ran into trouble last week due to a rumour that eventually caused the ‘Travolta mistrial’.

“A Bahamian politician has said he was repeating a rumour when he prematurely announced the accused had been cleared in the John Travolta extortion case. Picewell Forbes’ declaration at a party conference – covered by live TV – came before the jury, finished deliberations, causing the judge to order a retrial” reports BBC News.

The accused in the case are Pleasant Bridgewater and Tarino Lightbourne, who have are accused of trying to extort 25 million US dollars from John Travolta. Bridgewater, a former Senator, and Lightbourne, a paramedic, have been accused of blackmailing John Travolta over signing some documents involving the death of Jett Travolta (16), in January ‘09 due to a seizure disorder.

BBC reports, “It is claimed he threatened to sell stories suggesting Travolta was at fault over Jett’s death. A form, signed by Travolta after his son’s death, would have released the ambulance driver of liability had Jett been flown to the US from the Bahamas for treatment, as the actor had initially wanted. However, the 16-year-old ended up being taken to a local hospital where he later died.”

Supreme Court Justice Anita Allen, who presided over the original trial, has ordered a new one “in the interest of justice” and because of her concern about the fact that there might have been “communication” and jury misconduct. But this is not what John or Kelly hoped for. Mike Oss, John’s attorney says, “He was upset as he wanted closure. The family wants to privately begin the long and difficult healing process – as well as to properly honor Jett’s memory – without the cloud of this litigation over their heads.”

John, says Oss, will continue to help the authorities. According to reports, while the trial has been difficult for Travolta and his wife, Kelly, it’s the loss of his son Jett that is immeasurable. But John and Kelly are staying strong. Promoting their new movie, Old Dogs, which features John, Kelly and their daughter Ella, is helping them together.

“It’s Ella’s first film and it’s a family affair,” says Ossi. “She is very excited, but John and Kelly are even more excited. They are very proud.

But unlike most John Travolta movies, which involve heavy press promotion, Old Dogs will see limited press promotion from the actor.

“He will do as much as he can,” says a source. “He’s trying to stay busy, and that helps them cope.”

– Maheen Sabeeh

-With information from BBC News and People magazine.

Walking through the shadow of death

The desire to get home safely motivated Karachiites on December 27 to keep their wits about them and move intelligently. The shock and grief they felt at the sudden death of Benazir Bhutto numbed

Maheen Sabeeh recounts her journey back home after the distressing news broke out and the madness began

At approximately 6:16 pm, (Friday, December 27, 2007), former Prime Minister of Pakistan, Benazir Bhutto is pronounced dead. It is inconceivable. It doesn’t register and it still hasn’t fully settled in. Benazir Bhutto is dead. For a brief minute, I think it is just a big error. Sadly, it isn’t.

In one corner stand those who had been wondering prior to the assassination, what it would be like if she actually died. I am one of them. They have no words. I have no words. To say that any of us is happy would be an overstatement. We were all shocked and couldn’t grasp the gravity of the situation. Who could and who can? Some stood in corners and prayed; others just sat for a few moments, trying to just breathe.

I am at II Chundrigar Road, the busiest street in Karachi on most days, ready to go home, when the news is confirmed. A text message comes a few minutes later: “Come home now.” It is from my sister. My mother calls two minutes later. She sounds broken. For a woman who ordinarily would rather watch Star Plus soaps than wonder what will become of Pakistan, she is shocked and pained. I assure her that I am on my way.

Soon mobiles start ringing endlessly. Everyone who has a cell phone or a landline nearby, is making calls; to friends, family and finding out what the situation is outside. Have riots already begun? Every Pakistani knows that trouble is on it’s way.

Hopelessness has swept over everyone. It is almost tangible.

I venture out to go home along with a friend. We step out and someone turns and shouts out: “Don’t go, it’s packed outside”. We step inside for a few minutes but decide that we have to leave.

My friend’s father is somewhere in Saddar. There are no buses, cabs and rickshaws for him to grab and come home. We know leaving him there is not an option.

I.I. Chundrigar is packed from one side, completely. The area around Shaheen Complex is deserted. For three years, I have come onto these roads, amidst construction and killer traffic jams, in days of strikes and sometimes, even on Sundays. Never before have I seen this street as grief-stricken as it is now.

It is 6: 45pm and my friend’s car is in a parking lot, near Karachi Club. There are no rickshaws and the shuttle service, which takes us to the parking lot daily, is not running tonight.

“Should we walk?” she says to me. I nod. As women in Karachi, we are not accustomed to walking too much. But we do have the habit of noting others around us. Journalism 101: Observe everything and everyone all the time.

On an average day, it is easy to observe Karachiites on the road. They walk in their own world, mostly leisurely. some at snail’s pace, flowing alongside the sea of cars and often coming in front of them out of nowhere, which is usually followed by miniscule arguments, mouthed abuses or simply saying out, “jao yaar”.

Tonight no one is simply loitering along on the footpaths. The choreography of Karachi has changed.

People are not walking, they are rushing. They are walking as fast as they can, a few are even running. We walk past the Jinnah Courts and look around; cars are speeding. The roadside Romeos club forgets to pass lewd comments as we walk past them tonight. They check us out and understand our fear.

The look on everyone’s faces is just this: panic, anguish, anger, hurt and fear. Eyes are teary. Others are not ready to accept the horrible, horrible truth. Benazir Bhutto is dead, murdered in cold blood, 1o days before Musharraf’s ‘free and fair’ elections

As we come halfway, a little before Pearl Continental Hotel, we run into a man, who is surprised at the two of us, walking in this weather of uncertainty. He tags along and we let him. He is scared and so are we. We discover that he is a banker who lives in North Nazimabad. We tell him that we are on our way to the parking lot and then to Saddar. He tries to dissuade us. It might be a hotbed of violence right about now he says. My phone rings again. As I take my phone out, my friend says to shut it off now. It is unsafe to talk on cell phones on the road and especially tonight.

Footpaths are crammed with motorbikes and they are zooming their way out, to anywhere safe. We juggle our steps around them and we want those bikes tonight. We want to rush just like them.

We tell the banker that he should go somewhere nearby and not go to North Nazimabad. He thinks about it and then decides against it. His mother is waiting for him. He is in his early 30s. We walk in silence, faster and faster until we see the black gate of the parking lot.

Around us, more bikes are speeding by. Cars are jammed outside Karachi Club all the way to PC. The guards recognize us and let us in to the parking lot. We ask them to let the banker in. They close the door after him. They ask us to wait. We smile and decide we’re going out again and get in the car.

We sit and immediately take our phones out. My colleague calls her father and asks him to stay put whether he hears from her again or not. The mobile network is overloaded. She assures him that she will get him. The banker calms his mother over his phone.

“What is wrong with you!” screams my elder sister as soon as I answer her call. “You don’t even pick up your phone.” More than anger it is the fear that I will get stuck in some riot that causes her to shout. I speak with my other sister, the calmer one, and tell her that I’m coming home and that it will take time.

We’re off to Saddar. It wears a silent, haunted look. One lone rickshaw is visible. All the shops are closed. I see barely five cars. We pick up my friend’s father. He tells us that riots have begun in Defence, on 26th street, where they live. My friend speaks with her brother. He is an old friend. We went to school together. He is scared. She tells him to get to an aunt’s place and not go home. He says he will go to a friend’s home in Defence.

A text message comes. “Riots at Khadda Market”. I tell my friend who immediately calls her brother and asks him to not go there and just take Mai Kolachi Bypass and off to Barbeque Tonite, where their aunt lives.

We’re near Zainab Market now. It’s closed. There are cars all around us. A bus is in front of us, about to go ahead.

Suddenly, a few men, with PPP flags tied around their arms, come out of nowhere. One of them is armed. We stare straight ahead. Another one has a rod in his hand. He bangs on the bus and gets the driver and conductor out. It looks like they’re about to burn the bus. They bang on other vehicles with the rod. Everyone around us is stunned in dread.The road is blocked. There is no way out.

The man with the rod looks at us. We’re four people in the car. Me, my friend, her father and the banker. He looks again. We go weak in the knees. My stomach is in knots. I am scared. He sees that we’re two women in the front, and my friend is driving. He nods and points us towards a gap at the side of the road. We swish our way out of there. It takes us a few minutes to breathe easy again.

Another phone call. A friend from KDA is stuck in my apartments. I pass on the message for him to stay put. Another phone call. My friend’s brother is at Teen Talwar. I tell her to ask him to just get to my place and stay there. We reach Teen Talwar and turn leftfor my home in Askari I.

Before the cut to my house, we see guys with bikes blocking the roads. We wait and decide to go. They ask us where we’re going and we point to the apartments behind them. They let us go, warning us not to go further. As we enter the gate, we see that Submarine Chowk is up in flames blazing in the darkest night for Pakistan in 2007.

We go inside in a state of shock and relief, both at the same time. My friend’s brother is already inside. The banker is still with us and says he will go to Punjab Colony. We ask him to stay. He refuses politely. I don’t know what happened to him.

I go home with my friend and her family and my parents cling to me for a few seconds. They are relieved. We watch the news and we’re still watching it. I later discover that my father couldn’t believe that BB was assassinated. When he heard it on the BBC for himself, he just sat down and prayed for her as tears fell down his face.

They show the casket in which BB is laid. My father raises his hands in the air and prays for her and Pakistan. We all join in

At midnight, my friend decides to go home. She makes a few calls. I find out from a friend that Gizri is a dangerous road to take. Her brother says, “I’m scared. Let’s just stay for a little while longer.” He confesses that he has never been in such a situation before and is afraid. She assures him that it’ll be okay. They march off as a family as mine prays that they get home safe which they do.

People are still scared. Streets are deserted and shops are closed. Bakeries, shops, restaurants, banks have all fallen prey to the violence. Karachi, no, Pakistan has changed. Many loved Benazir and some were weary of her return to politics. But she was a woman that no one was and could be indifferent to. In the coming days, we will all start to understand the future a bit better. Right now, there is just a fog of uncertainity. In these moments, there is nothing to do but mourn… the loss and the mark that Benazir Bhutto has left on all of us. May she rest in peace. May we all.