The Myth Of Pakistan & Musharraf’s Liberalism

There is much interest in Pakistan’s political and cultural dynamic these days. Hardly a week passes by when you don’t come across some article or the other in the international press highlighting and celebrating Pakistan’s apparently new found inclination for modernism, or ‘enlightened moderation’ if I were to use Musharraf’s now worn out neologism.

Such writers all sight a particular set of trends as proof to substantiate their claims. The growth of the press, and the image of Pakistan it presents (with private channels like Fashion TV and MTV Pakistan now on the airwaves) is one oft cite example. The progress with India in the peace process, and the people-to-people contact this progress has embodied in the form of merry sing along between music artists and joint film ventures between celebrities from both sides of the Wagah Border, is another favorite “proof” they use.

Many of them admit that a “radical”, “conservative” sect of religiously-inspired populous exists at the same time at the other end of the spectrum, but the underlying implication some how from all the above is that Musharraf, and him alone, may be the savior for Pakistan’s polarized ideologies. Some of these assertions couldn’t be further from ground realities.

One such article that I read recently was written by a certain Shuja Nawaz. The publication described her in a short bio as “a journalist who recently returned to Pakistan after working for 32 years at the International Monetary Fund and the International Atomic Energy Agency, to complete “Crossed Swords,” a book on Pakistan and its army”. In the article titled “Behind the Clichés, a Modern Pakistan” (published first in International Herald Tribune, later reproduced at The Pakistan Link, link via Raza Rumi) she does admit how, “For a returning native, Pakistan offers a kaleidoscope of images that defy the West’s stereotypes” but goes on to create an image of Pakistan laden with its own set of mythical characteristics.

Consider, for instance, the assertions she has made about the needs of the country’s urban elite, who she stipulates, are “craving” for leadership in figures like Musharraf. Me and my family have lived in Karachi for the better part of three decades, and we’re grateful to the Almighty that we can consider our self part of the “urban” and “educated” elite Ms. Nawaz writes on behalf of. But I cannot, not even for a moment, identify with the leaders she suggests we are craving for. Yes, we do aspire for a “moderate, peace-loving Pakistan”, but that we see Musharraf as the only person capable of giving us this dream would at best be a gross misrepresentation, and at worst, an insult to our intelligence.

Leaving aside the views of my parents and their parents, if I speak purely from the perspective of the youth of this country, people like me, who have no memories of the Zia era, who grew up watching the merry go round of democratically elected leaders in Nawaz Sharif and Benazir Bhutto, and then entered our teenage years as the Musharraf regime took over. The misdemeanors of these successive governments, their repeated moves towards sham democracy and a consistent trend of power-hungriness has left quite of few of us as largely politically indifferent. There is a vacuum in terms of potential leaders, and the only flag bearers of society that provide us with any semblance of inspiration are people well outside the circus of Pakistani politics. Here in are dignified members of the civil society, people like the Edhi family.

There is no denying that their was and perhaps still exists in my generation approval for some of Musharraf‘s policies. Many people I know, from my age group, will admit they enjoy having a greater choice in watching Television then just having to suffice with PTV, they’ll also appreciate how the improving economy and greater foreign investment, has again given them more choices, in terms of consumer goods to explore into. And they’ll even be people who’ll appreciate and credit Musharraf with liberalizing Pakistan urban society at large, making it less of taboo for young people to “date”, for young people to dress in non-reformist ways and for having a liberty to bash “mullahs” openly that would be unheard of previous times.

But they will also admit how the benefits of a growing economy haven’t reached their less privileged fellow countrymen, how corruption is still rampant, how the civic facilities for even the elites are still inefficient, how the environment is the last thing on the government’s mind, how they’ve oppressed free speech and how law-and-order is still a thing largely unheard of. Even the list of their complains would be quite long. Such selective and well guarded approval for some of Musharraf‘s policies hence should not be confused with outright support, or as the writer described it “crave for leadership”.

There is much damage that Musharraf and his close allies in the government have ensued upon their own selves in recent times. Many people who would have formerly praised Musharraf for some of the reforms he brought, will now express reservations about his sincerity towards Pakistan and the cause of her prosperity. Much of this has happened in time period as short as the last six months, during which Musharraf has indulged in a series of moves which have done nothing but directly benefit his own existence in power. From dismissing the Chief Justice, to having Nawaz Sharif deported, there is much Musharraf has done that has alienated some of his past admirers. And his recent u-turn around over letting the crocks of the past back in, something that he vehemently opposed for much of the last eight years of his reign, may well turn out to be the a final knock out blow.

Even at the socio-cultural front, the so called “liberal” people such articles frequently refer to, remain in the distinct minority even in the urban areas, let alone going into the country’s 160 million population at large. And then there is the additional question of their pseudo-liberalism that needs to be addressed. These lot, as Qandeel Shaam described them over at Pakistaniat, are primarily concerned with “being liberal without embracing liberalism: for example, aunties who mull for hours when deciding just how deep they should let their plunging necklines plunge before it starts to look too inappropriate for a charity fundraising event to help emancipate the poor. The same aunties are also dedicated to ensuring that the only ‘liberty’ their maids ever see is a market in Lahore.”

In fact Shaam describes the landscape of Pakistan’s identity crisis much more accurately then does Ms. Nawaz. It is too simplistic to suggest that Pakistan is merely split between hard line religious conservatives and left-wing liberals. But this divide is actually three fold, as Shaam narrates, it lies between the “Western-wannabe’s” , “the religious extremist-wannabe’s” and whatever lies between them. The former two’s ideologies refuse to adopt completely, either all the scruples of classical liberalism or traditional Islam, instead conveniently using only some of their principles as and when they need to prove their own point. I have encountered many of them right in the blogosphere it self and the travesty is that more of either types continue to glaze in the mainstream Pakistani media.

Pakistan’s hopes (or at least my own) lie in what remains between these two; “an extant grey zone” Shaam calls it, that is “either too small or too muted to buffer these two extremes”. I’d like to remain hopeful that these middle ground holders aren’t actually few, but that instead, the problem is that they’re so disheartenned in the systems of Pakistan society that they’ve sidelined themselves into aloofness. This isn’t as much a hope for an inspiring leader, as it is a hope for an inspiring people’s movement. For I’ve realised that leaders are like eagles. They don’t flock, but instead you find them one at a time. Sadly, such is Pakistan’s luck that in a population of 160 million, presently there’s not even one person that inspires complete confidence. That is why the only hopes I have are those from the silent majority. Pakistan will change the day enough of them wake up and decide to take their country’s destiny in their own hands.

Because Elephants Never Do Fly…

A few days back my good friend Hafsa Ahsan had asked me to provide her with some feedback on Karachi’s rains and their aftermath in connection with an assignment she had to compile for her university. I used that opportunity to tell her not only about the wretched state of roads in our neighborhood, but more specifically to narrate a sorry tale of our local government’s indifference towards our problems. Here’s an edited version of the email I wrote to her:

Once again, you’ve touched a sensitive subject, or rather opened up a hornet’s nest as it were. Yes, I know many people who got stuck on the road (I actually know fewer people who were saved some how from this headache), and yes, water did come into our house. And yes, our neighborhood was submerged, and yes, I have LOTS of angry comments about the ‘performance’ (or lack there off) of the concerned officials, whoever they are, usually, who ever you go to ask to, tends to pass the buck to some one else (‘oh no madam this is not CDGK’s jurisdiction’ ‘this is not the right union council you’re talking to’ ‘this is a DHA / Cantonment / Anyone Else But Our Matter’).

Usually, since our house is rather absurdly at slightly lower level then the road outside (or if you look at it the other way, since the road outside is in such a pathetic condition, with or without rain, it renders the whole geography of the region slightly absurd). Water, in the case of excessive rains, usually comes in from the front yard. After last year’s rains, and several of futile complains at the local Nazim’s office and at every possible door we could knock at to try and get the road repaired (including at letters to the editor at Dawn, umpteenth number of phone calls and application to various officials, including one as high up as the office of a provincial cabinet minister), we learned our lesson and got our front yard raised our self.

This was no inexpensive procedure as you may well imagine, and cost my parents not only money, but time and headache. Nevertheless, since we got so disheartened in the road ever being repaired, we eventually decided to hell with the civic agencies of this city whose job is to use the taxes we pay them to provide us with the basic amenities of life, we’ll just provide our self with those amenities, and spend more money on things which we had supposedly already paid for already!

After getting the fortnight long reconstruction, our runway was finally at a higher level then the main road and now safe from the danger of being flooded with dirty water (a combination of rain water and overflowing sewerage) in the aftermath of monsoons in future. And thankfully enough, thanks to nothing but only the mercy of Allah, we were saved from that this year. But since we were saved from the incoming floods from the front, on one particularly rainy day, water surged in from our terrace, down via our stairs and accumulated in our lobby. Thankfully again, this was only a temporary problem which had arisen because one of the pipes on the terrace had been blocked. When its functionality was restored, which it was quickly, the over flowing stopped. In the meanwhile we took care of any water that had already made its way to our lobby and calm was restored.

But of course, the fact that water hadn’t come in our house wasn’t the end of all our problems. The road outside, of course, remained flooded as usual. Getting in and out of the house each time as a result was an uphill struggle of sorts. And just for the sake of it, we called up the “relevant” officials again (just like we always do, and just like they always do too, they assured us that the problem will be taken care of “soon”). And just like it always happen, they failed to show up. After a few days of sunny intervals the accumulated water just evaporated by it self, re-exposing the road in its pathetic condition. And you can come and check by, it’s still in the same condition.

The funniest thing is after the latest rains this season, my mom and dad tried once again to employ another high level source. The contractor who did our runway reconstruction had a friend, whose neighbour happened to be the real maternal uncle of the city nazim Mustafa Kamal; we got the word around the City Nazim’s ear to some how get the road in our muhulla, and specifically the lane beside the mosque (our lane) re-laid.

Our request for the road, which after this latest rain spell had reduced to resemble a village path, to be reconstructed, was surprisingly heard this time. One sunny day, completely out of blue, we saw big rollers, and other road making equipment. We were overjoyed. Finally at least something worked. But our joy was not only short lived but also misplaced. My mom had told the source to get the road of the lane beside the mosque build. Well surely enough, that’s what the road builders did, at the speed of lights, in less then one complete day, with non stop work even at night, they build the main road leading to our lane, and when it came to also building the road beside the mosque, they erroneously build the lane on the left side of the mosque! Doh! And our lane was on the right!

Such great skills they showed at literal interpretation! This is not to the say the road on the left didn’t need an overhaul either but just goes to show how the system works here. Road officials came to a place, fix part of it, see and clearly see another part of it also in desperate need of repairs, but since the orders from higher up only asked to repair a certain part of the road, they completely ignore what they see and make their jolly way back.

So not only do you need sifarish to get something done in this country, you also need personalized sifarish and very specific sifarish at that, nothing less apparently works. And you know what the worst part of this is, that there is really so little you can do to change this system. It’s depressing frankly.

The gutters and road in question in this email are the same ones my dad complained about in a letter to the editor of Dawn last year. At its zenith, when the gutter overflowed unstoppably and the road was completely submerged, this is what the space in front of my gate looked like (more snaps here, here and here). And I assure this is Clifton, supposedly one of the posh areas of the city. I assure you also that we survived through this not for one or two days, but for weeks on end, and yet nothing was done by anyone, until we took matters in our own hand. With this sort of an experience with dealing with the City Government officials I’m not even sure why I entertained the idea of filing a new complain, this time using the brand new ‘online complain portal’ the government had step up.

I can’t deny it was in part influenced by a good review this service had received by a user over at the Karachi Metroblog. I didn’t, still, expect the callous officials of my council to suddenly wake up at the disgruntled plea of a law abiding, regular tax paying citizen; when they hadn’t bothered to do so in the past despite numerous real life calls, and trips to their offices, it would be akin to expect elephants to fly if I held any hopes from this “online” complain system.

But I just thought that if nothing else I should try out my luck. Perhaps, just as an outside chance, since this is an election year, they’ll consider having mercy on us and construct the road outside our house. How foolish of me though. I’ve just spent a complete hour trying (in vain of course) to register my complaint outline, but all I’ve got in return is repeated “your complaint could not be posted now, please try again later” error messages. Elephants, I should have known, never do fly.

A slightly more formal version of this article was published at Desicritics.