It’s not about mere Democracy – its about the Rule of Law
The people’s struggle in Pakistan today in not about mere democracy – at least, not what the country’s major political parties consider democracy to be: the rule of elected oligarchies, wielding unbridled executive power over citizens, in tandem with other entrenched power-holders like the army and civil bureaucracy. In fact, that form of democracy, still espoused by the likes of PPP and epitomized by the experience of 1990’s is widely considered a failed experiment. If ordinary people today are rising up, it is because the lawyers’ movement has given them hope of another, better system of governance quite different from the mere democracy of the 90’s: constitutional democracy premised upon the unmitigated rule of law and respect for fundamental freedoms.
The problem in getting to this simple conclusion about the motive behind the people’s struggle is that the people’s struggle does not have any one leader or one spokesperson. This might not have been the case when it was still the lawyers’ movement. Now, however, after the media, NGOs, students, other professional groups, overseas Pakistanis and other ordinary people have all joined in, and it has become truly a social movement, it is impossible to find any one voice that can speak for all. Now, one can only infer the logic behind the public’s discontent by imputing a motive that fits their acts. Alternatively, one could try logical deduction based on what the rational choice for the people is. Rationally, no matter how much lip-service politicians and the international community pay to democracy, people in this country cannot be expected to fight in defense of a system marred by lawlessness and denial of basic freedoms, regardless of whether it is elected or not.
The Motive that fits the Facts:
Were it that the people’s struggle was merely about having a government that had come to power through elections, the would have come out in the streets on Oct 12, 1999 – the day a government commanding the biggest-ever electoral mandate in this country’s history was ousted by a non-elected regime. The fact remains that nobody did so. In fact, most people felt just the opposite. Opinion polls from the time indicate that a vast majority actually favored that regime change. The most popular argument advanced by the new regime was that corruption had been rampant in elected governments – corruption being one key way in which rule of law is violated. And for many years after Oct, 1999, General Musharraf’s regime, manned by fairly competent and honest technocrats, enjoyed immense support among the general public. One has to explain that period of public contentment before one can correctly understand the reasons behind the prevalent people’s struggle against the Musharraf regime.
People were happy with the regime in its early days because it was perceived to be more fair, impartial, rule-driven and tolerant of basic freedoms than the one before it. That this one wasn’t elected didn’t bother common people. There was less corruption and other violations of law, the media enjoyed unprecedented freedom, and debate was tolerated, even if it could not alter public policy.
In this analysis, there is a lesson for both the political parties and the civil-military establishment. They are both power-seeking groups that represent the aggregation of certain interest groups. By their very nature, neither has any intrinsic tendency toward respecting fundamental freedoms or always abiding by the rule of law. In the longer run, however, no power-holder can perpetuate its rule without widespread public support. The general public, in turn, is not quite as concerned about having an elected government as it about having a government that respects their basic freedoms and meticulously follows the rule of law, thus bringing stability to the system. In sum, to perpetuate its power, any player must seek popular support, something it cannot get without respecting freedoms and the rule of law.
This choice is open to both political parties and the civil-military establishment. The coming of an elected set-up sharing power with the civil-military establishment seems imminent in Pakistan. But history should make it clear to the politicians that there is no guarantee that they will stay in power. A few years from now, we may have yet another so-called popular leader ousted with no one coming out in the streets in his/her defense. To avoid that fate, politicians will have to demonstrate their commitment to the principles of constitutional governance, as opposed to repeating what they did in the 90’s. There will never be a better opportunity to demonstrate the genuineness of that commitment than now, when the constitution and the judiciary ( the custodians of rule of law) can both be rejuvenated if the politicians put up a united effort to defend them. Plunging into the elections is the instinctive thing to do for any political party, but doing so without will further damage the already diminutive credibility amongst the larger public.
The Logic Behind It:
Earlier, I have tried to demonstrate that the people’s deeper and lasting commitment is to a form of governance based on the rule of law and respect for basic freedoms, not for just about any government that emerges out of elections. In this part, I shall try to rationally justify the stance that I believe the people are taking.
What are the commonalities between Singapore, Malaysia, Dubai, United Stated States, Saudi Arabia and Japan? For one, given a choice, a very large proportion of Pakistanis would prefer to live and do business or jobs in any of those countries than in their homeland. Another perhaps less obvious commonality is that the state in all of those places is premised upon the rule of law and certain basic freedoms which may be limited but are well-defined. Elected government run by political parties is definitely not a common factor nor is the possession of huge natural resources. The point is, people in those countries choose to tolerate their states and people from other places would willingly flock because of the presence of good governance, based not necessarily on democracy, but definitely on the rule of law. In that context, it does not seem so surprising that people in Pakistan are now engaged in a struggle for constitutional governance where the rallying cry is no less that the person of the Chief Justice.
I would conclude on this telling comparison: From1999 to 2001, the most popularly elected politician in the country is not only sacked but humiliated and sentenced to death; yet, the people don’t come out to defend him. In 2007, the Chief Justice sitting atop an increasingly independent judiciary is threatened with removal: the whole country is galvanized into action, hundreds of thousands of people come out in the streets to herald his caravan. In a mock poll conducted by Gallup Pakistan, in a presidential contest between General Musharraf and Justice Iftikhar Chaudhary, not only did 70% of the respondents actually choose to vote, but 70% of those voting elect Iftikhar Chaudhary – who represents nothing less or more than the Rule of Law. No politician – representing mere democracy – could gather nearly as much support or trigger as big a turnout. Even as the country plunges into martial law, the media remains curbed, assembling in public is still a crime, and thousands are arrested, the movement proceeds uninterrupted, finding allies in unexpected places. What then is the people’s real rallying cry: elections or the rule of law?
Monday, December 3, 2007
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
I have a feeling…
I want to tell you something: I have a feeling that very soon we will win this battle. That we will get democracy, the constitution, the judges and the media back.
I have a feeling that victory is just across the corner and a better tomorrow is about to break even as the night grows dark and chilly.
Sleepless nights, hesitantly waking up every morning to the attend phone calls from worried family members, Action Committee members seeking assistance, Vice Chancellor’s secretary and all sorts of people, running barefoot to grab a look at the papers to see if everything was still fine and calling friends up to be sure that no one had been arrested, joking about the rumours that we were on the ISI list and that there were policemen were standing at the gate with arrest warrants, and hoping dearly in our hearts that the rumors were just rumors.… And in our private moments, usually during and after namaz, praying for turning of the tide, if it be the will of God.
And I have a feeling that the passion of three weeks have been accepted and it is His will that the tide will turn very soon, and a time will come when I would be able to go back to my quiet old life, sit quietly on terrace, sip tea in breezy but sunny winter mornings and reminisce about the great green city of my childhood and all else that is good in life.
Blessed Friday draws near. Back home in Islamabad, I do not feel left out of the Students’ Movement. When my peers will rally at Liberty Chawk, I shall, inshaAllah, join other peers in Islamabad, most of whom I shall be seeing for the first time. But a time has come when the students stand united and there is no alienation any more.
Just think about it. More than a month ago when BB landed in Karachi, ostensibly after striking a deal with Musharraf, it looked as though the powers-that-be will stay forever and that the people had lost out in the power-game once again. Then three weeks ago, on November 5, as the police brutalized lawyers and retired judges in front of my eyes, I felt as though they will never have to pay for it. In the brightness of that day, I felt the last ray of hope in my being finally give in, and then it got as cold and dark as it ever could. Who could know, then, that the state would have to allow all major parties to contest elections, and that these parties would in turn demand no less than the removal of emergency and curbs on media and the reinstatement of the constitution and all judges. Who could know that day that civil society would put up such a major show and that its efforts would even bear fruit.
And yet, somehow, such is the doing of the real doer of all acts that He brought things to a point where I can now see a new dawn breaking. A time is near when there will be an honorable place, even for the conscientious amongst citizens, other than that on the streets with other protesters and out of jails. That day is near, I feel.
But I know for a fact that that day is not here yet. This Friday the streets still await us. If all of us can answer the call, that may be the end of it.
I want to tell you something: I have a feeling that very soon we will win this battle. That we will get democracy, the constitution, the judges and the media back.
I have a feeling that victory is just across the corner and a better tomorrow is about to break even as the night grows dark and chilly.
Sleepless nights, hesitantly waking up every morning to the attend phone calls from worried family members, Action Committee members seeking assistance, Vice Chancellor’s secretary and all sorts of people, running barefoot to grab a look at the papers to see if everything was still fine and calling friends up to be sure that no one had been arrested, joking about the rumours that we were on the ISI list and that there were policemen were standing at the gate with arrest warrants, and hoping dearly in our hearts that the rumors were just rumors.… And in our private moments, usually during and after namaz, praying for turning of the tide, if it be the will of God.
And I have a feeling that the passion of three weeks have been accepted and it is His will that the tide will turn very soon, and a time will come when I would be able to go back to my quiet old life, sit quietly on terrace, sip tea in breezy but sunny winter mornings and reminisce about the great green city of my childhood and all else that is good in life.
Blessed Friday draws near. Back home in Islamabad, I do not feel left out of the Students’ Movement. When my peers will rally at Liberty Chawk, I shall, inshaAllah, join other peers in Islamabad, most of whom I shall be seeing for the first time. But a time has come when the students stand united and there is no alienation any more.
Just think about it. More than a month ago when BB landed in Karachi, ostensibly after striking a deal with Musharraf, it looked as though the powers-that-be will stay forever and that the people had lost out in the power-game once again. Then three weeks ago, on November 5, as the police brutalized lawyers and retired judges in front of my eyes, I felt as though they will never have to pay for it. In the brightness of that day, I felt the last ray of hope in my being finally give in, and then it got as cold and dark as it ever could. Who could know, then, that the state would have to allow all major parties to contest elections, and that these parties would in turn demand no less than the removal of emergency and curbs on media and the reinstatement of the constitution and all judges. Who could know that day that civil society would put up such a major show and that its efforts would even bear fruit.
And yet, somehow, such is the doing of the real doer of all acts that He brought things to a point where I can now see a new dawn breaking. A time is near when there will be an honorable place, even for the conscientious amongst citizens, other than that on the streets with other protesters and out of jails. That day is near, I feel.
But I know for a fact that that day is not here yet. This Friday the streets still await us. If all of us can answer the call, that may be the end of it.
Thursday, March 8, 2007
Shehr-e-Janan ki Aik Shaam
Every evening, when I manage to be back home - in Islamabad – I go out into the streets and roads of my beloved city and sometimes I even venture into the lovely green hills, up north. I walk. I run. I jog. I think about this town which is mine and the best years of my boyhood, which I have spent thus. As the sun sinks behind the hills, I see it off in the calm assurance that tomorrow, when this stately being gets up once again, with the will of God, it shall see my city and my love for it, as young and green as ever.
This evening, just a walk was turning into a jog, and I was passing the edge of the jungle-cum-park which was my childhood ‘enchanted woods’, I saw three bearded (like me) young madrassa students ( I could tell that by seeing them and also because I know that they come out to play there). They were carrying a long black thick cable, the kind that is now used for cable tv. They were a little taken aback to see me. I slowed down and looked the other way. They got back to doing whatever they had been up to. But I couldn’t resist the suspicion. They shied again, and I looked the other way. The third I saw them at it. At the edge of the park there is a sick tree. The cable was a noose and they were trying to fell my tree.
I went to them, shook their hands and told them that perhaps it was O.K for the residents of the ‘colony’(the huge festering slum of F-7) to be woodcutting because they CDA has cut their gas supply and they need to cook, but at least ‘they’ shouldn’t be doing this. It was understood, without saying, that ‘they’ meant madrassa students who will soon become comprise a huge portion of educated Pakistani.
They replied: “ Right bro. We aren’t doing this for ourselves. The ‘colony boys’ failed at it earlier so we are only helping them.”
“No, he’s right. We shouldn’t be doing this”, someone interjected.
Another one spoke: “It’s dead anyways.”
I replied: “It’s autumn and who know if God will revive it this summer” I looked at him and then at the others and I could see that they were convinced. I added “ This one’s sick
but it’s still public property and if YOU fell this one, people will see you and start felling healthy ones.”
“This is only my advice, but the choice is yours.” We shook hands, said salam, and parted.
Back on the road I began to run. The evening has far advanced so I picked pace. On my right the cars were many and noisy and further right was a huge, filthy, dusty construction site. Two years back, there was a lush green forest patch here. I would run in it and sometimes get stuck in the wild grasses. On summer days, I shaded me. Today the trees are gone except for a few sick ones on the edges – everywhere else, there reign supreme, bulldozers, earthmovers, and other grizly engines of war( against nature).
I looked again at the sun, dark and low now, and that old calm assurance was missing from my heart. I wasn’t running now; I was lingering. And in this state I walked past another woodcutter, this time a colony dweller – a man in the thirties, but so emaciated and sick that he looked twenty years older. His noose was stuck in the neck of old, stooping tree. For many years it has lain uncared for by the CDA’s forest department, while termite infested it. They its started wasting away and soon it was hunched. Countless times I stood by its side, held it tight in embrace, and prayed for its health. Now a poor and sick-looking man was stripping its bark. My broken heart, and the man’s miserable condition left me no courage to talk to him or stop. I didn’t even want to stop him. My mind was split.
“He has to cook dinner tonight, doesn’t he? He needs it.” Thus spoke one part.
“Must the tree die, if man is to live?”, replied the other part.
“But how would man live, if all the trees die? And even if he could live thus, what point would there be in living?”
“Couldn’t we live together, man, trees, grasses, animals and birds, all of God’s creation”
“ For ages, they have lived thus. There was once a city called Islamabad where they could all live together. You used to love it. But that city is dead.”
“Don’t tell me its dead. It is all that I love. The urban man living in harmony with the natural world, like someone riding a tamed beast, but a living, wild beast nonetheless. That was my dream, my first love.”
“So it was. But it shall be closer to a man eating morsels of meat from a slaughtered beast. You see, the rich need cars, and cars need roads which can only be built on dead earth. The poor need firewood and street trees are best for it. A few years down the lane, one autumn they will fell all the trees, one after the other, and by summer time there shall be left none to blossom back into life. They are all after the trees, my boy” This last line reverberated in my mind. “They are all after the trees, my boy.” And I felt warm tears joining the water on my face, as I was performing wuzu in what has now become a roadside mosque.
As I left the mosque after Maghrib, I retraced my steps. Passing across the old stooping tree, I saw that it was still there but parts of it were gone. Every evening I had stood by its side, seeing it fall but never had I doubted that I would see it the next day. The sun was gone now and that old, calming assurance with it.
“Tomorrow the sickly woodcutter would be back to finish the job.” That discomforting thought flashed in my mind. I tried to picturize the place as it would like without this tree. Another thought came “Today this one is gone. Tomorrow others will go. So try to picturize All of it without the trees.” So I tried to visualize this newer scenario. Unhindered view of the hills behind, once the trees go. Oho, but then the hills wont be green either. Plain grey earth with buildings here and there, and grey mountains behind it. Wrong again, because hills will erode once the tree are gone. Grey earth, stubs on it and nothing behind. But wont the mountains will leave behind a ghost or something. So grey earth covered by bitumen and concrete and a ghost of the erstwhile mountains lingering behind. But no…… I kept correcting my mental images until they turned close my idea of hell, which when I realized that the walk had ended, and I was back home.
“Its not that they have felled so many trees, it is that they have shaken our belief that the trees would still be there when we wake up tomorrow, a year later or a decade later.”
That troubling thought returned, “Tomorrow, the woodcutter will be back to finish the stopped.” “Tomorrow, Islamabad will be gone.” That veritable picture of Islamabad-turned-hell returned to my mind, this time merged with images of a sandy desert.
But then, at last, a comforting thought flickered: “Tomorrow, the sons of Islamabad will rise up, and take affairs in their strong and young arms. Tomorrow they will say: Stop! Enough on big money and big city. We want Islamabad back, so that our generations will grow up in the same great, green vision-of-a-city that we grew up in.”
Will they rise, dear reader?
This evening, just a walk was turning into a jog, and I was passing the edge of the jungle-cum-park which was my childhood ‘enchanted woods’, I saw three bearded (like me) young madrassa students ( I could tell that by seeing them and also because I know that they come out to play there). They were carrying a long black thick cable, the kind that is now used for cable tv. They were a little taken aback to see me. I slowed down and looked the other way. They got back to doing whatever they had been up to. But I couldn’t resist the suspicion. They shied again, and I looked the other way. The third I saw them at it. At the edge of the park there is a sick tree. The cable was a noose and they were trying to fell my tree.
I went to them, shook their hands and told them that perhaps it was O.K for the residents of the ‘colony’(the huge festering slum of F-7) to be woodcutting because they CDA has cut their gas supply and they need to cook, but at least ‘they’ shouldn’t be doing this. It was understood, without saying, that ‘they’ meant madrassa students who will soon become comprise a huge portion of educated Pakistani.
They replied: “ Right bro. We aren’t doing this for ourselves. The ‘colony boys’ failed at it earlier so we are only helping them.”
“No, he’s right. We shouldn’t be doing this”, someone interjected.
Another one spoke: “It’s dead anyways.”
I replied: “It’s autumn and who know if God will revive it this summer” I looked at him and then at the others and I could see that they were convinced. I added “ This one’s sick
but it’s still public property and if YOU fell this one, people will see you and start felling healthy ones.”
“This is only my advice, but the choice is yours.” We shook hands, said salam, and parted.
Back on the road I began to run. The evening has far advanced so I picked pace. On my right the cars were many and noisy and further right was a huge, filthy, dusty construction site. Two years back, there was a lush green forest patch here. I would run in it and sometimes get stuck in the wild grasses. On summer days, I shaded me. Today the trees are gone except for a few sick ones on the edges – everywhere else, there reign supreme, bulldozers, earthmovers, and other grizly engines of war( against nature).
I looked again at the sun, dark and low now, and that old calm assurance was missing from my heart. I wasn’t running now; I was lingering. And in this state I walked past another woodcutter, this time a colony dweller – a man in the thirties, but so emaciated and sick that he looked twenty years older. His noose was stuck in the neck of old, stooping tree. For many years it has lain uncared for by the CDA’s forest department, while termite infested it. They its started wasting away and soon it was hunched. Countless times I stood by its side, held it tight in embrace, and prayed for its health. Now a poor and sick-looking man was stripping its bark. My broken heart, and the man’s miserable condition left me no courage to talk to him or stop. I didn’t even want to stop him. My mind was split.
“He has to cook dinner tonight, doesn’t he? He needs it.” Thus spoke one part.
“Must the tree die, if man is to live?”, replied the other part.
“But how would man live, if all the trees die? And even if he could live thus, what point would there be in living?”
“Couldn’t we live together, man, trees, grasses, animals and birds, all of God’s creation”
“ For ages, they have lived thus. There was once a city called Islamabad where they could all live together. You used to love it. But that city is dead.”
“Don’t tell me its dead. It is all that I love. The urban man living in harmony with the natural world, like someone riding a tamed beast, but a living, wild beast nonetheless. That was my dream, my first love.”
“So it was. But it shall be closer to a man eating morsels of meat from a slaughtered beast. You see, the rich need cars, and cars need roads which can only be built on dead earth. The poor need firewood and street trees are best for it. A few years down the lane, one autumn they will fell all the trees, one after the other, and by summer time there shall be left none to blossom back into life. They are all after the trees, my boy” This last line reverberated in my mind. “They are all after the trees, my boy.” And I felt warm tears joining the water on my face, as I was performing wuzu in what has now become a roadside mosque.
As I left the mosque after Maghrib, I retraced my steps. Passing across the old stooping tree, I saw that it was still there but parts of it were gone. Every evening I had stood by its side, seeing it fall but never had I doubted that I would see it the next day. The sun was gone now and that old, calming assurance with it.
“Tomorrow the sickly woodcutter would be back to finish the job.” That discomforting thought flashed in my mind. I tried to picturize the place as it would like without this tree. Another thought came “Today this one is gone. Tomorrow others will go. So try to picturize All of it without the trees.” So I tried to visualize this newer scenario. Unhindered view of the hills behind, once the trees go. Oho, but then the hills wont be green either. Plain grey earth with buildings here and there, and grey mountains behind it. Wrong again, because hills will erode once the tree are gone. Grey earth, stubs on it and nothing behind. But wont the mountains will leave behind a ghost or something. So grey earth covered by bitumen and concrete and a ghost of the erstwhile mountains lingering behind. But no…… I kept correcting my mental images until they turned close my idea of hell, which when I realized that the walk had ended, and I was back home.
“Its not that they have felled so many trees, it is that they have shaken our belief that the trees would still be there when we wake up tomorrow, a year later or a decade later.”
That troubling thought returned, “Tomorrow, the woodcutter will be back to finish the stopped.” “Tomorrow, Islamabad will be gone.” That veritable picture of Islamabad-turned-hell returned to my mind, this time merged with images of a sandy desert.
But then, at last, a comforting thought flickered: “Tomorrow, the sons of Islamabad will rise up, and take affairs in their strong and young arms. Tomorrow they will say: Stop! Enough on big money and big city. We want Islamabad back, so that our generations will grow up in the same great, green vision-of-a-city that we grew up in.”
Will they rise, dear reader?
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
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