Recycled Thought

Apolitical Coalitions

2012-02-09T08:00:00.003Z

Historically speaking, academics have always been interested in understanding our civil-military calculus at the level of the state. Consequently, nobody has ever really paid much attention to the way that the army reproduces its image in society. Preferring to choose the domain of ‘high’ politics, (as opposed to local or ‘everyday’ politics), people like Hamza Alavi (The Overdeveloped State, New Left Review, March 1972), and Ayesha Jalal (State of Martial Rule), have produced somewhat cross-cutting, state-based explanations for the military’s dominance in politics.

Alavi sees the army as a constituent portion of the unrepresentative state, which forms subordinate relationships with domestic political actors, bureaucrats, and the capitalists, while recognizing some foreign power (the US, and to a lesser extent, China) as its patron. Within the state, Alavi posits that the military has, over time, gained supremacy over the bureaucracy and the judiciary because of greater public outreach, its control over the coercive apparatus, and its economic strength. Jalal, on the other hand, traces the rise of the military to a set of engagements that took place in the domain of high-politics in the period following independence. Her thesis is that in 1947, the army was nothing more than a hollow shell, and was eventually strengthened by the migrant bureaucracy, scheming politicians, and the geo-political interests of the US. The security framework, which Pakistan adopted upon partition, provided the premise for this strengthening to take place.

Both explanations are plausible and, in their own way, perfectly viable. Yet the problem with a top-down lens is that it assumes the state (and its internal interplay) to be dynamic, and society to be receptive and static. The army steps into power, receives judicial cover, forms a faction of the Muslim League, and society celebrates the demise of corrupt politicians. This linear narrative needs to be problematized further to actually understand how the civil-military equation obtained its current shape.

In an article published much later on in his career, Alavi reproduced the words of a retired Major, from a letter he wrote to the President of Pakistan, General Zia-ul-Haq. He wrote that the army’s popularity, and hence its ability to step into power, is a direct result of its insulation from the rest of society, and that the current COAS/President was under-cutting this by stuffing armed forces personnel in every civilian nook and cranny. Many other retired officers, like this gentleman, were quite concerned about ‘over-exposure’.

The interesting thing is that, on paper, the army Major was probably right. Increased society-army interaction could’ve resulted in the unpopularity of the latter – a consequence mitigated, previously, by the insulated nature of cantonments and garrisons. Yet in reality, the army, specifically in Punjab and Karachi, maintained some manner of social legitimacy during the 80s, and enhanced its social capital during the 90s because of some very worthwhile investments it made under Ayub, but more so under Zia.

One such investment is the army’s relationship with the urban/peri-urban, educated middle-class, and more specifically, with middle-class institutions. Despite forming a tiny minority in the overall demographic make-up of the country, the urban, educated class has wielded a fair amount of influence in the overall trajectory of the country. Contrary to the self-perceived narrative of marginalization that many members of this class imbibe and regurgitate, members of the middle class have held important positions at the level of the state (through their presence in the post-Bhutto bureaucracy, and armed forces), and, with the result of their societal counterparts, have helped shape the dynamic of power, and its rhetoric in the country.

The willing collaborators, at the societal level, are most often found dominating two particular institutions: Higher Education and Media. This is helped by the fact that the demographic make-up of 5 institutions (judiciary, bureaucracy, armed forces, higher education, and media) is quite similar. All are white-collar professions that require some form of tertiary level education. All 5 offer, to varying degrees, the middle-class requirement of stability and perpetuity of employment. And all 5 envision, on paper anyway, an apolitical, non-partisan role in society.

This last particular characteristic, i.e. a sense of pride in being apolitical, offers the most convenient catalyst for coalition building amongst middle-class institutions. The recognition of the self as a defined, separate entity in relation to the ‘political class’, (politicians and their clients), creates a fracture that very easily outsteps democratic boundaries. A century ago, Weber predicted the creation of an ‘Iron Cage’ - a metaphor for a post-industrial, urban society completely bound by the restrictive limits of a legal-rational order. Rules will be followed at all costs, human beings will behave like automatons, and the act of exercising political choice will become a procedural activity, devoid of all substance.

Thankfully though, Pakistan’s current socio-economic make-up puts it quite far away from this Orwellian nightmare. Large parts of society, to this day, are extensively partial and extremely political. They identify their politics through a collection of lenses (class, party, caste, tribe, sect), and undercut an oppressive legal order through acts of everyday resistance (bribery, patronage, sifarish). As the footprint of middle class institution grows with urbanization, our political domain faces an interesting, and increasingly relevant question: Will our middle-class, as it continues to evolve, reconcile with the notion of democratic participation and universal franchise, or will it continue to exercise strongly authoritarian, deeply fracturing tendencies?

Guess we’ll just have to wait and find out.

Originally published in Pakistan Today on 09/02/2012

Martial Tribes and the Pakistan Army: A response to Aakar Patel

2012-01-22T18:19:00.004Z

Amidst the banal and mind-numbing spread of op-ed pages across the country, Aakar Patel’s recent piece on the civil-military imbalance in Pakistan (Express Tribune: Of Punjab’s partition, castes & martial races) was a refreshing departure from convention. Here’s what Mr. Patel had to say about the issue:

“My hypothesis is that the division of the Punjabi nation in 1947 produced a Pakistani Punjab that was heavily weighted in favour of the martial castes. The trading castes, which tend to be more pragmatic and balance society’s extremism mostly left to come to India. This has produced the imbalance which explains Pakistan’s fondness for a state dominated by soldiers. Gen Pervez Kayani runs the state’s foreign policy, security policy and most of its economic policy because the majority of Punjabis are comfortable with the idea of a warrior being in charge.”

Let’s get one thing straight though: this particular line of thinking, i.e. the association of caste with institutional ordering, isn’t new. In fact, it’s been present in the Indian subcontinent since at least the middle of the 19th century.

As the story goes, in the aftermath of the 1857 Mutiny the Empire wanted to re-structure the British Indian Army in a bid to expunge the treacherous Bengalis, and accommodate more loyal segments of society, i.e. the Punjabis. The premise for this ethnic revision, however, was less arbitrary than it sounds, and was actually based on anthropological work done by civil servants of the Raj. Volume upon volume, detailing every characteristic of how major and minor ethnic groups went about their daily lives, what they ate, how they spent their money, what were they good at, and what were their failings. These observations, put together in the shape of district gazetteers, pamphlets, and, in some cases, full book-length publications, ultimately led to the conclusion that some Punjabi tribes, i.e. the martial races (Janjuas, Awans, Ghakars etc), were best suited for military service.

This is precisely where Aakar Patel’s hypothesis overlaps with historical reality: The British, in their quest for passive consent from the Indians, skewed recruitment patterns to such an extent that 67% of all recruitment was happening in the hill-tracts of what is now Pakistani Punjab. As a stand-alone fact, this particular contingency makes Patel’s theory very believable. Punjab has a militaristic culture, it is the largest province in the country, it has, over time, achieved pre-eminence in the affairs of the state, and hence it organically supports the one institution that it both helps form, and sustain: the army.

All well and good on paper, but unfortunately, this theory falls flat in the face of everything else that’s happened in our 150 year long history. If Patel’s thesis were used to construct a counter-factual, it would have resulted in a number of things:

1) The army would’ve been popular and powerful from the day of independence.

This, as is well recorded, is not true. For starters, Pakistan had terrible military infrastructure in the first decade of independence, and a process of hardware accumulation became possible only after the CEATO-SENTO deals were negotiated with the US by a civilian government.

2) The two-nation theory, based on warrior-like posturing towards India, was a product of the Punjabi imagination.

False. While the two-nation theory is imbibed and perpetuated by a large segment of the society in North and Central Punjab, it was actually championed by the Muhajir bureaucracy in the first 25 years of independence. Ghulam Muhammad, an Aligarh educated accountant, and the first finance minister of Pakistan, gave a speech on the floor of the constituent assembly extolling the virtues of a powerful army, of diverting budgetary resources towards arms accumulation, and of being prepared to mount a credible defense (and where applicable, effective attack) in the face of an ever-looming Indian threat.

3) The pre-eminence of Punjabi caste-based militarism limited and, ultimately maligned, capitalistic growth in post-partition Punjab

Also not true. Patel, later on in the piece, cites the case of trading castes in Karachi and Indian Punjab as counter-balancing forces that keep militarism in check. This particular reading of reality completely ignores, well, reality. Pakistani Punjab, despite the large-scale flight of non-Muslim capital in 1947, now sees urbanization at nearly 35 percent, and a provincial GDP that has a greater contribution from trade, retail, transport, and manufacturing than agriculture. The Punjabi trading and artisan castes, Arain, Kashmiri, Sheikhs, Perachas, Lohars etc, not only dominate provincial politics (through parties like the PMLN), they’re also quite keen on having good relations with India.

The basic premise of Aakar Patel’s piece is correct. The military is quite popular in Punjab, and in urban Pakistan as a whole, and its role in politics is not looked upon as an indiscretion. But his explanation is essentialist, and quite flawed. The real reasons for the army’s popularity are in the historical imbalances created by the ideology of a seceding state, by the exigencies of an aloof, migrant bureaucracy, by the machinations of global powers, by the self-serving accumulation of the armed foces themselves, and most importantly, the 64 year long project of villyfying mass-politics, political parties, and politicians. A project in which, to this day, media, and segments of the elite continue to be willing partners.

Originally published in Pakistan Today on 23/01/2012

The Seen and the Unseen In Pakistan's Economy

2012-01-16T07:32:00.002Z

“First winter in Islamabad?”

“I moved here a few weeks ago. Before that I was in Pakpattan, but I’ve spent some time in Multan and Khanewal as well. My mamoo taught me well; he works at an auto workshop in the main Bahawalnagar civil lines bazaar. Its the largest workshop in the entire district.”

“So you’ve been in this line of work for the last…?”

“16 years. Paid an agent 80,000 on two separate occasions for a job contact and visa in Saudia. Was refused by immigration authorities on medical grounds, both times. They said I had high blood pressure and an above average body temperature. Must’ve been because of all that time I spent playing cricket in the desert sun.”

Muhammad Shehzad now works at a small workshop in Islamabad. He gets paid, in cash, on a fortnightly basis, and rents a small room with 4 of his co-mechanics. The proprietor of his new workplace came to know of Shehzad through a local jobber (an informal employment agent), who in turn had met Shehzad a few months ago in Pakpattan.

The distance between Islamabad and Pakpattan is approximately 550 km. Shehzad had never visited Lahore, let alone Islamabad, had no relatives in the capital city, no friends, no warm clothes, and no place to stay. Yet here was, three weeks into a new job, cold and mostly hungry, but going about his business like many others across the country.

Contrary to what some of you might be thinking at this point, this column does not seek to narrate a human-interest story. In fact, this particular example has been cited precisely because of its relative tedium, its complete lack of exceptionality, and because, at any given point, it happens to be true for a very large number of individuals in Pakistan.

Let me explicate further:

These last few months, an English language daily has witnessed an intense, but mostly inconclusive debate on the nature of Pakistan’s economic crisis. In one camp are the mainstreamers; the orthodox economists who cite basic macroeconomic indicators (fiscal deficit, inflation, unemployment, growth rate, total debt) to point out the precarious position we currently find ourselves in. Crisis, they say, is an understatement. Full, unmitigated disaster captures the situation more effectively. In the other camp, there was only one man: Dr. S. Akber Zaidi. In his view, Pakistan’s economy is undoubtedly in a bad shape, but at the same time, most of this clamor and alarm about falling into an economic abyss was misplaced. The outcome, in his view, of a complete failure on part of mainstream economists to understand the nature of Pakistan’s economy.

According to Dr. Zaidi and political sociologist, Dr. Aasim Sajjad Akhtar, Pakistan’s economy exists in a seen-unseen formation, with the latter counterweighing the problems arising in the former. Most of those reading this piece, i.e. the 9 to 5, white-collar sorts with an NTN number, exist in the ‘seen’ portion. Muhammad Shehzad, the 9 to 9, paid-in-cash, auto mechanic, exists in the ‘unseen’ portion. This particular argument is premised on the fact that the unseen, or informal/undocumented portion of Pakistan’s economy is, potentially, as large as the documented portion, employs as many, if not more, people, and operates on a more nativist logic, using biraderi, zaat, tribe, and other such informal connections that produce a dynamism more capable of handling macro-economic problems. In 2003, Anwer Kemal estimated that nearly 50 percent of all employment in Pakistan happens in the informal, or semi-informal segment. Car mechanics, local shops, small-scale manufacturing units, domestic services like drivers, guards, and cleaners, all operate in the informal sector. People gain employment through intermediaries, colloquially known as jobbers, and stick around in mostly oppressive environments till they find something marginally better. This process is complemented by informal migration and subsequent remittance flows from the Gulf, which provides direct cash injection into many households in Pakistan.

The process of informalization has received several fillips since the Bhutto period: For starters, the de-regulation and de-nationalization of the economy during the 80s, and the stagnation of manufacturing in the 90s, saw a large pool of unemployed labor shift into the informal sector. Secondly, the services sector (51% of total GDP) in Punjab, and in Karachi, revolves largely around two major components: Transport & communication, and Retail & Wholesale. In the backdrop of a liberalized trade policy (as part of structural adjustment) the trading and retail, as well as transport, sector became major nodes of labor absorption. Thirdly, fueled by foreign inflows of cash (post 9/11), and a mostly artificial credit boom, the construction sector grew by nearly 48% in the last decade. Around 87.8% of all employment in this particular sector is informal and undocumented, and hence, beyond the purview of labor welfare related legislation.

Precisely because of its understudied dimension, it’s hard to pinpoint whether the visible dynamism of the informal economy is sufficient to offset Pakistan’s macro-economic crisis. The problem is further exacerbated when you consider that most people who deal with such questions (researchers, development practitioners) have failed to accord any substantive importance to the informal sector. Unlike in India, where the government has formed the National Commission for Enterprises in the Unorganized Sector (NCEUS), the academia, and the government in Pakistan continues to ignore the existence of this rapidly growing phenomenon, and consequently fails to see the very real forms of exploitation and oppression that take place within it. Safe to say, till such time that our analytical frame is broadened, all functional attempts to understand, and work with the economy will remain incomplete and hence, ineffective.

Originally published in Pakistan Today on 16/01/2011

21st Century Populism

2012-01-09T04:02:00.001Z

In the aftermath of the Cold War, the process of pro-market reform has, more or less, continued unabated in large parts of the free, liberated, and would-be-liberated world. Pakistan itself has seen large-scale privatization, (which, by the way, still isn’t enough for some people), de-regulation in the financial sector, and an unabashed willingness to open up for foreign investment. People have mobile phones, new cars, and 15 different kinds of cooking oils to choose from. In the backdrop of this hasty, and somewhat selective, engagement with consumerist capitalism, Pakistan has seen a huge rise in the absolute size of a middle-income group, which, according to PIDE, is now estimated to be around 30-35 million.

That’s 30-35 million people who want to live their lives a certain comfortable way.

Interestingly enough, one of the things that Pakistan’s tottering economy has exposed is the degree to which our middle classes have become accustomed to this idea of relative comfort. Historically pampered with subsidized fuel, electricity, and controlled food prices, urbanites are having a hard time dealing with financial hardship, inflationary trends, and a rapid deterioration in state-sanctioned service delivery. The obvious response, and a natural one at that, is to blame the sitting government – something that they’ve become adept at for the last three and a half years. And let’s face it, in an era of objective crises, contextualized and nuanced reactions are neither present and nor should they be expected from the populace in general. If things are bad, people will throw eggs at whoever’s in the driving seat. It happened in the late 70’s, the late 90’s, and it’s happening again in 2012.

The substantive difference between the three cases is that this time around, there’s an organized, coherent, and, most importantly, civilian instrument of opposition in the shape of the PTI.

As much as Imran Khan would like to believe, PTI’s popularity has less to do with his personality, and much more to do with structural causes that have historically given rise to dissident sentiment. A while ago, an office-bearer of the Pakistan Tehreek-i-Insaf, who moonlights as an orthodontist (or is it the other way around?), wrote an opinion piece drawing parallels with Z.A. Bhutto’s rise to power, and Imran Khan’s increasing popularity. Both leaders, he said, were accepted by a cross-section of the polity, both were able to mobilize effectively, and both relied on their personal charisma to engage with previously dormant segments of society. Based on these three characteristics alone, and ignoring the substantive content of their respective brands of populism, the comparison possesses some merit. PTI, like the PPP of the late 60’s, is promising to change the current order of things and for a large number of people, the rhetoric of change is more than enough to win them over.

The PTI effect, and that’s what I’m going to call it now, is an interesting culmination of three inter-connected trends in Pakistan since the 80’s: selective pro-market reform, middle class growth, and, most important of all, the gradual dissipation of working class politics. The first two are fairly obvious, while the third one is something most of us don’t bother dwelling on despite the fact that it holds the key to explaining party politics in contemporary Pakistan.

The very fact that local heavyweights are considered to be the biggest factor in determining electoral success shows the nature of political contestation in the country. A particular big-wig, say a large landholder like Shah Mehmood Qureshi, is considered to be a representative of everyone, rich, middle class, or poor, who lives in his constituency. The imbibed assumption is that an honest, hard-working, and good-intentioned representative will bring benefits to all and sundry, while the remote possibility that politics could be a zero-sum affair is considered to be an outdated notion, something that withered away with the fall of the Soviet Union.

Unfortunately, the truth is that this has little to do with socialism or communism, and everything to do with the way our political economy functions. The patwari, which PTI will replace with the computer operator, does not hold sway over the rural poor because of his position as a Class II government employee. He’s powerful because of the relationship he enjoys with the local big-wig, with the local magistrate, and with the police, which allows him to block a tenant’s right to land, to ensure female disinheritance, and to, generally, affect the process in a certain way. Replacing the patwari with a computer and an operator doesn’t alter the way power is structured and exercised at that particular level. It will at most force entrenched interests to adapt to a new reality. Consequently, the irony of talking about ‘getting rid of the patwari’ whilst having a landlord sitting right behind him on stage is completely lost on Imran Khan.

In the 60’s, Bhutto was made a leader by the rural and urban poor because of the circumstances left by Ayub’s Green Revolution and industrialization. Growing inequality, exclusion from land, and a heavy urban bias gave people tangible issues to rally around. Bhutto responded by leading a government, which despite its many flaws, managed to make the most significant rich-to-poor redistribution in this country’s history. Today, a desire for cheap fuel, uninterrupted electricity, trains and airplanes that run on time, and national honor fuel a new kind of movement. A kind that can only be built on the premise of a pro-market, neo-liberal economic agenda; can only run when middle class institutions (media, higher education, bureaucracy, armed forces) side with a segment of the elite for their own benefit; and can only gain traction when genuinely progressive alternatives have ceased to exist.

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is populism in the 21st century.

Originally published in Pakistan Today on 09/01/2012

Paying Tribute to an Idea

2012-01-01T21:05:00.003Z

Two days from the time this column goes to print, a small segment of Pakistani society will observe the first death anniversary of ex-Governor, and businessman, Salmaan Taseer. The day will be marked with vigils, memorial services, and (mostly) quiet congregations in Islamabad, Lahore, and Karachi. These gatherings will be organized by family members of the deceased, by human rights activists, by the liberal intelligentsia, and, perhaps in certain rare cases, by the Pakistan Peoples Party.

The English press will grant one editorial, and possibly two opinion spaces to this topic in its 4th January publications, while broadcast media would run a segment or two in the 9 o clock news. And then the fifth of January will be upon us, and most, if not all of this, will be swept away by a new ‘gate’, another supreme court ruling, a thinly veiled army chief statement, or the unavailability of natural gas.

One news day gives way to another. Such is the order of things.

The rupture exposed by Taseer’s assassination is perhaps as revealing and as, if not more, stark as it was a full year ago. The context of his murder, in the backdrop of a blasphemy case, a mobilized right-wing machine, and a seething media was a glimpse of the worst shape our urban socio-cultural realm can potentially take. The subsequent reaction to the tragedy, characterized by passive acceptance, and in some disgusting cases, active approval, was an even more uncomfortable revelation.

Safe to say, this event remains the strongest indictment, in recent times, of how public space has grown hostile to alternative ideas of a certain variety.

The thing with ideational contestation is that it takes place at the level of society, and is subsequently meant to inform the debate at the level of the state. These exchanges determine limits upon personal freedoms, legal jurisdictions, and in some cases, inter-personal relations, while allowing space for disagreement, and guaranteeing security to minority opinion. Looking back at our history, however, reveals that our cultural realm has rarely been open to dialogue. From the time of independence, a top-heavy state structure has determined two of our principal relationships: 1) The relationship of social identity to national identity, and partially following from this, 2) the role of religion in social identity construction.

From the time of independence, structural impediments, and authoritarian expediency, has bred the construction of a heavily centralized narrative of existence. Pakistan is a single entity, forged by the wishes of a single nation, and guided, at least on paper, by the exigencies of a single divine code. For a large part of our history, and even now, the mainstream challenge to this insular understanding of a country comes from ethno-nationalist movement. Bengali, Baloch, Sindhi, Pashtun, and more recently, Muhajir and Seraiki nationalists have challenged the state narrative on social identity, and the politics of ‘rights’. The debate on the second relationship, i.e. religion and social identity, has historically remained subsumed in these ethno-nationalist struggles, or remained the primary concern of a liberal fringe, dominated by dissident leftists, human rights activists, and since the last two decades, the non-profit sector.

While the back and forth on social identity and national identity continues, the debate on religion as a constituent portion of social identity has largely been forgotten, especially in the urban context. A growth in the number of towns and cities, increasing entrenchment of capitalism, and, consequently, a general disregard for ‘ideological’ debate since the 70s has, by now, resulted in the passive acceptance of the state-ordained, right-wing backed formula of what it means to be a citizen.

Taseer’s stand on the blasphemy laws gained currency with the same fringe that’s been vocal about these issues for the last three decades. The only thing that has changed since then is the public reaction that the non-fringe has to such positions.

Whereas previously, these two social strands would exist in mutually exclusive environments, in their own respective spaces, the gradual removal of spatial barriers, and a shared ‘public’ sphere (thanks to broadcast media and the internet), has led to the hardening of fault-lines, and recognition of the ‘other’. A state-society nexus that circulates a narrative of being under-siege, under attack, and in constant danger not only looks outside of its borders for an apparent enemy, it looks at hostile collaborators within it as well. This is why the case of Aasia Bibi was not so much a question of theology, as it was a question of maintaining the sanctity of a perceived form of Pakistani culture.

An endorsement of Taseer’s bravery, and of his decision to take a principled stance in an era of public expediency is the bare minimum required to initiate a process of reform in the cultural realm. The more appropriate, and an infinitely more lasting, tribute to his legacy would be if the conception of what it means to be a citizen is revised, and those that hold monopoly over the power to define ‘identity’ and ‘culture’ are held accountable and challenged in society.

Originally published in Pakistan Today on 2/01/2012

Politics and the shadow of Dynasties and Lineage

2011-12-20T05:34:00.005Z

A reliance on family-based patronage systems and dynastic tendencies ensures that the nature of our democratic process comes into question from time to time. When people aren't talking about governance and corruption, they talk about 'the same old tried, tested, and failed faces'. The important point often raised is that substantive democracy, at least in its theoretical manifestation, is premised on rational, free-market type principles. You vote for someone based on what you know about them and what you think they and their party is offering. It's, on paper, the outcome of a perfectly objective decision making process. Very much like buying toothpaste, or a bar of soap. Except it's quite clear that's not how people vote, even in countries where such ideas were historically developed.

The reason why I bring this up (again), and why i'm sort of ending my partially enforced blogging hiatus, is because the issue of substantive vs. procedural democracy remains a key sticking point on our political landscape for a segment of the population. The principal difference between the two is that the former implies objective rationality in voting preferences, as outlined above, while the latter means the simple procedure of holding an election, where people just come in and vote, either under duress or under sway of 'subjective' influence. Most elections in third world countries, and specifically in South Asia, fall under the second category.

One of the quintessential urban critiques of our political system is that a vast majority of people are born into straitjackets, which prevent them from casting a free and objective vote. This argument is partially based on perception of reality, and partially premised on intuition. Perception of rural reality entails: birth in a certain social class means deference to the local big-wigs, it means participating in the pre-ordained social collective that we call biraderi - complete with attached responsibilities and obligations, and it also implies that you're expected to marry your cousin. All of these factors combine to create a straitjacket that restricts 'free choice' as it is commonly understood. Secondly, the intuition aspect kicks in to fill in gaps of knowledge. 'yaar why else would they vote for the same people again and again'. The intuition aspect basically leads us to believe that those guys don't know the concept of free and informed choice-making, which is why they keep sending their 'mai-baaps' back to parliament.

Let's get one thing straight: it's unwise to dismiss the urban argument of restricted/un-free elections as superfluous, detached from reality, or misinformed. Authors, most notably found on the other side of the border, have reinvented history in a way that grants agency to marginalized and oppressed groups. By this flip of historiography, they've enabled people to look at how the 'masses' are in fact making rational choices - where rationality is defined as the process of assessing costs and benefits in a specific context. While i do think they make some valid points about the existence of agency at every level of society, i also see the glaring pitfall of associating them with too much of it - which would basically go to say 'well this is what they do, and what they're getting (i.e. a raw deal, oppression etc) is basically a consequence of their own actions'. Such thinking lends the idea that all lack of freedom is merely a lifestyle choice. Which it isn't.

The trick is to find a fence to sit on.

The problem becomes, well, more problematic when this dichotomy between urban and rural rationality is drawn up. Rural rationality is equated with irrationality, principally because it appears to be the result of traditional/primordial/ancient influences. Leadership in rural areas, is a consequence of lineage and genes. Biraderi-ism, is a medieval hangover that has no grounding in modernity. Piri-muridi and ritualistic practices show a deviation from a) scripture, and/or b) brainwashing. I think, and i may be completely wrong here, but equating urban rationality with objective freedom is a consequence of the high premium the world places on knowledge and education. Which, when you think about it, is why the most simple urban critique of our current democracy starts off from the presence of pervasive illiteracy.

I guess I find it amusing at one level that the free - unfree dichotomy fails to take into account the kinds of straitjackets that the peddlers of this distinction, i.e. the middle class (and above) urbanites, are born into as well, amongst which class remains the most binding. Almost all decisions taken by a head of household are done in order to preserve socio-economic status. From the question of a daughter's marriage, to a child's education, to association with the 'right' crowd, as opposed to the 'wrong' crowd, every step is a move to preserve and perpetuate upward mobility. And perhaps even more epic is the fact that people imbibe and regurgitate such 'objective freedoms' on a day to day basis. 'I'm very liberal, I have allowed my daughter to marry a boy of her own choice. Yes, he was with her at college,and yes I do know the boy's family, they're good people'. This is where the daughter would step in and say 'my parents have given me complete freedom to marry, and I chose to marry XYZ whose dad also happens to go to Gymkhana every Sunday afternoon, and he was with me at college.' (on a side note, i've seen consequences of people trying to deviate from 'expected' norms, and the end-result is always lots of crying, and parents mostly getting their way).

Personally, i'd like to see how liberal the dad stays if her daughter had decided to marry the driver's son. Anyway, the point is that throughout the last century, authors like Foucault and Gramsci have shown how compliance and passivity is inculcated in the urban population through the very modern institutions of the school, the mental asylum, the prison system, and i think it's fair to add the media here as well. You can argue all you want, but to me, compliance, of the 'irrational' rural kind, or of the media driven, global consumption culture kind are essentially guaranteeing the same thing.

Anyway, i digress. The thing i wanted to look at was dynasticism and the presence of traditional authority in the Pakistani political system. As things stand, we have two kinds of gene-based politics operating in the country: one is at the local level, where the son of a big-wig is accepted as the next big-wig by common folks. The second one is at the level of national politics, where political parties are conferred upon heirs - like a bow-tied car given to newly married daughters by their dads. Both are clear violations of objective rational politics because they both come out of a reliance on cult of personality, and traditional subservience.

Europe moved from such personality cults (not entirely though) and traditional subservience slowly and surely because of, well, history. urbanization and the rise of new groups meant that people wanted a bigger share of the pie, which the monarchy and the nobility wasnt willing to give. Hence we saw civil wars, and guillotines, and other such activities, till finally people came to their senses and a sliver of representative rule began to take root. In the backdrop to all of this, the important thing that happened was the creation of the modern state, dictated by rules and codified law, and run by a bureaucracy operating on impersonal legal-rational principles.

Ab sirf woh ho ga jo qanoon mein likha hay.

Writing in the 19th century, Marx, being the poster-boy of European modernity that he was, saw colonialism as a necessary evil that would forcefully replace primitive forms of rule and production in South Asia with capitalism and an administration based on legal-rational principals. After all, if peasants kept doing their silly little rain dances and kept giving up their surplus to rulers hell-bent on building ostentatious monuments, how will we ever see modernization -> urbanization -> alienated labor -> revolution?

So right on cue, enter colonialism. Promising commerce, civilization, and (for some Christianity), a one-way ticket to modernization, and all of the other goodies that Europe had achieved after literally a thousand years of bickering. Except that's not really why they entered South Asia. And it shows.

One of the reasons why we see the persistence of traditional forms of authority in this region is because that's exactly what the British wanted. After 1857, the Brits were quite keen on ensuring that 'local institutions' were preserved, that the natural order of things not be disturbed, so as to make sure that another 1857 doesn't happen. Anthropologists spent days observing 'quintessential village life' and came up with complicated manuals on the role of a Tarkhaan, and the role of a Chaudhary. Ultimately, the champions of impersonal legal-rational rule created a legal system that not only preserved traditional modes of authority, but also backed it up with the coercive apparatus that a modern state has. There are several very glaring examples from all over India, but the closest to home are land laws found in the province of Punjab. The Brits, now smug with the knowledge that only certain classified castes could hold land and other couldn't, introduced the land alienation act of 1900, that simply banned non-classified castes from holding land. Also, close inspection of the Land Settlement and Revenue Manual of Punjab shows that the British paid specific value to the concept of heirs and their right on land especially with respect to the rights of tenants. Till the 1950's, tenancy laws offered next to no protection to tenants, and heirs had complete right to shift tenants at wil, which is partially one of the reasons why Punjab's canal colonies saw the largest peasant rebellion in India. But the real icing on the legal-rational cake is that women, under law, were forbidden to hold land till the late 1930's.

There are plenty of other examples, including how the colonial government supported sufi pirs in Sindh and gave them revenue estates in certain cases, and the inheritance system placed for village propriety bodies in canal colony districts of Punjab. All of this shows that what appears to be a modern state structure had plenty of 'traditional' characteristics. The deputy commissioner under the British, designed to be the embodiment of impersonal authority, was essentially a local Chaudhary.

Given this history, one can see how traditional forms of authority were mixed with very modern aspects of economy, political rule and administration. The role of a 'mai-baap' is partially a cultural phenomenon and partially because the 'mai-baap' was literally the be all, end all of village life. Even to this day, the office of the numberdaar, i.e. the village headman is enshrined under law. Similarly, biraderi is still very much relevant because colonial authorities ensured that 'zaat' and 'quom' were important markers of differentiation, a truth that continues to this day.

What our history shows is that characteristics of an agrarian, decentralized society became legal principals under colonialism. But acha chalo, what happened then, happened. Can't really do much about that. What we should be asking is have we actually not progressed at all since independence? The answer, at least based on my reading of things, is of course we have. Within two generations, people have gone from being wage laborers on a piece of land, to proper middle class members of urban society. Similarly, the notion of an all-encompassing traditional leader has progressively broken down, and will continue to do so as urbanization grows. Based on the fieldwork conducted by Ali Cheema in Sargodha, it was apparent that villages make cost-benefit calculations before backing particular candidates in elections. These calculations result in the creation of voting blocks (because people in a village have a shared existence), that to the distant observer, seem like a herd of peasants voting to appease their feudal overlord. All of that aside, perhaps the most pressing argument is that if tradition was the dictating principle of politics in this country, we would have seen absolutely no new faces in our assemblies over the last 64 years. While inter-generational incumbency is still high, it is by no means absolute, and we've seen a new class of politicians emerge over the last 30 years (the Saad Rafique and MQM sorts).

In any case, enough with this rambling on local politics and the interplay of tradition and modernity at that particular level. The other thing to look at is the lack of internal democracy in political parties. There are two ways of looking at it: one is that cult of personalities are intrinsic to our society. That till such time we have Pakistan, we'll have Bilawals and Hamzas. Or conversely, the other way to look at it is that cult of personalities arise out of the sheer amount of social capital that every individual and group possesses. If our legal history has placed importance on who inherits what, and associates political and economic power with this inheritance, it is easy to understand why personality cults develop. People have social capital, which is basically their influence, their charisma, and the connections they have with the rest of society. The simplest example of this is that tish-tosh private schools interview parents before admitting children. If the parents, and the family, are deemed to be of the 'right' kind, the child is enrolled. I'd like to see the legal-rational precedence for such behavior - which, by the way, is pervasive in Pakistan and across the 'modern' west.

Bilawal inheriting the PPP after his mother's death is, unfortunately, not in line with principles of substantive, free democracy. But it does make sense when you consider the amount of social capital the Bhutto family has in this country. In fact, looking at it that way, it makes perfect sense why the PPP would want a Bhutto to lead the party. Does that mean we're stuck in the 15th century, when people would just be anointed as leaders? No, of course it doesn't. Cults develop in modern contexts as well (think Altaf and the Karachi middle class). At the same time, it should also be remembered that till such time society orders itself into groups (based on whatever principle: class, religion, ethnicity), some people will command a following purely based on their group association (in this case family and lineage). It is the same principle we have when we use our father's name to obtain favor and acceptance at a micro-level.

I'll conclude this incredibly long rant with a small remark on impersonal political rationality: it doesn't exist.

Mixing the Old with the New: Politics, New Media, and Imran Khan

2011-11-15T12:38:00.002Z

Picture this: A run down tea stall with wooden benches; an archaic 14 inch Sony television resting on a grimy shelf 6 feet from the ground; a huddled bunch of middle-aged, shawl covered men, sipping tea; nodding, gesturing, talking. One of them in the middle of a monologue, drawing sounds of approval from some in the crowd, disdain from others.

‘My cousin’s brother in law told me that general elections are going to be held in March next year,’

‘But Shah jee, elections are scheduled for 2013, why would the PPP government hold them next year?’

‘Oho Sheikh sahib, the fellow who told me is quite close to Mian Nawaz Sharif. Bazaar garam honay laga hay… (the political climate is warming up)’
_________________________

Since the movement against Pakistan’s first army dictator, General Ayub Khan, and subsequently, the first general elections in 1970, corners meetings, tea-stall conversations, and barbershop exchanges, have had near-exclusive hosting rights for mass-consumption political discourse. In a country where literacy rates are low (roughly 55%), and till 2003-4, electronic media content was on the whims of a state-owned broadcaster (on both television and radio), word-of-mouth remained the most effective mechanism for passing political messaging. Similarly, in times of frantic political activity, such as elections and protest movements, mobilization was done through direct, people-to-people contact.

All of this is now gradually changing. Following a decade long expansion of the media sphere, and a consumption-driven growth in size of a fast suburbanizing middle class (estimated by the World Bank to be around 30-35 million people), political players are faced with two options: Either keep this growing mass of people out of the loop and stick to existing channels of communication and mobilization, or adapt to new technologies, and enhance political participation.

Since the Iranian election protests of 2009-10, and the uprisings in the Middle East and North Africa, the role of social media has come under intense scrutiny from activists, analysts, and academics. While, its potential for acting as a new, and dynamic facilitator of collective action cannot be understated, an over-estimation of its ability to enhance participation in events like elections, for example, is a possible pit-fall.

Pakistan saw its first experience with social media during the pro-Judiciary/anti-Musharraf protests of 2007-08. According to reporter and columnist Huma Yusuf, the blockage of independent news channels led to students and young activists turning to text messaging, blogging, and emails as a way of sharing information, and organizing protests. In the same vein, early warnings through social media, and cellular technology, allowed many protestors to avoid subsequent crackdowns.

The 2007 movement was also the first experience of direct political activity for members of the aforementioned new middle class. Having remained dormant for the best part of three decades, urban professionals, students, and other members of this class were gradually made aware of mainstream political discourse by an enlarged, private sector driven media that was both constituted, and reflective, of the same class of people. Preferring to remain on the political sidelines, as indicated by low voter turnout in urban middle class localities, one can now gauge a renewed, almost moral-esque, sense of responsibility amongst the members of this class. Change is required, they believe, and it will be brought about by direct participation.

For some analysts, Imran Khan’s recent rally in Lahore, which saw large-scale participation of the same social segment, was the logical culmination of this new political awakening. What is more telling is that till his recent political spectacle, Imran Khan’s party, the Pakistan Tehreek-i-Insaf (Movement for Justice), was often dismissed as a ‘Facebook party’ – an obvious pun at the social demographic it appealed to (around 5 million Facebook users in the country), and its lack of presence on the ground. But bringing out members of this new middle class from the comfort of their suburban existence, onto the road using social media messaging, and placing them shoulder-to-shoulder with hardened political segments, is something that has contributed to changing perceptions about both Imran Khan, and the role played by new media in politics. The party standing to lose out the most from Imran’s success, Nawaz Sharif’s Muslim League, has initiated its own social media campaign, with the party chief’s younger brother joining Twitter and Facebook in the week after Khan’s rally.

Yet social and new media has its very obvious limitations. Internet penetration in the country is at roughly 20.2 million people, out of a population of 180 million. Functional computer literacy evades more than 90 percent of the population, and is confined to urban centers - being more common in the 6 big cities (Karachi, Lahore, Islamabad/Rawalpindi, Peshawar, and Faisalabad). Actual political mobilization is still heavily reliant on traditional neighborhood or village linkages, a reality that will not change any time soon. What’s visible, however, is that social media complements the expansion of Pakistan’s private media sphere, which, in turn, cuts across classes and spatial limitations, increasing political consciousness for both the middle class, and for other segments of society.

Amongst, the 150,000 or so people who showed up in Lahore, Internet users were still, by all measures, in a minority. Imran Khan’s gathering was as much a vindication of social media activism itself, as it was of complementary approaches towards political mobilization, of a new political class that mixes the new and the old, and finally, of television channels, which have played a huge part in breeding a new political consciousness.

The writer is a columnist/blogger with interests in South Asian sociology and history. Read more by him at http://recycled-thought.blogspot.com, write to him at umairjaved87@gmail.com, or send a tweet @umairjav.

Written for ANI (India)

New identity, but not quite

2011-10-26T16:04:00.004+01:00

Rafia Zakaria has an interesting op-ed in Dawn today on the issue of modernization and social change in Pakistan. People who've been reading my blog would know that I've written a bit about the same things, specifically in the context of Punjab.

Basically, her perspective is summarized in the first few paragraphs where she talks about transformation of identity in Pakistan:

LAST week, I wrote a column about changing notions of arranged marriages in Pakistan.

The essay attempted to trace the evolution of marriage from a bond geared primarily to promote wider communal solidarity and family ties; to a relationship chosen by and resolved between individuals.
The selection of marriage as the focus of the discussion was intended to highlight the idea that even while traditional structures persist; the changes visited by sweeping globalisation have irrevocably changed the Pakistani understanding of identity.
At the core of this transformation is a redefinition of identity in private relationships; from the collective and communal to the obstinately individual. Tracing the story of this change reveals just how fragile post-colonial assumptions about resisting modernity have proven to be against the results revealed by lived experiences in Pakistan.

She then draws a distinction between the experience of other communal societies (like the Gulf) where acceptance of 'modernity' was managed, and carefully handled so as to maintain a certain continuity of tradition (she cites the example of gender roles)

Experiments in the application of this theory of selective modernisation and piecemeal globalisation were supplied in abundance by the Gulf states, whose juxtaposition of skyscrapers and abayas was aimed at reflecting just such a controlled relationship with modernity.

The argument is that while the Gulf was able to manage its relationship with modernity - due to centralized control over oil revenue and imported labor - we've had fairly different experiences in the same department. In Pakistan, we now stand witness to the proliferation of modern ideas and values to all corners of society, driven partly by the breaking up of communal units as a result of migration (both external and internal), and a broader penetration of technology, education, and 'foreign' ideas.

The overall result is a failure of post-colonial assumptions regarding Pakistan's resistance to modernity.

There are several points worth making about Pakistan's relationship with modernity (both economic and social). A few weeks ago, I wrote about Punjab's experience with economic modernity, and how greater entrenchment of capitalism is producing new classes and opportunities for people living in the province. The problem with extrapolating that analysis to assess the impact of 'modernity' and 'modernization' on culture, and society in general, is that it will inevitably run into data vacuums.

The primary dichotomy at work is that communal or collective identity is a hangover from tradition, while the assertion of individual identity is seen as a distinctly modern phenomenon. Without opening a few cans of anthro/socio, it's safe to say that colonization of terminology naturally tends to produce such dichotomies, even when an author has no such intention. Modernization theory assumed that an evolutionary continuum exists between tradition and modernity. A significant portion of this assumption can be credited to the writings of Marx and Weber, as well as other authors like Ferdinand Toennis. The latter created the distinction between Gemeinschaft (community) and Gesellschaft (society), as a distinguishing principle between pre-modern/traditional societies and modern societies. In the first instance, a communitarian mode of social organization relies on common kinship groups, or a community identity. So in the case of a country like Pakistan, rural relationships constructed on the basis of biraderi or clan loyalty are often understood as an example of Gemeinschaft. The principle of Gesselschaft is found in societies where hierarchical and traditional modes of organization break down, mostly as a function of growing capitalism, and contractual relationships are constructed between isolated individuals. The alienating effect of capital that Marx has written about is exactly what acts as the basis of a modern society, and subsequently the basis of socio-political action in these societies.

Around the 1970’s, authors like Rodney Jones and Myron Weiner concluded that the radicalization of urban politics had failed to take place in India. While there was a surge in populist politics in both India under Indira Gandhi and Pakistan under Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto, urban society did not exactly divide itself along long-lasting class boundaries, which is what 'could've' been the result of an alienation of individualized newly urbanized labor. The thing is that urbanization often takes place in cluster environments. Surrounding villages act as the source of urban labor for a particular city, leading to a situation where the laborer whilst employed in a completely modern economy, is spatially diffused over both the rural and urban sphere. His social environment is then both ‘modern’ and ‘traditional’ (for a lack of better words). Working alongside all these factors is the informalization of the economy, which causes fragmentation of labor. The result of this fragmentation is that workers and members of the lower-middle class use pre-existing, or available social ties and linkages to sustain themselves in a hostile urban environment.

Mapping the role of communal relationships and 'traditional' collectives like biraderi in the modern urban economy reveals a number of insights. Firstly, historically determined occupational role seem to have continued in the context of Lahore as well as other regions of central Punjab. As Mohammad Qadeer points out, members of the Arain biraderi have largely continued to work in the mandis of old Lahore, mostly dealing with wholesale trade and retail of agriculture goods. Similarly, members of the Kashmiri biraderi have taken up business occupations like running shops and small-scale manufacturing concerns. Another study, this time by Khalid Nadvi, highlights how kinship associations provide convenient network linkages for the surgical goods industry in Sialkot to flourish. The biraderi group most strongly involved in this industry, which is based on about 300 small and medium sized manufacturers, are the lohars . Through parallel cousin marriages and informal associations, this kinship groups maintains contact not only in urban Sialkot, but also with extended relations in other cities of central Punjab, like Lahore and even in export locations like Germany and the US. These relationships normally exist in what Clifford Geertz termed as the Bazaar sector. It is quite different from the ‘firm’ sector, which is known to have a westernized, rationalized ethos, built upon a strict division of labor and a hierarchical, bureaucratic work environment. In a country like Pakistan, the development of the firm sector has been much smaller compared to the development of the bazaar sector. Hence there has been more space for this tradition-cum-modern economy to flex itself both in terms of social relations as well as in political dynamics.

When Rafia Zakaria talks about the assertion of individual identity in terms of marriage and life-style, she's referring to a portion of the country that is, in absolute numbers, very, very small. The particular urban class that has removed itself from 'traditional' associations, and now identifies itself on the basis of some 'modern' characteristic. Fortunately or unfortunately, Pakistan has seen the persistence of collective identity in one form or the other, and that has everything to do with both its history (stretching way back to pre-colonial times) and with the FORM and KIND of modernity experienced under colonialism. If rural biraderi relationships and customs were fluid BEFORE colonialism, they were crystallized by the colonial authorities through things like the census and legislation (Land Alienation Act 1900 being a good example). Even after independence, collective identity has persisted in both 'modern' and traditional forms. The former through things like ethnicity and Islamism, and to a much lesser extent, class, while the latter through biraderi, caste, quom, zaat, tribe etc.

The conclusions to draw from this rather boring discussion are:

a) we need to ditch the idea of linearity in the evolution of society. 50 years from now Pakistan could be more 'individualized' or it could be incredibly communal. The fact is that our relationship with capitalism, and the engagement it has with social norms and values could produce some very mixed results.

b) We need to ditch the idea of individual being modern, and communal being traditional. A Sindhi wants to marry a Sindhi while a Pashtun wants to marry a Pashtun. Seems very 'traditional' at first glance but guess what, even under the parameters of post-enlightenment rationality, this is a very modern choice to make. Reason being that ethnic identity is itself a modern construct (see Gellner and Anderson).

c) The Pakistani urbanized upper-middle class, (which was the basic subject of Rafia's piece on marriage), has this very tribal instinct about it as well. They differentiate people by using all sorts of distinctions: new money vs old money, white collar vs business. This in itself is indicative of the socialization that is cultivated within the members of this class. Basically, nobody's a free bird in this country. Everyone's bound by some limitation or self-constraint.

d) Yes, Pakistan has experienced a growth in the rate of people asserting their 'individual' identity, especially in things like family values, professions, and marriage. BUT it's too soon for us to celebrate the arrival of modernity because some Janjua Rajput uncle's daughter married a Jatt of her liking (from Gujranwala but with an equal class background nonetheless), or write an obituary because the same uncle insisted his other daughter marry a Janjua Rajput boy from Rawalpindi and got his wish.

Let's just wait and watch. Interesting times ahead.

Occupy Islamabad Rally 26-10-2011

2011-10-24T18:57:00.002+01:00

The Politics of Punjab's Belly

2011-10-07T12:20:00.007+01:00

Couple of things worth saying about Cyril Almeida's piece on Imran Khan but, before I begin, let me just recap the situation for the 5 major parties that have a say in how future elections would pan out in the province.

(In this piece South Punjab starts at Khanewal in the east, and south of Bhakkar in the west)

a) The PML-N, due to a host of factors (complacency being near the top), has largely remained confined in its backyard i.e. a regular playing field of 100 odd seats in North and Central Punjab. It has probably lost whatever little ground it had in the South because of the Seraiki province issue. As things stand, out of 100 general seats in North and Central Punjab, the PML-N has 54. It has a further 8 seats in South Punjab.

b) It's hard to say what the PPP has done during the last 3 and a half years in terms of holding voters in Punjab. The op-ed sentiment is that this governance rot could certainly swing people away from the PPP to other parties, which could potentially see them losing their rural and peri-urban seats in the North and Center. On the other hand, they'll most probably be hanging on to the south because of the Seraiki province issue. In 2008, the PPP won 21 out of 48 seats in South Punjab, and 26 seats in North and Central Punjab.

c) The PML-Q has suffered two major splits, one largely at the senatorial level, in the shape of the Like Minded Group, and the other one at the provincial assembly level, with a forward bloc crossing of around 40 MPAs led by Atta Manekah and Dr. Tahir Javed. At the 2008 NA level, the PML-Q won 17 seats in North and Central Punjab, and 10 seats in the South.

d) PTI, the subject of Almeida's piece, has contested two by-elections (NA-54, and NA-123), and one provincial assembly seat (PP-160) between 2008 and now. While bye-elections are a fairly poor measure of electoral prospects, the PTI gained 3 second place finishes (Ijaz Khan Jazi in Pindi, Hamid Meraj Din and Malik Zaheer Abbas Khokar in Lahore), albeit with considerable distances. The fact that the PPP didn't field candidates in these constituencies also counted in their favor. That said, the PTI has been putting in some strong showings, and not just on facebook. A solid rally in Faisalabad, and a few others, especially the recent one in Gujranwala, show that it can bring out large numbers on anti-government and anti-America issues. This in itself is not indicative of electoral success, but is, nevertheless, a sign of increasing popularity.

e) As much as we like to analyze it, the Jamaat has never been an electoral force in Punjab, and has only ever won seats after securing arrangements with other parties. Hafiz Salman Butt, once their poster boy, was thrashed at the hands of Pervaiz Malik in the NA-123 Lahore by-election, and if some reports are to be believed, Jahangir Bara wanted to trade in his JI ticket for a PTI ticket before the PP-160 by-election. Without being too presumptuous, it is safe to say the JI is a lot less relevant now than it was, say, 7-8 years ago.

Okay, with that out of the way, the important thing to see is whether the PML-N should get uncomfortable at PTI's dharna + rally showings, and whether these numbers can be converted into the 30 odd seats everyone seems to be talking about.

'You don’t lose an election to poor performance, you lose an election to another candidate'

As mentioned in the article, the primary goal should be to see whether the PTI can a) find enough candidates, or b) steal potential winners from other parties. So far, their big name signing has been Mian Azhar, who I'm afraid is probably the most irrelevant politician in Punjab. He's a former governor of the province, but you might remember him as the guy who formed the King's party, but couldn't win a fixed election in 2002. However, as Takhalus said on twitter, floodgates open after perceptions start changing. Basically if I'm a PML-N man, Rana XYZ in Gujranwala, and I see PTI flags and dharnas everywhere, i could very well think that maybe now's the time to jump ship. Combine that with rumors and whispers about 'angelic' support, and a lot of candidates could switch from the PML-N, Q or the PPP to the PTI purely on the basis of perceived chances of this new party.

All well and good; Except electoral politics, and Punjabi politics in general, functions according to micro-foundational mechanisms that ultimately make Rana XYZ a winning candidate.

Everyone will agree that the overarching principle for an electoral victory in 21st century Pakistan is patronage. But the logical follow up to this repeated assertion is where does this elusive patronage come from?

Well for starters, a candidate is backed by what is called the belly of Punjab. We see Rana XYZ of Gujranwala, but we don't see his backers, Chaudhary ABC, and Shaikh GHI. Chaudhary sb. is a local construction magnate, with diversified interests falling anywhere between rented shops to rural real estate. Shaikh sb., on the other hand, is the head of Saddar bazaar traders association, and controls a multi-million rupee business built on agro-trading, pesticides, and machinery. Together, they've decided that they run their businesses, which will finance Rana sb.'s elections. Come election time, they'll make sure their biraderis are in line, their minions running around distributing favors and bottles of cold pepsi/cups of hot tea (depending on the season), and Rana Sb. is reminded of what needs to be done after a victory is secured. So after Rana sb. secures his seat in the NA (or PA), he gets around to re-paying Chaudhary sb. and Shaikh sb. For Chaudhary sb. he allocates a portion of his Peoples Work Program money in the form of a new 2 lane road and a few school buildings. For Shaikh sb., he manages to get a few licenses for pesticide and seed imports, a direct line with the fertilizer plants, and a license to purchase tractors off the assembly line. Rana sb. is backed because he has a proven track record with the local bureaucrats, with the political party, and with all those who matter. Similarly, Rana sb. works with Chaudhary sb. and Shaikh sb. because, well, he needs the money and the votes. Everyone's happy, except the disconnected underbelly (i.e. the 'plebs'), but who cares about that.

So when you start looking at these micro-foundational mechanisms for every constituency, you will find different patterns and subsequently, different chances for success or failure. The problem with existing analysis of PTI's chances is that we're assuming either a straight up ship-jump of winning or close candidates (kind of like the PML-N to PML-Q jump of 2002), or Imran Khan's ability to make winners out of, what are essentially, losers (like Mian Azhar). The former is much more difficult without the coercive apparatus of a dictator or a strong winning perception of the PTI, while the latter is too reliant on Imran's charisma, the new disconnected urban/peri-urban middle class, and the ability of his party folks to actually run an election at the constituency level.

Another problem is that we often overlook the importance of provincial assembly candidates in determining the fate of national assembly seats. While complacency has stuck with the PML-N for much of its time in power, they did manage to wean away 40 odd MPAs from the PML-Q, i.e. 40 winners in places where their hastily assembled candidate couldnt do anything. Now winning an MPA election is less expensive but not much less difficult than an MNA election. It's a complete process, whereby the party machinery works in such a way that MNAs back their party's MPA candidates, while the (usually) two MPA candidates back their man for the NA seat. Their patronage networks are also interlinked, with the same Chaudhary sb.s and Shaikh sb.s working behind the scenes to ensure victory for their chosen horses. Does the PTI have that kind of reach at all levels of politics? The PML-N was literally bred during the 80's, and even then it took them the best part of 3 decades to finally have a functioning political machine. Leaving aside the fact that the machine was overhauled in 2002, it just shows that patronage networks aren't won or made that easily, nor are they susceptible to mood-swings.

So what's the lesson here? Predicting electoral victories for any party at this point in time is slightly presumptuous and perhaps too reliant on national moods, and less on constituency level facts. The last time I wrote a piece on Imran Khan, i secretly promised myself that I won't make any predictions about his chances till I study the metropolitan and city pages of the Urdu press for at least 8-10 months. You see, the thing is that between all those press releases and yellow journalism stories, you will often find a couple of nuggets from different areas on how the head of some traders association in some market held a strike in solidarity with one political party or the other. You will also see little tid-bits on how some local magnate is meeting the district president of some party. When we start seeing PTI feature heavily in these little, on-the-face-of-it irrelevant pieces of district level reporting, we'll have a better idea of whether the tide is turning, and whether Imran Khan has the support of the Belly of Punjab.

*The term politics of the belly is the title of one of my all time favorite books by the very awesome Jean Francois Bayart. Anyone interested in African politics or patronage systems in general should give it a read.

Welcome to small-town Punjab - 21st century edition

2011-09-25T12:16:00.002+01:00

Talagang town is the headquarter of Talagang Tehsil, district Chakwal. Surrounded by barren, limestone hills of the Salt Range, this town of around 70,000 odd residents is located roughly half an hour off Balkasar interchange on the Lahore-Islamabad Motorway. Two months ago, during a trip to Mianwali, I had the chance to pass through the town, which like most others in Punjab, was populated on either side of a major road. There were shops, and banks, and Katrina Kaif billboards. There were schools, colleges, and, eerily enough, a gaudily decorated private hospital. There were mosques - plenty of them, of all denominations and sizes, and advertising hoardings, preaching the wonders of calling your ‘friends’ after mid-night. There was a lot of hustle and bustle (11 am on a Friday), and intermittent indication that the 80-year-old road was fighting a losing battle with 4 wheeled modernity.

The other end of town was marked by an enormous board that read ‘Welcome to New Talagang Housing Society’, ‘A modern housing society with all amenities for a comfortable living’. On one side of the board, a smiling couple was pointing, one assumes, in the general direction of this suburban sanctuary.

Welcome to small-town Punjab – 21st century edition.

You see, the thing is that gated communities are the norm in a fast-suburbanizing city like Lahore. With 10 million people, and a population growth plus migration rate refusing to wane, more and more people want security, wider roads, and a neighborhood park that would raise the value of their 500 square yard corner-plot.

But you’d think that’s Lahore, not a Tehsil headquarter of an arid, barren district like Chakwal.

Each time the final rites of Pakistan are written - and they are almost every other day - the story of the mobile phone vendor in Talagang town will almost inevitably get missed. Pakistan’s story is about crisis, about instability, about high-political intrigue, and remote controlled drones. About terrorists, and ‘jihadis’, Islamists, and Khakis, venal politicians, and self-serving bureaucrats.

Hollywood stuff on a country that’s often presented as the pesky third child the world really didn’t want to have.

The humanizing flip side, which is more often than not an articulation of misguided optimism, is almost always based on some vague notion of persistence and resilience in the Pakistani polity. ‘Oh, but they’ve survived so much and yet they still have the courage to host fashion shows’. As one friend, after reading another such account of the ‘other’ Pakistan caustically said, ‘making efforts to survive and subsist are basic human traits, not a unique virtue’.

Pakistan as a whole, and Punjab specifically has been grappling with modernization, urbanization, and growth for the last 60 odd years. The unfortunate thing here is that this engagement of society with itself is terribly boring. Who wants to write about the three generations it took for the family of a postal clerk from Jhang to build a house in Lahore’s Defence Housing Authority? Or the two generations it took for the family of a migrant worker in Dubai to open a shop in Chakwal and settle in New Talagang Housing Society?

The fact of the matter is that these things are more pervasive than the barbaric ‘Talibans’ or the underground house music scene in Lahore. There are multiple stories being written across the province, and in a wider sense, across the country that all give indication of a society finally becoming comfortable with a consumption lifestyle. Talagang, and one simply can’t stress this enough, is just one small town out of literally hundreds. There are Katrina Kaif billboards, schools, colleges, bank branches, and mobile phone vendors in each one of them.

Pakistan has seen urbanization rise from a paltry 14 percent to 35 percent officially, and according to some, 40-45 percent unofficially. Contribution of manufacturing and urban services to the GDP stand at around 74 percent, and the corresponding labor force statistic is around 63 percent. The urban consuming class, much discussed, rarely measured, now stands at around 15-20 million by the most conservative estimates. And another large segment of urbanized consumers will be joining their ranks in the next 10 to 15 years.

If it wasn’t clear already, this really isn’t an attempt to ‘set the record straight’ as far as Pakistan’s imagery is concerned. Frankly speaking, what is said and written in the international media makes little difference to the vast, and mostly godforsaken, majority. What, however, is worrying is the parroting of Pakistan’s tottering condition by the domestic metropolitan class, who ostensibly, have every chance to observe society for themselves. Flitting between the ‘this state has collapsed’ to the ‘Talibans are coming’ polemic, they’re amplifying the distress to a point where the metronomic mundaneness making things tick in this country is completely forgotten. This is further exacberated by an understanding of politics that focuses almost solely on ‘corruption’, ‘bad governance’ and a perceived disconnect between ‘feudal’ politicians and the common man (whoever that is).

The truth is that this disconnect exists only for a small portion of the public, i.e. people like us. The entire political economy of this country is run on the basis of patronage networks that start from a local bigwig MNA, to the local trader and shopkeeper, right down to the daily-wage laborer who works at some construction site. At each level, there are all-pervasive linkages being formed between actors on a daily basis. Yes, the people lower down in the food chain get a rough deal out of this, and yes, the elite is unresponsiveness to the working classes, but there is a system in place, and that system is entrenched in a very dynamic society.

Akbar Zaidi, a man who we should all pay attention to, writing in 1991 said that ‘feudalism’ as a mode of production ended in Pakistan after the Green Revolution. People had unprecedent opportunities for mobility, whether it was because of a metaled road being built, or by the advent of television, or, as was the case for many, by the migration of a family member to the Gulf and beyond. It is the same mobility that has led to the growth of Talagang town as a complete urban center, with linkages to all parts of the country. Provincial differences aside, no place in Pakistan has remained stuck in the 18th or 19th century. Each and every village has been touched by modernization, consumerism, and some manner of change.

While the world become increasingly convinced of the ‘wilderness’ outside a few islands (Lahore, Karachi, Islamabad), the rest of the country is busy charting its way through the mess, away from the blinkered eyes of the western press and its peddlers in Pakistan. As architect and social observer Arif Hasan puts it, there is an unplanned revolution taking place across cities and small towns in Pakistan, and the future of this country rests on how well we understand and harness the potential on offer.

Originally published in The Review (Pakistan Today) on 25/09/2011

On the Dietary Habits of a Punjabi-Kashmiri Clan

2011-09-20T05:45:00.007+01:00

Since time immemorial, anthropologists and sociologists have been trying to wrap their heads around the concept of caste and biraderi in Punjab. While colonial anthropology studied these groups with the explicit agenda of enforcing social control, the discourse surrounding traits and characteristics of one genealogical + occupational group have been internalized over time by the 'native' population. So tags like a Sheikh being miserly, an Arain being simple, and a Rajput being headstrong, have stuck over time and are still passed on as convenient half-truths - even after rapid urbanization.

One such half-truth is about the love for food found in the Kashmiri biraderi, and specifically in the Butt sub-clan. This is a news report done by Samaa TV on the dietary habits of this particular sub-clan. (Very grateful to Hyder Cheema for sharing this on my Facebook wall).

(Translation as follows. Respondents in Italics)

Butt 1: 'Mash'Allah, all this eating is making me tired, so I'm getting a massage too'

Background: Butts are very nice and innocent people, but when faced with a plate of food (roti), their innocence vanishes. The spirit of Changez Khan is awakened within them, and just like Changez Khan used to destroy all before him, Butts have a tendency to clean away the entire dinner table. And why shouldn't they? Because as the famous saying goes, 'those who don't have a fold on their belly, isn't a Butt'

Intellectual Butt: 'There is no doubt that the Butt biraderi is a big fan of eating and drinking. I keep asking them to bring me food, regardless of whether I've already had dinner or not. They serve me with 1.5 kilograms of Chicken karahi and I tell them to back off. They should eat their own food, and stay away from mine.'

The food romance of Butts is an endearing characteristic. They're no ordinary people, since it's run-of-the-mill for them to have 2 litres to drink with one meal.

Butt 3: 'When one doesn't have anything to do, its normal to feel twice as hungry.'

Butt 1: 'It's almost necessary to have Sri Paye (Goat trotters in broth) from the walled city (Lahore) for breakfast, for lunch we can have Biryani, and then for dinner, we'll get anything from wherever we can find something.'

Some shopkeepers and food vendors get very anxious whenever they get Butt customers. Their major concern is that if a member of the Butt clan walks in, how will we feed all the other customers?

Food vendor: 'We start feeling really tense if 2-3 Butts walk into our shop. How will we cater to their demands? How will we serve our other customers? They usually leave after they've finished off everything there is to eat'

It is said that Butts can bear any difficulty except hunger. And as wise people say, Butts have three characteristics: number 1, A heavy diet, number 2, a heavy diet, and number 3, a heavy diet. With cameraman Ali Mujtaba, this was Rai Hasnain, Samaa TV, Lahore.

On Lahore and Karachi

2011-09-16T05:44:00.005+01:00

Truth be told, i'm a big fan of Karachi. I have friends from that city, I've learnt a lot from its residents, and most of all, I value its position as the most 'urbane' place in the country. That said, I've only ever been there once, and that too for a 12 hour stopover on my way to Sukkur. I hope to pay a visit very soon, and get a taste of real 'urban' life, which as many residents of Karachi would tell you, is simply not available anywhere else in the country.

This sudden effusion of love for Karachi was triggered by Rehman sb.'s day old op-ed in Dawn, where he explains, in some detail, the various cultures that provide Karachi with that decidedly unique flavor. His basic premise is that Karachi as a city is 1) More vibrant, more multi-cultural, more commercial, and values time more than Lahore or Islamabad (???). 2) has a greater penchant for philanthropy, public service, and education, and sadly enough 3) in possession of now-entrenched criminality in various quarters here and there.

I honestly have no issues with this particular characterization of Karachi, simply because I actually do think it's true to a large extent. Okay fine, some of that 'multiculturalism is under threat' part is a little misplaced, considering ethnic chauvinism has run riot in the city since the creation of the MQM, but I can put that down to nostalgia, if nothing else. My only problem with this piece is that it creates a false dichotomy between 'dynamic' Karachi, and 'slow/passive/feudal' rest of Pakistan. Almost, in a way, granting agency to the residents of one city and categorizing the residents of every other place as cogs of a slow-moving structure.

Karachi justifies in many ways its claim to be a post-feudal city. Its dominant culture, to which a preponderant majority of the population subscribes, is defined by an urge to create/produce something that can be marketed. Everybody, from a coolie to an industrial baron, is engaged in utilising all his time to do something, to produce something that will enable him to maintain his family, augment his resources and climb higher in society. It is this urge that has enabled a large number of people, coming from various stocks and professing different faiths, to raise Karachi to what it today is. And this largely by the dint of their hard work, often in spite of the powers that be.

The essence of this culture is the high value attached to time — much higher than perhaps in Lahore (still wallowing in feudal habits) and surely higher than in Islamabad (the city of opium-eaters where time has little value).

So basically Lahore wallows in feudal habits, hence its residents don't attach a very high value to time. Rehman sb. is not the first person to hold this opinion, and he certainly won't be the last. People from Islamabad and Karachi both view Lahoris as a 'paindu' breed - driven largely by our very agrarian dialect. Urdu aficionados can't stand the fact that we Lahoris cant really pronounce our 'kaafs' properly, that we fail to enunciate syllables in the way syllables should be enunciated. All well and good, and (mostly) in good jest. The thing that ticked me off in this piece was a conscious (or sub-conscious) equivalence between post-feudalism, multi-culturalism, and entrprenuiral/commercial ethic.

Here are a few facts about Lahore:

Prior to 1947, nearly 48 percent of the population was non-Muslim (Hindu, Sikh and Jain). Non-Muslims controlled almost all commercial and manufacturing capital, owned most of the property in commercial areas, and basically populated the most 'urban' centers of the districts. Muslims in the Lahore region, residing in the agrarian hinterland (along the Canal Bank Road), were mostly landlords or peasants. That said however, in the last decade or two before partition, Muslim families had started to move towards the inner city, and over time became involved in commercial activity.

Partition meant that Lahore to India migrations were accompanied by large-scale capital flight, and a significant drainage of 'entrepreneurs' from the city. On the other hand, people coming in to Lahore were from all over, Amritsar, Ludhiana, Jallandhar, and of all kinds, shopkeepers, government employees, and farmers.

In 1947, the total population of Lahore was around 670,000, and today it stands close to 10 million. Population growth rates to one side, a large part of Lahore's expansion can be explained by district-to-district migrations. While Karachi has shot up from 500,000 to 18 million in the same time period, there are a few things that need to be kept in mind: A lot of people show Karachi's population increase as a sign of its dynamism, which while somewhat true, can be explained by less-essentialist explanations. Under the first 2 decades of rule, there was a concentrated agenda on part of the federal government (run mostly by officers who had migrated to Karachi) to cultivate the manufacturing and services sector industry in Karachi. Migrant entrepreneurial families from UP and Bombay set up factories and shops across the city, and with Ayub's development paradigm in place, were given access to easy credit (through PIDC) and cheap labor (through forced migrations from Swat and other parts of Malakand). Lahore specifically, and Punjab in general, was reified in its role as a glorified bread basket, or at most, a secondary city to Karachi.

In one sense, Lahore's biggest characteristic was that it was a Punjabi city, catering mostly to some portion of the 6 million Punjabi migrants in 1947, and that Punjabi Mohammadens were agriculturists by profession. Given all of that, Lahore is now a population of 10 million urban residents - i.e. people who deal exclusively in urban professions. The commercial classes in Lahore have more than made up for the capital flight that accompanied partition, and have turned the city into one of the most concentrated hubs of mercantile activity in South Asia. Accompanying that , we're at a point where it's safe to say that the politics of Lahore is not feudal by any stretch. Yes, Lahore is 83 percent Punjabi, but the people now contesting elections all belong to the urban, commercial/industrial/professional class (Saad Rafique and Dr Saeed Elahi for example). Homogeneity with an agrarian province does not automatically mean that the city is still 'wallowing' in feudal habits. False markers of Lahore's lack of dynamism simply emerge from its rejecting of 'high-modernist' Urdu culture, and its elite's (and everyone else's) insistence on maintaining a highly 'nativized' Punjabi culture. This is a fact that many chauvinist speakers of our national language can't seem to digest. The fact of the matter is that Lahore would've been a decadent city of a few million at most had it still been so caught up in 'khaiti-baari' (farming).

That clearly didn't happen.

There are other points that can be made here as well, such as Lahore's relationship with progressive politics, with the student movement, and the prevalence of strong educational institutions, but they are all ancillary at best, and irrelevant at worst. What people in Karachi need to understand is that dynamism, entrepreneurial spirit, and commercial ethic is a function of history, and to some extent geography, but is certainly not a uniquely essential character of its residents. There is a history behind Karachi's 'urbanity' and it stands right there with the urban history of other places in Pakistan like Lahore, Sialkot and Rawalpindi. Nobody in their right mind would suggest that Lahore is liberal, or any more urban than Karachi. Lahore is a conservative city, filled with Punjabi speakers, with 'nativist' sensibilities, but that should in no way stop anyone from examining its evolution as a 'post-agrarian' center.

'This whole place is a big Charya Ward'

2011-09-04T07:12:00.003+01:00

Review of Mohammed Hanif’s ‘Our Lady of Alice Bhatti’ by Umair Javed

(Our Lady of Alice Bhatti by Mohammed Hanif. 240 pp, Rs. 499, Forthcoming, September 2011. Random House India)

"It’s a love story about a girl who has a troubled past and is trying to resume her life. She looks for a job, finds one and then falls in love and like it happens in real life, she falls for the wrong guy. It’s their story."

At the very heart of it, Our Lady of Alice Bhatti is a love story. The revelation of this heart, however, is a slow, fairly gradual process that appears almost secondary till the final two, maybe three, chapters of the book. Till then, it seems as if the romance between Teddy Butt and the eponymous Alice Bhatti is an add-on for both these individuals, while they grapple with their respective lives - hers as a fresh-out-of-jail nurse at Sacred Heart Hospital, and his as an informal police tout working with the ‘G-Squad’.

A host of other characters, consisting of Alice’s eccentric father Joseph Bhatti, a sweeper for the Municipal Corporation and part-time ulcer healer, Sister Hina Alvi, Alice’s rather stoic, paan-eating immediate superior, Teddy’s boss, the rather sage-like Inspector Malangi, and seventeen year old Noor, who works as a jack-of-all-trades at the hospital, ensure the right amount of complexity to the narrative.

“Less than three minutes in front of the interview panel and Alice Bhatti knows in her heart that she is not likely to get the job advertised as Replacement Junior Nurse, Grade 4. A sharp tingling in the back of her neck warns her that not getting the job might not even the worst thing that could happen here. No questions have been asked yet, but she knows that all the preparation – her starched white uniform, the new file, a faint smudge of mud-brown lipstick, breathing exercises she had done to control her jumpy heart, even the banana she ate on the bus to stop her stomach from rumbling – all seems like wasted investment, halal money down the haram drain, as her father Joseph Bhatti had put it.”

From the moment it starts off with this fly-on-the-wall, lens-inside-the-head account of Alice’s interview for a nursing position, right till the last word of Joseph Bhatti’s open letter to the Vatican, the story weaves itself through both imagination and conscience. There are times when the plot progression appears chaotic, bordering on haphazard, which could leave certain readers exasperated; but the minute it settles back into a more familiar, metronomic rhythm, one realizes the importance of induced, methodical chaos to this particular narration. It is, after all, based in a considerably volatile urban environment.

Despite the insistence in branding this tale as a love story, the author’s channeling of dark undertones becomes much more accentuated in this book. In fact, it doesn’t take much to realize that his two works have very little in common. Chuckles and sniggers gained at the caricaturing of a derided dictator in the first one give way to a mood spectrum that goes from somber to very dark through the course of this particular book - the result being that Alice Bhatti as a character is more defined, more contextualized than the pilot cadet protagonist from Exploding Mangos. And that in itself is understandable given the number of battle fronts she finds herself exposed to - as a Christian in a society hungry for another faith, as a member of the working class in an increasingly polarized environment, and most of all, as a woman in a nauseatingly patriarchal and sexually repressed society.

“The room is a monument to pharmaceutical merchandising: the orange wall clock from GlaxoSmithKline, the calendar with blonde models in various stages of migraine from Pfizer Pain Management Systems, the box of pink tissues promising Dry Days, Dry Nights. The ornamented gold-framed verse from the Quran exhorting the virtues of cleanliness carries the logo of Ciba-Geigy: a housefly in its death throes.”

The torque behind Hanif’s book is a plot that works the imagination at every step, yet remains complemented by invocation of imagery that many readers, at least here in Pakistan, would find very familiar. Sights, sounds, and smells of a run-down public sector health facility, the characteristic police ‘daala’, with a full cache of thuggish looking policemen at the back, the raw power of a notable’s entourage, and given the state of affairs, even a torched mini bus seem components out of everyday experience. On the other hand, the book avoids setting a purely localized stage, primarily through the vividness of its plot and élan of its principle character(s).

Is the book slightly guilty of dabbling a bit too much into imagery and context? Perhaps, but even then, at no point does it devolve into a case of structure driving agency-less characters. Alice Bhatti, despite all those battlefronts, remains an agent engaged with her surroundings, experiencing successes and losses, but never as a dormant, passive ‘acceptor’ of a ready-made fate. Nothing captures this sentiment better than the unorthodox relationship that both Alice and her father have with their own faith. It takes a certain degree of entrenchment, and even life-experience on part of the writer to avoid creating a convenient bi-polarity between Christian and Muslim, and instead make this as much about a character’s relationship with his or her own faith.

What is even more interesting, and this could very well be the result of a completely subjective assessment on the part of this reviewer, is that given the state of minority rights in Pakistan and the recent politics that this state has engendered, there is a distinct under-reliance on Alice’s Christian-ness as a catalyst for her character. More than anything, the book adequately highlights the incredibly somber state of affairs for a working woman from the wrong side of the class divide – an issue that is becoming ever more pressing in the wake of class compulsions and rapid urbanization.

“If Alice Bhatti didn’t want this job so badly, if she hadn’t stretched the gap between her nursing-school years and her first house job to cover the fourteen months that she spent in the Borstal Jail for Women and Children, she could have told what her mother had told many a man in her life: if I shove that mop up your arse, you will walk around like a peacock.”

It is said that a proper review requires a gap between finishing the book, gathering your thoughts and writing it out. You need time to let the author’s offering sink in, to let your mind absorb its contours, and allow your conscience, and more importantly, your imagination, to distance itself from the acquired immediacy that comes with reading an engaging piece of fiction. The case with Our Lady of Alice Bhatti is that Alice, Sacred Heart Hospital, Joseph Bhatti’s words, and even the specter of urban violence, which in itself is very secondary to the book, stay with the reader well after the last page is turned. This is not a fun read by any account. It will never generate light-hearted discussion amongst mutual appreciators. It is, and will remain a caricatured, yet incredibly evocative story of a woman with a troubled past, a troubled present, and an uncertain future. And this is how it lingers on in both imagination and conscience.

Profile of the author:

Mohammed Hanif is a member of a dying breed.

An ominous introduction for a much revered man, but a fairly accurate one nonetheless. As part of the generation that gained consciousness under Zia, he remains one of the few truly bi-lingual writers in present day Pakistan. More than that, the richness of his personal experiences, from his childhood in Okara, to a cadet in the Air Force and then as a journalist in Karachi with Newsline, and later on with the BBC in London, contribute to his ability in creating vivid narratives that engage with the reader’s sense of familiarity and curiosity.

Nearly ever writer would go great lengths to stress the objective, and purely essential nature of his or her writing, but with Hanif, the functionality of reflecting a society’s contradictions, quirks, and un-captured narratives comes by default. This of course, takes nothing away from the gift of enthralling his readership with gripping storylines and dynamic characters. His first novel, A Case of Exploding Mangos, was longlisted for the Booker prize, shortlisted for Guardian’s First book Award, Commonwealth Literary Prize and won the Shakti Bhatt First Book Awards. Many would agree that this was more than just a nice accolade haul for a debutant.

Hanif’s work, both journalistic and fiction is a much-needed bridge between two mediums growing mutually insulated as a result of the language divide. The privatization of education, the suburbanization and atomization of public spaces, means that a suburban kid growing up in Lahore or Karachi could very well spend most of his life without being introduced to the literary or journalistic heritage that previous generations have cultivated.

In such times where television talk shows become the item of choice for popular consumption, and compilation of works by polemical warriors get sold as ‘books’, Hanif is a thoroughly refreshing alternative. One can only hope and pray, that there will be others in times to come.

Originally published in The Review - Pakistan Today, 04/09/2011

The North-South Question

2011-08-07T07:17:00.007+01:00

'Sayeen, ham nay toh kabhee 5,000 banday kaa jaloos bhi nahee nikaala. Siyaasat kay liyay aik laash kya, aik zakham bhi nahee hay hamaray paas toh. Aur aaj lag aisay raha hay kay hamaari dheemi dheemi baaton ko sun kar yay Punjab kay tukray karnay lagain hain'

(Sayeen, we've never taken out a rally with 5,000 people. Forget martyrs, we don't even have a bruise to flaunt for political mileage. And today, it seems they've heard our whispers and taken them to heart. Today, they're talking about splitting Punjab.)

While talking to a few last month, I realized that most independent Seraiki activists privately acknowledge that the issue of a new province, or at the very least, a wholesale recognition of Seraiki grievances, was a cause that could only be made actionable when the People's Party thought it to be worthwhile - and 9 times out of ten, a cause's worth for a national level party is determined by its weight in the electoral matrix.

Firdous Ashiq Awan, in her characteristically blunt, Sialkoti way, thankfully spelt it out in fairly simple terms: a party that doesn't support the creation of South Punjab runs the risk of becoming politically irrelevant in one half of the province. Even in other statements, by other leaders, it's quite obvious that such provocations are directed towards the PML-N, given how they've remained confined to Punjab over the last 3 years. For PML-N, a battle to support a cause they might not necessarily agree with in the first place is happening on two different fronts. On one front, they've had to set aside their centralizing tendencies and think about a province in South Punjab - given the straight-jacket constraints applied by the PPP, and on the other front, popularity of the idea for a Hazara province means they have to show flexibility to retain their electoral capital in those districts.

One way or another, this talk about making new provinces is fairly unprecedented, and, very symbolic of the way PPP has shaped federation discourse in its now three and a half year long term. In legal terms, the constitutional guidelines for making a new province are covered in Article 1 (3), 'Majlis-e-Shoora (Parliament)] may by law admit into the Federation new States or areas on such terms and conditions as it thinks fit' and in Article 236 (4), 'A Bill to amend the Constitution which would have the effect of altering the limits of a Province shall not be presented to the President for assent unless it has been passed by the Provincial Assembly of that Province by the votes of not less than two-thirds of its total membership,'

That's the de jure aspect of this issue. The de facto aspect is, as always, a lot more complicated.

A History of Administrative Cartography in Punjab (and KPK):

A few days ago, in response to Javed Hashmi's advice for dividing Punjab into several provinces, Shahid shared a Facebook page calling for the establishment of a Potohar province. The page administrators, in a bid to strengthen their cause on the cyber platform, state, 'potohar pakistan banne se pehle se alag sooba ha is liay potohar ko alag kia jay' (Potohar was a province before the creation of Pakistan, hence it should be separated now as well).

This is what we call in bazaari language, unadulterated bullshit. There is no record of a Potohar province existing over the last 200 years, and I'm willing to bet a fair amount of money on the fact that Potohar as a distinct cartographic entity has not existed till well before the advent of the Mughals. The reversion to history, an oft-used instrument, for the explicit purpose of strengthening a cause is symptomatic of provincialism/separatism across the world. Balochistan, or the Kalat confederacy at least, uses the same instrument to prove its existence as an independent entity. People have used this argument for the creation of Pakistan, and for the Balkanization of Yugoslavia. It seems, and increasingly so, that history is the ultimate arbiter in the fight to determine geographical boundaries.

Amusing really, considering that the concept of holding imaginary lines sacred is not that old itself.

The problem with this approach is that you really don't know where to put a road block and call it 0:00, i.e., the moment from where history starts. In the context of Punjab for example, modern cartography is normally traced back to the hey-dey of the Mughal empire, when the area where we now live in was nothing more than barren, nomadic wasteland. Another perspective is to take the Bengal landing, and the Battle of Plassey as a concrete historical marker in terms of mapping modern India. Whatever view one picks, the fact is that the provincialist argues for a province, which would enable a higher standard of living within the framework of a modern administrative structure. Under these explicit terms, a history of Indian provinces, especially Punjab and Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa, can only go as back as the 19th century.

At the height of Sikh expanse, both Peshawar and Multan were part of the same geographical entity, colloquially known as the 'State of Lahore' (minus the princely state of Bahawalpur). After British annexation, the Anglo-Afghan Wars, and the demarcation of the Durand Line, areas now part of KPK were ruled till 1901 by the then Lt. Governor of Punjab, after which KPK was formally commissioned as a Chief Commissioner's province. At that time, most of the KPK landmass was categorized as either Federally Administered Tribal Areas, or as a Provincially Administered one, with different legal and administrative structures. The KPK province consisted of only 5 settled districts: Peshawar, Bannu, Kohat, Dera Ismail Khan, and Hazara.

Hazara was the name given to the district bordering Rawalpindi, and at that time, was the only district of KPK to fall east of the Indus river. Prior to 1901, Hazara district was part of Rawalpindi division, and all three major towns (or tehsils), Haripur, Manshera, and Abbottabad were, for all intents and purposes, part of Punjab. While proponents of the Hazara province sometimes exaggerate their uniqueness, and their claim for autonomy, (given how the British classified their language as a dialect of 'West Punjabi'), there is an administrative precedent of Hazara having its own identity, either as a district from 1901 to 1970, and as Hazara Division, consisting of Abbottabad, Manshera, Haripur, Kohistan, and most recently, Battagram, from 1970 to 2001.

On the other hand, South Punjab, or Seraikistan, has never existed as an administrative structure under the British or in modern day Pakistan. Multan, the largest city in the south, was the headquarter of a Mughal-era 'subah', i.e. a revenue region that 'covered much of South-West Punjab, and even parts of Sindh', till its annexation, first by Pashtun invaders, and then by Ranjit Singh. The language itself was recognized by the British as a dialect of Punjabi, traced on a spectrum moving from the North of the province to its South West regions. Moreover, since Bahawalpur was a princely state, consisting of Rahim Yar Khan and Bahawalnagar as well, South Punjab in the British imagination was best captured by the Multan division, which was the 5th and least populated division of the province.

After independence, Bahawalpur retained its status as a princely state/pseudo-province, with its own representation in the constituent assembly. It remained so till the abolishment of princely states and enforcement of the One Unit scheme, and subsequently, was reborn as a division in 1971.

The very fact that there is no clear cut understanding of where a potential South Punjab province would start, and where it might end, causes further complications. The British classification of Multan division is problematic because at that time the districts that reported to Multan were Multan, DG Khan, Muzzaffargarh, Mianwali, and, weirdly enough, Jhang. Given that the entire population of Punjab was 20 million at that time, most of these districts were later split into two or more as the population increased after independence. Excluding Jhang, because locals there classify their dialect as Jhangochi and not Seraiki, the modern incarnation of a British South Punjab, with some manner of ethno-linguistic homogeneity, would consist of:

Multan, Khanewal, Lodhran, Vehari, Rajanpur, DG Khan, Layyah, Muzaffargarh, and Mianwali. If the Bahawalpur districts are included, then the list would expand to include Bahawalpur, Bahawalnagar, and Rahim Yar Khan as well. For all intents and purposes, this is nothing more than a collection of districts with Seraiki speakers that happen to be in Punjab. Hypothetically, if there was a move to create a Seraikistan from scratch, it would also have to include most parts of Sindh, especially places such as Sangarh, Nawabshah etc, parts of Balochistan, such as Jafarabad, Nasirabad, and parts of KPK, such as DI Khan, and Bannu (please to note that Mianwali was part of Bannu district till 1901).

This is a potential map of South Punjab if Bahawalpur division is included, and Mianwali + Bhakkar are not:

Map A (Red part shows proposed Seraiki/South Punjab province)

As one can see, map A appears to be a realistic division of the Province along straight forward North-South lines. Interestingly enough, the government, in the last 2 decades, has taken Layyah away from Mianwali, and added it as a district of DG Khan division. On the other hand, Bhakkar and Mianwali were made part of Sargodha divsion, which in one sense adds a veneer of 'northern-ess' to those two districts.

The Development Aspect of South Punjab:

It's hard to dig up solid North-South comparisons in terms of development numbers, but there are a few things that need to be mentioned here:

Total number of divisions and districts in South Punjab: 3 Divisions (DGK, MUL, BWP), 11 Districts
Total number of divisions and districts in North Punjab: 6 (LHR, GJW, FBD, SGD, RWP, SWL), 25 Districts

Total population of South Punjab is: 24.4 million
Total population of North Punjab is: 52 million

Avg HDI score for South Punjab districts: 0.632 (8 out of 11 districts in South Punjab fall below the provincial average of 0.67)
Avg HDI score for North Punjab districts: 0.691

Largest urban center in South Punjab is Multan, while the next biggest city is Rahim Yar Khan with a population of around 400,000. Compare this to North Punjab which has Rawalpindi, Lahore, Gujranwala, Faisalabad, all with a population above 3 million. While there are no readily available statistics regarding economy and labor employment in the two regions, it's fairly obvious that South Punjab has larger land holdings, a greater reliance on Agriculture and Agro-industry, and a proportionately much larger rural population (gleaned from district level economy figures). Even in terms of educational institutions, the disparity is far greater than the 1 to 2 ratio suggested by population numbers.

The Politics of a New Province:

As stated earlier, the constitution makes it very clear that a new province would require the assembly of the existing province to pass a delimitation bill by consent of two-thirds of its members. Given the way parties are currently maneuvering, the PML-N suffering from a delayed response, are currently on the back-foot in terms of their stance on South Punjab. After repeatedly refusing to carve out a province on the basis of ethno-linguistic footing, the PML-N has been cornered into formulating a committee with the explicit aim to look at the potential to create new provinces. The plural term has been used deliberately by the PML-N, as it negotiates political space in Hazara as well. After losing in the NA-21, Manshera, by-election, partly as a result of not taking up the Hazara cause the PML-N has had to come up with a strategy, principally to avoid being tied down in Central and North Punjab come election time.

With PPP taking up first movers advantage, and successfully generating the perception that a) a new province is in the greater interest of the Seraiki population, and b) it is the only party serious about delivering this new province, the PML-N has had to play on the PPP's turf. Now a very reasonable question that can be asked is that why was the party mostly blind in terms of recognizing the potential for political mileage in this situation?

Well there are a number of explanations, out of which the most plausible ones invoke party structure and party sociology. For starters, PML-N is an urban party. Yes, I know this is an oft-mentioned cliche, but there are numbers to back this up. A constituency-by-constituency reading of Faisalabad revealed that NA-75 to NA-81 are all rural seats (Samundari, Chak Jhumra, Tandlianwala, Jaranwala) and have zero PML-N MNAs. In Gujranwala, the two non PML-N seats, are also the most rural constituencies in the district. The reason why Gujranwala and Faisalabad act as good examples is because they're important districts from central Punjab, often referred to as a PML-N stronghold. The complete inability to institutionalize a party in rural areas across Punjab has been a recurring problem for the PML-N - one which usually results in an over-reliance on local patrons and electables. The urban skew in the PML-N's thinking is also a direct result of the incredibly urban nature of their party-high command, and their preference for retired bureaucrats and technocrats as policy-advisers.

Electoral politics aside, the PML-N's policy paradigm has also always remained heavily urban-centric. Their entire politics runs on urban development, like infrastructure development projects, and commercial activity. Their legislative positions reflect this nature such as their opposition to the Reformed General Sales Tax. Even their outreach to the public usually stops with the urban lower middle class, with projects like the Yellow Cab scheme, the Sasti Roti scheme, Daanish Schools, and Aashiana Housing. On the other hand, the PPP, after shrugging off incessant media-criticism (some of it justified), has catered to its mostly rural electorate with things like the BISP, increased wheat support prices, distributing free farming implements, and providing cash transfers to flood-affected households, most of whom were in rural areas. The result has been that the PPP, at least apparently, seems to be in an okay-ish position, despite a terrible governance record.

Given the PML-N's rural blindspot, it doesn't know what to make of South Punjab in general. It's development priorities have been skewed heavily towards Lahore and its surrounding regions, and its brand of urban politics is generally not suited for the agrarian Seraiki belt. South Punjab has a total of 43 national assembly seats, compared to North Punjab's 100. (which makes sense in terms of the 1 to 2 population ratio), out of which PML-N has 8, PPP has 21, PML(F) has 1, PML-Q has 10, and 2 are with Independents. Out of the 8 PML-N seats, 4 seats are wholly urban constituencies in Multan, Layyah, and Bahawalpur. Given these figures, and the PPP's ability to generate a PML-N = anti-Seraiki perception, the party would have to, at least rhetorically, pay homage to the idea of a new province to stay relevant whenever elections are held.

The discourse surrounding a new province, which one way or another, comes out looking like an ethno-linguistic question, has been skillfully shaped by the PPP. While it's too soon to say whether their campaigning will turn into anything concrete, in policy and electoral terms, the fact that a centralized structure is being tested via devolution and delimitation into something more devolved is a major development. Personally, I think dividing Punjab into two or more parts is a sensible thing to do, given its size, politics, and national footprint, but it must be remembered that this is merely the first step towards creating devolved, and responsive state structures in the southern districts. The real work will come when and if this new province is finally brought into existence.

(HDI and population figures were taken from a UNDP report on district level development)

On Tsunamis and Captains

2011-08-03T14:59:00.006+01:00

Recently, Economic and Political Weekly published a piece on the Anna Hazare movement and what it revealed about middle-class politics in India. Those of you who don't know, the Anna Hazare movement was an anti-corruption movement, aimed at legislating for a stronger Ombudsman who could deal with political and bureaucratic corruption in an efficient manner. For starters, the brilliant author added a cautionary note that the size of the middle class has never been appropriately calculated in India. If you go by income statistics, like we often do here in Pakistan, you come up with one particular number, (cited as 20-30 million in our case), and if you choose 'values' you come up with a totally different one. Given the fact that a holistic definition would entail both consumerism i.e. income, and cultural outlook, i.e. values, the size of Pakistan's middle class is definitely less than the oft-quoted figure of 20-30 million. The author then moves on to look at the composition of Anna Hazare's support base and his movement, and came up with this equation (quoted partially). Please remember this is India he's talking about.

Conservative Judiciary -> (Indira Gandhi's emergency) -> Judicial Activists

Nehruvian Middle Class -> (post-liberalization) -> India Shining

Further more, he disentangles the concept of a Nehruvian Middle Class by looking at their thought composition:

Ideology: Improvement in the delivery of services by the state; better governance.
Friends of: Other middle-class Indians who want this
Enemies of: Corrupt politicians, inefficient bureaucrats
Weapons: Facebook, Candlelight vigils, SMS campaigns.

Replace the term 'Nehruvian Middle Class' with 'Zia and post-Zia middle class', which, by the way, also grew as a product of economic liberalization in the 90's and, in a much greater manner, under Musharraf. The analysis, which is laudable in every right, fits almost perfectly for Pakistan, and this, for me at least, acts as a convenient point of departure to de-construct the Imran Khan phenomena as well.

Conventional observations of his support-base, fortified by Zohair Toru-esque incidents, posit that Imran is the leader for the majority of the middle class. This class, as a function of its higher educational attainment, greater material comfort, and lack of proximity to the actual political class, is disenchanted with 'machine-politics' in the country, and because of that last characteristic, perceives itself to be disenfranchised. For them, the process of politics, in its current manifestation, is flawed because a) it is corrupt, circuitous, self-serving, and incompetent, and b) it is exclusionary, or at the very least, doesn't facilitate their entry into political power, the latter stemming from the very middle-class belief that competence, and 'betterment' is a skill exclusive to the educated in society. Imran Khan, with his clean slate, World Cup, and cancer hospital represents the best possible option to tackle both a) and b). For the former, his qualifications as a captain, and uncontroversial philanthropist, make for strong credentials, and for b) his rhetorical insistence on surrounding himself with clean people makes educated people think they have a participatory chance, and the fact that his suave demeanor, his foreign education and impeccable English, gives the middle class a slight reflection of what they quietly aspire to. This, by the way, is also partly the reason behind our collective middle class fetish of Jinnah and his Savile Row suits.

To all of this, add the lawyers movement, which for the generations born in the late 70's, 80's and 90's became the arbiter of our national political narrative. The cross-sectional insistence on an independent judiciary, the participation of previously apolitical segments of society, and the tenuous, yet somewhat wide-spread consensus on constitutionality as a governing principle for the polity have defined Pakistan in the last 3 years. Lower middle to upper class urbanites, from any walk of life, profess previously non-existent political opinions, and because of the proliferation of outlets, have a place to voice them too. In many ways, the judiciary became the representative of disenchanted aspirations, and Imran Khan has lodged himself as its poster-boy.

'A significant shift in the predominant branch in the State apparatus, or of the relation between these branches, cannot be directly established by the immediate exterior role of this branch, but is determined by the modification of the whole system of the State apparatus and of its form of internal unity as such: a modification which is itself due to changes in the relations of production and to developments in the class struggle.' (Nicos Poulantzas, New Left Review-Dec 1969)

The quote above explains how growing urbanization, i.e changes in the relations of production, and an expanded, more vocal, and media-fed middle class ultimately contributed to the empowerment of the judiciary, i.e. it readjusted the balance between different branches of the state.

Such explanations, while looking pretty holistic and by now, frankly, cliched, are focusing on simply one aspect of the middle class, i.e. their perception of institutional politics in the country. This picture can only be complete when you look at their reading and understanding of Pakistan as an imagined community, and its place in the post 9/11 world. Both of these things, summarily speaking, are a subject of Pakistan's long-standing quest to formulate a centralized narrative that, by some miracle, can also be federalized. The problem here is that persistence of micro-identities, like ethnicity, provincialism, and even class to a certain extent, prevent the Islamic Republic narrative from being internalized. As a consequence, politics in one way becomes a contest between micro-identities and state identity, with political parties falling on either side of the divide. In this picture, the urban middle class, especially in Punjab but also in other provinces, is the direct consumer of state identity through the educational system and media, and it's sustainer, having helped in its formulation since independence. This frequent insistence on 'eschewing parochial identities for a unitary, holistic one' is the refrain for middle class citizens and middle class institutions (judiciary, bureaucracy and the army), and is categorically visible in television shows, newspapers, textbooks, and even songs.

Following the polarization of right-wing narratives across the world, the middle class in Pakistan, with half a foot in globalized culture, situates the country in one corner - under threat as a subject of machinations and plots. In its perceived isolation, the identity of the Islamic Republic reaches out to its imagined 'ummah', hence fulfilling those polarizing cultural prophecies that have emerged in a post Soviet and, more so, in a post 9/11 world.

Now take both, the middle class perception of institutionalized politics, and its perception of Pakistaniat, domestically and abroad, and then take a look at Imran Khan's politics. He speaks with their voice, either by default or by design.

Imran Khan is, regardless of how big his rallies are, how many sms's or Facebook invites we get in a day, or how many hours he gets on our tv-sets, on electoral margins. People like Arif Alvi, who have the audacity to compare his politicking with the movement of the late-60's, are missing a major point. Between 1966 and 2011, we have undergone 2 martial laws, both of which have pushed politics to the local-est level. Under a micro-managed first past the post system, it is the political economy machine that gets votes, especially in urban areas. While biraderis and tribes might still persist in some shape or form across rural areas, urban centers have 'dharas' or locally organized interest groups, be they trader associations, worker unions, or even neighborhood collectives (mohallay-daari). To be politically relevant, a 'tsunami' has to be cross-sectional, cross-country, and very, very rooted. As of this moment, all i see is a leaky pipe, and given the contradictions and right-wing tendencies of both leader and his electorate, I hope it remains this way.

IJT in the LA Times

2011-07-24T10:41:00.003+01:00

Today, I woke up to an LA Times piece about the Islami-Jamiat-i-Taliba and their thuggery on campuses across Punjab. Those of you who've read it would know that the story doesn't say anything new, and, more importantly, is guilty of portraying the rise of this right-wing student group as a relatively new phenomenon. The IJT has been terrorising campuses for as long as I can remember, and writers like Nadeem F. Piracha have filled pages after pages highlighting their rise to absolute campus dominance, under the protective hand of the state, in the 80's and the 90's.

The IJT, while formally stating autonomy, is widely known to be the student wing of the Jamaat-i-Islami, and several, if not most, Jamaat leaders have been part of it at some point or another. Chronological expediency aside, here are a couple of parts in the piece that I found a little interesting:

The organization's clout illustrates the deep roots of Islamist extremism in Pakistani society, an influence that extends beyond radical religious schools and militant strongholds in the volatile tribal belt along the Afghan border.

University administrators fear that the IJT's influence on many campuses will lead to an increase in extremism among the middle class, from which the next generation of Pakistan's leaders will rise.

"These people have connections with jihadi groups, and they are taking hostage our campuses," said Sajid Ali, chairman of Punjab University's philosophy department. "This is a real danger for the future of our country."

Fellow students and teachers regard them as Islamist vigilantes. In addition to trying to separate the sexes, they order shopkeepers not to sell Coca-Cola or Pepsi because they are American brands. When they overhear a cluster of fellow students debating topics, from capitalism to religion, they demand that the discussion stop and threaten violence if it continues.

The Jamaat's connections with Jihadi organizations is, more or less, common knowledge, especially given the role played by the party during the Afghan-Soviet war. That said however, there are nuances to the sociology of the IJT and the Jamaat which a lot of foreign observers miss out on. Maybe I'm being a little unreasonable in expecting a better picture from an American newspaper, but it seems that in an effort to fall over each other in reporting on 'Extremism' and 'Fundamentalism', these papers are guilty of conflating mainstream political Islamism/conservatism and radicalization.

The former, in the case of Punjab especially, is covered on a spectrum which carries both the Jamaat-i-Islami and to a lesser extent the PML-N. While being an evolving organization, the Jamaat has stuck to generally agreed principles of playing within the defined political rules of the Pakistani state. They operate at both an electoral and a social level, in the manner of a classic Lenninist vanguard party, but they see democracy as a functional exercise that would lead to a larger, higher cause, as opposed to being the end-product of a country's political evolution in itself. The Jamaat cadre and voter-base in Punjab (and at one point in Karachi as well) is almost solely consisted of either the trading/mercantilist/industrialist class, or to a slightly lesser extent, the suburban professional middle class.

The Islami-Jamiat-i-Taliba (IJT) in one sense mirrors the same class in the 18-25 year age bracket. Many, but certainly not all, members of the IJT, or even IJT sympathizers, will end up as Jamaat voters. Some might join other political parties, like Ahsan Iqbal, Hussain Haqqani, and Javed Hashmi. Some, after joining the urban rat-race, will forget about politics all together. In a sense, the IJT radicalizes students at the college level, but that radicalization is tempered into bigotry, hypocrisy, and ritualistic conservatism as they grow older.

That in itself is not acceptable either. An environment where cross-gender relations are admonished, where lessons in public morality are handed out, and where killers are glorified in the name of religion, has a tendency to generate passive acceptance of extremism, at least on the fringes. Since the IJT and the Jamaat both borrow heavily from their interpretation of Islam to cobble together a world-view, it opens space for harsher, more far-right causes to use the same instrument. In a sense, curbing the influence of the Jamaat, and more so, the IJT, are important in any effort to generate acceptance of progressive ideals in society.

The crucial difference here is that tackling extremism and tackling mainstream conservativism are two inter-related, yet actionably distinct things. The Jamaat, as it stands now, has lost all electoral prospects in Punjab and Karachi. The resurgence of the PML-N, first in 1997, and then in 2008 has weaned away most of their electorate, as highlighted by multiple by-elections. What little remained has flocked over to the PTI. So the fundamental thing is that in power politics the Jamaat can be, and has been, countered by simple electoral calculus. In a university environment, people want to sit with the opposite sex, want to drink Pepsi (although I think that's an exaggeration by the writer), and want to watch Indian movies. These are the very same urges that dumb-down their 'radicalized' demeanors when they finally graduate from college/university. If the Jamaat can be contained by somewhat softer alternatives, the IJT can be dealt with through open Union elections as well.

The LA Times report makes it look like Punjab University is producing jihadis as opposed to the mostly conservative, critically disengaged students that they actually are. Such a portrayal not only induces false alarmism about a genuine problem, but also takes away focus from the actual methods of countering Islamism in educational institutions.

Legal Contradictions and Violence in Karachi

2011-07-09T12:15:00.004+01:00

Those of you who've been following PPP-MQM relations over the last few years would know that agreeing on a time line for local government elections has remained a major thorn for the coalition. With this recent outbreak of almost civil war-esque violence, the need to have a functioning local administrative and security appartus has become more pressing than ever before, which in classic Pakistani reaction fashion, has made the federal and provincial government consider a major shake up of local administrative arrangements.

Following the events of this week, we've already had a few very good pieces detailing various facets of Karachi's security situation. Required readings amongst those include this Foreign Policy piece by Sheheryar Mirza, this older piece by Gazdar and co. historicizing urban violence in the city, and Saba Imtiaz's piece that puts together this latest episode in what is increasingly becoming a very tumultuous narrative. (Expand this list to include, when and if available, Ahsan's post and Cafe Pyala's locally grounded take on the matter)

Since I don't write a lot about Karachi and I haven't been closely following provincial and local politics in Sindh, I can't really comment on the causes and manifestation aspects of the security problem, but, what I do intend to do is to briefly outline a possible intervention that could temper these sporadic, yet largely systemic outbreaks.

Development literature in conflict states (or crisis states as they're called by the DFID), suggests that a well functioning administrative system is the first step required to replace violence as an arbiter of political, social and economic disagreement. This administrative system needs to be based at the local level because a) it would be closer to the target area, which would assist in service delivery, b) contextually inclusive, which would help produce a local platform for engagement, and c) holistic, which would help reduce legal contradictions.

Pakistan has had a checkered track record with democratic local government, usually instituted during times of military rule. This paper by Ali Cheema and Asim Khwaja gives a brief history of devolution in the country, focusing primarily on the reasons why military rulers have preferred forging direct center-district relations, whilst sidelining the provincial tier. In any case, it would be fair to say that all devolution efforts have been politically motivated and far from effective.

So what happens when we don't have a military ruler hell-bent on bringing 'controlled' democracy at the local level? Well, for Sindh, like other provinces, local administration is ordained by something called the Land Revenue Act 1967 (which, because of the one-unit scheme, was the West Pakistan Land Revenue act at the time of promulgation). This institutes a vertical arrangement whereby the Chief Secretary of the province appoints Commissioners for every Division in the country. A division is a collection of districts, or in the case of Karachi, just one very large administrative area. Technically it becomes the third tier of government in the country after the Federal and Provincial levels, and before the district, town/tehsil, and Union Council level. Under that act, Karachi was divided into 5 district sized areas (North, East, West, South and Malir), which were then further divided into towns/tehsils and so on.

The Land Revenue Act 1967 was hacked to pieces by the Local Government Ordinance of 2000, which abolished the divisions and instead instituted the district as the third tier of government. Under that particular scheme, Karachi was one city district, divided into 18 towns and a bunch of cantonments. The administrative head of the district was the DCO, who in turn reported to his political superior, the Mayor (or Zila Nazim). For each of the 18 towns, there were local bureaucrats that reported to town nazims or deputy mayors of sorts. In 2009-10, as the Ordinance expired, Punjab quickly reverted back to the commissionarate system, while Sindh diddled-daddled over whether to hold fresh local government elections or to follow suit. Ultimately, things are stuck in limbo as the MQM-PPP haven't been able to agree on a time line for local body elections, and now with the emergence of this latest wave of violence, the President has formally decided to institute the Commissionerate system in Karachi once again, after what will now be an interval of almost 10 years.

The principal difference between the Commissionerate system and the Local Government system is quite obvious. One is run by a senior bureaucrat who reports to the provincial chief secretary, who in turn answers to the chief minister, while the latter is run by an elected Mayor, who in turn associates with his electorate and his political boss, i.e. the chief minister. While on the face of it, the second system seems preferable to the first because of its overtly democratic and electoral nature, both suffer from one very large problem.

The thing is that the Divisional Commissioner's primary responsibility is to look after a) Revenue, b) Local service delivery (health, education, water and sanitation etc), and c) basic magistracy (civil cases and so on). If you were under the LGO 2000, the Mayor, through the DCO would look after areas a) and b). In both cases however, the actual function of policing is completely separate from the administrative setup. Police, like district/divisional administration is a provincial subject. The top police officer in Karachi is the CCPO (Capital City Police Officer), who in turn reports to the home ministry of the province. The police department has nothing to do with the administrative head of the city. In fact, for example in Punjab, the district police officer and the district coordination officer (or the regional police officer and the divisional commissioner) are of the same government rank and both have separate reporting lines. And yes, it is as big a mess as it apparently comes across.

Why is this a bigger problem in Karachi than in other areas? Well as an example, a long-standing problem in Karachi is that of the land-mafia/qabza groups. Land issues in any area are basically controlled by the revenue department, an area that falls under the Commissioner's jurisdiction. On the other hand, policing and activity against land criminals would fall under the jurisdiction of the CCPO, who would have to work with the Commissioners revenue department but would do so without a proper line of command or legal obligation.

The political aspect of this contradiction is even more troubling. One of the most lucrative systems of patronage in Pakistan is known as 'police mein bharti', which literally means stuffing the police department with people of your choice. As opposed to the revenue or other services departments, employment in the police is more coveted because of the obvious rent-seeking and power possibilities associated with the department. Now imagine a situation whereby a political party, purely through its control over the home ministry of a province, can determine appointments, recruitment, and transfers. With a few high-level appointments, and the constant patronage loyalty-through-recruitment routes, you can pretty much control the security, hence governance, apparatus of a city as large as Karachi. When you look at it from this angle, it makes sense why the MQM had so many issues with a hawkish home minister like Zulfiqar Mirza. Such policies of patronage contribute to what is called the ethnicization of the state. In effect, what happens is that one department, in this case a very powerful one, becomes associated (or is perceived to be associated) with a particular ethnicity or political party (or both). The already existing legal contradictions basically turn into political contradictions, where mistrust of the local state apparatus ultimately renders the courts and policing irrelevant in conflict resolution. For more on the issue read this excellent year old piece by Gibran Peshimam on 'Political Deputy Superintendents of Sindh Police'

One of the reasons why the security situation in Karachi remained relatively stable under the Mustafa Kamal/Musharraf era was because the provincial coalition consisted of the MQM and a party which had no urban designs or ambitions (the PML-Q). Hence, the MQM could shape the local security and administrative setup quite easily, without having to bargain or scrap with its own coalition partner. Unlike then, the 2008 provincial coalition saw a bigger share for the PPP, which controlled the home ministry, and if things go according to plan, will soon control the city's administration via the Commissionerate system as well. Throw in the Pashtun demographic and economic exigencies as well, and the situation remains increasingly fractured and, ultimately, violent.

Let's be clear, a functioning, inclusive, and most importantly, holistic (admin + policing) local government system will not solve the systemic problems causing violence in Karachi. In turn what it can do is provide an alternative form of resolution. The structural imbalances (ethnicized economy and state, poverty, unemployment, weaponization) will remain and would have to be solved through political consensus between all major parties and their respective networks, but till that is obtained, removing legal contradictions and hurdles would be a solid first step in creating a safer urban environment.

Video of the Day: Urban Lynchpins and King-Makers

2011-06-22T07:49:00.006+01:00

If you've ever wondered what the quintessential PML-N supporter + sympathizer group is like, then look no further. Thanks to Shahid Saeed's youtubing skills, the City 042 clip below shows a slaughterhouse auction being conducted by the district authorities (DCO Ahad Cheema and co.), with a bunch of thekedars (contractors) in attendance.

Watch the video and listen to some of the auction rates being quoted by the news report. I know this sounds incredibly judgmental but a lot of people never associate this kind of money with a rather desi looking bunch like the one in the video. But the truth is, this is why the services sector now stands at 52 percent of total GDP.

If one individual is willing to pay 3 crore for a slaughterhouse contract, just imagine the kind of donations his political party of choice would get to make that process a bit easier

On a side note, City 42 is an amazing channel, and perhaps the best thing to come out of an expanded media sphere. It actually deals with local municipal issues, gives coverage to implementors and policy-makers at the grassroots level, and engenders a coherent relationship between the citizen and his/her city.

Punjabis and Highways

2011-06-17T10:45:00.009+01:00

I've been wanting to do this post for quite some time now but I never really had enough evidence to substantiate it properly. Until now.

For a lighter side to the province, Shahid has put up a tumblr called Productive Punjabis, simply to chronicle the cultural quirks that make Punjabis a distinctively unique species. Many of these quirks, and there are a lot of them to begin with, are often quite funny to the suburban English medium eye.

This particular quirk is something I've been fascinated with ever since I took my first trip from Lahore to another city in the province.

This is a provincial highway. There's absolutely nothing special about it.

The Talagang-Mianwali road

(Ironically, single lane roads connecting two districts are not only called Highways, they are sometimes referred to as Superways.)

Anyone who's ever traveled in Punjab will know that if you're on a highway, this sight can never be too far off.

Guys sitting on the side of a highway

Sometimes, these guys don't like how a chair feels against their rear-ends, so they take extra measures to enhance comfort

Charpais outside shops, on one side of the highway

But it doesn't stop there. Sometimes, people will bring charpais and themselves to completely random spots on the side of the road, just so that they have a better view of the highway

They came on motorbikes

So I request anyone and everyone who's ever sat on the side of a highway to expand on what's so great about it and why does such a large part of our male population prefer to indulge in this seemingly useless activity?

Civil-Military relations and the PML-N

2011-06-12T11:19:00.006+01:00

A couple of weeks ago, Ahsan Butt published an interview with anthropologist Tahir Naqvi that covered topics ranging from Muhajir nationalism to the MQM's evolution as a political party. The metropolitan, and for want of a better word, unique nature of Karachi attracts a great deal of attention from anthropologists, both local and foreign, and the relatively urbane educational outlook of its residents encourages them to engage with the city from a personal-academic point of view. A number of Karachiite bloggers, social science students, and academics pontificate on the dynamics of the city, not just as objective observers, but also, it seems, as residents trying to understand the question of metropolitan identity for personal reasons.

As many of the city's vocal residents - of which there are plenty - will tell you, understanding the dynamics of Karachi is impossible without paying due consideration to the phenomenon of Muhajir nationalism, and specifically to the characteristics of MQM's politics in the city. I, being someone who's never been to Karachi, would extend this argument to other regions and other forms of collective projections. In fact, it won't be incorrect to say, especially sitting in 2011, that most collective projections, be they as vocal and expansive as of the Muhajir or Baloch variety, or as limited in scope, agenda, and intellectual depth as the Hazara movement, do affect the state in one form or the other.

Largely in the same vein as students of Karachi trying to understand their city and its politics, I've been involved in similar, but more simplistic efforts in the last year or so, albeit focusing on my backyard of central Punjab. The issue of Punjab, i.e., its politics, the transformations witnessed in society, and its relationship with the state, is something that provides me with both an academic muse, and an explanation of the self. It, at a very basic level, is an exercise of observation as much as it is of introspection.

As a consequence of my engagement with Punjab, the reason why I thought Ahsan's piece came at a very good time was because it, in a way, contextualized Nawaz Sharif's politics very well. Don't get me wrong - I hardly intend to equate Muhajir nationalism with the rather non-identity based party politics of a particular region, but, in one particular sense, there is a strong parallel that can be drawn between the two.

This parallel is based on the evolution of Muhajir nationalism as an inner entity, to a political party negotiating with the state from the outside on one hand, and on the other, the PML-N, a representative of an almost passive collective projection, transforming, at least in rhetoric, from a comfortable 'internal' position to something that speaks of structural change.

Brief History of the PML-N

Nawaz Sharif's party is not an identity based party - at least not in the way we define 'nationalist' parties in Pakistan. The PML-N, like most other Muslim League incarnations, started off as a splinter group by breaking away from Junejo's Muslim League in 1993 under Fida Mohammad Khan and Nawaz Sharif's leadership. Sharif, as almost everyone knows, was drafted into Punjabi politics and was given the Finance minister's office and then ultimately the Chief Minister's office during Zia's martial law regime. As a standalone entity, Nawaz's biggest selling point, which was something the army realized, was that he could legitimately speak for both big business and small mercantilist interests, being a central Punjabi Kashmiri, without any previous political baggage. But the downside to that was he had no real power base, and much like the UP elite of 1947, had to become part of various deals with political factions in order to remain electorally and hence politically relevant. One famous deal, that ultimately determined the trajectory of national and provincial politics for the next decade, was brokered by the then governor of Punjab Lt. Gen (r) Ghulam Jillani between Nawaz Sharif and Chaudhary Shujaat, soon after the assassination of Ch. Zahoor Elahi. The advantage of this deal was that Sharif would get a sizable electoral platform along the GT road belt, as well as in certain other parts of the country, while the Chaudharies would get a clean face, a direct line with the army, and a whole bunch of ex Jamaat, ex MSF politicians in urban Punjab.

This brief history of Nawaz Sharif's party serves to remind us, at this point, of its evolution and origins. At the heart of it all, there was a very simple pact that drove the PML-N between 1993 to 1999 in Punjab: good relations with the army, an urban segment of the party to battle the PPP and the Jamaat, and a rural segment of the party to suppress Hamid Nasir Chattha's PML (Junejo) and later on Manzoor Wattoo's PML (Jinnah). At this point, all Muslim League factions were associated with the armed forces in one way or the other, but the PML-N was perhaps the preferred partner.

In 1997, disenchantment with the PPP, and increasing cynicism with the democratic process led to the PML-N coming in with a 2/3rd majority and with nearly non-existent opposition in both Punjab and at the center. Such a large majority however hid the strains between Shujaat's faction in the party, centered on the smaller GT road towns, and Nawaz Sharif's more urban faction, which were growing due to multiple reasons - with the biggest being the nomination of Shahbaz as CM Punjab over Ch. Pervez Elahi (contrary to what had been promised).

In most reviews of the 1997-99 regime, a lot of focus is placed on Nawaz Sharif as a person, his psyche, and his ego. The Ameer-ul-Momineen move, the attempts to gain greater control over the army, and even the construction of the Motorway, are all seen as the projection of a Punjabi ego over the entire country. The unfortunate bit is that there is little academic material to replace this rather individualistic interpretation of an entire period with something more structural. The guess that I usually take is that this desire for more absolutism was in part dictated by the internal strains being faced by the Nawaz faction in the party, which led to moves such as the disqualification act, the desire to have the armed forces pliant in order to prevent a deal being struck with someone else (Shujaat or Chattha), and even the construction of the Motorway to appease and please politicians in the Pindi-Chakwal-Sargodha-Sheikhupura belt.

However, the confrontations with the army, the coup and ultimately the construction of the PML-Q in its aftermath highlight exactly how much of a political party the PML-N was even as late as 1999. It took a few winks, and a few slaps to drop the eager apples into the army's lap, and while Nawaz Sharif secured his exile to the Kingdom, some of those that stuck, like Javed Hashmi, suffered torture, and suppression with only 19 seats to show for.

PML-N and the Citizen-Officer Divide:

The splintering of the PML-N was not surprising given the constellation of opportunists in the party, and the patronage based system of politics in Punjab. A candidate's power is dependent on patronage, and that cannot be secured without access to the state. Urban interests, like industrialists, traders, and contractors, require state access for tenders, tax evasion, and export quotas, while landlords and agriculturists require this for irrigation concessions, favorable pricing, and other things like doling out state employment. This dynamic leads to, and there is no better word for it, opportunism in its purist form, simply because practicing confrontational mass-politics, at least till 2007, was simply not seen as an option in Punjab.

With a cleansing of most of the embedded opportunists from the party, more by default than by design, the PML-N, resuscitated its politics by participating in the lawyers' movement, carving out a careful space with the new army leadership, and then laying claim to the anti-dictatorship agenda. An electoral showing better than what most expected, and the evolution into a more coherent, and representative party has allowed the PML-N to feel more secure within its own spatial limits. The PML-N is a party of urban central Punjab, and outside of it is a group of individual patrons who, if not part of it, pay homage and tribute to the party's high command. The party, and its support base, is driven, first and foremost, by the expansionary nature of patronage, business and trade, and secondly, by the notion of a morally 'correct' quasi-Islamic republic as an ideal.

Both of these things provide enough space and ground for the PML-N's latest brand of politics to be non-contradictory, i.e., it can be conservative and business driven, and see a reduced role of the military in the state as well. But the point of contention in all of this is a) the history of the party being close to, if not totally, an establishment/armed forces lackey, and b) the middle class voter base which still idealizes a strong political role for the military on the basis of its 'discipline, merit, and role as guardians of borders, strategic assets, and national interest(s)'.

The first is often explained away by supporters and apologists (of which despite accusations, I am not one of) by, again, mostly focusing on Nawaz as a person. 'He is a reformed man,' and 'He has learned his lesson,' or as the more cynical ones say 'He is out for revenge, not just for 1999 but also for 1993 (Kakar's dismissal after the Supreme Court reinstated his government)'. For the longest time, an individualistic interpretation of Nawaz's pro-democracy stand was tempered off with the politics of other individuals like Chaudhary Nisar and his connections to the army. In any case, the PML-N was, and is still largely treated and interpreted as a party of elite individuals, which is prone to factionalism, and may or may not agree with each other on every issue.

The second contradiction is perhaps more difficult to explain: The party is strongest in regions where army presence is strongest. To understand this point we have to realize that the army's political economy, especially in Punjab, is perhaps one of the biggest reasons why there is a PML-N support base in the first place. Urban development in the province is linked to the multiplier effects generated by cantonment development (Rawalpindi, Jhelum, Kharian, Gujranwala) or by direct army recruitment (Sargodha, Chakwal, Attock). It has helped in the creation of a middle class that associates itself more with the ideal of the army than with any political process or other institution of state power. So if these urban groups, middle class or otherwise, form the basis of PML-N's strength in the province, how can the official party line be something that violates a very fundamental political position held by its own constituency?

As of this moment, and it's already 12-20 am, I have two resolutions of this particular contradiction. The first is the army's expose as an incompetent institution, both in its Amreeki pithu (American lackey-ness) role, as well as its inaction during the Abbotabad operation and the violation of our maidenhood by American choppers, have allowed the Punjabi urban classes to properly question the military as an institution, as opposed to just one Army Chief/dictator. Anecdotal proof of this was that a couple of weeks after Osama's killing, I got a funny anti-army text message from one of my most reactionary and pro-army cousins. The more serious implication is that anti-Americanism in this particular class has reached a point where any association with the Americans is seen as a violation of national interest. Interestingly, along this time, the PML-N has rhetorically questioned American and multilateral assistance and has even gone as far as canceling aid agreements.

My second resolution stems directly from the role of the military in the economy and its development into an economic empire. The PML-N support and candidate base is filled with people who have a direct vested interest in the way the economy is run. They thrive on the expansion of their enterprises and businesses, and want to explore market opportunities, trade options, and employment potential. A segment that is so closely entrenched in both manufacturing as well as mercantile/business capital faces a direct battle of resources with the armed forces. If I run a textile unit and I don't get any electricity, but Fauji cotton mills gets uninterrupted electricity, and that too at subsidized rate, I will be miffed. Similarly, if I am a contractor and my greed thrives on an ability to gain construction tenders, and I see them all going to NLC or FWO, I will be miffed. This phenomenon is called the crowding out of private capital (small-scale businessmen/industrialists) by a monopolistic entity (army) and it results in the former feeling fairly aggrieved. Such a crowding out renders the sustaining of patronage networks increasingly difficult, something that the PML-N can't work without. At another level, increasing awareness about the military's financial and resource empire also makes average middle class people feel marginalized and discriminated against. The popular refrain that cantonments get electricity and nice roads etc., while the rest of the city gets to drink ditch water could very well be at play here.

These two factors, public perception about the army, and the nature of our political economy, have resulted in a certain degree of uncertainty about the political role that the institution plays in the minds of the PML-N supporters, and even their leadership. The question, however, remains that are these sufficient conditions to influence Nawaz Sharif, and the party at large, to confront the military on issues like foreign policy command and the defence budget, when a mis-perception could lead to the risk of being isolated and marginalized, both in the eyes of the establishment and in society?

Nawaz's position could very well be a flash-in-the-pan, done at the behest of some aspect of elite politics that we know nothing about. It could all be a larger game, or it could very well be nothing more than rhetoric. After all, Nawaz hasn't targeted the military's jihadi policy in the tribal areas or it's relationship with religion, and that could very well be because far-right elements are strategic assets for certain quarters of the PML-N as well.

But what we do know for sure is that this latest strand is confusing and not easily reducible to the personality and psyche of Nawaz Sharif and a couple of others. Our state is insulated, and to a degree, autonomous, but it is not functioning in a vacuum. It remains vulnerable to social shifts and transformations, and at the same time responds to, or confronts, these shifts as well. The interesting thing is that it is happening in Punjab, and this is probably what causes sleepless nights amongst the army high command. If the most popular leader of their biggest support and recruitment base can say these things, then it directly undercuts their social power by a great extent. What is happening right now, and I write this knowing full well that all of this could die down in a bit, is an example of a right-wing, conservative, and bigoted party taking a position that resonates with those amongst us who see the citizen-officer divide as the principal contradiction in the country. Whether elite politicking will put an end to this sooner or later is a temporal question, but right now, closer observations of the structure might reveal more about the internal fragmentation of the state, and the increasingly exposed fissures of the elite political domain, leading us to an improved understanding of state-society relations in the country.

Born again Democrats

2011-06-03T05:18:00.003+01:00

Two days ago, journalists, cameramen, and members of progressive political parties held a Ghaibaana Nimaz-i-Jinaza (funeral prayers in absentia) for murdered investigative reporter Saleem Shehzad. After the prayer proceedings were over, the crowd broke out into angry chants and slogans against the army, and demanded accountability and justice for this extremely brutal act.

Some of the loudest sloganeering, especially against the army, came from a tall, wiry guy, who, after establishing the baigharati of Generals and Colonels, picked up a Dawn News microphone and started interviewing media personalities in attendance (Najam Sethi, Moeed Pirzada, Naseem Zehra, Muneeb of Najam Sethi fame, Hamid Mir, Asma Jahangir, and others). Turns out the guy was Azaz Syed, investigative reporter for Dawn News, and well known his short, but extremely informative show, The Spy Master.

You can watch that show and some of his other stuff here.

One of his greatest clips, something i was only recently shown by Shahid Saeed, is where he puts Lt. Gen (r) Orakzai on the spot for his 'born-again democrat' views. One of the things that i find most annoying about an expanded media sphere is that plenty of ex Generals find space to voice their (mostly new-found) democratic opinions, talking in somber tones about civilian supremacy, and the wrongdoings of the army. While there are some genuine cases, like Lt. Gen (r) Talat Masood, and Admiral Fasih Bokhari, nearly all of the others voice dissent against the army once they have their plots and pensions in place. When confronted about their shenanigans as part of that institution, they give a response such as the one posted below.

'Sir aap nay koi dissenting note diya tha?'

Demonstration against Professor Dashtiari's murder

2011-06-02T14:50:00.001+01:00

The list of Baloch students, political workers and activists who have been targeted and killed by state agencies or by state-sponsored militant groups in Balochistan is very long. Every new name seems to blur in with the ones that preceded it, especially since the list is growing longer at such an alarmingly fast pace.

The latest victim in this spate of violence has been Professor Saba Dashtiari, a self-made intellectual, writer, teacher, and in the last few years, activist. He was known to students across Balochistan for being an exceptionally well-read, passionate, and simple man who invested greatly in his students and encouraged them to read, think, question, and learn. Prof. Dashtiari spent many of his years compiling collections of Balochi literature and poetry and established the Syed Zahoor Shah Hashmi library in Malir, Karachi which has up to 150,000 books on Baloch history, language, literature, and other works which have been translated to the Balochi language by him. Born and bred in a lower-middle-class family in Lyari, Dashtiari was a symbol of resistance and hope for the common man.

Apart from the fact that Dashtiari was killed on Quetta's main Sariab Road, just outside the University campus and within a 500-meter radius of Sariab police station, is a clear statement of the state's inability- or unwillingness, however one chooses to see it- to maintain law and order, provide protection to its citizens, or deliver justice. The fact that an organization called Ansar-ul-Islam took responsibility for the assassination in order to divert attention away from the state and make it appear as a religiously-motivated attack is even more insidious. Everyone knows that it is not the Taliban or religious outfits that are abducting and killing scores of people in Balochistan; it is the military.

It is also unfortunate that when Nazima Talib or other Punjabi/non-Baloch teachers are killed, there is a hue and cry in the national media about the growing xenophobia and ethnic prejudice in the Baloch national movement. The Baloch response is generally defiant - and rightly so - for they argue: when has Punjab/Punjabis ever protested against the killing of our people? Mutilated bodies of young men are found on the roadside, in the wilderness, virtually on a daily basis in Balochistan now. And we will have to admit, we have been silent.

Please join us tomorrow to condemn Prof. Dashtiari's murder and break this silence.

DATE/TIME: Friday, 3 June 2011, 3:00pm-4:00pm
VENUE: Quaid-e-Azam University Campus, at the Bus Stand (near Medical Center).

The 'Islamization' of Pakistan?

2011-06-01T08:37:00.004+01:00

Is Pakistani society more conservative now than it was, say, 30 years ago?

This is a question that has been raised a number of times over the last 10 odd years, by analysts, part-time academics, and, generally speaking, left-of-center segments of our population. I write about this particular question today because a year ago, 88 people lost their lives in a terrorist attack on two Ahmadi mosques, and, while the event was in itself a great travesty, societal reaction that followed brought the above stated question into sharp focus. Media channels and several journalists jostled to prove their puritanical credentials, mainly by ensuring ‘proper’ terminology was used both for the deceased as well as the sites of attack, and were accompanied by a not-too-thin veneer of acceptability emanating from urban society in general.

On a number of other occasions, there has been general consensus of opinion that present-day society is a lot more conservative, and is so because of geo-strategic politics, state policy, and the legal framework - especially those parts introduced by General Zia.

As far as general opining is concerned, a broad-based consensus is all that is required to bolster a point or initiate an argument. There is no need for academic frills and fancies, and little need for rigorous statistical verification, especially in dealing with, what is essentially, an attitudinal quality of society. However, this question, if tackled properly, would not only reflect societal behavior, it would also tell us where this behavior grows from and, ultimately, how it can, if needed, be curbed.

Conservative as a standalone quality reveals very little unless or until you attach it to a particular context and a particular form. Politically conservative and economically conservative could mean different things in different parts of the world. However, in Pakistan, and especially in the context of this particular question, conservative signifies an attitude towards religion - largely concerning its practice, enforcement and perpetuation in society, and its subscription as the primary marker of identity.

Secondly, the question, and the generally accepted answer are primarily temporal statements. They rely on the fact that at some point in the past, Pakistan was at a different level of conservatism, and that, if you go by the consensus, this conservatism has been adequately measured and found to be less than where we stand today. This in particular is quite problematic given the fact that no such objective measure can be created, and any judgment passed on the past or present would, at best, rely on nuanced anecdotal evidence.

Thirdly, our conception of Pakistani society is largely limited to our own observational space. We sport not only an urban bias but also a class bias to a certain extent, since our interaction extends, at most, from the lower-middle classes to the upper class.

Given these assumptions and factors in mind, Pakistani society’s relationship with religion has become the subject of debate, not only because of global terrorism and the western media, but also as a symbol of sovereign defiance. Given current discourse, a closer look at the situation will try to enhance our structural understanding of Islam in Pakistan.

Zia’s laws have been in place for a good 25 years now. The objectives resolution and Bhutto’s Islamic injunctions for even longer. Yet, the question of conservatism only gained currency over the last few years, primarily due to the proliferation of social and electronic media. People have become more aware of what others are thinking and it’s easier to find sources of information and discussion that mirror one’s own opinions or stand in complete opposition. So at one level, we judge Pakistani society to be more conservative because we can observe more of society these days than in the past.

Secondly, the proliferation of religious organizations has been ongoing for many years, yet now it seems they’ve had a greater impact on urban society. More and more people from the middle and upper classes are sympathizing with and participating in movements like the Tableeghi-Jamaat and Al-Huda. This remains a definitive marker for the more-conservative camp. The level of involvement in such revivalist movements has been immense, and by my own accounts, most of it is driven by a need to understand ‘true religion’ and to reject our culturally shaped beliefs and practices.

Thirdly, reaction by segments of the middle classes in the aftermath of both the Ahmadi mosque attacks and Salmaan Taseer’s assassination have revealed that people are unwilling to compromise on what they perceive to be religious truths. Refusal by the media and people in general to use the term ‘mosque’ and ‘shaheed’ in the case of the former, and the valorization of Mumtaz Qadri in the latter are strong examples of public defense of religion.

Fourthly, growing anti-Americanism, both against its cultural paradigm, as well as its perception as a threat to Pakistan’s sovereignty and prosperity, is defined in terms of ‘our Islam’ vs. the USA. Whereas previously, this anti-Americanism was largely confined to the Jamaat-i-Islami support base, it now finds itself amongst a larger section of society.

These and other factors on one side provide strong evidence for growing conservatism in Pakistani society. Out of those listed above, three are related to the public domain, while one is based on actual practice of religion.

On the basis of what is observed, especially the 4 markers given above, the collective left-of-center perception is now almost completely homogenous in terms of its situational appraisal: Pakistani society is becoming increasingly conservative.

Historically tracing the evolution of this conservatism has more often than not led to people looking at Bhutto’s pandering of the religious right, Zia’s Islamization program, and the security establishment’s strategic designs, coupled with their grip on public narrative. Such a view would suggest that prior to Zia, urban Pakistan was tolerant, more secular, and decidedly less conservative.

This, as history tells us, was not the case.

Urban Pakistan was much smaller back then but had borne the brunt of a partition, which, all things considered, was principled on communal difference. It had seen anti-Ahmadi riots as early as the 1950’s, and had witnessed the gradual strengthening of religious parties as electoral forces in both Lahore and Karachi. When you look at this from a historical perspective, we can’t be one hundred percent certain about new-born conservatism, but we can – empirically – argue in favor of two things: increasing urbanization and capitalism, and historically embedded principles of communal difference.

The former is what needs to be studied in greater detail. Pakistan has seen urbanization rise from a paltry 14 percent to 35 percent officially, and according to some, 40-45 percent unofficially. Contribution of manufacturing and urban services to the GDP stand at around 74 percent, and the corresponding labor force statistic is around 63 percent. The middle to upper middle consuming class, much discussed, rarely measured, now stands at around 15-20 million by the most conservative estimates.

There is no need for anecdotal evidence to legitimize this reality; it is, and will remain, the absolute truth.

The connection between urbanization and perceived conservatism can be taken as, given statistical constraints, coeval. One has gone up for sure, the other has appeared to grow as well. The tricky bit is trying to prove causation, or at the very least correlation between the two.

One relatively simple way of looking at this is by observing at the question of identity for urban classes, and how this has been tackled in Pakistan.

For the former, academic work on identity formation links it very closely to the emergence of more widespread capitalism, especially of the print variety, and with issues of resource scarcity. As more claimants to power/resources emerge, collectivization occurs around myths, ideologies, and figures.

For the latter, with the identity exigencies of a state like Pakistan, you can sort of understand why Islam gets thrown around in large doses, especially in urban centers where other identities are not prevalent (Lahore vs. Karachi). Instead of looking at the rise of a public Islamic identity as a product of the 80’s, it’s probably a lot more useful to look at it as a direct consequence of the particular narrative adopted in 1947 by a newly-independent state, which has achieved fruition as urban-capitalistic developments become further entrenched.

At this point it is important to differentiate between terrorism, which is practiced on the margins, and conservatism, which is mainstream, and might or might not give space to condone terrorism. The former is disconnected from the currently agreed rules of the game (functioning state, modernist capitalist economy), while the latter wants to work with religion within these very constraints.

This leads us to the second part of this argument. The 4 markers of increased conservatism mentioned at the start, are coupled with a parallel development: i.e., the adoption of a globally prevalent consumerist culture. Since Pakistan has increasingly submerged itself in the global economy, it has also become submerged, through default rather than design, in the culture associated with the world economy. A proximity to the US, both economically and in the media culture, has helped fashion this particular development, which now sees middle class youngsters juggle public proclamations of Islam vs. the West, with a mouthful of McDonalds. Similarly, the demands and the culture of capitalism have encouraged female education and participation in the work force, dismantled biraderi/extended family networks giving way to individual voice and participation, and mainstreamed non-familial cross-gender relationships. All of these are, in essence, far removed from the increased conservatism that is taken as a given.

It is also this particular contradiction, between the markers on one hand, and increased submergence into the culture of the global economy, that could ultimately prove to be vital as far as the spread of Islamization and conservatism in urban society are concerned. The debate now leaves us with 3 possible conclusions. The first is that these contradictions will continue to function the way they currently operate, leaving Pakistan stuck in a perpetual state of hypocritical public proclamations and consumption of global capitalism. The second is that we’ll see the rise of a more fascistic, and culturally more Islamic rise of capitalism (somewhat like Iran). The third is that as the entrenchment and dissemination of capitalism continues, religion will ultimately give way, both in politics and public voice, to the whole scale adoption of the global economic culture of capitalism and consumption.

While the first seems to be the most likely, the other two or any other result can also not be ruled out completely. What remains to be seen is how these various tensions play themselves out in coming years, and whether a more desirable equilibrium can be achieved.

Published as a two-part column in Pakistan Today. Read Part 1 here and Part 2 here

Why Sindhi Haris are as smart as Urban Upper Class Patriots

2011-05-26T06:18:00.003+01:00

Work is a little slow today so i've decided that this is the right time for a comeback to the free world of random-musings-not-disguised-as-columns. A few weeks ago, me and a few friends were sitting with Mushtaq Gaadi (anthropologist at QAU), talking about the rationality of voting in Pakistan. The conversation had stemmed from some tool's scoffing remark about feudal-peasant relationships in Sindh, after which he proceeded to give us a lecture about traditional vs modern societies. I've written too many times about rural rationality on this blog, but this time i got a very unique perspective from Gaadi - something that settled the debate for me at least in this particular context.

We all know the PPP has a solid vote bank in Sindh, and we know that this vote bank is fortified by direct patronage dispensation ala BISP, state employment, and also by the fact that the PPP tends to field large landlords in the province. Both of these things give further credence to the 'captive vote' + 'feudal' oppression hypothesis. The divide between the Punjabi voter and the Sindhi voter is between a modernizing agro-urban economy, and a traditional agrarian hinterland. A lot of people then go further and use this to explain why the PPP is declining in Punjab and why it continues to dominate most of Sindh (barring Hyd and Khi).

The first part of this hypothesis is correct. A modernizing agro-urban economy has resulted in a decline of the PPP vote in Punjab (especially central Punjab) since 1970 (when the took in around 65 percent of the total vote in the region):

PPP %age of votes in central Punjab (for elections 1988-2002)

48.3% 43.5% 41.3% 30.5% 25.8%

(source: my masters dissertation)

A lot of this could be down to rigging, and establishment maneuvering etc, but something that remains a certainty is that the PPP has failed to adapt to the agro-urban nature of new Punjab, and is struggling to form viable patronage networks in the province. Despite all of that, it still manages to carve out just enough seats in the province to remain relevant (47 out of 148 in 2008).

So what's the scene like in Sindh?

I don't have detailed electoral statistics in terms of percentage but the PPP got 26 out of 60 seats in 2002, and 33 out of 60 seats in 2008. Go even further back, and barring 1997, the PPP has always swept half if not more of the seats in the province.

Does this prove the feudal-peasant hypothesis?

The short answer is no, it doesn't.

The long answer is that the feudal-peasant hypothesis should, hypothetically, work every time - for every feudal and every peasant. What that essentially means is that no big landlord in Sindh should ever lose an election, regardless of what his party affiliation is - after all, he controls the means of production in his constituency, has sufficient power over the local state, and can dispose of tenants and laborers at will.

In the paradigm of those who see the traditional-modern divide between Sindh and Punjab, the biggest flaw is that landlordism is only connected to the Pakistan People's Party, despite the fact that there are enough major landlords (Pagara, Maher, Jatoi, and plenty of dissidents who switched post 1997) outside of the party as well.

What's more is that they lose elections contesting against smaller fish from the PPP.

I'll give you the example of one, rather unfortunately named, Mr Khalid Ahmed Khan Lund. He contested and won the 2002 election from NA-200 (Ghotki 1) on a PPP ticket and then promptly jumped shipped with the Patriots to the PML-Q. Big landlord guy having at least a 1000 acres, if not more of canal irrigated land with lots and lots of tenants and laborers directly dependent on him for their sustenance. Contrary to the tradition-modern hypothesis, he contested again in 2008, on a PML-Q ticket and should've won but got routed by a relative nobody (small landlord nicknamed Mian Mithoo). 5 years in government, with plenty of ties to the state bureaucracy and the military, and he still lost his election.

Same goes for Pir Pagaro and Jatoi's losing elections in their home bases over the last 40 odd years.

So the logical question is what does the PPP candidate have, over and above land and the local state, that ensures he's elected over more powerful and resource rich candidates.

The answer, according to Mushtaq Gaadi, is Sindhi nationalism.

Now to most of you that would sound like fluff. Nationalism is imagined, created, and then perpetuated by the PPP, and has been for a good 40 years. They use the Sindh card to keep Punjab under check and the MQM on their toes. They use it to gain concessions from the army and the bureaucracy. It could possibly be the most functional form of nationalism in the history of mankind, but that doesn't count for anything simply because it resonates with the voter. If a voter perceives a candidate to be unpatriotic to the Sindhi cause, he would very well not vote for him next time around. Probably explains why so many Q league candidates lost out this time (there's a prevalent perception that Muhajirs gained far too much under the Musharraf government).

Now you can say that Sindhi nationalism, cultural and political, or any nationalism for that matter, is problematic because it doesnt allow for the betterment of the poor. A Sindhi language textbook and a Sindhi topi will not put food on anyone's table, nor allow them to live their life in a materially better way.

But that's totally besides the point.

My only contention is to prove that the Sindhi voter is not bound by tradition in the sense that is normally understood. He is bound by both his economic constraints, and by his belief in Sindhi nationalism - neither of which are traditional concepts. Nationalism is as modern as democracy and as modern as Marxism. The development of nationalistic sentiment coincides with print capitalism and a changing economy, both of which have happened in Sindh during the 1960's. To read more about this everyone should look up Akber Zaidi's piece on Sindhi politics, and in general, study Bennedict Anderson or Ernest Gellner.

So the next time someone tells you that the Sindhi voter is irrational and traditional, you can reply by saying that the English medium sort who professes his love for Pakistan by wearing a I <3 Pakistan shirt and associates with Pakistaniat is equally irrational and traditional.

Either you're both traditional or you're both modern

Political and Civil Society

2011-05-24T06:14:00.001+01:00

Sometime during the early 90’s, people who provide brains behind mainstream development discourse came to a very important conclusion: No matter how much money they threw in a country, no matter how many ‘fixes’ they came up with, no matter how noble their intentions were, their experiments never turned out the way they wanted them to.

Deliberation on this perplexing matter led them to believe that the difference between the success and failure of their best laid plans was something called ‘governance’. Good governance would lead to the implementation of projects, programs, and policies. Bad governance would just lead to black holes.

The mantra of governance, i.e. the ability of a state to implement agendas and institute transparency in institutional practice, has, over time, evolved towards determining what kind of governance would be best suited for the developing world. For example, governance improvement programs in Pakistan believe in creating responsive state structures, improved state capacity at local level, political party reform and a host of other practices. All of these practices, in turn, form part of a larger agenda: social change.

For anyone engaged in formal political activity, a methodological break-down of a phenomenon as complex as social change into neatly defined aspects, is amusing to say the least. But beyond this ‘rational’ approach towards transforming society, there is a process of co-option taking place that is at the end of the day, responsible for perpetuating sterilization of political space. Where previously the concept of social change meant group/class collectivization and active political engagement, the present day concept is built almost entirely around strategic interventions by donors and aid agencies.

Interestingly though, certain academics see the roots of an NGO-based civil society in the nature of colonization, as opposed to in modern-day development discourse. Writing in 2004, Partha Chatterjee observed that the single largest problem faced by post-colonial states was in decolonizing both institutions and practice. Chatterjee’s perspective, one with which I largely agree, was that under the British colonial state, civil society space was hand-crafted by the administrators and shaped by the placement of conditions and constraints –such as limited electoral participation.

Other facets of civil society under colonialism, such as the media, were also closely aligned with the orders and instructions of the state administration - a characteristic that has shown remarkable consistency over the last century. In the backdrop of circumscribed space for political engagement, it is of little surprise that in a country where politics is checked at every level, civil society, and in subsequence, the narrative and ‘practice’ of social change has been left in the hands of aid-agendas.
Is this necessarily a bad thing?

Well for starters, the record and efficacy of aid in sector-based interventions is patchy. One of the biggest examples is the $350 million Asian Development Bank ‘Access to Justice’ program, which has so far yielded nothing but richer consultants, and as Akber Zaidi remarked, ‘exotic’ reports. Governance improvement programs, especially those that have targeted political party strengthening and civic education have also resulted in nothing substantial and plenty of vacuumed, disconnected trainings.

Secondly, the definition of social change, and which particular variety is suitable for Pakistan, is linked to discourse found in mainstream development. In consequence, the principal divide is between the poor and everybody else. The poor are then further divided into most vulnerable, and less vulnerable. Serving neatly categorized, and easily identifiable ‘beneficiaries’ becomes the end goal of social change.

Such a conception, while satisfying the planner’s need for quantifiable solutions, ignores social reality to an unforgivable extent. And it is this conception that highlights the biggest problem of civil society in post-colonial states.

Chatterjee’s formulation of the civil society problem, ultimately demarcates two different vehicles of societal transformation in the 21st century. One of them is what I’ve mentioned above; the other is a resuscitated ‘political’ society. Political society is composed of unions, student groups, public notables and associations, formed specifically for the purpose of political engagement. One obvious manifestation is political parties, but others include unions and voluntary associations.

For Pakistan, where fragmentation and fissures run at every level, and in different shapes and forms, social change cannot be led by a civil society that aims to serve a homogenizing category known as ‘the poor’. In the same vein, social change cannot be brought about under the guise of governance, especially when this category is used to tame political activity. Social change, in the past and even now, is a function of political society exercising its potential of engaging with the state.

NGOs and our present day civil society have plenty of contributions in ameliorating living conditions for many people in the country. This critique does not wish to take away anything from that achievement. However, solving long-standing structural issues is not something that our present day civil society is equipped or directed towards. Their task, as the case should be in maturing societies, is to hold the constituent parts of political society accountable and support them in their legitimate struggles.

*Hat-tip to the contributions of Afiya Sherbano Zia and Mushtaq Gaadi in articulating this particular argument

Originally published in Pakistan Today on 23/05/2011

Minutes from the 19th May Meeting

2011-05-22T09:42:00.000+01:00

A rally will be organized in front of Parliament House Islamabad on 26th May under the guise of AWAMI SHEHRI MAHAZ to demand that the defence budget be presented in the national assembly. An open call has been issued to all progressive and democratic forces around the country to hold coordinated demonstrations on the same day…..

An open meeting held on 19th May in Islamabad to deliberate on possible mobilizations to build on the growing public calls for accountability of the military attended by students, political activists and trade unionists agreed that there is a need to assert civilian supremacy over the military and challenge the so-called ‘national security’ paradigm that has engendered conflicts with our neighbours, led to the spread of extremist ideas in society, and allowed the military to hoard a large proportion of public resources.

This is the 6th largest army in the world. Why are we competing with India, when we are the size of one of their provinces? The Soviet Union’s unquestioned military might and unending competition with the US was not enough for it to survive. Other countries (US, India, etc) also reveal budgetary details in front of people’s representatives. Argument for non-transparency due to concerns about operational secrecy is a deliberately exaggerated fear.

The meeting agreed that it is necessary to expose the factual lies built by the military regarding defence threats and expenditure. In this regard the parliament should be empowered to demand military accountability. Thus we will push parliament to demand that the military at least provides a breakdown of its budget in terms of combat and non-combat expenditures.

In this regard, a concerted effort will be made to differentiate our narrative from the US-NATO narrative that’s currently in fashion.

ACTIONS AGREED:

Protest from National Press Club Islamabad to D-Chowk (before budget presentation date) on the 26th of May, 2011 4:30 PM.
OPEN CALL TO PROGRESSIVES IN ALL OTHER PARTS OF THE COUNTRY TO ORGANISE A COORDINATED PROTEST ON THE SAME DAY.

o Speak to journalists about discussing this issue on television.
o Pamphlets distribution campaign in Islamabad (and other cities)
o Seminar on defence expenditure and budget transparency with speakers who are familiar with the numbers and statistics. Given that budget is going to be presented shortly, this will happen after budget presentation.
o Campaign to be organized under the name of ‘Awami Shehri Mahaz’.

Sustaining Pressure: Questioning Defense Expenditure

2011-05-17T07:32:00.005+01:00

The capturing and killing of Osama bin Laden by American special forces in one of Pakistan’s most fortified garrisons is simply the latest illustration of the shadowy logic that continues to guide decision-making within Pakistan. Notwithstanding the hyperbole about ‘sovereignty’ being circulated within the media and other opinion-making constituencies, the real issue at hand is the manner in which basic policies are framed and implemented in this country. More specifically, the priorities of the state and civil-military relations are once in the spotlight, and it is incumbent upon all democratic and progressive forces to develop a consensus on the way forward.

For the best part of Pakistan’s existence as an independent state, the military has enjoyed a privileged status on numerous accounts. It has always garnered a disproportionately large percentage of public resources, whilst directly controlling the reins of government for more than half of the country’s 63 years, in clear defiance of established political and constitutional norms. Yet the military has always enjoyed a critical mass of public support for its myriad roles (concentrated primarily in Punjab) and has thereby been able to maintain, and extend, its economic and political power.

The military’s prestige derives from its purported role as the ‘guardian of the nation’ in the face of what have been depicted as existential threats to Pakistan from hostile neighbouring countries. The institution has prided itself on being the defender both of Pakistan’s physical boundaries as well as its ‘ideological frontiers’. It has not been surprising in the aftermath of the OBL debacle, therefore, to come across a wide range of commentators insisting that criticism of the military represents at attempt to undermine the most patriotic and committed institution in the country.

However, attempts to cow those speaking out at the present time will serve only to intensify the serious contradictions that afflict the Pakistani state. There can be no question that the many crises that the country currently faces – including the virtual mortgaging of the economy and polity to external powers, severe ethnic polarizations, and the phenomenon that is called terrorism – can only be redressed by questioning the military’s unaccountable power and stranglehold on public resources. It is high time that the military be brought within the constitutional ambit and civilian authority be asserted definitively.

In this regard, one of the first and most symbolically important initiatives that needs to be undertaken is to subject the official defence budget to parliamentary oversight. Historically defence spending has been formally announced during the federal budget session every year but only as a single-line item with no specific details either presented or demanded within the national assembly. Even if it is agreed that details of certain military-run institutions and projects must remain classified information, specific information about official defence spending in the federal budget must be made public information. It is no longer viable for the military to remain unaccountable in this regard, and in light of recent events it is both reasonable and necessary for the parliament to take the necessary steps to assert civilian authority and hold the military accountable for allocations made to it from the national exchequer.

Such an initiative would not only be an important step towards establishing the supremacy of civilian institutions but would also assist in the longer-term task of reorienting the state’s priorities away from non-productive, zero-sum militaristic policies towards people’s welfare. These are both long-standing goals of the progressive movement in Pakistan. Now is the opportune time to push them forward.

We invite you to attend an open meeting to discuss possible mobilizations in the lead-up to the announcement of the federal budget.

The meeting will be held on Thursday, 19th May at 5pm at Blk 24, Flat 3, G-7/1 PHA flats. If there are any queries whatsoever, and if you need directions to get to the meeting, please call 0333 5221863 or 0334 8400881

Between the Soldier and the State

2011-05-14T15:31:00.004+01:00

They told us his tone was submissive and humble. His forehead, caught in the spotlight of gaudy chandeliers, glistened with a thin layer of freshly accumulated sweat – a byproduct, one can reasonably conclude, of being in an unfamiliar and wholly uncomfortable position. His bluster and swagger, the jahez that comes with a uniform and an arbitrary array of gilded shoulder pieces, was gone, only to be replaced by something he’d discarded a long time ago: humility in the presence of civilians.

-------- -------- -------- -------- -------- --------

What happened on Friday gives us pro-democracy hacks a rare half-victory in what is otherwise a despondent and extremely protracted struggle. More than that, in the cyclical pattern of Pakistani politics, we were smack dab in the center of a deal-cutting, back-door winking period, with the party in power running more or less exclusively on Fauji fuel, in exchange for their passivity in strategic matters of the state.

And then the Abbottabad operation happened, simultaneously setting off collective orgasms through the length and breadth of Hollywood, and making life a whole lot troublesome for our men in uniform.

Cutting through sponsored hyperbole and, what’s been a fairly muted government response, the 72 font sized headline has been the PML-N’s positioning vis-à-vis the government, and of potentially greater consequence, the army and the ISI.

This positioning, as opposed to the monotonic ‘off-with-the-government’s-head’ cries used by Imran Khan and a few others, has evolved over the course of nearly two weeks. At the onset, the first few statements urged the government to come up with answers - nothing more, nothing less. There were snide, carefully crafted shots at the military command, but to most observers, the expected reaction of the largest opposition party was one that most would expect in a Machiavellian political domain: kick ‘em when they’re down.

Interestingly enough, the response has evolved from those initial jabs into something a lot more sophisticated, and for a lack of a nuanced term, a lot more principled. A few days after the event had taken place, Khawaja Asif appeared on a popular talk show and talked a fair bit about military accountability, albeit not even remotely as resonating in impact as his 2006-07 Budget speech. Close to that particular appearance, Chaudhary Nisar gave an extensive speech, as he is wont to do, on the Assembly floor, citing the gaping hole left in our sovereignty as a result of military complacency and a pliant government.

A few days later, the consolidation of a particular position happened in the press conference delivered by Nawaz Sharif, where his principle assertion was that the military simply couldn’t be trusted with the investigation commission. Despite the flanking presence of politicians historically known for their ‘embeddedness’, the PML-N supremo spoke not just with the relative freedom associated with someone in opposition, but also with the air of someone being driven by motivations outside of our straitjacketed electoral calculus. Amplified by Tehmina Daultana and Javed Hashmi’s statements during the ‘in-camera’ briefing on Friday, the PML-N has taken what appears to be a pro-civilian control stand, and not just by proclamations of ‘constitutional mandate’ or ‘democratic right’.

The task, for analysts, observers, and the pensive sorts, is trying to find the factors behind this particular trajectory for a party, which was, in the words of a political adversary, ‘nurtured in the green-house of a dictator’. As a testament to the level of cynicism pervading urban society, accepting principled politics at face-value is a big ask for anyone. But nearly all possible permutations of the prevailing political context come up short with a functional explanation.

In a political climate, largely determined by the contradiction between the citizen and the officer, most politicking is done on the basis of perceived populism, or proactive embeddedness. You either cut a deal with the state, like the Muslim League and the PPP have done on numerous occasions, or you pick up popular sentiments, shape them according to an actionable political agenda, and carve out space in the power structure. The PPP has done this once properly in the early 70’s, and the PML-N has done it most recently during the lawyers’ movement.

The PML-N’s position in the post-OBL scenario is very difficult to place on this particular spectrum. Their criticism of the army highlights a perpetuation of an 11-year long journey of estrangement, and at the same time, doesn’t exactly appear to be a particularly populist position as well. The reason why I say this is that the support base of the PML-N includes a large number of groups and segments who still hold the PPP responsible for selling the country’s honor to the Americans. As a party representing conservative urban elements - composed of groups such as the Quomi Tajir Ittehad who sponsored pro-army banners and demonstrations in Islamabad - the PML-N’s actions are hard to box at this point in time.

In any case, what this implies is that their motivations, whether principled or personal, coincide with the larger democratic interest of our polity.

One should hesitate before celebrating the PML-N as this born-again party of democratic substance, especially since their record of politicking in Punjab over the last two years has been anything but principled, and their position on a number of progressive issues highly questionable. But they have to be recognized for taking a much-needed stand at a time when everyone else had chosen either blind populism or statist solidarity. What remains to be seen, and that’s the big IF amidst all this commotion, is whether this sudden rupture in the civil-military balance of power can be sustained into something meaningful.

Complicity, Complacency, and Honor

2011-05-07T08:37:00.002+01:00

Pardon me for not having anything insightful to say on Osama’s killing, but you see, I went down with a particularly bad case of brain-freeze after reading the Foreign Office statement. Rarely have I come across such a poorly worded, amazingly flawed, and downright clueless proclamation, and that too, in the wake of an incredibly sensitive event. Nevertheless, my ability to think, while clearly hampered, left me with little doubt that MoFA was simply acting as the post-office for its much larger, and, in the light of recent events, a hundred times more incompetent government colleague. Yes, I’m talking about the one based in the adjacent city.

Contributing to the affliction was my television set, which kept throwing up a stream of analysts - many of whom needed no introduction, mostly held ‘independent’ views, and had a deep eye on everything. Watching Pakistani television talk-shows in the aftermath of a major political incident is incredibly frustrating, but this time, instead of frustration, I just felt a lot of clear, well-directed, and purposeful anger.

The armed forces and intelligence agencies, after feasting on national and international exchequers for around 60 odd years, have, with great aplomb, given us sufficient proof that they are not to be trusted.

Not to be trusted because of their complicity, and not to be trusted because of their sheer incompetence.

But beyond the fact that Osama bin Laden was found napping near PMA Kakul, it is very important to rationalize and fine-tune the anger that most, if not all, of us are feeling. First of all, this is not a question of the US violating our ‘sovereignty’. It’s definitely not about the international community huddling up to take the mickey out of us again. And most of all, it certainly is not about our image abroad.

All of these considerations are secondary at best.

The primary consideration for us, i.e. the polity, is why have we been treated like fools and serfs in our own country? For 60 years, self-defined, insulated, and autonomous strategic concerns have been the military’s first and foremost priority. All of this has come at the cost of debilitated political institutions, skewed budgetary allocations, internal strife, ethnic imbalances, radicalization and militancy etc. etc.

For years, some have been talking about complicity on the part of the armed forces. Nabbing a security threat here, winking at another one there. Now finally, this complicity has come around full circle and revealed another side, long suspected but finally proven: the military and its subservient intelligence agencies are not only protecting terrorists, they are also complacent.

Just think about the fact that the military has maintained an air of superiority on the basis of its ‘competence’, its ability to deliver, and its ability to perform when asked.

Well, guess what?

Selling cornflakes, houses and processed cow dung aren’t exactly a measure of competence for a military.

The OBL episode is one more in a long line of dramas between armies and intelligence agencies. This exclusive and insulated domain of action comes at the cost of real issues being faced by millions of Pakistanis on the ground. With 30 percent of the population below the poverty line, 1 in 10 kids never going to school, unemployment and inflation, poor service delivery, security threats, and an unstable economy, the cost borne by ‘spy-games’ and the two evils of complicity and complacency are tremendously high.

What’s worse is that there seems to be no urgency from the civilian leadership in wresting political control from the unrepresentative arms of the state. Afraid of history and what has happened to those who’ve attempted to shake the balance of power, politicians have been hesitant to say anything openly, despite the fact that this is perhaps the most opportune moment to take a stand.

The bigger picture here, as opposed to what some are saying, is more about correcting internal contradictions than improving our ‘image’ as a global entity. Domestic concerns, forever marginalized for the sake of territorial sanctity, need to be taken up. We need to question whether this rabid, near-maniacal drive for a conjured notion of honor is actually worth it? More than that, whether this honor game is actually nothing more than a smokescreen for institutional, political and corporatist interests?

These are exactly the kind of things that the people, the intelligentsia, and political leaders need to be asking, as opposed to finding ways to salvage national pride and foreign sympathy. But, call me a cynic or a pessimist, I don’t see that happening any time soon. If early signs are something to go by, we won’t be seeing anything other than a few bumbling excuses, a few false promises, and a reversion to tales of khaki superiority.

Something that did however bring a smile to my face during this rather sordid affair was a modification made by a friend to a popular army refrain:

‘Sleep tight…because we are too’

Strength of the Street

2011-05-02T08:44:00.002+01:00

On February the 10th, 1972, Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto warned working class agitators in Karachi that if they refused to toe the government’s line on its new labor policy, ‘the strength of the street would meet the strength of the state’. When the agitation showed no signs of slowing down, Bhutto followed up on his ominous words with a violent crackdown on industrial labor across the city. Plenty were killed, many were injured, and countless others were sent to prison or rendered unemployed.

June 7th, 1972, the day when the state flaunted its strength, is normally considered to be the turning point in Pakistan’s labor movement history. From that time on, Bhutto’s ruling party would become a lot more wary of ceding space to trade and student unions – groups that had given the party an overwhelming tide to ride. Over the next 10-15 years, organizations that had been instrumental in the downfall of Ayub’s regime devolved into a state of organizational and ideological chaos, ultimately becoming nothing more than sterile cliques and obedient collectives.

It’s a testament to the depravity of our times that the popular conception of ‘civil society’ rarely extends to include trade unions and worker groups within its ambit. For many, non-governmental organizations, human rights groups, and professional associations remain the only ‘rightful’ protestors and bearers of progressive, liberal causes. Such a selective viewing of society, and more so, of our history has not only induced insulation and political marginalization, but has further ceded space to mainstream conservative forces.

Trade unions today, in consequence of the debilitating effects of Bhutto’s, but more so of Zia’s tenure, have become convenient tools for patronage dispensation and political strong-arming. For years, the state has interfered in union activity, installing a leader here, removing a leader there, with the sole aim to ensure compliance and loyalty. Whereas once it was possible for unions to participate and agitate for macro-level working class concerns, the primary task of unions is now to ensure that their members are taken care of, that the political bosses they report to are happy, and that street action is kept to a minimum.

Looking at all this, it’s very easy to blame the nature of Pakistan’s economy - i.e. its utter inability to sustain industrial growth for extended periods of time. The retarded development of an alienated urbanized labor class has been one but not the primary factor in the decline of working class participation in popular politics. More so, a simple reference to official labor force statistics hardly captures the reality of labor relations in our economy. While 18 percent of total employment is said to be found in the ‘manufacturing’ sector, another 30-40 percent is reported to be working in the informal sector - unrecorded, unregulated, and wholly outside the domain of labor laws and whatever little legal protection the state has ordained.

If an objective evaluation was to be done of the decline suffered by working class organizations, the onus would largely fall on the state and its commitment to a multi-lateral sponsored, unbridled neo-liberal paradigm. Unchecked and unregulated privatization has resulted in a battle for scraps between unions and workers, a free-for-all to see who can cut the least oppressive deal. Beyond all this, parties claiming to work for the entrenchment of substantive democracy in the country remain wary of letting unions become vehicles for progressive ideological agendas. The current arrangement seems to work in favor of sustaining long-standing class imbalances.

Political parties, especially the Pakistan Peoples Party, would do well to recognize the fact that no country, organic or post-colonial, industrialized, or under-developed, has instituted substantive, progressive democratic politics without the inclusion and representation of the working class. Leaving all other examples aside, we only need to look at our own history, and the movement of the 60’s and 70’s, to realize that purposeful mobilization not only ensures state responsiveness but also cuts across ethno-linguistic lines. The workers upon which the state unleashed its oppressive agenda on June the 7th were not Pashtun, Hazara, or Muhajir. They came together solely because of their shared positions in an increasingly oppressive economic environment.

By the time you’re reading this piece, annual May Day rallies organized by various unions and labor groups would’ve taken place across all major cities in the country. With each passing year, non-union, non-worker participation in these rallies has gone down, giving us further indication of the growing gap between our haves and have-nots. Wishing for a progressive, tolerant, and economically just country, falling some way short of what is required, has to be complemented with a recognition of the rights of labor and working classes in Pakistan.

Take some time out this May Day to pay tribute to the sacrifices of Bashir Bakhtiar’s Hydroelectirc Union, Mirza Ibrahim’s Railways worker union, the PTCL union, and most of all, the martyrs of Karachi.

* Borrowed from Kamran Asdar Ali’s amazing piece on the Karachi labor movement titled ‘The Strength of the State: The 1972 Labore Movement in Karachi’

Originally published in Pakistan Today on 02/05/2011

Resettling the Indus (Part 2)

2011-04-25T05:24:00.002+01:00

Jamshed Dasti, elected twice in the space of 2 years, I was told, had visited flood-affected areas on numerous occasions. The surprising part was not that the MNA had showed up, which was in itself commendable, but that villagers who we met were so effusive in their praise of a man they had not even voted for in the by-election. His humble background and his near-meteoric rise in the political system (from union councilor to MNA in just under 9 years) has intrigued analysts and researchers, and on the other hand, his use of a fake degree coupled with his thuggish outlook, captured the imagination of the urban middle class for a completely different set of reasons.

As a commoner, he, in one skewed sense, symbolizes the innate middle class desire of having a non-elite parliament. A parliament that would, because of its class proximity to a wider segment of society, be more responsive and accountable.

Despite ticking this particular box, Jamshed Dasti is still a much-derided figure, largely as a consequence of the ‘fraud’ he committed.

Even if urbanites manage to look beyond the degree rhetoric, and that in itself is rare, his popularity is often dismissed as nothing more than the sentiment of a peasant’s imagination. You see, the peasant, no matter what he does, is simply acting on the pulses of a much inferior brain. When he used to vote for Ghulam Mustafa Khar or Nawabzada Iftikhar Ahmed Khan, he was being a pliant serf. When he decided to get rid of him by voting for a commoner, he was being swayed by the vagaries of emotive populism.

It seems that no matter what a village dweller does, he neither has the capacity to think rationally (in the modern urban sense), and neither does he exercise any manner of control over his mind, body, or environment.

There were two examples, from my trip to Muzaffargarh confirming that out of all widely held perceptions in our urban landscape, nothing is as outdated and static as the one just mentioned.

The first was related to a villager’s analysis of the exercise of power, especially in his own context. Right after the floods wreaked havoc in the district, Jamshed Dasti visited nearly every basti in his constituency and promised that he would try his level best to obtain utility bill relief for flood affected areas. MEPCO, on the other hand, was in no mood to agree to Dasti’s demands. I asked the villager if he was unhappy at the false promises the MNA had made, to which he simply answered that Dasti wanted to help us, he even visited the MEPCO office several times, but the hakoomat wouldn’t let him.

‘But isn’t Dasti part of the hakoomat?’

‘Bhai, Dasti is a political worker. The real hakim is the officer. When he wants things done, they get done. When he wants to drag his feet, nothing in the world can move him.’

The difference between state and government is something that requires a degree of awareness that most people I know don’t even possess. The locus of power, especially in areas where social capital is dispersed amongst several groups, will always lie with the bureaucracy and other non-representative authorities. The fact that a villager could quite clearly see that his representative was being blocked by the state apparatus certainly goes a long way in addressing the accusation of illiterate irrationality so often thrown his way.

The second example was related to the response of small-scale farmers across the country in the aftermath of the flood. Sometime in October, when in normal circumstances wheat crop plantation would be in full swing, the Food and Agriculture Organization announced that Pakistan could face severe food scarcity in the summer months. Their assumption was that the government and the humanitarian community would be unable to clear sufficient acreage in time for plantation.

About two weeks ago, the federal government announced that a 25 million ton bumper crop was expected in the next month.
The illiterate, irrational farmer, upon hearing of a higher wheat support price, set about clearing the fields himself. As late as end November, reports were coming in that farmers were still carrying out late rabi cropping using a variety of fertilizer and seed combinations. Beyond simple agriculture practice, the money received from the first tranche of the Watan Cards, as well as the BISP, was utilized to purchase both seed and fertilizer stock as well as pay off agriculture rent (theka).

As a combination of these two factors, wheat area under cultivation saw an increase of nearly 2 percent from last year, despite the fact that water was still standing in many parts of South Punjab and Sindh as late as December.

Simpletons across the country, through nothing less than a complete understanding of markets, agriculture, and their socio-political position in society, both as individuals, and as a member of larger collectives, have ensured that we urbanites have food on our tables in the coming months. The level of self-awareness now found in villages and small towns across the country is neither stuck in the 19th century, nor is it the product of ‘rural irrationality’. It is this dynamic and projected self-awareness that has sent Jamshed Dasti to the National Assembly, and I have little doubt, given the continuation of the democratic process, that it will assert itself even more strongly in the coming years.

Originally published in Pakistan Today on 25/04/2011

Creative Journalism

2011-04-23T14:26:00.004+01:00

Two days ago, i attended a seminar on the merits and de-merits of HEC's devolution at Quaid-e-Azam University. Hosted by the National Students Federation, speakers included Aasim Sajjad Akhtar, Mushtaq Gaadi, Prof Khurshid Hasnain, and Dr. Tahir Amin. The discussion, following the expression of opinion by all 4 speakers, was incredibly lively and, surprisingly enough, mostly in favor of the devolution process. Part of the reason why was because the 200-250 students in the auditorium were mostly from the smaller provinces, and were very well aware of the strong Punjab bias in Higher Education governance. Regardless of whether their conclusion was right or not, the interesting bit, which also happens to be the subject of this post, is how the event was ultimately reported in the Express Tribune. Since no journalist or reporter was present at the event itself, the press release, which was compiled by Ammar Rashid, Alia Amirali, and myself, was hand-delivered to the office of the newspaper.

Pasted below is the press-release, as it was delivered to the office of the Tribune, and then underneath that is the newsreport that got published in the City Pages the next day.

'Thursday, 21 April 2011: The National Students Federation organized a seminar entitled “HEC and the Future of Higher Education” today at Quaid-e-Azam University. The seminar was organized in order to bring forth both sides of this highly polarized debate and to engender a culture of debate and tolerance on university campuses. Speakers included QAU faculty members Dr. Aasim Sajjad Akhtar, Dr. Tahir Amin, Dr. Khursheed Hasnain and Mushtaq Gaadi. Speaking first, Dr. Aasim Sajjad spoke about the need to view the issue of the devolution objectively and dispassionately, as opposed to the rhetorical and incendiary debate currently being waged on the national media. He pointed out that devolution had long been an object of focus of various governments, including the Musharraf government, but the media only created a controversy about devolution in times when democratic governments were in power.

Dr. Khursheed Hasnain spoke about the need for a phased devolution of the HEC and pointed out that the HEC in itself had achievements as well as flaws. He listed the digitization of journal libraries and improvements in internet provision to universities as among the achievements of the HEC while pointing out that underprepared students were being sent for PhDs and the quality of those doctorates left much to be desired. He opposed the policies which in his view were leading to an erosion of the quality of higher education and giving rise to greed, plagiarism, and commercialization of higher education.

Dr. Tahir Amin presented a defence of the HEC’s performance and stressed that there were political, rather than legal reasons behind the devolution of the HEC to the provinces. He claimed that the politicians were carrying out a vendetta against the HEC for exposing the fake degrees of legislators. He also spoke of the lack of capacity in the provinces to manage higher education while conceding that greater provincial equity and provincial participation in the management of higher education is required.

Mushtaq Gaadi expressed the opinion that the HEC has served primarily as a vehicle of the commercialization of higher education as opposed to an institution that has improved quality, accessibility, or equity in higher education. He objected to the claim that the HEC was necessary in order to ensure transparency in the governance of higher education, pointing out that its own decision-making procedures and selection criteria for funding were highly opaque.

A lively discussion ensued after the speeches on the merits of the HEC’s devolution. Interestingly enough, most of the students presented a nuanced understanding of the matter, and were mindful of the need for greater empowerment of the provinces in matters of higher education. Overall, the participants managed to achieve a consensus that provincial autonomy was a desirable policy option as well as a constitutional reality and that it is through the democratic process, which necessarily includes decentralization of decision-making in various fields. Students expressed the hope that quality, accessibility and utility of higher education would improve with de-centralization and that public sector education in all provinces, and particularly in the less-developed provinces, would be given priority.'

Following are the first two paragrpahs from the news-report. You can read the entire thing here.

'Speakers at a seminar concluded that the proposed devolution of the Higher Education Commission (HEC) to provinces is merely a political ploy developed after the verification of the educational degrees of parliamentarians.

The seminar on “HEC and Higher Education in Pakistan” was organised by the Physics department of Quaid-i-Azam University (QAU) on Thursday. Prof Tahir Amin, chairperson of the department, said that it would be wrong to say that the HEC is being handed over to the provinces under constitutional or legal obligation. Rather, he termed the move a “political vendetta” developed in the aftermath of the degrees’ verification process.'

Not only did the host of the seminar suddenly become the Physics department, but Dr Tahir Amin, a card-holding member of the Jamaat-i-Islami and long-standing fossil of the International Relations department was converted into an insightful Physicist.

It's worth noting that Dr Tahir Amin's incredibly right-wing opinions on politics and education, where at one point he stated that an uneducated polity produces people like Jamshed Dasti and in turn cannot be democratic, were rejected by most of the audience and by the subsequent speaker. When told about the presence of several clauses in schedule 4 which dealt only with scientific and research standards, he became defensive and said he was all for devolution and democracy.

Pakistani academia zindabad, Pakistani media zindabad.

Resettling the Indus (Part 1)

2011-04-19T19:32:00.003+01:00

A useful, but highly improbable, thing that could possibly come out from the entire Greg Mortenson saga is a sense of introspection on the part of the global development/humanitarian sector. Without making any blanket accusations against the entire sector, it’s safe to say that there are multiple structural problems, specifically related to efficacy of aid interventions, and more importantly, context-specific practice.

In this larger theme of abstracted development, I recently found out that in a small basti near the Muzaffargarh canal, an international humanitarian organization installed a state-of-the-art hand-operated water pump to help affected residents obtain clean drinking water. It was part of a larger project, specifically aimed at areas where flood damage was the worst, and where threat of water-borne disease was the highest.

The water pump, a local villager announced, was used no more than 10-15 times - in 5 months.

The reason he gave was that the pump required a minimum of 3 people to operate, which was far too much for people who were used to smaller, single person operated handles. He said it seemed particularly useless to install a 3 person pump at a time when people were either sick, working the fields for the rabi crop, or taking care of their families and belongings.

The water pump story is one of many examples of misguided nobility to come out from the flood response. But alongside stories of muddled and haphazard assistance, I’ve also discovered what can rightly be labeled as one of the most brilliant cases of participatory, community centered recovery in the history of disaster management.

Resettling the Indus is the name of a small but incredibly talented organization formed by students of the Beaconhouse National University, and led by a couple of inspired young architects in the aftermath of the July floods. All of these people came together for the sole purpose of helping out the affected population in their hour of need. However, as opposed to being driven by some vague notion of ‘helping’, this organization has developed an agenda of purposeful, theoretically ingenious, and extremely creative recovery.

Using a cash-for-work model to rebuild destroyed houses and public infrastructure, the RTI team started off in a small basti in Muzaffargarh tehsil, designing houses exactly where they had fallen, providing villagers with both relief goods as well as construction material and equipment, and inducing a sense of collective responsibility within the residents to literally re-settle their community.

What I found most fascinating about their project was not the fact that they’d developed an efficient reconstruction program, but rather, the symbiotic relationship between their theoretical paradigm and the physical location of their activity.
What this team has successfully done, and which the institutionalized sector is struggling to do, is to understand the linkages between nature, community, and outside intervention.

As opposed to upsetting the historically evolved balance created by the way a village is shaped in a particular environment, the theory behind RTI seeks to re-grow a village using locally available material, and domestic labor, so as to remove costs and obstacles created by contractors and middle men. They’ve been ably facilitated by their invented technique to fashion multiple hazard resistant compressed mud-bricks that reduce cost of rebuilding by nearly 50 percent and create locally sustainable structures.

Beyond the blandness of development speak, the unquantifiable impact that this project has had on that community can only be witnessed in that particular space. The community that has been facilitated into resettling itself radiates a manner of cohesiveness, purpose, and camaraderie that’s arisen out of a sense of shared experience. Beyond the limited agenda of recovery, as important as that is, the residents of this small village are now seeking collective and shared solutions to solve long-term problems of subsistence and employment.

It is exactly this ingredient that is normally missing from the way development practice is carried out in Pakistan. Without efforts towards mobilizing the community, and without inducing ownership of the recipient population, the end-result remains incredibly sterile and ultimately unsustainable. In stark contrast to the RTI project, the government of Punjab’s own efforts to reconstruct villages has remained mired in controversy, mismanagement and an inability to get local people on board.

Perhaps the most amusing aspect, if one could call it that, is that a loosely organized, self-supporting, privately funded, group of twenty-somethings have produced a model of recovery that is not only sustainable and locally applicable, but has long-standing impact through the way it generates social collectivization. Land Cruisers, millions of dollars in institutionalized aid, fine-tuned administrative structures on one side, and Hyder Ibrahim, Hala Malik and their team of volunteers and students on the other. I have little doubt that the former would do good to learn a thing or two, or ten from the latter.

Also published in Pakistan Today on 21/04/2011

False Preferences

2011-04-11T05:27:00.001+01:00

This is not an op-ed on the pros and cons of HEC’s devolution/dissolution.

I refuse to give into opining expediency and follow the rest of this country’s English language writers by chipping in with my own two cents about a matter I know little about.

Oh yes, I have little hesitation in admitting that my personal clarity over the entire affair is close to zero – an admission that a number of people on twitter, Facebook, and the opinion pages of our English language dailies would do well to make. You see, the obfuscation of this HEC saga is largely a product of an overly hyperactive media/social media space. With public platforms more accessible than at any time in the past, every side wants to shout their argument the loudest – not realizing that an argument in complete isolation from its opposing viewpoint is primarily useless.

In any case, you get the picture.

The government has taken a decision, public action has made the President take notice, and now we’re at a situation where it seems things might just go either way. (Although I personally think the devolution will take place regardless of whether it’s the right thing to do or not).

Anyway, amongst all the talk and, frankly speaking, annoying chatter, there is something that really needs to be spelt out for the partisans amongst us.

The HEC has never actually undergone an objective evaluation – something that would give people on either side concrete reasons to argue with.

By objective, I don’t mean third-party, or multilateral sponsored, but rather a review of its performance on the basis of not just quantitative proclamations like ‘No. of PhDs’ or ‘No. of scholarships given’ but also on the basis of the quality of knowledge being disseminated because of HEC led interventions. If my idea of producing more PhDs was to give a free-reign to students who would indulge in dissertation topics like how ‘Pakistan has yet to recover from the debris of the Ottoman empire’, I would rather just spend that money elsewhere.

Regardless of all this, the thing that irked me off the most was that on a recent TV show, a certain pasty faced senator from the anti-devolution brigade stated that ‘Dekhain jee, HEC kay bannay say pehlay iss mulk mein PhD sirf Geography aur Social Studies jaisee cheezon mein ho rahee thee’ (Before the HEC came into being, the only fields where PhD studies were being done were Geography and ‘Social Studies’).

He went on to say how the HEC ensured the addition of valuable research in the ‘authentic’ fields of biotechnology, nanotechnology, material sciences etc. Now I know, throwing a hissy fit on the words of an irrelevant senator is not good for my blood-pressure or for my vow to stay sensible, but I honestly feel that this twisted preference for ‘real’ studies over ‘airy-fairy’ studies has gone on for far too long.

When I finally become Emperor (after due democratic process of course), one of the first things I would do is to carry out a public service campaign on the importance of impartial and objective social science education in a country like Pakistan.
Conventional wisdom would suggest that a developing country such as ours needs managerial and technical human resource. These individuals, in turn, would help in driving the economy, create an enabling environment for growth, become the engines of modernity, end poverty, bring world peace etc. People cite India’s IITs and IIMs as the most convenient example, But what they fail to see are the JNUs and the Presidency Colleges, and the St. Stephens and St Xaviers – colleges which are now capable of producing social scientists with terminal degrees in their fields with the ability to get tenured at the best universities in the world.

The problem, especially in our case, is that the drive towards prosperity and stability can never be a linear, technical process. Given the existence of multiple fractures, many of them primordial, within society, scientific rationalism, as Weber very eloquently put it, simply falls short in giving us the answer of how we can actually resolve difference, or how do we ‘live our life’. For 63 years, the process of identity resolution has come up short in giving us a viable answer. Our development processes have been exclusionary, our state systems oppressive, and our society increasingly paranoid. No number of nanotechnologists, with all due credit to their expertise, can solve this condition.

For me the real watershed moment in higher education would be when we start generating ideas that can actually solve our country’s very real socio-cultural problems. My inherent bias aside, I genuinely believe that the difference between a stable, coherent, and progressive polity, and with what we have right now, is the state of affairs of our own social science education. Till such time we drop this rather uninformed preference for the technical over the ideational, we’ll remain stuck in our current myriad.

Originally published in Pakistan Today on 11/04/2011

Good Work of the Day: Citizens Archive of Pakistan

2011-04-06T11:01:00.003+01:00

People of Cyberia, i was recently introduced to the amazing work the Citizens Archive of Pakistan is doing for underprivileged kids in Korangi, and i thought it's a good idea to post their promotional video here on the blog. So please read up on what they're doing, watch what they're doing, and help out in any way you can.

The issue of poverty and disenfranchisement, like the case of Korangi, gets lost amongst the gloss of urban privilege. Pakistan is a rapidly urbanizing country, and the gaps between the haves and the have-nots go well beyond simple village-town binaries.

It's important we provide encouragement and support to any initiative that aims to bridge this growing divide.

Pakistan vs The Enemy

2011-03-31T05:00:00.003+01:00

In the public imagination, FATA and Balochistan are two distinct problems with a common solution: both call for a military action against certain groups who’ve taken up arms against the state.

Give it a little agency sponsored spin and you can easily present it as ‘certain groups’ who’ve taken up arms against Pakistan.

This conflation of ‘state’ and ‘Pakistan’ takes place on a daily basis. All those who agree with the state, in effect, agree with Pakistan. Those who disagree, regardless of the merits of their arguments are ostracised, or in certain cases, branded as traitors. This presentation of conflict in such easy, digestible terms is an art form perfected by the Pakistani state. As a result of this version of rationalisation, the reaction to a dichotomous portrayal is fairly black-and-white as well.

In the case of Balochistan, part of the public believes it’s India + Willing Conspirators (the dark side) vs Pakistan (the eternal good). The slightly more introspective, but equally ignorant, believe it’s a straight up war between pre-modern tribalism and progressive modernity. In both cases, the Pakistan Army and its ancillary forces represent Luke Skywalker.

In the case of FATA, part of the public, (roughly the same part) believe it’s India + Willing Conspirators vs Pakistan. The slightly more introspective, yet shortsighted, believe it’s an ideological battle between pre-modern fanaticism and modern moderation. No prizes for guessing who plays Luke Skywalker in this conflict as well.

In the public eye, however, the two problems, apart from sharing a spot on the ‘things that plague Pakistan’ list, are seen as distinct from each other. What we’re left with as a result, is one large narrative, i.e., enemy vs Pakistan, and beyond that, smaller, but equally polarised narratives spread across the country.

If I was slightly more cynical, I’d probably be admiring the efforts of our deep state, (i.e., the agencies, the army, and their minions) in ensuring that the reality of violence and conflict in Pakistan is obfuscated, dumbed down and presented in the most convenient of fashions. Their greatest success, albeit completely by accident, has not been in peddling the conspiracy theory – Pakistan versus the World narrative, but more so in how introspective, critical members of our population have increasingly begun to buy into a dichotomous understanding of conflict in Balochistan, but more so of the war against extremism.

Sadly enough, the fact that’s missed out by most is that the real roots of conflict lie within the very edifice of the Pakistani state.
At a recent seminar discussing various aspects of Pakistan’s National Security Apparatus, Dr Ayesha Siddiqa and Aasim Sajjad both remarked how the project of cantonment-ising the country was going ahead with rapid speed. Even more interesting than this observation was that in 1861, the governor of what was then the Indian North West had remarked that the colonial state would benefit greatly from having a permanent cantonment and military presence in this part of the sub-continent. Like so many other colonial hangovers, it seems that the logic behind constructing a modern state apparatus in these parts has not been revised after independence.

Religious extremism and ethno-separatism are, no doubt, qualitatively and theoretically two very different phenomenons. But the particular manifestations of these problems found in Pakistan are both connected at the root to the way that power is structured and exercised in the country.

Balochistan, for example, has suffered years upon years at the high-handedness of a state that prides centralisation of authority over everything else. Every dictator, and nearly every political government, (present one excluded), has attempted to concentrate power and resources at the federal level, leaving provinces and districts with nothing more than small kitties for patronage dispensation. Beyond material wealth, the construction of a cultural policy, reliant on an abstract, near-metaphysical notion of Pakistani identity has furthered feelings of injustice. Very simply put, the two-pronged cultural plus material exploitation of a certain ethnicity has given rise to the Balochistan conflict.

Along the same lines, the roots of religious violence and bigotry are connected to the strategic imperatives of the security state, and contrary to what some may believe, are still very much intact. If the threat of Indian hegemony is what drove the cultivation of a culture of public morality as well as these religious groups, then there is little proof to suggest that a revision in thought has taken place at the policy-making level. The state continues to stock up on nuclear toys and military gadgets, continues to differentiate between loyal assets, and irritating assets, and continues to stoke a rabid media into a permanent sovereignty induced trip.

What we see now is the overt manifestation of a state that was created and strengthened on the principle of security and hastily constructed difference. What we see now is not a conflict between Pakistan and its enemies, but rather a conflict between the imperatives of securitised state and an increasingly fragmented society.

Originally published in Pakistan Today on 31/03/2011

Seminar on the National Security State

2011-03-25T23:42:00.002Z

Those of you who're based in Islamabad, there's a seminar being held on Monday, the 28th of March, at the Islamabad Press Club on the nature of the National Security State in Pakistan. Speakers include Hasil Bizenjo, Ayesha Siddiqa, Mushtaq Gaadi, and Aasim Sajjad Akhtar.

The National Security State: Curse or panacea?

Monday, 28th March 2011 at 3.30pm at the National Press Club, F-6, Islamabad.

The recently concluded ‘Raymond Davis’ affair once again underlines the intrigue and conspiracy that pervades decision-making processes in Pakistani corridors of power. And once again the reaction from political forces has remained limited to sloganeering on the part of the religious right and apologetic and confused arguments on the left. Yet this episode – like many others in the recent past – should open up a serious debate on the national security state and its future.

Since its inception the Pakistani state has laid claim to a national security ideology that has provided an emphatic justification for the security apparatus to dominate the polity. In the official narrative, an aggressive (Hindu) India to the east represents a perennial existential threat to (Muslim) Pakistan. This threat is further intensified by a (Pakhtun-majority) Afghanistan to the west which constantly seeks to foment secessionist tendencies in Pakistan’s own Pakhtun regions on its western frontier.

The secession of east Pakistan in 1971 is widely depicted as conclusive evidence of the ‘devious’ agenda of the Pakistani state’s neighboring countries. Both before and after 1971, ethnic, sectarian and other parochial conflicts within our borders have also been explained as ongoing attempts by India and its allies to destabilize Pakistan. In the present conjuncture, the ethnic insurgency in Balochistan, religious militancy in FATA and Pakhtunkhwa, and indiscriminate renegade violence carried out by ‘extremists’ in urban centres throughout the country, are all portrayed to be the work of the proverbial ‘foreign hand’.

Unfortunately, the response of progressive circles to the nexus of the security apparatus, right-wing parties and the media has been reactive. In some cases progressives have actively empowered the security apparatus to employ military means to ‘wipe out’ the ‘extremists’, effectively parroting the rhetoric that has defined America’s so-called ‘war on terror’. Ten years after 911, the national security ideology remains intact, the relationship between the religious right and the security apparatus remains ambiguous, separatism in Balochistan has reached a boiling point, and social polarization has increased manifold.

It is imperative to move beyond the rhetoric and clearly enunciate the structural causes of Pakistan’s multiple social conflicts, while simultaneously articulating an alternative to the national security state. The WPP invites you to be part of this effort at a seminar to be organized around the following themes:

The making of the national security state and imperialism Aasim Sajjad
The national security state and religious radicalism pre and post 911 Ayesha Siddiqa
The ‘Punjabi’ security state and its repercussions Mushtaq Gaadi
Moving beyond national security: a people’s welfare state Hasil Bizenjo

Organized by Worker’s Party Pakistan

On Myths and Exaggerations

2011-03-21T04:01:00.002Z

Every state, every nation, and nearly every social collective goes through the process of imagining its own roots and history. Similarly, every state, every nation, and nearly every social collective has its own heroes and in a few cases heroines. The process of creating history is partially done by the purposeful efforts of a few intellectuals, and partially done by the organic celebration of certain symbols and myths, and in nearly all cases, significant departure from, what we would consider to be, objective historical reality is commonplace.

The fact that the rationalization of the Pakistani state is also built upon exaggerations cannot be stated enough. The historical continuity drawn from the arrival of Islam in the sub-continent (via Mohammad bin Qasim) right down to the creation of Pakistan is perfectly linear. It is one long, uninterrupted story of Muslim arrival, conquest, glory, decline, and then finally, reclamation. Over and above this, from Bin Qasim to Mahmud of Ghaznavi to Akbar to Aurangzeb to Sir Syed Ahmad Khan and finally to Jinnah, the larger-than-life imaginations of real figures, decorate this very linear trajectory. Similarly, the constant reminder of the Hindu other aims to act as an instrument of internal cohesion.

Over time, the crystallization of this particular version of state identity has taken place in an environment of geo-strategic flux and change, and has been shaped by the compulsions of global politics and larger religio-political narratives. There is little doubt that the historical and sociological narration of our genesis is incredibly flawed, and in retrospect has ultimately yielded nothing more than an intolerant society, a tottering federation, and the ugly specter of religious terrorism. What this context dictates, however, is a need to find appropriate counter narratives, for the explicit purpose of resolving our identity question beyond the level of the state.

The traditional suggestion has been to rethink and revise discourse formation at the level of the state. This basically implies higher education reform, re-designing curricula, and freeing up space in the print and electronic media. But this particular route, to me at least, does not appear to be logical. The primary dilemma that I see in this is that in a country where state interest is equated with societal interest, any attempt to re-rationalize the state cannot possibly be expected from within the state itself. That, for all intents and purposes, would be akin to shooting oneself in the foot.

If the state is not to be trusted with the task fo self-revision and introspection, then the solution must lie within the realm of society itself.

Two days ago, I was lucky enough to participate in a discussion led by Manan Ahmad (South Asian historian in Germany), where the question of state identity was raised time and again. After much back and forth, the final analysis given by Manan was that exaggerating and lying about the past is a universal exercise. What is, however, important to keep these exaggerations in check, is the presence of a vibrant intelligentsia, that can recognize the exaggerations for what they are, and then proceed to generate counter-knowledge within society. This has the explicit advantage of ensuring that the exaggerated state identity of the establishment is kept in check.

Three weeks ago, I was unlucky enough to participate in a discussion led by a young research fellow/lecturer from a public sector, khaki run university in Islamabad. This young man started his talk by detailing the various aspects of Islamic rule in the sub-continent, drawing parallels between our current military apparatus and the forces of Mahmud of Ghaznavi. Amongst other things, his talk also highlighted how the military is, in fact, the last line of defense for our religion, and that the evil machinations of masked and unmasked enemy show that the world simply does not want the Islamic Republic to prosper.

He said all this in utmost seriousness.

In retrospect, when I think about that rather torturous evening, I realized that my depression does not stem from seeing the indoctrination of this young lecturer, but rather, it comes up because I know he’ll go on and spout the same exaggerated notion of identity in his classes, and ruin another generation for us. The importance of having an intellectual class that can see through the myth making of the state is immense, especially for a country like Pakistan. Till such time that our public universities and colleges bring about a sense of objectivity in the social sciences, the unfiltered proliferation of exaggerations, lies, and myths will continue unabated.

Originally published in Pakistan Today

Classes and Context

2011-03-14T21:13:00.001Z

History, it would seem, has decreed that we in the postcolonial world shall only be perpetual consumers of modernity. Europe and the Americas, the only true subjects of history, have thought out on our behalf not only the script of colonial enlightenment and exploitation, but also that of our anti-colonial resistance and postcolonial misery', (Partha Chatterjee, Nation and its Fragments: Colonial and Post-Colonial Histories)

As a function of the dismal nature of formal social sciences in Pakistan, most kinds of intellectual activity ends up taking place either outside the country or in consumable, dumbed down form as print-media opining and commentary - very much like the piece you're reading right now.

Nothing is more indicative of this tragedy than the fact that there has been no detailed study and categorisation of socio-economic classes in Pakistan over the last 39 years. From March 1972, when Hamza Alavi's New Left Review piece articulated his take on the structure of power in the country, to March 2011, we've been stuck in the same binaries and definitions accorded to us first by the British and then by academic work in the first few decades of independence. The tragedy is further compounded by the fact that our universities and colleges are more interested in determining how the world is still attempting to deal with the fall of the Ottoman Caliphate, as opposed to, well, pretty much anything even remotely relevant.

The quote I've so eloquently copy-pasted at the start was added not just to fill the word limit on a particularly uninspired evening, but also to give us a sarcastic take on how most post-colonial societies struggle to get taken seriously. While Mr Chatterjee was pre-dominantly concerned with the constant denial of agency to anyone not from Europe or America, another theme in his work has been the struggle of different societies to use ordained terms and categories for an adequate description of their own contexts.

If our contexts are akin to squares in circles, then we look the other way and try to ignore those pesky, obtrusive corners.

Roughly three years ago, especially in the aftermath of the lawyer's movement, there was a lot being written about the middle class in Pakistan. The movement, due to its corporatist, professional core, was seen as the manifestation of middle class sentiment in the country; a culmination, in a way, of the slow and steady proliferation of off-the-shelf capitalism, education, and access to information.

Eager to understand this new variable in society, many churned out article after article on what this could potentially mean for our existing political and social arrangements. All of this, it has to be remembered, was done with a pre-conceived and borrowed understanding of what is meant by the 'middle-class' and who exactly are its members, and with more or less complete disregard to how the dynamics of power have changed in Pakistan over the last 30-odd years.

Frequent usage of the word feudal, for example, to describe the landowning class highlights either sheer laziness or a very superficial understanding of the economy. Similarly, boxing the upper class as being constituted of feudals, industrialists and 'the establishment' (whatever that is) is again taking a very stagnant view of the country. In the aftermath of growing urbanisation, and shifts in the economy from agriculture to low-level industry to commerce, new classes have emerged and left their imprints on our socio-political landscape.

At a cursory level, new entrants include powerful members of the commercial classes (for example construction magnates, transporters, and large-scale traders), and leading figures in our small but burgeoning corporate sector. Similarly, within society, the rise of powerful right-wing religious leaders, who command cult-like followings and maintain contacts with political forces, are part of these new elite groups.

Beyond all of this, perhaps the most understudied social dynamic is the rapid increase in size of the informal economy, which is now estimated to be about 70 percent the size of our 'formal sector'. This cash-driven, fragmented sector employs a large portion of the labour force, is spread from Torkham to Karachi, and includes the movement of guns, drugs and other contraband. The power-brokers of the informal sector are ostensibly linked with the local authorities, with politically powerful individuals, political parties, even with the army and the bureaucracy.

Like I stated at the start, a discussion on emerging classes and the changing nature of Pakistani society is not meant to be conducted on the op-ed pages of an English language daily. These important developments should be discussed and researched with serious academic deliberation, something which, sadly enough, remains elusive in most universities. Till such time that we have a new and contextualised understanding of class and power in this country, our political commentary and praxis, both, will remain obsolete.

Originally published in Pakistan Today

The Mostly Elite

2011-03-09T06:10:00.009Z

A Daewoo bus running on the Rawalpindi - Lahore route is probably my favorite field site for practicing amateur anthropology. The thing that sets a Daewoo bus journey apart is that it happens to be in a weird little league of its own. A Daewoo is not a Kohistan, nor a Skyways, nor a Niazi, and its certainly not a New Khan. For most customers, a Daewoo trip is never a backup to that forever elusive Isb-Lhr PIA flight. A Daewoo bus journey, ladies and gentlemen, is a Daewoo bus journey.

Ever since I moved to Islamabad from Lahore nearly 7 months ago, I've clocked up a whole lot of Daewoo miles. Add that to my chronic problem of being unable to sleep in a moving vehicle, i'm often left with little choice but to dwell on the sociological composition of the bus. Given this rather boring combination, what i've realized is that when my bus leaves the station, the 30 odd travelers on it represent one of the most practical manifestations of the North Pakistani middle class.

You always have the student sorts, going home from either direction. You'll always have a couple of telecom/IT/Development professionals, lugging their laptops. You'll have the desi aunty type visiting her daughter, or the daughter with kids going home or back to her husband. You'll have the odd civil servant reading The Nation with great intent. You'll have a couple of Pashtun cloth merchants and a few Punjabi traders. All in all, it's an interesting mix of people, with each of them having just the right amount of disposable income to travel in relative comfort.

A few weeks ago, on my kazillionth mid-journey stop at Bhera (Sargodha), i chanced upon 7 chartered coasters full of young boys on their way back from a trip to Murree. These boys were students at one of the many private colleges in Lahore, and were what Karachiites lovingly refer to as 'Maila's' or what we in Lahore call 'Nash Laundas'. Their private college caters to a select class in society, mainly those sahibzadas and sahibzadis who can afford the marginally higher private college fees but basically suck at studying. Their's and other mono-building colleges are now responsible for providing education to a very large part of our urban population. The appearance and general demeanor of their student bodies suggests they're completely in sync with consumerism and some perceived notion of 'modernity'. Their language, social positioning and essence is, in all likelihood, still fairly rooted in indigenous culture.

For me, these young boys and girls are part and parcel of a larger middle class formation as well.

This post, for which these first few paragraphs were a lengthy preamble, is being written in response to Rafia Zakaria's eloquent but mostly misplaced op-ed in today's Dawn. The basic crux of her argument, as i understood it, was that there is a class of people in Pakistan that do not belong to the landed elite, nor to the industrial elite, but somehow possess enough wealth to purchase branded clothes and accessories, live in roughly the same neighborhoods, attend the same parties, be seen on the same social pages, and generally hang around with the actual elite. She labels them, interestingly enough, as the 'almost elite'. Their roots and social rise is not from land or industrial wealth, but rather on their abilities to dispense mental labor or artistic talent.

The article places this almost-elite, completely westernized (for the lack of a better word) in world-view and practice, as part of the country's middle class formation. The proposed tragedy is that they actively label themselves as part of the upper class, and in the process shrug off all the responsibilities that a constituent group of the middle class would have in a developing country like ours. The proposed solution, however, is that an honest appraisal of reality is badly needed, which would ultimately direct the talents of the almost-elite towards the betterment of Pakistan.

Despite the insistence of several people, i find this piece to be highly problematic, both in terms of definitional depth and in terms of the solution it has proposed, (the latter is intrinsically linked to the former). For starters, people who can afford to wear Armani and Versace, live in upper class neighborhoods, and get waited upon by servants and drivers, are not almost-elite. They are, for all intents and purposes, by all definitions and measurements, and by all perspectives, part of the elite. The origins of their wealth, or their personal talents and skills, do not in anyway separate them from the upper class.

The obvious question that comes out of this is then what exactly is the elite?

The Pakistani Elite:

In academic discourse for post-colonial societies, a class formation is defined in three distinct ways.

Firstly, it is defined in terms of its relationship with the prevalent mode of production, or to put it in simpler parlance, its economic status. In 1947, the elite of West Pakistan, under this particular definition, would be the landed families of Punjab, Sindh, British Balochistan, and Khyber Pakhtunkhwa. Alongside these families, there was a small but rapidly growing segment of industrialists and businessmen in Karachi, and to a much lesser extent, in Lahore. By the late 70's to early 90's, the elite consisted of landed families, the families who gained from the de-nationalization process, and the noveau riche businessmen and merchants of central Punjab, KPK, and Karachi. This third class was a direct consequence of the gradual shift from an agro-manufacturing to a commerce based urban economy, and the cultivation of closer trading ties with Europe, America, and the Gulf region in particular. From the mid 90's onwards, and through the last decade, the elite has expanded even further to include certain members of the services sector. CEOs, CFOs, Lawyers, Bankers, and even Consultants and Technocrats are now economically as well off as most mid-sized unit owners. They might not have direct control over labor as nakedly as land owners and industrialists, but they exercise considerable authority due to their position in the economy and the sheer amount of money they make.

Secondly, a class can be defined in terms of its own consciousness and cultural ethos. This particular bit is problematic when it comes to most countries, probably because it's near impossible to have homogeneous elite culture, orientation towards political systems, and a shared understanding of their own position in society. The Pakistani elite is no different in this regard. While Rafia Zakaria used Armani and Versace as qualitative measures of elite status, it would be worthwhile to mention that even within each elite sub-group there is considerable variation in adoption of western modernity and socio-political orientations. There are certain landed families where social liberal tendencies, globalized orientations, and positive attitudes towards formal higher education prevail, but for every Noon in Punjab, there's a Maher in Sindh. Incidentally, you'll be hard pressed to find a family more elite than the Mahers, but that still doesn't stop their sons from plastering their cheap sun-glasses adorning faces all across Ghotki district. Similarly, within the industrialist families, the attitudes of Chiniotis and Kashmiris are considerably different than other families. Nawaz Sharif is an elite by every possible definition but his personal sphere revolves largely around his biraderi as opposed to Sunday Magazine parties. It's predominantly the new elite which has been more amenable towards consumable western modernity, i.e. the accents, the designer bags, the parties etc etc. All in all, there is no one elite culture in itself, but the most whole-scale and accurate adoption of western social and cultural practices is now almost always found within these elite groups.

Thirdly, and perhaps most importantly in the case of Pakistan, elite status is defined in terms of proximity to state power. State power here implies the ability to use the resources and institutions of the state for personally determined aims. (The difference between personally determined as opposed to personal is important. The former leaves space for altruistic and positive acts through politics and the institutions of the state, while the latter is synonymous with rent-seeking, corruption, and nepotism). Major and even mid-sized landed families that enter active politics reinforce their elite status. Industrialists and the commercial elite have proximity to state power due to their ability to enter active politics, finance political parties, and influence bureaucrats and army men. The real conundrum is actually with these last two social groups. High ranking bureaucrats, Judges and Army generals are the most obvious representation of state power. They control capital, labor, and all sorts of other resources. They are deeply embedded in the political economy structure of an over-bloated state and hang around in largely the same circles as some portion of the economic elite. Their only problem is that usually get discarded once they retire (unless they've accumulated enough wealth during service). So while you're in service, handle a corps or a ministry, you're basically right there with all the others. Finally, this brings us to the connection between the service sector elite and state power. As far as i see it, the service sector elite is heavily linked to state and government officials. When the CEO of Abu Dhabi group's Pakistan operation held a wedding reception for his daughter, every major political leader was present (regardless of party affiliation), and every senior bureaucrat and General he's ever dealt with or was planning on dealing with was present. Similarly, I'd be hard pressed to find a person who can work as President of NBP for a gazillion years without having adequate connections with the powers that be. I'll concede that this new elite does not have access to disposable state power (they don't control SHOs and DCOs) but that kind of influence is probably only a few phone calls away, mostly to someone within their own families.

With that ladies and gentlemen, you have the economic, political, and social elite of this country. The almost-elite class of Rafia Zakaria's imagination is very much part and parcel of this formation in all its Armani wearing glory. I promised myself that i'd be as objective as possible about this, but there's something very infuriating about the fact that people still only associate land and industry with elite status in Pakistan. A topic as delicate as class analysis should rarely be put forward in op-ed form because it requires too much nuance, a solid understanding of our political and social history, and extensive attention to detail. A bumbling attempt, like this one, obfuscates our understanding of ground realities.

The only way to classify the 'almost-elite' as a middle class would be if we were talking about the global middle class. It's only at an international level where their Ivy league skills, artistic talent and liberal aesthetics find a middling presence, primarily in the company of similar individuals from different countries. As an example, it comes as little surprise that most of our English language writers were based abroad, some of them in very non-literary but highly skilled jobs. The real middle class, those who work jobs and worry about rent/bills, is what was flippantly described at the start. The middle class (both upper and lower) is not on the pages of the Sunday Magazine, nor do they share the same public and social spaces as the elite. They ride their Daewoos and it's only because of the elite and almost-elite that the PIA flight remains forever elusive.

However, amidst all the confusion, the op-ed unconsciously stumbled upon an important observation. What one could possibly take from it, after resolving the definitional contradictions, is that intellectual or artistic talent, has now become the sole prerogative of the elite in this country. I touched upon this in a whimsical way last week with my Asif Bhatti column, but in more concrete terms what needs to be stated is that a portion of the real middle class in this country has grown increasingly reactionary, largely apolitical, and completely immersed in the capitalist rat race. The middle class liberal is a dying breed. The middle class intellectual is also a dying breed. Its really not about getting the elites to think they're middle class. Its about getting the middle class to engage with alternate ideas, which at one point in our history was the norm. While the elite waxes lyrical about secularism and tolerance, the supposed engines of our developing economy are busy sharing Zaid Hamid videos on Facebook. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is our real problem.

Breaching Insulation

2011-03-07T05:06:00.003Z

Sometime during the late sixties, Asif Bhatti was born in the small town of Hafizabad in central Punjab. As the son of a small landholding peasant, bred by the gracious waters of the Chenab, he was no different from countless others conceived and given birth to in the same month, in the same area. All of these children would, in time, represent Punjab the same way their fathers and grandfathers had done before them.

Incidentally though, this was not the Punjab of their fathers or grandfathers. This was a fundamentally different land all together. This was the Punjab shaped by the effects of a determined variant of post-colonial modernity, i.e., the Green Revolution.

The onslaught of roads, of new markets, of transport and mechanization, of radio broadcasts, and travellers from all sides of the river, meant that for the first time in the thousand-year history of this province, the moral economy of a million peasant households was breached by ideas of a world way beyond their immediate horizon.

Asif Bhatti was born in one such household.

His father, having lived exactly the way his ancestors before him, was not content in watching his son grow up to till the same plot of land and live his life according to the whims of nature. No sir, Bhatti’s father wanted his son to be educated, so Asif was sent first to the local school and then subsequently to a college located some 30 miles away in the town center. He would come home after classes, sit in the feet of his father and in the company of his sisters, and would tell them of this wider world everyone was talking about.

Like many others, Asif soon outgrew Hafizabad and eventually moved to Lahore to study at one of the city’s many prestigious institutes of higher learning. It was in one such place that Asif was thrust headfirst into the realm of ideas.

Surrounded by teachers who could quote Descartes and Voltaire as easily as they could quote Ghalib and Iqbal, this peasant boy from Hafizabad slowly began to see possibilities of a starkly different kind of existence. He would still go home every now and then and tell his family about these new ideas and concepts but his thoughts now, fundamentally altered by the reality of urban existence, were incredibly out of place on the still banks of the Chenab.

Ultimately it was on one such visit, that Asif Bhatti would leave a lasting impact on the psyche of his own household.

Sitting under a tree with his sisters, Asif Bhatti casually asked one of them if she had found a suitable boy for marriage. For five minutes, the weight of these seemingly innocuous words did not register with her at all. At first, she thought this was a joke of a lewd and callous nature, not to be taken seriously for even a moment. After he inquired again, she realized that her brother was genuinely curious, so she responded in the way her instinct told her to: by bursting into tears.

Asif left for Lahore the next day, but his sister continued to weep for a week after his departure.

In that one moment, where he raised the question of whether his sister had exercised her God-given agency to find a suitable companion, Asif had shattered the thousand-year-old social fabric of Punjab. In one sentence, deep seated notions of social honor, gender segregation, of patriarchy, of pre-defined and religiously-ordained roles and characters were swept away.

Asif Bhatti eventually became a progressive journalist for an Urdu newspaper in Lahore, plying his trade during the oppression of the 80’s. His sister, after all the tears, eventually married a boy of her liking.

In the wake of Shahbaz Bhatti’s assassination, I find myself utterly unequipped to write an emotional exhumation of any kind. I have little hesitation in admitting that I am untrained and unworthy of writing eloquent obituaries for both man and country. This story, however, about a young boy from Hafizabad, who found ideals of plurality and fulfillment from the education he received in Lahore, is the only thing I could think of in the immediate aftermath of both Taseer’s and now Shahbaz Bhatti’s murder.

Amidst the shrill, albeit segregated, cacophony of voices pleading introspection and self-reflection, the only solution I can see is that we need more Asif Bhattis. There is little question that the demise of critical thinking and pluralistic notions of existence from within the educated classes is one of the major factors contributing to the rapid implosion of our society. We can only have more Asif Bhattis if the insulation of tolerant ideals from the rest of the country ends and these ideals are brought back into public universities, and subsequently within reach of our middle classes.

There is no other time to reverse this trend and stem our downward spiral than the present. What keeps me optimistic, however, is that if a boy reared in the reactionary bastion of this country, i.e. central Punjab, can not only imbibe but also preach such values, there is a chance that such a proliferation is possible once again.

Originally published in Pakistan Today

Post-Colonial Expression in Pakistan

2011-02-23T06:39:00.003Z

A twitter exchange with resident twitter architect Mahraani just got me thinking about the notion of colonial and post-colonial in Pakistan, especially when it's placed within the context of a particular discipline like architecture. The exchange started with the notion that Pakistan has failed to develop a post-colonial architectural identity for itself, which all things considered, is no different than the notion of Pakistan's failure to develop a national identity beyond the negation of Hindu domination, and the celebration of a particular language.

A year or so ago, i was pretty hung up on the works of Partha Chatterjee, who for me answered a lot of questions about post-colonial identity in South Asia. Chatterjee is a thick writer, but his words have a roundabout way of making sense some time after you've actually gone through the physical act of reading them. One of his personal jihad's, none too different than many other post-colonial Indian writers, was to locate a narrative of Indian independence outside the confines of colonialism. What that essentially means is that he had become sick and tired of hearing how had the British not brought education and post-enlightenment rationality with them to India, we would never have had a western-educated, liberal anti-colonial movement, and hence the entire notion of a nation-state of India (and Pakistan) would never have been born. It's frustrating for anyone to know that the fruit of your struggle was itself an inadvertent gift from your colonial masters. Bothered by this thought, the subaltern school, and post-colonial historians in general, tried locating indigenous narratives of colonial resistance, pre-colonial resilience, and post-colonial expression.

For Chatterjee, the theoretical problem was solved when he bifurcated the Indian body and mind into two neat portions. One was the outer layer, developed solely to deal with the colonizers using their terms and perspectives. The other layer, was the inner Indian layer, which was protected from colonial modernity and maintained an aggregation of a true Indian essence. It was this inner Indian layer which ultimately expressed itself in various forms during the anti-colonial resistance, such as through Tagore's poetry, Gandhi's satyagraha, and even through the rise of Savarkar and the Hindu right wing.

So the problem for India was trying to locate continuity between their pre-colonial existence, it's dialectical transformation under colonialism, and finally a synthesized, syncretic post-colonial identity, created with large doses of a 4000 year old tradition, and the 250 year encounter with European modernity. They've been struggling with it in parts, as competing narratives try to push each other out of the picture, but in any case the floor is open for vibrant debate. Within this 60 year long journey for post-colonial consolidation, they've come up with definitive, indigenous ways of expressing their identity (regardless of whether it's architecture, or literature, or film etc).

For Pakistan the question is a lot more difficult. The constituent areas of this country have little in common with each other, and in some cases, have no pre-colonial history at all. Our constant harking back to a Mughal past speaks volumes about how lost we are in terms of constructing an indigenous narration that can move through pre, colonial, and post-colonial times. Local language is probably the only arena that offers some level of continuity, but even that has been sidelined in favor of a more modern country-wide language. For Pakistan, post-colonial identity is premised on some vague understanding of Muslim rule in the sub-continent, an understanding completely devoid of any geographical reality considering how Quetta was never part of the Mughal empire.

Anyway, there's a lot more than can be said on this particular subject, but i'll stop here. Post-colonial expression can only come after we've adequately dealt with and understood our pre-colonial and colonial inheritance, and the actual, physical fact of our existence as a nation-state in isolation from any other territorial entity. Till then, gumbads and minars for everyone.

Loyalty and Power in Punjab

2011-02-22T04:57:00.001Z

By the summer of 1857, the Great Revolt, as it was labeled at the time, had reached the heartlands of Punjab. There were reports of defections amongst the sepoys posted in Ferozepur garrison, while junior British officers had intercepted mutinous communication in Peshawar as well. With these warning signs ringing out loud and clear, the commissioner of Punjab Sir John Lawrence hastened all efforts to gather public notables and local influentials on his side in anticipation of battles to come.

Deputy Commissioners in the districts of Western Punjab were asked to communicate with powerful rural magnates to raise arms and financial support for the defense of the Empire. A rallying cry was issued in the province, an open request of sorts for everyone to showcase their loyalty to British imperialism.

It was a request that did not fall on deaf ears.

Punjab became the bastion of loyalty to the British, as nearly all chiefs and landlords of note pledged their support to the forces of the East India Company. From within the folklore of this particular period, there is one particular display of loyalty that recently came to my attention.

After small-scale mutiny in the Punjabi cantonments of Ferozepur, Jhelum, Ambala and Jullundur, the sepoys turned their attention to Shahpur district (now known as Sargodha). With events unraveling in this manner across the rest of the province, there was much anxiousness in the air at the Deputy Commissioner’s office. His apprehensions, however, were soothed by Malik Sahib Khan of Mitha Tiwana, patriarch of one of the most powerful landed families in the district.

Ian Talbot narrates the incident in the following words:

‘Malik Sahib stood before Mr. Ousley, salaamed and offered him the handle of his sword with the point directed towards his own body and said, I have fifty horsemen and I can raise three hundred. I can clothe and feed them, and if no questions are asked, I can find them arms as well. They and my life are yours.’

Fast forward to the 21st century, and just a few days ago, the Punjab Assembly Speaker recognized the right of 47 dissident MPAs to sit independt of their current party affiliation in the legislature. This particular event was the culmination of nearly 3 years of forward-bloc politics by PML-Q provincial legislators, who were determined to distinguish themselves from the leadership of the Gujrat brothers.

Regardless of the fact that at least 34 of these MPAs had been associated with the PML-N prior to the events of 1999, this newfound loyalty to the current rulers in the province is, at the same time, both amusing and depressing. It appears, that the only surviving determinant of political orientation and positioning in this province is proximity to state-power.

At different times over the last three years, various leaders of this PML-Q forward-bloc carried out pilgrimages to Raiwind, simply to show their support and loyalty to the PML-N. As a modern day equivalent to Tiwana’s ‘They and my life are yours’, reports suggest oaths and promises have been made with one hand resting on the cover of the Holy Book.

Claims of unwavering loyalty and commitment to the cause of the Sharif brothers come at a time when the coalition government in Punjab appears to be tottering. It seems that a failure on behalf of the PPP to implement the 10 point agenda of the PML-N, would see their ouster from the Punjab government, hence inducing the need for new numbers to step in.

The tragedy behind such blatant displays of power politics is that this has become the modus operandi for political practice in the province, and probably in the entire country. Many of these MPAs had previously displayed the same enthusiasm and loyalty to the government of Chaudhary Pervaiz Elahi not more than 4 years ago, and I’d be willing to bet a fair amount that the same faces would gravitate towards anyone who replaces the current government.

The Tiwana example, one of many from the time, and the example of the forward-bloc, one of many from more recent times, highlight how power is cherished and sought at the expense of any larger ideological or party commitment. There is little doubt in my mind that the institutionalization of power has come at the expense of party-building and democratic maturity, and this process seems to be continuing unabated.

As a reward for his loyalty to the Imperial cause, Malik Sahib Khan Tiwana, in 1858, was granted 8000 acres of Crown Land near the banks of the river Jhelum, complete with the right to dig his own private canal. In 2011, the present day equivalence of 8000 acres would be the 7 provincial ministries that would fall vacant if the PPP legislators are evicted from the treasury benches.

Originally published in Pakistan Today on 21/02/2011

Forward-Blocs and Punjabi Political Culture

2011-02-17T17:56:00.003Z

Before i begin pontificating on forward-bloc politics, i just want to let everyone know that i'm in a pretty whimsical mood right now. My arguments will probably be lax and hollow, and at times grossly essentialist in nature, but that's okay because this is, after all, a blog, and the only purpose of this post is to create context to what's been happening in the Punjab assembly.

A day or two ago, the Punjab assembly speaker accepted an application submitted by a group of provincial legislators from the PML-Q asking the house to recognize them as a separate political entity within the legislature. Signed by 47 members, of which 43 were present, the primary effect of this particular move is that it shifts the tag of majority within the PML-Q on to the forward bloc (led by Dr. Tahir Ali Javed) and reduces the followers of current opposition leader Ch. Zaheerudin to around 30 odd. Under simple majoritarian principles, the numerically legitimate PML-Q legislature party is now the N-League supporting forward bloc because they have more numbers. Technically though, rules of procedure have stipulations to qualify such moves, and its probably safe to say that any attempt to shift the leadership of the provincial PML-Q from Zaheer to Dr Tahir will be contested by the Chaudharies and their friends in the backward bloc (??).

In case you're wondering, the forward bloc is a group of provincial legislators who were quick to recognize the fact that sticking with the Chaudhary-led PML-Q after the 2008 elections was not going to be very rewarding. They literally wasted no time in announcing support for the PML-N and immediately started making backdoor deals to get as many of their own party members on their side as possible. For a history of the PML-Q forward bloc, please read this fairly comprehensive summary by Faizan Bangash in The News from a couple of months ago.

At this point, it's probably fair to dismiss all of this with a casual shrug, especially when considering how the PML-Q first came into being. A party that was built on the en-masse defection of nearly every electable member of the Muslim League in Punjab was bound to fall victim to it's own rationale once it was out of power. All things considered, the fact of the matter is that in my beloved province power is institutionalized while parties are not. The effect of this latest round of large-scale defection is that it marks pretty much the beginning of the end to PML-Q's time in provincial politics, and if things continue in this way, the PML-Like Minded Group will ensure that the Chaudhary led faction of the party is pushed into electoral irrelevance at the national level as well.

(For those of you who don't know this either, the PML-LMG is another faction within the PML-Q, led by Hummayun Akhtar and Saleem Saifullah against the domination of the Gujrat brothers in the party. It's an open fact that Akhtar has hated the Chaudharies for a very long time, and this ultimately culminated with the Chaudharies ensuring that Akhtar was not made Prime Minister when Jamali was shown the door by Musharraf).

Factionalism has been the modus operandi for Muslim League politics in the post colonial period. It took only a few years after independence for the first major split to occur in the League when Feroze Khan Noon and Dr. Khan Sahib broke away to form the Republican Party in 1955. Incidentally, Khan took the governership of the newly formed West-Pakistan one unit while Noon became the Prime Minister of the country. Also incidentally, the faction was handcrafted by the bureaucratic machinery to have a more pliant political leadership in control of the country. All of this sounds incredibly familiar regardless of which example we choose to talk about - 1955, 1958-60 (convention League), 1985 (Nawaz-Chaudhary League brokered by Gen. Jillani), or 2001 (PML-Q).

So the Muslim League breaks up every now and then. It's understandable to the extent that you'd expect a party full of egos and aristocratic landlords to do just that. But why does it happen so often to the Muslim League, why does it happen so often in Punjab, and subsequently why is it that the politics of Punjab is marked by deal-making, backdoor brokering, and horse-trading (lota-baazi)?

Just think about this: there were 16 patriots who left the PPP and joined forces with the PML-Q after the 2002 election. Only 1, i repeat, 1 patriot was from Sindh (PPP MNA from Ghotki), while most of the remaining 15 were from Punjab (famous ones being Faisal Saleh Hayat of Jhang and Rao Sikandar of Okara). The 2002 election was won by a party that drew 80 percent of it's membership from another party, who's leader had just been packed off into exile. In 1970, there were only 2 major landlords in Punjab that contested the election from a PPP ticket. By 1977, 19 out of 23 of the largest landlords of the province had joined the PPP at some-point before the election. In the same vein, the 1946 Muslim League drew most of its support from the defecting electables of the Punjab Unionist party. Regardless of which way you look at it, the history of this province's electoral history is built on defection and deal-cutting. Punjab, apart from a few years in the late 60's and early 70's, has only had one overarching political domain, i.e. the domain of elite politics.

So the million dollar question is why?

Well part of the explanation has to do with the history of this region and the interaction its indigenous populations have had with the outside world. Punjab has always been a region of flux and change, regardless of whether its because of Afghan invaders, Central Asian invaders, or European invaders, the province has had to deal with competing cultures, multiple religions, and cross-cutting transformations in society and economy. The constant importation of different paradigms and world-views has, according to some scholars, developed a culture of resilience within Punjabis. What that essentially means is that Punjabis are amenable to change, but they also like protecting whatever they perceive as an important instrument of self-definition.

For example, Farina Mir in her book highlights how the Punjabi language survived and flourished despite no state-patronage whatsoever. It's a bit far-fetched trying to import a post-modern argument on language to the political circumstances of 20th and 21st century Punjab, but at one level it does make sense: For Punjabis, the most important instrument of self-definition is the identification of one's role in a particular community (normally biraderi/mohalla/village). Politicians, given their self-defined roles as important members of a particular community, act on the instinct of preserving themselves, their identity, and by consequence, their community.

When the survival of a community or a network is coupled with a rent-seeking tendency, politics becomes primarily a game of objective state-power as opposed to ideology, loyalty or commitment. What is also important is that the preservation of a community or a network is not at odds with modernity itself. In fact, Punjabis have synthesized primordial loyalty with a capitalist/accumulative ethos very well, which has further marginalized the concept of loyalty and commitment. Your first loyalty is with yourself and the community and your second loyalty is with anything that helps you maintain your responsibilities to the first. If this explanation is taken at face-value, it primarily implies that the lota-baaz culture of Punjabi politics is a function of the region's experience in terms of resilience and amenability to change. Resilience of community produces the instinct to accumulate power and resources, while amenability to change produces the instinct to jump wherever the first obligation can be fulfilled. In short, the next time when you hear about floor crossing or horse trading, just try to remember that it's engrained in the cultural fabric of this province and cannot be willed away.

Devolving Democracy

2011-02-15T04:06:00.002Z

Taking liberty of my little corner in this newspaper, I’d like to thank the many dedicated internet pirates who make it possible for me to watch the latest episode of the American comedy TV show ‘Parks and Recreation’ just a day after it’s original broadcast in the US. First recommended to me by fellow blogger Kalakawa, to whom I remain eternally grateful, Parks and Recreation is a mockumentary style show that covers life in the parks and recreation department of a local government setup in a fictitious small sized American town.

Apart from the its constant mockery of the near-universal aspects of bureaucratic incompetence and red-tapeism, the show also highlights how communities become involved and eventually own decision making processes at the local level. You probably don’t need an NBC produced sit-com, or for that matter a World Bank annual development review, to be aware of the pros and cons of localized governance, but in a country where the phrase ‘true’ democracy is used with reckless abandon, it won’t do much harm if our politicians watched it once in a while.

Democracy, in so far as it’s pro-poor, rooted and community based, is as worthy an ideal as any in this world, and within that, bringing decision making processes to the people themselves is probably the most substantive component of statecraft – a department where we currently aren’t covering ourselves in any glory. The current provincial governments, while making procedural nods towards the importance of devolution, have continued to institutionalize bureaucratic authority at the district and divisional level - and as things stand, it seems that the age-old Pakistani trait of instituting devolution under dictators and strengthening bureaucrats under politicians holds true to this day.

Does this apparently peculiar trait imply that our 3 men on horse (donkey) back were more committed to cultivating substantive democracy than our politicians? The answer according to Dr. Ali Cheema (LUMS) and Dr. Asim Khwaja (Harvard) is an emphatic no. Their detailed study on the history of devolution reform in Pakistan shows that all three systems were half-baked, half-hearted attempts at devolving decision making, and largely successful attempts at centralizing more power and authority at the federal level.

For Ayub, the cultivation of a new breed of middle-income politicians allowed him to bypass opposition to both the one-unit scheme and his brand of interventionist dictatorial politics. For Zia, the 1979 reform introduced patronage based local governments that helped him cool off the political climate by redefining politics as an instrument to fix road potholes and leaky water-taps. In 2001, Musharraf enacted his variant of non-party based devolution to break the back of DMG bureaucrats and provincial politicians through the a local setup which was toothless in terms of actual fiscal capacity, hence rendering its complete dependence on the central government for development and administrative expenditure.

All three of these reform efforts were done with the sole intention of making life in Islamabad more comfortable for the regime in power, and on each occasion, subsequent democratic governments were quick to undo these reforms.

To be fair, the impact of ill-intentioned devolution has been substantial on the way politics is conducted in Pakistan, but that hardly absolves our political parties from the responsibility of enacting sensible local government reforms.

Broadly speaking, there are two major benefits of localized administration: Firstly, nobody knows the problems of a community better than that community itself. In a day and age where the average constituency size of a provincial assembly member can cover both rural and urban areas, the chances of engaged and informed representation are close to zero. An empowered (both fiscally and authority-wise) local body setup representing a few neighborhoods can make community based development possible and at the same time actually allow our provincial and national level legislators to focus on law-making as opposed to fixing roads and water taps.

Secondly, party-based devolution will force political parties to develop grass-roots level linkages and organizational structures to deal with the rough and tumble aspects of local statecraft. By creating channels between Islamabad (or provincial capitals) and some random union council, consensus exercises to back policy reform will be possible right down to the household level, and in the same vein, federal and provincial party bosses will be more aware of the issues faced by that elusive person known as ‘the average Pakistani’.

In a political culture where everyone is trying to establish his or her street-cred as the ultimate defender of democracy, the lack of attention being paid to devolution is pretty tragic. No party in this country seems to recognize the potential impact that sensible and informed devolution can have on the way our political economy is currently structured, and this ultimate reliance on bureaucrats and strong-men to run the show at the local level reeks of the same gross expediency we’ve become so used to. If the mainstream parties, especially the PML-N, don’t realize this rather major oversight on their part, the process of institutionalizing democracy will remain, by all accounts, nothing more than a procedural show-and-tell.

Originally published in Pakistan Today on 15/02/2011

The Problem of Reform Agendas

2011-02-07T02:36:00.002Z

In consequence of our current socio-economic predicament, there’s been a renewed interest in bringing policy debate back to the forefront of public discourse. Calls are made to bring clarity and vision in our reform agenda. To take steps to tighten our belts and our purse strings. To cut excess fat, rationalise the state, and sacrifice short-term gain for long-term growth. There’s a somewhat growing cacophony of dissent in the capital city, highlighting alarm and concern, whilst simultaneously urging the powers that be to start taking the country seriously for a change.

Except there’s just one not-so-small problem: The distance between policy design and the implementation of its wisdom involves traversing through the incredibly thick forest of Pakistani politics - and that ladies and gentlemen, is a task of gargantuan proportions. All things considered, it’s largely symptomatic of the sterility of development discourse in this country that political realities are often ignored in the process of policy formulation, especially at the highest level. From one angle, it almost seems as if a neat divide has been purposefully created between politics and policy-making, and the artificiality of this divide becomes starkly evident when you realise that at the end of the day, there is only one economy and only one polity. A political system cannot function in abstraction from its economic basis, and similarly economic or social policy cannot be willed into existence without establishing its cognisance with political reality.

A good example of this fracture can be found in a recent article posted on the popular blog ‘All Things Pakistan’ by the Deputy Chairman of the Planning Commission, which covered the premise for the New Growth Strategy and some of its salient features. One of the major points stated was that harnessing entrepreneurial potential, enhancing urban business creativity, and targeting the youth demographic will be a major step away from the current project based paradigm that Pakistan has been following for at least the last 25 years.

In his article, Dr. Nadeem states that ‘This current strategy has led to PSDP being skewed towards brick and mortar projects, where the government is involved in building assets that could have been furnished by the private sector, more efficiently…the high share of civil works in PSDP (almost 50 percent) leaves little space for training and retaining human capital in productive and social sector.’

There is no doubt that over time, land and natural resource wastage, public enterprise failure, and skewed budget priorities have all contributed to our gradual push towards economic oblivion. But the important thing is that to prevent Pakistan’s descent into economic chaos, we need to understand the rationalisation process of our political economy, and recognise how policy and reform efforts continue to miss out on that part of the picture.

After multiple readings of the paragraph quoted above, one thing in particular is worth pondering over: ‘high share of civil works in PSDP….’ Most development sector professionals see this as a decision-making error by our bureaucrats/technocrats. The way forward, in their mind, would be to shift focus from one-time projects to more long-lasting endeavors, almost like flicking a switch.

But we all know that things are never this simple. There is a very good reason why civil works dot our development paradigm, and that reason is largely political in nature. The dominant actors of our urban politics, such as contractors and real estate magnates, push government planners for fat civil works projects, (roads, bridges, buildings), that help them make money, which they can later use to curry favor with government officials, finance and empower political parties, and maintain their extensive patronage systems within the state and in society.

Patronage drives our political economy, and in a country where the state remains a major economic actor, both in terms of handing out economic opportunities and controlling productive capital, the space for maintaining political power AND shifting priorities/initiating reform is considerably small. In a stop-start democratic setup, political parties are often busy ensuring their own survival, and as a consequence of frequent military interludes, politicians don’t know how to think in terms of long run benefits. Civil works are just one example of how the state-government nexus caters to its self-defined formula for survival, and that seems to fit in a vacuum of ideology and ideals about a greater good, allowing materiality, individual pursuit and patronage to dictate the boundaries of our political economy.

The challenge for reformers, thinkers, and political activists is to create necessary political and public ownership for any meaningful long-run agenda. Developing policy behind closed doors and hoping that it will revolutionise our state of existence is nothing more than wishful thinking. For the last 3 decades, the concept of a larger ideal has almost completely disappeared from our political culture, and unless or until we re-introduce that in the polity, our political economy will remain stuck in myopic, rent-seeking misadventures.

Originally published in Pakistan Today on 7/02/2011

Policy and Patronage in Pakistan

2011-01-31T16:23:00.003Z

I've been wanting to write on the disjunct between politics and policy ever since Ahsan wrote this blog-post but work kept getting in the way of such important stuff. Anyway, that particular blog-post was followed up by this relatively toned down op-ed in Dawn, covering largely the same topic, with largely the same question: Why is our politics marred by a complete marginalization of policy debate/action?

Ahsan prefers using the term power politics as the overarching theme for our political system - regardless of whether its under the garb of a quasi-military regime, or a nominally elected regime. The focus on power politics creates an environment that remains sterile from all ideological or theoretical dimensions, thereby reducing the scope for policy based positioning. All actors in the system are more concerned with the attainment of state-power as opposed to its focused exercise. Most voters are concerned with the fruits of state-power (i.e. personalized resource utilization), as opposed to any larger agenda.

The calculus, in such a backdrop, becomes a lot more simpler: A party can only function as a political party (i.e. a representative institution) when it happens to be in power. When a party is outside of power, it finds the very rudimentary function of organizing political will a lot more difficult. The goal is to get into power so that you, the voter, and i, the party man, can both benefit

When all is said and done, the term power politics is actually a simplified synonym for patronage politics. And patronage politics is largely determined by the desire to access, and the ability to distribute, economic (paisa) and social (jaan-pehchan) rent. In a multi-party system, clients will only remain loyal if you continue offering them these services, while a failure to do this will result in a loss of that support which is not otherwise captive.

Here is a simple formula to understand the base of mainstream political parties in Pakistan

Party Base = Captive Voters + Non-Captive Supporters

Captive Voters: Those voters which are bound spatially, culturally, economically, and/or ideologically to vest faith in only one party regardless of the party's ability to meet ALL voter demands. Some voter demands are always met in order to ensure captivity, for example cash transfers such as the Benazir Income Support Program, employment in public enterprises, provision of rudimentary civic amenities in places where community mobilization/collectivization is strong (where the entire community, mohalla or village, is one vote block).

Non Captive Supporters: These are the actual lynchpins of our political system. Non-captive voters are normally those dominant economic actors which make party functionality possible. They can be landlords or industrialists, traders or transporters, real estate developers or public works contractors, etc etc. These actors are, on their own, hardly a significant portion of the vote bank in terms of numbers, but they do control economic and social resources that allow political parties to generate and access rent-providing systems, and keep captive voters captured. The tendency of these non-captive voters/supporters is mostly to vest faith in that party which can ultimately serve their purpose, i.e., the perpetuation of their stock of economic and social capital. In a lot of cases, it is these actors who step up to act as political agents as well, which sort of explains why there's so much horse-trading in our country. When your motivation is solely to perpetuate your dominant position in our economic and social hierarchy, the adoption of a broad-based, long-term strategy seems like a waste of time. Hence, you'll go to whatever side that seems to be better suited to your narrow requirements.

Understanding non-captive supporters is crucial to understanding the general way our political parties work. In a lot of cases, the total lack of a policy direction is purely a function of parties trying to please their respective backers and supporters, who are often at odds with each other. For example, the PML-N has both a rural and an urban supporter base, which basically means that talk of imposing a tax on retailers and merchants is unacceptable, but talk of removing agriculture subsidy or levying agriculture tax is also unacceptable. Similarly, increasing load-shedding in urban centers to divert energy to industry will mean a trade-off between mercantile groups and industrialists, both of whom control their own share of MNAs and MPAs.

This is the core of what i've been trying to explain in a fairly roundabout way. Policy based development/governance is. by its very nature, focused, and hence ultimately, exclusionary. Not everyone can be satisfied within the same policy prescription. Hence, to keep your particular everyone satisfied, you ditch policy direction for more expedient and short-term objectives. The entire gamut of progress in this country is marked by a reverence of project-based development. Build dams, build roads, highways, buildings, arcades, parking plazas, even schools and hospitals. All of these projects, while having some positive impact on the majority, are mainly driven by the demands of contractors, transporters, agriculture barons, and others like them. All of these projects are rarely ever part of some long-term agenda for improving structural conditions in Pakistan.

Finally, the role of the state, i.e. the bureaucracy and the military, is very important in understanding the dynamics of policy making in Pakistan. Firstly, it goes without saying that policy making in non-localized, macro issues remains with the powers-that-be. Political parties bring technocrats on board from time to time, but they're mostly stuck between the whims of khakis and babus on one side, and the rabid sentiments of non-captive supporters and party financiers on the other. Secondly, the state is an important economic actor, in so far as it has the capacity to hand out tenders, finance large projects, and more importantly, create enabling environments for other economic activities (by handing out licenses, removing restrictions etc). A bureaucracy that is bursting at the seams with collusive potential will probably never stay out of this entire patronage system. For a piece of the pie, it will willingly give up any commitment to larger policy visions and directions, something that could be important in a country where governments come and go.

Frankly speaking, i don't even pretend to find silver-lining in this system of politics. I honestly believe that the purposeful injection of ideological sterility in governance by Zia and the 90's establishment is not something that we can wish away. What, at most we can hope for is homogeneity of conditions in the country. If we have more urbanization, and that too of a homogenous variety, we can hope that all political/economic stakeholders will be on one page in terms of long run focus. Till then, as long as we have competing economic actors and political parties who choose expedient patronage politics as opposed to the harder but potentially more fruitful policy-based politics, we will continue to see more of the same.

The Urban Dilemma

2011-01-24T04:32:00.002Z

For multiple decades after independence, mainstream politics, and public perception, remained heavily tilted towards agrarian Pakistan. The nature of our political system fortified the view held by residents of ‘urbanistan’ that ‘landlordism’ was the number one socio-economic ill in this country - responsible for everything ranging from lack of educational attainment, to female oppression, to lower levels of capital accumulation. The most recent manifestation of this particular phenomenon was in the debate on the implementation of an agriculture income tax – the failure of which was seen once again as the product of the vice-like grip that landlords have on our political and policy space.

The persistence of such views, both in Karachi and in parts of central Punjab, is not completely without reason. Land inequality, does after all, remain one of the biggest impediments towards both, rural development, and persistently low levels of agrarian accumulation. But at a more analytical level, urban besiegement simply highlights how discourse and analysis have remained largely static and have completely failed to capture new trends and developments in Pakistani society.

In 2009, urbanisation levels were officially reported at 34.3 percent. Unofficial calculations, including those done by multi-lateral institutions, placed it at around 39-40 percent. The total contribution of the urban services sector was nearly four percent more than agriculture and industry combined. Similarly, employment in the services economy has surpassed employment in manufacturing by nearly 4.6 percent. What these statistics allude to is that Pakistan can no longer be classified as a predominantly rural society.

The urbanity of a country can be gauged from both its economic and demographic characteristics, as well as from the premium its politics places on urban opinion. Both of these qualifications, in today’s context, point to Pakistan’s shift towards a heavily urbanised socio-economic and political ethos. The trouble however, is that we have yet to connect how our economic condition continues to inform our socio-political reality.

For example, the failure to even talk about an agriculture income tax was quickly labelled as another victory for the landed elite, but the failure to implement the reformed general sales tax was hardly connected to the political clout that traders command in at least two of our main-stream parties. Similarly, the hue and cry over higher petrol prices, while done in the name of the ‘common man’, was largely reflective of the demands of major transporters groups, all of which stood to lose profits had the decision persisted.

All things aside, efforts to regularise, formalise, and tax the services sector have always been resisted by trading associations and transporters groups through street action and public agitation. But the major difference between the strikes of the late 1970’s, and the backdoor/frontdoor politicking of 2011, is that these urban groups have managed to find institutionalised voice in the process of participatory politics through the PML(N) and MQM.

What all this amounts to is that if landlords and ‘feudals’ were the lynchpins of our political landscape over the last century, then transporters, traders, and contractors are the powerful arbiters of policy space in present-day Pakistan. But it doesn’t quite stop there. Beyond policy space, our prevailing urban political arrangements are now also largely responsible for setting the boundaries of social discourse.

The bend towards orthodoxy, conservatism, and deep-seated intolerance is positively correlated with our move towards a services based urban economy. Trader associations, for example, have always allied themselves very closely with right-wing movements, and have contributed to the Afghan and Kashmir insurgency, and to sectarian causes. Most recently, on a trip to Lahore, it came as a little surprise that most banners in favour of the killer Mumtaz Qadri proudly proclaimed multiple trader associations as willing sponsors.

When the liberal/progressive community throws up its arms at how mainstream parties remain mum about Taseer’s assassination, they miss a very important point in how this wave of deformed conservatism is actually a confluence of multiple currents in our political economy. No mainstream party wants to alienate its financiers and supporters when there is a chance that an election could very well be around the corner. No politician, involved in constituency politics, would want to lose his campaign funding or face a kaafir bullet from his opponent.

There remains absolutely no doubt in my mind that there is an urgent need to focus our debate on the sociology of urban Pakistan. We have used binaries of extremism, conservatism, and fundamentalism, without understanding how our politics and our economics are interrelated and how they are all part and parcel of our society’s current trajectory. Without enhancing our understanding of multiple classes and their socio-political behaviour, we cannot come up with a workable and viable agenda of change.

Originally published in Pakistan Today on 24/01/2011

'Uth Jawana'

2011-01-19T15:25:00.005Z

I harbor intense hatred for most patriotic songs, largely because they glorify Pakistaniat and everything wrong that comes with it. But I'm willing to make an exception for 'Uth Javana' by this unknown band called Soch. The brilliance of this song isn't in the cheesa looking singer, or Hassan Nisar's patronizing gaze but in its Punjabi lyrics, which highlight some of the stark contradictions of consumerism found in urban Pakistani society.

Couldn't find the complete lyrics anywhere on the interweb, so i'm transcribing those parts of the song that are legit great:

ithey cheeni vi mehnga, ithey aata vi mehnga, par meri mulk di dulhan paavay ik ik lakh da lehnga

(sugar and flour are both expensive, yet brides wear dresses worth a fortune)

aithay phone de package sastay, samosay labde khastay, rupaiyay ich labdi eh dua.

(cell phone packages are cheap, you get bad quality samosas and a single rupee gets you just a prayer)

ghar 100 100 channel aanday, mein nu khabraan roz sunanday,

(We get a 100 channels in our homes which show the news everyday)

meray mulk de veer sahaafi, meray mulk nu peh bachaanday.

(The journalist community claims to be the saviour of our country)

WIN

*UPDATE: Thanks to Ammar, I now realize i misread the entire song. In an effort to trace some irony in the lyrics, i completely forgot that the singer was an urban Punjabi middle-class sort, who probably does believe the journalist community is the savior of this country. Oh well, we live to fight another day.

Placebo Effect

2011-01-17T02:19:00.002Z

Just think about this for a second: every time there’s news about a seemingly religion inspired murder, or two, or twenty, the first antidote on offer is how religious parties often do poorly at the ballot box. To a certain extent, this off-the-cuff statistic attempts to placate those, both home and abroad, who’re deeply afraid of a Pakistan being inhabited and run by far-right forces. The logic goes something like this: if a party does badly at the polls, it implies that it lacks mass support, and subsequently, it means that the average voter in Pakistan rejects the transcendental agenda of the far-right for the more moderate, and passive agendas of centrist forces.

In the wake of recent events however, it’s very important to deconstruct the notion of a moderate and passive majority, especially when understood through a proxy variable such as electoral patterns. All things considered, there is no doubt that the statistic in itself is largely true: Religious parties have done poorly at the polls in Pakistan, with only 2002 being the obvious exception.

Firstly, their numbers have mostly placed them in a position to act as partners and lobbyists, but rarely have they enjoyed complete control over a provincial or a federal government. On many occasions, they’ve had to turn to seat-sharing agreements with mainstream parties to maintain hold of whatever share of the vote they currently have.

Secondly, apart from the JUI-F, which boasts a coterie of rural notables in KPK, most religious parties are only confined to urban centers, where they’re able to organize and mobilize their networks more effectively.

Thirdly, apart from the formation of the MMA in 2002, the religious vote itself is divided along ideological fissures such as Shia-Sunni, and Barelvi-Deobandi, hence rendering the concept of a single ‘far-right’ vote bank largely irrelevant.

Taken at face value, these are all valid indicators of where far-right forces currently lie on our electoral landscape, and the degree to which they appear to be valid options for the majority of our voting public. What, however, we miss out whilst waving the banner of a ‘moderate majority’, is that this is merely a function of the logic of our electoral system, which itself rests heavily on an ideologically sterile, patronage-based culture.

In a system where votes are gathered on the basis of who can give us what, and what we will be able to do in return, the concept of establishing the Kingdom of God on Earth gets pushed to the backburner. Pardon my crassness here, but getting a water pipe fixed and grabbing a job for myself, and my sister’s son, is much more important than the rather vague (and long-routed) notion of getting justice through implementing Sharia. (Incidentally, if questioned, everyone will provide unequivocal support to the latter over the former, which just goes to show you the duality prevalent in this country).

But should we sit back and take comfort in the fact that the materiality of our electoral politics necessarily translates into the political marginalization of far-right forces?

The answer is an emphatic no.

Having taken this placebo for long enough, its time to recognize that while we’re busy coming up with far-right vote percentages, the organized forces of bigotry and xenophobia have steadily by-passed procedure and made space for themselves where it matters most, i.e. in society. Their appeal might not find space in the logic of our electoral system, but in terms of day to day expression, ritualistic action, and dissemination of discourse, exclusivist religious politics has firmly entrenched itself with the so-called passive majority.

What bigger indication of this victory would anyone want over and above the fact that our legal system proudly displays all kinds of exclusivist injunctions, that our constitution aims to work towards a Sharia-compliant state, that we have taken time out to define who can call him or herself a Muslim, that Allah has a 600,000 strong army based in Pakistan, that vigilantism in the name of religion is celebrated by all and sundry, that mainstream parties have refused to even talk about an inhumane law, that education institutions serve fresh doses of a dichotomous, morality driven world-view on a daily basis?

Individuals active in far-right groups and associations have gone on to make space for themselves in mainstream parties. The PML-N in Lahore, for example, has capitalized on the religious vote-bank simply because not only does it offer access to the state and the perks associated with mercantile capitalism, it also makes regular nods towards some vague notion of upholding religion and public morality.

It is perhaps most telling that mainstream political parties, and the state itself, willingly surrenders to the parameters of political discourse and action determined by far-right forces, and that for the last 30 years, the only narratives of public ideological debate are those that are approved by religious ‘authorities’.

All of this is extremely important in helping us recognize that turning to electoral percentages lures us into a false sense of belief about the passivity and moderation of the playing field, and ultimately obfuscates the entire scope of the challenge. As a silver lining of sorts from within this system, we can take hope in the fact that the material basis of politics gives us a narrow route to engage with the public at some level. What remains to be seen is whether we can use this space to raise the right issues or not.

Originally published in Pakistan Today (in an edited form) on 17/01/2011

Theology and Cricket

2011-01-14T16:57:00.005Z

So here I was completely bored at work, when out of the blue someone on my twitter feed shared this absolute gem of a thread from the cricket website/forum Pak Passion. Now for those of you who're not familiar with Pak Passion, it's basically the premier website for everything related to Pakistani cricket, players, agents, bookies, and as we'll see in a bit, everything related to everything. Since cricket happens to be the only thing that comes close to defining a collective Pakistani consciousness, this website gets a lot of traffic from the average Pakistani internet user - now also known as the Mumtaz Qadri fanboy/girl.

So without any further chatter, i present to you the Pak Passion theological dilemma of Cricket as shared on twitter by our resident cricket expert Sana Kazmi.

Like most profound inquiries, which deal with the metaphysical and the transcendental, this thread, authored by Mr. Decipher, starts off by positing a premise, and then proceeds with a set of questions to resolve the seemingly unresolvable.

'So everyone of us Inshallah in Jannah.

Now, a few of us cricket lovers want to play a cricket match but everyone's EVERY wish will be granted in Jannah, so the bowlers would wish to get a wicket on every delivery while the batsmen would want to hit a super size six on every ball while the fielders would want to jump like 500 yards in the air to intercept and catch the ball going for a six .... How is this conflict going to be resolved .... or there is no cricket in Jannah ??'

Quite a pickle, innit?

Interestingly enough, the first person to reply to this post questioned the validity of the inquiry itself:

'mmmm.... I'm not quite sure if this warrants an answer.... :-)

well, given the human mind can't even comprehend a fraction of what heaven, or hell, or inifnity is for that matter, I'd imagine that all pieces in the scenario, would have their desires met... somehow! :-)'

This was, as some might see, a well-mannered way of saying 'Dude what the fuck are you talking about....'.

But not to be waylaid by some tool trying to act all reasonable, the Pak Passion moderator (as his profile suggested) jumped in to save this important theological debate from being crushed at the immoral hands of rationality.

'Decipher Bhai Jan, this is exactly what I think when thinking of Jannah.

More importantly I once heard somewhere that our heights in Jannah will be different than the world one (eg we will be very very tall) so what size would ball be, what size will bat be, handle size etc

Also in Jannah will we have Laver & Wood, Screaming Cat, Millichamp & Hall, Gray Nicolls etc bats available in Jannah? Also will custom made service be offered there?'

So while the first set of questions attempted to deal with the formal rules governing the game itself, the second set attempted to grapple with the practicalities of divine cricket.

The thread ultimately tapers down to questions of which team will play in Jannah, how they'll be no Pak-India matches, because obviously the Indian team will be in Hell, how test cricket will be in heaven and IPL in hell, and as some brothers ultimately pointed out, the real question should be how to get to Jannah, as opposed to wondering how to spend all that free time once you're there.

Resisting my natural tendency to come up with a sociological explanation for this behavior, i just want everyone to sit back and read through the entire thread for a good laugh or two. And if you don't find it funny, its probably because you've also thought about what cricket would be like in heaven.

Middle Class Medievalism and the State

2011-01-13T04:37:00.005Z

Taseer's assassination, and its subsequent response, has renewed interest in the socio-political ethos of our urban middle-classes. Following this larger theme, here's an excellent opinion piece written by Ammar Rashid on the moral contradictions of this class, and the causes that give rise to these contradictions.

(Originally published in The Daily Times on 13/01/2011)

Many in the aftermath of the January 4 tragedy have struggled to understand the mindset of some of the supporters of the murderer Mumtaz Qadri. The reaction of the religious right was, of course, all too easy to explain away for many - those who instrumentalize religion for political gain will necessarily use this event to stoke religious fervor and gain the political space/popularity they so desire.

But what of the reaction of our educated middle class? What of the reaction of those students, lawyers, engineers, doctors, professionals, and the rest of the internet/armchair ‘mujahids’ who have shocked many observers by condoning and celebrating this tragedy? Those whose interests, mannerisms and habits reek of the accoutrements of globalized modernity, in all its capitalist glory, yet whose opinions seem more reflective of some despotic medieval rage? Those who consume ‘decadent’ American and Indian popular culture (the provocateur extraordinaire Lady Gaga and besmirched ‘munni’ often coming up as favorites), imbibe ‘immoral’ intoxicants, pursue ‘illicit’ sexual dalliances and concomitantly celebrate the ‘Aashiq-e-Rasool’ Qadri without skipping a beat?

At one level, it is easy to dismiss these middle class cadres as hypocrites of the worst grade imaginable, and one would not be amiss in stating so. But, in terms of explanatory depth, this denunciation is of little value. Mass hypocrisy is often an expression of deep-rooted societal contradictions rather being than an intrinsic or absolute condition. Situating these contradictions in their structural and historical context is, one has to say, vital to finding the way out of this unending morass.

Many attempt to explain this phenomenon by hearkening to the terrible Era of Zia and the imbibing by the educated populace of the Islamist currents he unleashed in society as instruments of state policy. While definitely a factor, this remains an incomplete hypothesis that, if one may say so, overstates the influence of one particularly gruesome dictator in this country’s checkered history.

I believe that this middle class ‘morality of xenophobia’ results from a confluence of the historical memory and logic of the Pakistani state with modern, information-age capitalism.

As denizens of the information age, the educated middle classes in Pakistan have been, to varying degrees, exposed to much of what may be called global popular culture in all its postmodern glory. The multiplicity of narratives on offer in this age of borderless information and entertainment has, as is the case in much of the rest of the world, exacerbated the erosion of traditional (in our case: Islamic) conceptions of individual morality for the middle class, an erosion already set in place by the growth of urban capitalism. For them, there is now an ever-increasing access and exposure to alternative modes of rationalization for individual behavioral choices due to the nature and proliferation of global media.

However, the internalization of these alternative models of individual behavior by our middle class is accompanied by a countervailing trend - the continued ideational retention of Islamic conceptions of individual morality that remain embedded in the middle class psyche because of social surroundings, education and upbringing (further reinforced by the siege mentality engendered by unending informational access to the global and regional military developments of the past decade, i.e., the War on Terror). This ideological contradiction breeds an unconsciously self-perceived ‘moral deficit’ within this class, which then demands fulfillment. However, as choice regarding individual moral activity remains constrained by the material realities and socio-economic compulsions of the middle class (i.e., keeping up with the Maliks, the need to stay ‘modern’), the contradiction is then sought to be resolved through another domain – the domain of public or collective morality. Which brings us to the state narrative in Pakistan.

Public morality can exist in many forms, expressions and narratives. In Pakistan, however, the very nature of the state necessitates and perpetuates a particularly exclusivist conception of public morality rooted in its history. The origin of Pakistani statehood, much as we may like to ignore, was not based on the acceptance of a plurality of opinion and identities. It was not based on the acceptance of the existence of multiple narratives of marginalization. It was not an origin cognizant of the possibilities of its existence creating and perpetuating further forms of exploitation and oppression. One speech in the English language to a constituent assembly of landlords and opportunists, it must be said, does not make a movement emancipatory.

The origin of Pakistani statehood was based rather on the convoluted, albeit eloquent, articulation of the supremacy of the moral position of a particular religious identity over others. It is that logic which has guided the statecraft of its unrepresentative office bearers, the uniformed Guardians of the Citadel of Islam, for over sixty years, with its results now laid bare in their entirety. It is that logic that has prevented any alternative, more inclusive narratives of public morality to take root in society’s ideational spheres.

It is this very logic of Pakistani statehood that the educated middle class, reeling from the contradictions of its perceived individual moral deficits, is now regurgitating in its support for the murderer Qadri. The supposedly benign nationalist narrative of this state’s origins has mushroomed in the information age into the rabidly exclusionary and xenophobic public morality that the educated middle classes, with their imbibed historical memory, now espouse with zeal.

There is perhaps no better historical exemplification of this contemporary dilemma of our educated classes than Jinnah himself - Jinnah, the paragon of modernity and liberal mannerisms, and concurrently the purveyor of an exclusionary, religiously inspired collectivist narrative. Jinnah, the possessor of contradictions so profound they continue to be unresolved six decades after his death.

Situating the current crisis in this oft-ignored context is essential for those who want to attempt to rescue Pakistani society from this daunting precipice. Struggling against the religious right from a position of abject weakness within the debilitating discursive parameters set by the Pakistani state is an exercise in futility. This strategy is sadly incognizant of the fact that the perpetuation of the state’s public narrative necessitates the continuation of tacit, if not outright support for the reactionary currents that now seek to completely monopolize the public sphere.

Any struggle that aims to succeed must create an altogether new collectivist narrative of inclusion that counters the religious, ethnic and class-based exclusion that has defined Pakistani statehood from the outset of this county’s existence. There is a need to realize that reminiscence about Jinnah’s Pakistan as a rallying cry is a complete misnomer – we are, unfortunately, smack dab in the middle of that Pakistan.

The writer is a development professional and an alumnus of LUMS working in Islamabad. He can be reached on ammar.rashid@gmail.com.

'Ijaazat Mil Sakay Gi Kya?'

2011-01-12T07:20:00.005Z

Here's a creative translation of an Arabic poem, written by a Syrian Diplomat named Nizar Tawfiq Qabbani. The translation has been done by my friend and senior colleague Harris Khalique. Quite fitting of the mood at this particular point in time.

Contradictions Reign Supreme

2011-01-10T04:13:00.001Z

What do Miley Cyrus and Mumtaz Hussain Qadri have in common? Well, nothing really - except for the fact that there’s one particular fellow from Faisalabad who chooses to exhibit his approval for both on Facebook. The man in question works for a software house, was educated at a public university, and apart from Miley Cyrus, enjoys Johnny Depp’s performance in Pirates of the Caribbean as well as the closer-to-home charm of Katrina Kaif’s jawani. At the same time he chooses to display his recognition of Islam as “dA bEsT rEligIoN iN dA wUrlD”, reaffirmed further with the quote ‘a good Muslim is a good citizen’.

It appears from this data that said person has divided his world into two compartments. In one section, there is public acceptance, (or dare I say vocal admiration), of consumable modernity in all its glorious pop culture manifestations. The other section is his ideational realm, which is well stocked with ritualistic exhumations of religious fervor. These two compartments co-exist in a complex, contradiction-ridden relationship - made possible only due to the crass distinction that urban Pakistani society creates between the material realm and the realm of ideas.

The fellow under the microscope was not directly responsible for Salmaan Taseer’s brutal assassination. In fact, he belongs to the urban educated class - a class that has more often than not taken immense amounts of pride in its apolitical, modern worldview. But calling a spade a spade here, tacit approval, of the murder or vocal support for a murderer and by consequence of an unjust and inhumane law is not too different from the act of pulling the trigger itself. It also shows that the class basic sociology likes to refer to as the paragon of moderation in society, is now hardly moderate.

The trouble for Pakistan is that despite its size, the insistence on its apolitical tag, and its avowed distancing from mainstream politics, this class wields a considerable amount of power in terms of its contribution to public narratives, and subsequently to our society’s moral compass. History has taught us that middle classes set the agenda for what passes as discourse in any society. They also provide the breeding ground for a country’s intelligentsia, a group that would eventually control instruments like universities, newspapers, and most importantly, TV channels.

Seeing the kind of reaction that the mainstream media, barring a few notable exceptions, took on Taseer’s stand on the blasphemy laws issue, it appears that this hypothesis stands true for Pakistan as well. There was a time when the situation was less bleak. There was a time when our mainstream intelligentsia was progressive, critical, and most importantly self-reflective, and engaging all at the same time. There was a time when our popular literature was socially conscious and aware of Pakistan’s material reality. All this has changed because of both, the deliberate enforcement of political expediency over progressive ideals in mainstream political parties and civil society, and the categorisation of universities as a place to impart tools of obtaining material success for our middle classes.

As a consequence, social praxis is dogged by contradictions, dichotomous realities, bigotry, and worst of all, a complete belief in polemics that are rarely questioned or examined in any depth. It is hard to put a definitive percentage on how much the vacuuming of ideational space was done by the state and how much was it a product of people just backing down themselves. But such statistics, while giving another reason to curse and vent at one particular former ruler, stand largely irrelevant in Pakistan today. We are living in an era where hate-filled opinion doesn’t even need to preach and run after volunteers. We live in a time when the discourse space of our intelligentsia has become so insulated, that just the thought of breaching these barriers is daunting.

In the self-reflection that has followed Taseer’s assassination, the liberal and progressive community has become more aware of both its withdrawn existence, as well as the lack of resonation its ideas have with the rest of the country. There is a combination of class-based and linguistic factors that contribute to cocoon-like behavior, but if there was ever a time and a need for reaching out and taking change inducing steps, it is now.

All policy prescriptions aside, space in universities and colleges needs to be carved up to debate questions of national identity, of theological reasoning, and of political and social ideals. The state has proven its expediency time and time again. Political parties, the PPP included, have proven their expediency on every occasion too. To lobby and vest faith in those who are responsible for this mess in the first place is futile, and hence social engagement needs to start beyond mainstream power brokers. That is the primary task we are faced with today, and success in it is the only way to re-introduce socially conscious moderation on our compass of public morality.

Originally published in Pakistan Today on 10/01/2011

A Crisis of Representation

2011-01-04T05:03:00.002Z

‘At a certain point in their historical lives, social classes become detached from their traditional parties. In other words, the traditional parties in that particular organisational form, with the particular men who constitute, represent and lead them, are no longer recognised by that class (or fraction of a class) as its expression. When such crises occur, the immediate situation becomes delicate and congerous, because the field is open for violent solutions…’ (State and Civil Society by Antonio Gramsci)

It goes without saying that early 20th century Italy, and 21st century Pakistan are hardly comparable. The specificity of Gramsci’s writing, set in the context of European turmoil and fascism, is fairly unique; but it’s quite clear that it doesn’t take away the longevity of his idea. What Gramsci is talking about in dense academese, is a crisis of representation. A crisis that separates the represented from those who claim to represent. A crisis that creates the possibility for conflict and violence in society.

Over the course of the last 30 years, we have seen the development of some political parties that are completely cognizant with the aspirations, ambitions, and cultural ethos of those that they represent. The two best examples from this time period are the PML(N) and the MQM. Both of these parties draw their leadership from roughly the same social class to whom they cater to, and both have developed a narrative that ensures their institutionalisation within a particular electorate. For the Punjabi trader who runs a shop on Brandreth Road in Lahore, and the Muhajir pant-shirt wearing white-collar worker, there is little need to hunt for representation.

So far, so good. No Gramscian crisis in sight.

Turn your attention to the other side of the picture, and for a second, it almost seems as if Gramsci was writing about the PPP circa 2011. With renewed optimism, and a fair bit of hand-holding by the IMF, the PPP government has decided to follow structural adjustment (or whatever it’s called these days) in letter and spirit. Removing subsidies, privatising government institutions, increasing taxes, the whole nine yards (and then some). What was once labelled as the traditional party for the poor and the marginalised has now devolved into a heavily insulated and largely confused political club, which throws up tragic-bordering-on-the-humorous examples of political contradiction.

‘The PPP will not allow privatisation of any government institution’.

This gem a mere two weeks before the privatisation commission released a fresh plan to privatize both OGDCL (through bond floatation in March 2011) and chalked up a list of 27 other institutions, which included PPL and Pakistan Post.

‘No change will be brought to the blasphemy laws as long as I am Law Minister’.

This briefly after Sherry Rehman tabled her amendment bill in the National Assembly.

The farcical list of contradictions is fairly long. The reason behind this farce, however, is quite simple. In an attempt to balance its current position, of lying within a restricted policy space, and the rather burdensome tag of being a party of the poor (at least in two provinces), the PPP leaves little doubt that it’s going through a crisis not too different from the one mentioned at the start. When you pose this question to party loyalists and apologists, they cite cash-transfer schemes like the BISP as proof of PPP’s commitment to the cause of the working classes. When you ask them to move beyond such short-term commitments, they automatically point to the lack of space afforded to them by the ‘establishment’.

What is basically happening is an evasion of responsibility. Too afraid to take on the challenges of becoming an active representative of the silent majority, the PPP has settled for whatever piece it can get from this increasingly stale pie. Too afraid to realign its agenda of governance with its intellectual foundations, the PPP has decided to cut deals or just bury its head in the sand.

What is perhaps most telling is that less than a week ago, political activist and academic Aasim Sajjad, wrote a report highlighting how the Christian community of Islamabad were willing to throw their lot in with the Jamaat-i-Islami candidate in the next election. When asked why on earth, the answer was that the PPP had failed, not only in protecting their rights as a minority group, but also as a party responsible for ensuring some manner of basic services to the working classes. They thought the Jamaat candidate will probably label them as kafir, but he might just get their water pipes fixed.

Perhaps it’s a tragedy of this volatile era that our definition of conflict and violence starts and ends with drone attacks, suicide bombings and militants. These legitimate pre-occupations aside, we continue to miss out on the very real conflicts taking place in our society because of economic and social marginalisation. If the PPP wishes to resolve the intellectual, discursive, and representative malaise it finds itself in, it needs to pay attention to those who still come out and vote for it. Otherwise, this spiral downwards will continue unabated, not just for the PPP but for the entire country.

Originally published in Pakistan Today on 04-01-2011

Tantrums etc.

2010-12-29T13:12:00.003Z

Before I start pontificating on MQM's withdrawal from the federal cabinet, there are a couple of pieces everyone needs to read, especially before they read mine. First up, is Cyril Almeida with an analysis on the whys and hows of this latest bit of political theatre. Secondly, read Ahsan's piece on the same topic, which has a good collection various nuanced conjectures on the issue.

I'm going to start off by laying down 2 assumptions:

1) The MQM withdrawal was not done as a long term government-making strategy. It was done solely as a consequence of grievances between two coalition partners, as a result of which one decided to opt out.

2) The PML-N does not want to come into power during such troubled times. They're having a tough time governing Punjab as it is, and they can't stand to lose more credibility by making fools of themselves at the center

Let's start with Ahsan's conjecture number two which states:

'...The MQM, like the JUI(F), is probably just acting like an attention-seeking child and wants its concerns heard. If the PPP makes enough of a show of hearing their concerns on things like local government and Zulfiqar Mirza, they’ll get back in line.'

Throwing toys out of the pram is something the MQM and the JUI-F are quite used to doing. But what exactly instigated these latest tantrums?

The Hajj scandal was quite indicative of a couple of things, especially when we see it in the light of what eventually happened. Firstly, the real thing JUI-F wanted from the Hajj fiasco was the sacking of Hamid Saeed Kazmi as Minister of Religious Affairs. Quite obviously, the JUI-F wanted the religious ministry for itself. As the only religious party in the coalition, it didn't see the logic behind PPP holding the ministry for one of its own members, while they get to run housing and other non-sawab earning components of government. The greater divide was, of course, between the Barelvi Kazmi and the Deobandi ideology of the JUI-F. Not content with Sherani's appointment as the CII head, Fazal-ur-Rehman probably wanted a complete monopoly over all religio-political instituions at the federal level. To go with this, there is also a lot of talk of how the Saudi's were secretly backing Azam Swati and the JUI-F against Kazmi because of their long-standing sectarian biases.

So once the JUI-F backed out of the coalition, even the reluctant olive branch extended by the PPP, was not enough to pull it back in.

Let's turn to the MQM. What did they want from the PPP? Well firstly, as much as people overplay this, i think the Zulfiqar Mirza episode is just one aspect of the real problem here. As Ahsan mentioned in passing, it's the local government issue that is probably of bigger concern right now, and the longer local body elections are delayed, the more MQM feels its power slipping away in Karachi. The PPP has dithered on setting a concrete date for local elections, partially due to the security situation, and partially due to the fact that the PML-N has opposed all such efforts in Punjab. You can't have elections in three provinces and not have them in the fourth.

Secondly, the JUI-F had two (three?) ministries with only 7 members in the National Assembly. On the other hand, the MQM with their 25 member strong block, also had only 2 ministries, out of which one was the relatively unimportant office of Overseas Pakistanis. It's pretty easy to see why they'd be more than a little miffed at all this. I know i'd be if i were in their place too.

It's hard to come up with an objective assessment of whatever happened primarily because there are far too many variables that go unaccounted for. What was the army's role in all this? Why did Altaf Bhai come out all guns blazing against the PML-N? Everyone who has half an eye on these shenanigans would know that the sensible thing to do right now is to watch and wait.

Challenging Discourse: The Balochistan Question in Punjab

2010-12-28T06:43:00.003Z

A tendency to ignore possible lessons from mistakes made in the past seems to have become a recurring theme in the way this country is governed. 16th of December came and passed, with the general level of unease, suppressed anguish, and awkwardness that we’ve traditionally reserved for all things related to ‘that’ particular chapter in our history. A sense of guilt pervades in certain quarters, while other quarters still hold a grudge, using this particular day to refresh sentiments of betrayal and treachery, and of subversive machinations undertaken by an ever-plotting enemy. If anything, 39 years on from that fateful day, Pakistan, and the Pakistani state in particular, has yet to separate the proverbial wheat from the chaff that could allow it to come up with an objective assessment of history.

But all things considered, there is still a tug at the consciousness of our intelligentsia and the urban public, particularly in Punjab. Regardless of the fact that the tug comes from a distorted image of history, it continues to suggest an association with Bangladesh, as a geographical entity that was once part of this country. Worryingly enough though, despite the presence of an expanded media sphere, there is a definite lack of association with roughly the same set of problems surrounding a totally different part of the country.

A few weeks ago, during a civil society conference in Balochistan, a local NGO worker remarked that the plight of the Baloch people was not being heard in Punjab. Sift through expedient ethnic strokes and it’s fairly easy to see how even moderate, and educated Baloch provincialists remain disenchanted with public discourse about their province in urban areas across the rest of the country. For example, major centers of opinion generation in Punjab, which includes print and electronic media, universities, and other public platforms, rarely talk about Balochistan,. Even when the topic is brought up, it is normally done in terms of ‘foreign’ involvement, primordial suppression under a suffocating tribal system, and near-orientalist depictions of wild and untamed territory. Needless to say these are hardly ingredients for nuanced opinion formation.

It’s true that the problems in Balochistan are multi-faceted and not easy to grasp. But it’s also true that, as history has taught us, the real policy-makers will continue to see the problem first and foremost as a military issue, despite alternate attempts by the political government. The problem with both the myopic anti-insurgency perspective, and its passive consumption by the public at large is that it creates an artificial distinction between the geographical territory of Balochistan, and the people who happen to reside in it.

For the army, this is a question of maintaining the sanctity of the Federation. A piece of land, that’s a part of Pakistan, needs to be defended and protected at all costs - against threats emanating from both domestic as well as foreign actors. As a military question, it remains a fight for land, nothing more, and nothing less. But what is happening by portraying the problem in a singular dimension is that the process of alienating the Baloch public continues to gain impetus on a daily basis. Political attempts at engaging with the disenchanted population have also either been subverted by the powers-that-be, or have been too meek to begin with.

The lesson that the state needs to learn from this mess is that there is no artificial sanctity of land, which magically transcends the people who reside on it. Pakistan is a country with 180 million people. Without those people, the little scribble on a map is of no importance whatsoever. In the same vein, problems in Balochistan are not just of security/defense concerns, but are also humanitarian issues of a very fundamental nature. Yes, there have been protests and legal interventions over the 2000 plus missing persons, but the simple fact that intra-provincial fractures are perpetuating show that such voices have been too few and far between to win back the trust and confidence of the Baloch population.

It is in situations like these where public opinion is of crucial importance in setting the boundaries of the policy agenda. We see continuation of the current policy trajectory precisely due to the fact that the rest of the country, especially the intelligentsia in urban central Punjab, has been disinterested and has hence absorbed discourse on Balochistan as the security apparatus has framed it. To challenge this current discourse would be a very concrete step towards a peaceful solution.

It is at this time when Punjab needs to step up and play it’s part as the largest province in a federation. The media, academia and even the religious authorities need to look beyond tribalism and the barren topography and see this as a humanitarian issue, where long-standing problems of inequality and oppression are being compounded by armed conflict. If there is a reason to mourn the secession of Bangladesh, it is that there was tremendous loss of innocent human life. This should be the very same reason that dictates a re-orientation in our understanding of the long-standing problems in Balochistan.

Originally published in Pakistan Today on the 27th of December.

'Dont be touching my ministry bitchez'

2010-12-22T15:53:00.004Z

Interesting happenings in Islamabad today. The bill of the 19th amendment was approved (244-1) amidst federation fanfare and pats on the back, but was quickly followed by the news that some members were having a delayed reaction to the last piece of federation fanfare, i.e. the 18th amendment. According to this news-report, (tweeted by Ammar Rashid), the Education Minister and the NA standing committee on Education are having second thoughts about devolving their subject to the provinces.

Sardar Assef Ahmed Ali, the man who runs education in this country (as authorized by the collective will of The People) and is someone who's long been hailed as an 'educated' politician, had these choice words for the 18th amendment bill: '“I voted for it unintentionally". Just before that he also said he 'could not understand the nitty-gritty of the bill at that time because it was too complicated.'

Win.

Also, one of our beloved sons of dharti-e-Punjab, and someone who I've doted on previously as well, Abid Sher Ali, decided that this seemed like a good enough excuse to get the National Assembly Standing Committee on Education back in the headlines, and himself back in front of the television cameras.

Here are some of the anti-devolution reasons given by the assorted array of tools who run our education system:

1) 'Devolution would mean destruction of the state organs'.

Oh Noez.

The provincial education departments will probably feel a bit miffed at being relegated to the status of excess state fat or at best, appendices in the state system.

2) '...before giving power to provinces for developing their own curriculum it should be kept in mind that there was no national curriculum at the time of dismemberment of Pakistan and it was one of the major reasons for the separation of East Pakistan.'

In one long-winded sentence, Sardar sb. has completely challenged all notions of revisionist history. The truth is, had we taught them Urdu and Islamiat, there would've been no rebellion, no Bangladesh, and 16th of December would've been like the 15th or the 14th. A uniform curriculum ensures federative perfection, right Balochistan?

3) 'Committee Member Zubaida Jalal, who was the federal education minister in the previous regime, went as far as calling the plan to hand the education ministry to the provinces a threat to the federation'.

See point number 2.

4) Carrying on Zubaida Jalal also stated '...she feared that provinces would make changes in the history, Islamic studies and geography books in the absence of a national curriculum, which ultimately would lead to ‘national ruin’ and Urdu would no longer be the national language'.

Would've loved to hear more on that bit about 'national ruin'. Also, I need to see some of these nefarious geographical designs that the provinces have apparently been harboring.

On a serious note, control over the education curriculum has been one of the reasons why the Pakistani state continues to exhibit such staunch authoritarian tendencies. It is also precisely the reason we haven't had a well-functioning federal system in the country. Mohammad Bin Qasim is not my hero. Neither is Shah Wali Ullah. Urdu is not my mother tongue. I would've complained about this had there been a Muslim League government in charge but without the element of surprise. To see this coming from the PPP, supposedly the party of wafaaq and the zanjeer of 4 provinces, is simply depressing.

May the Force be with Pakistan. We sure as hell need it.

The Intellectual Basis of Punjabi Politics

2010-12-10T13:19:00.007Z

When we talk about the the PPP and it's associated problems, the most common points raised are about its dependence on captive votes, about its leadership crisis, and more importantly, its opportunistic, and patronage plagued system. For the more nuanced observers, the primary reason for this is that the party has not only moved away from its original theoretical basis, but has also failed to theoretically contextualize itself in the post-Zia period. This form of disengagement and the accompanying unwillingness to talk about more abstract notions of party ideology has highlighted several contradictions in the present day scenario, such as the inherent struggle to handle populist, pro-poor interventions on one hand, and the neo-liberal baggage carried by a multi-lateral trained Finance Minister on the other. The marginalization of the left in the PPP by its own leader was the earliest example of opportunism sidelining party ethos and similarly, the current behaviour of turning somewhat of a deaf ear towards textbook liberal voices in its ranks is perhaps a repeat performance of sorts.

A sensible route towards avoiding theoretical, and subsequently practical contradictions, is if a political party, representing a particular socio-economic class, derives its leadership from two possible sources. One source is from the class itself. If it's a party of the poor, the poor lead the party - which all things considered, is something that's not going to happen anytime soon in Pakistan. Hence the other viable source is from a party-elite disciplined by ideology in a way that makes them completely cognizant with the problems and world-view of the class they eventually represent. However, when both of these two sources fail, the vacuum left by this crisis of sorts is eventually filled by opportunists, cronies, and half-baked ideologues.

This is, at least in theory, part of the explanation for the PPP's evolution and why it does what it does. As unpalatable as this is for liberals/progressives in the country, the flip-side of the coin is just downright frightening.

The sad tale is such that over the last 25-30 years, Punjab has been witness to the emergence of an urban Muslim League that has achieved almost complete harmony between its politics, the prevailing intellectual basis of its surroundings, and most importantly, the world-view of its supporters. Whether it was by design or by accident, the fact remains that multiple shifts, some in state policy and some in the nature of the economy, have transformed the Muslim League into the most socially organic party in the province, and probably only second to the MQM in the entire country. The Muslim League, for the lack of a better description, has a fairly solid intellectual basis.

What, one may rightly ask, is the intellectual basis for Khawaja Saad Rafique? Our first instinct would be to say absolutely none - with the reason being that amongst certain circles, their exists a tendency to dismiss right-wing, reactionary, conservative discourse, as somehow less intellectual than liberal/progressive discourse. Perhaps at an objective level, this might even be true, but as far as Punjab is concerned, the dominant narrative is nationalist, largely conservative and mostly pro-middle-class in nature.

So where exactly does this dominant narrative take shape? Well for starters, in our higher-education system, where a certain 'brand' of history and science not only influences students who graduate into society, but also students that end up becoming teachers themselves. The next step in the shaping process takes place at the level of media. Popular literature (Shahabnama type), as well as print and electronic media, further creates pockets for conservative thought to flourish, hence entrenching itself as the dominant world-view of media consumers i.e. the urban middle-classes. Finally, civil society organizations (religious or otherwise), create platforms for social engagement and the mutual reinforcement of such ideas. The average Punjabi urbanite is more likely to interact with his peers in the Anjuman-i-Tajiran meeting as opposed to the Anjuman-i-Taraqi-Pasand-Musanafeen meeting. (or in the local after-prayers meet and greet as opposed to the seculars anonymous group)

Okay so how does the Muslim League figure into all of this?

Firstly, the primary building block of this 25-30 year old intellectual tradition is capitalism/private property/economic mobility, due to which the individualized notion of material success has become increasingly entrenched as urban Punjab has grown. The services economy feeds into this new way of thinking about the economy, and most importantly, the memories of Bhutto's nationalization remain fresh in the older generation. Punjab has become a rabidly capitalist society, if not in the vein of Weberian capitalism, but in some indigenous variant which is equally aggressive. And for the sake of our discussion, there is nothing there that goes against what the Muslim League stands for.

Secondly, Punjabi discourse is largely establishment driven Pakistani discourse, (with a slightly heightened sense of Punjabi-ness). Hence India remains the enemy, the army remains the guardian of our ideological and geographical boundaries (which errs on occasions but insaan khataa kaa putla hay) etc. Again, there's no fundamental disconnect between that and the politics of the Muslim League. The ML might have been anti-Musharraf, but it's certainly no fauj-dushman, and while there might be certain individuals who prefer a closer relationship with India, most of it's leadership and it's support base is decidedly hawkish. In the same vein, even voters who dislike the ML leadership because of its actions (corruption etc), will rarely ever oscillate to any other party. This is the biggest example of how strong this intellectual cognizance actually is. Anecdotally speaking, even if Ansar Abbasi criticizes Nawaz Sharif day in day out (which he doesn't), can you imagine him voting for any other party, especially the PPP?

Thirdly, various variants of Islamic beliefs in urban Punjab manage to find themselves in line with the Muslim League's vague position on religion. This is where i believe the Jamaat loses out because in its insistence on Shariah and Khilaafat as the ultimate goal, it drives away the so-called soft-right in our cities. In their heads, all this Khilaafat business is clearly bad for business. (see issue number 1). On other hand the Muslim League busies itself with moral policing through state policy, and by paying token lip-service to Kashmir and other pretend pan-Islamic causes.

So as a consequence of these three aspects of public discourse, the Muslim League has finally managed to root itself in the masses to a certain degree. Unlike the PPP, which faces the near-impossible task of rooting itself in multiple discourses across 4 provinces, the ML has entrenched itself in fairly homogenous surroundings. Maybe this will be the ultimate hurdle in it breaking out of Punjab, but at the very least it creates the chance for it to act at the national level without being a national level actor. For the PPP, sadly enough, the task is becoming more difficult as it continues to duck and weave in macro-politics whilst largely ignoring party-building in the present-day context. In the current scenario, it's the Muslim League that's turned into the party of ideology, and that ladies and gentlemen is something i never thought i'd say.

Special thanks to my senior colleague Dr Zaigham Habib for initiating this conversation in the first place.