WATER disputes are as old as the civilization itself. Punjab and Sindh are not unique in this respect. They have had periods of intense debate followed by camaraderie. It was after decades of extemporization that in March 1991, the representatives of the four provinces agreed, under the prodding of the federal government, to the apportionment of waters of the Indus River System. It was heralded as a great achievement by Nawaz Sharif administration, and not unjustifiably.

To make the consensus possible, water availability in the system was assumed at 114.35 MAF, although actual water utilization had never exceeded 103 MAF. Every province left with a feel-good sentiment. Signatories included the four chief ministers as well as the concerned provincial ministers and secretaries.

Distribution of water among the provinces was to be governed under Para 14 (a &b) of the Accord, which reads as under:

a. The system-wise allocation will be worked out separately, on ten daily basis and will be attached with this agreement as part and parcel of it (It is attached and forms part of the agreement.)

b. The record of actual average system uses for the period 1977-82 would form the guideline for developing a future regulation pattern. These ten daily uses would be adjusted pro-rata to correspond to the indicated seasonal allocations of the different canal systems and would form the basis for sharing shortages and surpluses on all Pakistan basis.’

The seeds for the current discord between two major provinces were embedded in the accord, which was based not on an honest assessment of water availability but on a fallacy. In order to make the accord look good, the volume of available water was exaggerated by about 9%. Punjab must have assumed that the increased volume of water reflected the creation of more storage, read Kalabagh dam; and Sindh must have thought that it got a greater share than before without having to worry about its implicit agreement to the construction of the Kalabagh.

This pattern is in keeping with our psyche also exhibited in budget making exercise undertaken by the five governments of the country when in order to justify injudicious expenditure overestimate their revenues; and at the end of the day go begging for more loans when the shortfall occurs with the certainty of death. The success of any government in Pakistan is predicated on its access to such odious loans. Each success is heralded as one more feather in its cap. Getting to the point of the discord between the two major riparian provinces, the mechanism provided by the accord has become a moot point, although ‘computation of allocation (system wise) keeping 1977-82 ten daily as guideline as per para 14 (b) of the accord’ was annexed. Punjab got 37 MAF as against 34.6 for Kharif and Sindh got 33.94 as against 28.79 and so on for Rabi crop.

The accord did not deflect inter provincial disputes when things came to a head and shortage was experienced in 1994. IRSA failed to resolve the dispute and the matter was entrusted to an inter-Provincial meeting chaired by Mr. Ghulam Mustafa Khar, the then minister for water and power, which met on May 2, 1994 at Lahore. An agreement was reached, which incorporates the following of the four decisions:

‘The shortages between Sindh and Punjab will be shared according to historical uses.’ Such a formulation for sharing of water does not occur anywhere either in the accord or the IRSA Act. This could be interpreted either as an elucidation of the relevant dispute resolution mechanism provided under section 14 of the IRSA Act, 1991 or a total negation of the mechanism. Before this decision could be implemented water shortage was over.

The next time the shortage was witnessed, Punjab claimed recourse to that decision rather than the accord. Punjab continues to enjoy its share of water as if there had been no water accord. Interestingly the Punjab minister for irrigation had claimed on the basis of economic efficiency that Punjab should get greater share of water because during the Rabi season of 1994 ‘Punjab used 19 MAF of water and produced 12 million tons of wheat whereas Sindh used up 15 MAF of water in producing only 3 million tons of wheat.’

The position has not changed since. In 1999-00 Punjab got 16.38 MAF and produced 16.48m tonnes of wheat against 3m tonnes produced by Sindh with 12.25 MAF water. Efficiency criteria cannot be applied to historical claim to water. Otherwise, India might claim water from Pakistan on the basis of greater efficiency of Indian Punjab.

The decision taken in that meeting was adopted by IRSA, implicitly if not explicitly, because for years it constituted the basis for distribution. IRSA in any case could not be relied upon to provide sympathetic ear to Sindh because two of its members including the federal representative were from Punjab. With NWFP supporting Punjab, Sindh and Balochistan were outnumbered in voting strength. Sindh saw an opportunity to challenge this aberration and called for strict adherence to the text of the accord for sharing the waters. Sindh reckons that it will get 48 % as against 43.7%, if it abandoned the pre-accord historical uses as the basis, otherwise the accord changes nothing.

The present administration has tried to correct the unfairness inherent in the mechanism and took two decisions. It shifted the headquarters of IRSA from Lahore to Islamabad and appointed the federal representative from Sindh, thereby giving Sindh two votes and virtual control over IRSA decisions, voting taking place on strictly provincial basis. It is quite fair and is the first time that Sindh has been given a voice in this important body.

Punjab is upset at the weightage given to Sindh arguing that the former federal nominee (he enjoyed two terms) was a Kashmiri although he always voted with Punjab. Provision for a federal nominee was made with the sole purpose of providing post-retirement slot to the then joint secretary in the ministry of water and power. The original five nominees who were retired government officers of their respective provinces, some of them compulsorily, continued to rule the roost until an ordinance intervened to lighten their burden.

Water is a very sensitive issue and taking sides cannot be without serious consequences. And yet one would like to stake one’s point of view for dispassionate consideration. Para 13 of the Accord provides for the establishment of Indus River System Authority (IRSA) ‘ for the implementation of the accord’. IRSA provides in Section 8(3) that:

A provincial government or the Water and Power Development Authority (Wapda) may, if aggrieved by any decision of the authority, make a reference to the Council of Common Interests (CCI). Under the circumstances the dispute regarding the sharing of water shortages should have been taken to the forum, specified in the accord rather than to an inter-ministerial meeting. And the federal government has acted rightly in annulling that administrative decision. And yet the issue is far from being resolved.

From Punjab point of view it could be argued that the decision of the meeting where M/s Zaffar Ali Leghari, Minister for Irrigation and Syed Ali Gohar Shah duly represented Sindh, could not be disregarded through an administrative fiat. A reference to CCI would be necessary only if the dispute persists. Since the dispute had been amicably resolved, a reference to the CCI was not necessary. After all the IRSA Act does not preclude resolution of a dispute among the parties by whatever means. IRSA by implementing this decision for seven years has by implication admitted the basis for distribution. Not only that, even before the Accord the distribution of water was governed by the ‘historical basis’. Thus Punjab has the force of custom on its side.

As a matter of fact, IRSA as it is constituted has failed to deliver. To quote a former secretary, water and power: ‘Regretfully, IRSA has turned into a debating society’. The ten-year track record of this organization can be described, charitably, as too dismal for words. It has failed to resolve inter-provincial disputes. Different interlocutors conceived the accord differently. Punjab thought that it would bring Sindh on board and make it possible to go ahead with construction of Kalabagh dam. Sindh thought that it will get at least 10 MAF extra water below Kotri, to check sea intrusion as well as a greater share than before.

Kalabagh dam is nowhere in sight and as for the 10 MAF that Sindh wanted released to check sea intrusion, the two provinces have not agreed even on the terms of reference for a study to determine the level of need. The accord had only recognized the need for minimum escapage into the sea and noted, not accepted the Sindh view that 10 MAF was the optimum level.

One of the arguments against Kalabagh is that there is no water to store. As a matter of fact it is argued by the other side that if and when it is constructed it would be only a replacement dam as we have already lost 2.75 MAF due to silting, etc. The only progress made so far has been Gomal Dam and Mirani Dam on which work has as yet not started but tenders have perhaps been invited. These two dams will have no significant effect on water availability of Indus system though. This would not have been possible without the accord.

IRSA does not prescribe any age limit for its members and as such it is a safe parking place for the old and infirm. No serving and self-respecting senior engineer would like to come and settle in this sleepy organization when he has few fruitful years left ahead of him. It costs the government Rs. 6.3m per annum to sustain this useless outfit.

It would make far more sense to pack the IRSA as it is currently constituted and replace it with chief engineering adviser as its chairman and the four provincial irrigation secretaries as its ex-officio members. This has worked in the past and will work in the future.

It is alleged that the annual rotation of chairmanship has bred contempt for each other rather than respect because once some one ceases to be the chairman, he finds it difficult to adjust to being an ordinary member.

CIVIL society promotes democracy, so goes the prevailing orthodoxy in the mostly western literature on democratization in emerging democracies like Pakistan.

Inspired in large part by the post-1990 triumph of liberal democracy in large swathes of the globe, this fantastic creation also informs much of the current thinking in development policy given its presumed utility both as an analytical concept and as an instrument of change.

Romanticized as an autonomous sphere of associational activity constituted by disparate societal groups, bonded together by the common passion of collective action, civil society is assumed to be selflessly engaged in negotiating and claiming what is rightfully the citizens’ political, economic and social prerogatives from state. Thus civil society generates “social capital” and inculcates a general sense of ‘publicness’ that in turn makes government responsive and accountable to it.

Civil society ideologues in Pakistan too believe in the innate ability of this elusive conceptual construction as a democratic catalyst. If that is indeed the case, why does experience in Pakistan, as elsewhere in the developing world, present a grim picture of the prospects of civil society creating democracy (in fact, quite the reverse may be true). More specifically, why has this supposedly democratically oriented “civil society” failed in restraining authoritarianism, both civil and military, in Pakistan? In other words, why has it not championed the cause of political democracy?

First and foremost, imagining civil society as an autonomous sphere in direct opposition to state is not very helpful in explaining its political failure in Pakistan. At the cost of privileging the modern/tradition dichotomy, it can be claimed that the concept of ‘citizenship,’ as understood in the West, is still alien to a large majority of the Pakistani public. Primary attachments such as tribe, culture, and language remain powerful markers of identity given the unmitigated failure of state in managing diverse ethnic, social and political claims on it.

Naturally, where access to state is controlled, private interests are bound to take precedence over the public good. People frustrated with a state that excludes them as citizens, are forced to withdraw from the public sphere and ultimately jockey for state resources and access via these primordial loyalties.

No less importantly, a large majority of the public is still dependent on, and derives financial and social power from, state. Government employment and contracts constitute the biggest sources of economic security in the country. Professional associations, such as academia and trade unions, too are beholden to state for economic survival.

This nascent and dependent civil society is thus intrinsically mingled in state. Decades of pervasive authoritarian rule too have clearly undermined the emergence of a politically vibrant civil society. Besides eroding civilian authority and capacity to govern the country, the militarization of state and society has embedded a collective intellectual and political paralysis on our social psyche.

Civil society organizations (CSOs), touted as the most effective avatar of civil society, are also a classic example of an experiment gone wrong. With their portfolios determined largely by shifting donor fads, they have conveniently given short shrift to the macro-institutional context in which their development efforts are likely to have a lasting impact. Today, the non-governmental sector faces an acute crisis of credibility amidst increasing public and official allegations of mismanagement and corruption.

This is not to belittle the invaluable role of some NGOs in critical social areas where the state has miserably failed. But to point to the collective failure of the NGOs to move beyond mere service delivery functions to real social political empowerment of their “beneficiaries.”

Other sporadic civil society challenges to state have come from remote and weak groups like kachchi abadi residents, fisherfolk and others, who are driven, and understandably so, by their inherently localized problems. Professional groups like the bar associations too remain quite particularistic in their demands on the state, ostensibly fearing persecution.

In other words, ‘civil society’ in Pakistan is at best an ‘uncivil’ extension of the state, with the large NGOized chunk atomized and stripped of its political role by aid-driven development. Where then should one turn for answers to Pakistan’s growing crisis of governability?

The answer lies in a strong and rejuvenated political society. Contrary to the popular anti-politics myths churned out incessantly by the military regime and the country’s “garrison’ intelligentsia, politics can still control, manage and reverse Pakistan’s complex governance problems rooted in ethnic conflict, widespread social disparities, rampant poverty and systemic corruption. Representative politics is a cohesive force, mediating a diverse array of often conflicting societal interests to avert open conflict.

Political parties, essential to any democratic political order, play the role of a bridge between civil society and state; a role political scientists compare to “amphibians:” their existence in both spheres, connecting one to the other. Parties translate public demands into laws and rules, and above all, make government answerable to the electorate. A politically inclined ‘civil society’ clearly needs their integrative influence to help it break free from the corrosive vestiges of both authoritarian state control and its own structural coma.

For instance, micro-credit must be seen as a first step in empowering the “beneficiaries” to stake a claim for their due rights and seek integration in the formal economy, yet there is hardly any recognition in the NGO community or external donors that this is even required, let alone the acknowledgment that it cannot be done without linkage to a political process.

If our history is any guide, Pakistan’s governance problems are too complex to lend themselves to the magic of the martial stick. Today, a military regime is once again hell bent on depoliticizing the ‘public sphere’ through a frontal assault on the two mainstream political parties. This self-serving mutilation of the political process will come to haunt Pakistan in a few years as it wanders aimlessly looking for a political society to clean the mess left behind by authoritarian absolutism. Trouble is, it might be too late then.

A.J. KARDAR — the A stood for Akhtar — who died in London on February 12, two years into the new millennium, in almost utter obscurity, was the only Pakistani filmmaker whose work received international recognition.

His classic story of the indomitable spirit of working people emerging triumphant despite the forces of exploitation , released over 40 years ago as Jago huva Savera remains etched to this day in the memory of those who saw it. When I told Maleeha Lodhi of AJ’s passing, she recalled the movie and said, “It was superb, never to be surpassed, or even paralleled.” The script was written by Faiz Ahmed Faiz, AJ’s lifelong collaborator.

AJ made innumerable documentaries, including a memorable one on Iqbal, another on Moenjodaro. They all lie somewhere in the archives of the Department of Films and Publications, yellowed by age. Perhaps, they don’t even exist any more, considering the care with which we preserve records. The British failed to teach us many things, among them respect for history and why it should be preserved. Dr Ashiq Hussain Batalvi once said to me, “There is not a scrap of paper that the British in India threw away. Just spend a day at the India Office Library and you will know.” He should have known because that was always his first port of call every day.

AJ was Skipper Abdul Hafiz Kar