Theatre of the absurd
By Hajrah Mumtaz
POOR old Shakespeare may well be turning in his grave if news has filtered down about how literally his words are taken in Pakistan. In writing “all the world’s a stage”, I don’t think that he meant that the full ignominy of being all too human should be played out under the full glare of the media spotlight, with raucous catcalls from the front benchers. But the world is our stage, we insist, and we take care to beam our antics into millions of living rooms across the world.
The nature of our comedies, self-scripted over a few decades, is very black indeed. Which is why one doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry – or both – over the events in Islamabad during the past few days.
What’s worse is the fact that the diversionary tactics have succeeded. The showdown at Lal Masjid, as one television channel put it, supplanted the previous day’s headlines: that the Supreme Court bench dealing with the reference against Chief Justice Iftikhar Mohammed Chaudhry dismissed the “scandalous” and “vexatious” government application, suspended the licence of the state-appointed advocate-on-record and fined the government of Pakistan a hundred thousand rupees. And banned unauthorised access to intelligence operatives inside superior courts’ offices.
There is plenty to amuse in the spectacle of a man at bay trying to escape in women’s clothing; after all, it’s in the finest traditions of Laurel and Hardy. And surely it’s laughable that eight-year-old children shout “this is jihad” and wield sticks at busily-whirring cameras. That those cameramen take close-up shots of the people wounded in the crossfire but do nothing to help, must certainly be worth a chuckle or two. There is a precedent, after all, from Karachi on May 12.
Speaking of precedents, remember the March 16 rally in support of the chief justice that turned violent in Islamabad? In a television interview, the general asserted that at the same time as the electronic media were broadcasting images of lawyers and demonstrators fighting running battles with well-armed law-enforcement agencies, he had looked out from the balcony of the Presidency at the Supreme Court and had found not a single demonstrator. Funny . . . he never saw a thing!
Another comedy sequence took place a few days later at a police picket outside Islamabad, which had no doubt been instructed to let none of the men in black – ie, lawyers recognisable by their black suits – into the capital city’s territory. A reporter from this newspaper wrote the story of irate bankers, businessmen and other professionals trying to convince our guardians of the law that their coats weren’t, in fact, black but “look, dark grey or navy blue and can we please be allowed to get to work now?”
To return to the Lal Masjid events over the past few days, it is sobering to realise that much of the world is privy to Pakistan’s dirtiest secrets, including the country’s citizens — except apparently our leaders whose actions suggest that they believe, mistakenly, that such information remains confidential. For example, international press agencies, channels and newspapers have raised the question of Lal Masjid’s relationship with the country’s intelligence agencies, how far the government was itself complicit in prompting the showdown, and for what purpose. National newspapers have carried statements by lawyers who claim that the government is using the Jamia Hafsa card to divert attention from the judicial crisis. And having seen on television the sophistication of the Lal Masjid brigade’s weaponry and protective gear, a lot of people across the country are drawing their own conclusions about the sources.
Whether or not this will make any difference, is arguable. This, at least, is true: Maulana Abdul Aziz should take heart from the fact that whoever his friends in high places are, better, stronger and wilier men than him have, on numerous occasions, been thrown to the wolves by those same ‘friends’.
Postscript
Time was when negotiations with dissident groups were carried out by government functionaries — but that role too has apparently been privatised and farmed out to television channels.


