Back to square one
By Sumera S. Naqvi
I REMEMBER the feelings of anguish and despair writ large on my father’s face as he read the newspaper headline that morning — July 5, 1977 — that the government of Zulfikar Ali Bhutto had been overthrown.
A military ruler had taken over. All hopes had been shattered, for there had been a rude interruption in the democratic process, and it wasn’t the first time this had happened in the history of Pakistan.
This was discussed endlessly in those open house get-togethers that were a key feature of life in my grandfather’s household. The fresh earthy smell of the wet lawn in the evenings at his house in the centre of the city, where people came, yearning for discourse and debate, still lingers. There were also the coffee houses of yore that buzzed with heated discussions on politics, as if everyone’s life depended on it. It did as a matter of fact, and everyone felt the pain. My father and his friends were filled with the verve of student protests — the National Students Federation (NSF) of which my father was a member trying to maintain a political culture of sorts.
Such meeting places and areas filled the void of public spaces where people could meet. Poets, painters, writers, journalists, student leaders, unionists and many others, who brimmed with ideas, information and opinions, met and inspired one another with their commitment to a common cause. There was comfort in the knowledge that there were many more like them who maintained a common wavelength — who also felt the pain and dreamt the same dream. They were fired with the inspiration of establishing an uninterrupted democratic process.
Sadly enough, the establishment continues to hold its ground and the democratic process remains tattered. One can’t help but quote the lines from Zamir Niazi’s much acclaimed documentation of press curbs, The Web of Censorship: “Successive governments in Pakistan have in the past felt no qualms about dubbing the national press ‘public enemy number one’, but none with as much virulence and contempt as the post-1977 martial law regime of General Mohammad Ziaul Haq, the self-appointed custodian of this country…”
There are no prizes for guessing who fits the bill today. Such military custodians, who jumped into the imagined fray like knights in shining armour, have failed to give us a viable political system clear of feudalism, and ad hoc cosmetic changes have only been a façade for a smoother ‘milbus’.
We are still fighting the same battles, only with a different dynamics. Discussions and debate now take place in cyberspace and the broadcast media brings all the questions in mind right into the cosy lounges of viewers. This phenomenon along with defective political solutions of Pakistan’s self-appointed custodians, have actually distanced people from political participation. Public spaces for political interaction are not physical in nature and so the current generation’s understanding of the burning issues of society depends on clicking on the right website.
My father’s generation has lost hope in the political affairs of this country, though I still argue that we cannot let it go. I have to prove my duty as a parent at this point in time — to involve my children in life as active members of society. But they will have to move out of cyberspace into the real world.

