The glad, glad season of youth

“Zeal, n. A certain nervous disorder afflicting the young.” – Ambrose BierceLike in a cartoon, the proverbial lightbulb came on above my head, ting!, on the evening of February 18 as I watched Pakistan’s news channels starting to announce the preliminary election results. Each of them, with a cheeky nod and a wink towards the establishment, went to great pains to remind the viewer that these were not the official results (read: recognised as valid by officialdom) and then went on to broadcast the increasingly detailed figures anyway. Each channel had its own flavour, ranging from the portentous pronouncements of DawnNews to the mildly worried tones of ARY and the delighted-but-struggling-to-conceal-it voice of Geo.

And I realised what it was that the electronic media’s reaction to the treatment meted out to it in past months had latently been reminding me of: young adults at the stage when they’re irrepressible – when they’ve just unfurled their wings, tested a bit of their own strength and are buoyed up by the unshakable belief in their own indestructibility. In a similar vein, “I am”, roared the news channels despite all efforts to suppress them, “Watch this space!”

Pakistan’s private news channels are, as a collective institution, barely ten years old. They’re still at the stage of exploring their power, testing their limits and tasting their influence. Not for them the tehrao of jaded old giants such as the experienced and therefore careful and middle-aged BBC, or the shiny-lipsticked corporate glam of movin’ and shakin’ and gettin’ ta places CNN or Fox News. What is so beguilingly endearing about our channels is their impetuosity, the flashes of brilliance interspersing the tacky and the pedestrian, the manner in which they are plugged into the soul of the country’s millions – which, as anyone will tell you, glorifies in tamasha, over-the-top spectacle. Pakistan’s news channels are entertaining because they themselves are quite clearly enjoying the ride.

Like impetuous young adults, they often get it wrong but they’re learning fast. And underlying all the misadventures is a palpable sense of shining crystal delight in the effect they’re having, in not only their own power to simply be but also to formulate alternate methods of discourse.

These past few days, Express has warmed my heart by shooting trains across the screens for winning candidates and floating hot-air balloons for those who were full of little but hot air. I’m not sure whether those deliciously evil little minds in their graphics and animations department actually planned it this way, but it certainly worked. Meanwhile Geo, in an artful use of the principles of subliminal indoctrination, ran a barely discernable background applause whilst announcing winners. As for CNBC and Samaa, they were so excited that they were unable to restrain themselves to just one or two or even three or four tickers but went for as many as the screen could possibly hold: up and down, in English and Urdu, from the right to the left and vice versa, a whole rainbow of colours. Really, there was something on the airwaves to appeal to every possible component of Pakistan’s multi-linguistic, multi-ethnic and even multi-aesthetic society.

For sheer fun, there is little to beat Geo’s airing of Hum Sub Umeed Say Hain’s ‘Shortcut Aziz’ song. History may already have relegated him to its footnotes but how can anyone resist such ample subject matter for humour? There he goes, two-stepping across the screen with a flourish of the briefcase here, a twirl of the fountain-pen there, eager to serve Pakistan as long as it means only the well-heeled. Beyond the fun, there’s a deeper relevance: even as the audience laughs, it is reminded of the promises made by the Shaukat Aziz-led economic reform programme and its failed trickle-down effect.

The value of such programming lies not only in it being fresh and entertaining, but also in being an important alternative expression and reflection of the tides of politics. It promotes the political awareness of a country that has suffered a decade-long process of active and wilful de-politicisation.

For instance, Geo’s ‘Bus bhai bus Chief Saab’ video of Sajjad Ali’s hit song was played repeatedly last summer, particularly after broadcasts of reports on state violence and police brutality against protesting lawyers. Quite clearly, the video appealed to the president – although some say it addressed Altaf Hussain – to review decisions in light of their consequences. It may have been in dubious taste but it undeniably raised points of vital significance through a format that was accessible to everyone and a tune that everyone was familiar with.

Meanwhile, anyone with some understanding of Punjabi and the literary devices included in its tradition will recognise the beauty of the Punjaagi clips being aired by the same channel. The old Butt and Bhatti duo are these days putting words into the mouth of President Bush — words that say more about the import of the American president’s actions and policies than perhaps any highbrow columnist ever could.

Similarly, Express is currently broadcasting rather inspired clips using the old song ‘Wa’da kiya jo, nibhana paray ga’. The channel has pulled out footage of the promises made by various politicians during the run-up to the elections: Asif Zardari talking about the importance of judicial independence, Nawaz Sharif on representative governance, Farooq Sattar on the importance of national unity. These clips have been rendered into a grainy, old-film look to be aired with the song. This is nothing less than an innovative method of holding political leaders accountable. The public is reminded of their promises; they are reminded of how difficult it may prove to renege on them.

Pakistan’s self-proclaimed father figure, the general without an army, ought to have understood this characteristic of the country’s news channels when he was trying so desperately to contain them. Attempting to suppress the electronic media today is like trying to stuff an eiderdown into a bag: push it in from one side and it’ll pop out from another. Wedged between both the officially-sanctioned curbs and other, informal, methods of control, Pakistan’s channels have found alternate ways of raising the very issues they were being targeted for covering. And hats off to them for it!

Post script: On a more serious note, restore the non-PCO judges. It’s important. The results of these elections indicate that this is not a time for playing politics or strategy but for taking a principled stand.

— hmumtaz@dawn.com

Diary of a new voter — the rest, hopefully, is history!

REGARDLESS of the results, it was a major relief for worried residents of the twin cities to see a peaceful election day following doomsday prediction of a blast of a time — not the kind used as a figure of speech but the real one.

After a particularly traumatic year that began with the deposition of chief justice Iftikhar Muhammad Chaudhry and culminated with the tragic assassination of Benazir Bhutto and along the way saw the Lal Masjid rebellion crushed with devastating consequences, a peaceful election, if anything, is a pleasant surprise. After years of cynicism, accentuated probably by the stylish mien of Ayaz Amir’s pen, yours truly was pushed, then cajoled into making a much-delayed debut at the hustings — as a voter.

Some part of the dissuasion was also down to security concerns as well as the present and clear danger of rigging. In the end, the whole exercise was akin to a walk in the park, although one ensured early in the day not to become an Election Commission-induced statistic under the category of “missing voters”.

It helped that the polling station one ventured into was barely a hundred yards from my residence. Becoming the proverbial early bird on the poll day afforded not just the fresh morning air only Islamabad amongst a small family of provincial cousins can provide, but also hopefully, contribute to a just cause.

On the gate leading up to the school serving as the polling station, one came across two voters of modest appearance exchanging notes on who they intended to vote. It turned out that they were casting the ballot for the same candidate, who shall remain nameless for reasons of impartiality.

Of interest was how one said to the other that though he knew that the candidate was a downright thug and a qabza group affiliate, all that mattered to him was to vote for the party that “restores the judges”.

The second, who was apparently unaware of the said candidate’s alleged misdemeanours nodded in approval of the distinction.

Amusing as the exchange was, it gave way to an inescapable reflection on last year’s actions, whose credo was reinforced by a vigilant and, often daring media. Those moving images shaped public opinion. And there is little doubt that this opinion itself has been shaped by clarity of thought.

The brief exchange struck me because these folks could very well have taken the beaten path and cited price hike, shortage of daily essentials like flour and sugar, power and gas load- shedding and lack of enough water and CNG to justify their need for change. But these ordinary people of ordinary means appear to know more about what could singly turn things around than say, self- appointed local guardians and their foreign masters.

They seem to have a desi solution to their core problems but are quite certain about the efficacy of home-made recipes. Admirable, in no small measure, is also their willingness to see beyond the immediate needs that would keep the stove burning at home.

But return one must to the rites of voting passage: with the serious must come the hilarious. Once inside the polling station, one’s voting fate lay in the hands of poll officials, who however, struggled to keep the ball — ballot, to be more precise — rolling.

Almost everyone appeared to be asking everyone else — be it poll officials or voters — how to proceed with no clear sign to kick start the show except the ‘exit’ sign at the far end.

It led a voter standing next to me to quip that he could think of at least one party, which would have loved to see everyone follow the exit sign. The devil is in the details, they say, and one wondered, in a dollop of humour, if this was it.

When my turn came to read the “writing on the wall”, I skipped a heartbeat. It happened when the poll official took a wrong turn and cut my younger brother’s name — in the pecking order above mine — by drawing a line on it. He was supposed to exercise his drawing skills on the moniker that belongs to yours truly.

The foot ruler that he used to draw the line also deserves mention because it was so small that it seemed more like a footnote in a diabolical tale.

The official also let his creative juices flow in asking me where my brother was so that, in his learned opinion, the sheer presence of brother dearest could neatly resolve the problem.

It was probably, pointless to seek a “via Bhatinda” (indirect) solution since my brother lives abroad. But one avoided an argument lest the official turn spiteful and possibly, indulge a trick to render the ballot invalid. A swollen ego could very well be a threat to a valid vote.

Mercifully, his superior suggested that he put a tiny cross against my brother’s name than play naughts and crosses with it, and follow that up by correctly drawing the line on my name.

Then, upon attaining the ballot paper, one was given such a dilapidated stamp to make the choice that one couldn’t help but afford a wry smile in recall of the last parliament, which was referred to as a “rubber stamp” with boring frequency.

I pressed the shoddy thing four times in the chosen rectangular space just to make its presence felt — and in the process, ensure my voting debut did not end up in a forgotten dustbin of history.

The rest, one hopes, is history.

The writer is News Editor at Dawn News. He may be contacted at kaamyabi@gmail.com