THE ‘establishment’ of more than eight years is now struggling for sustenance and insurance of a continued, albeit considerably reduced, role in the emerging new powerhouse.

Essentially representing the holders of the ruler’s trust, it comprises the powerful military leadership and some chosen individuals selected by the ruler for the confidence he places in their wisdom and counsel. A wise ruler goes beyond loyalty in his selections, searching for competence as a prerequisite. In practice though, except for the institutional representatives, the rest of the establishment tends to degenerate into cronyism.

We are now witnessing a change of guard: one ruler is receding into insignificance and a new set of rulers — old foes, new friends — gradually marching into authority, one with caution and the other with affront. The president, promising continuity and comfort to foreign patrons, seeks a working relationship with the new forces and a share in the new establishment.

The US has promptly obliged and sent their diplomatic arm-twisters to cajole, coax or coerce — whatever it takes — the prospective establishment to pursue the prescribed agenda. The tip of the carrot has been revealed: a tranche of $300m as aid. Mr Praful Patel, the World Bank’s vice-president for the region, has also been here in these momentous days when the country faces difficult economic prospects.

The ‘carrot’ may be too tempting and juicy with siphons of personal benefits visible down the implementation lane. The blackmail of the ‘stick’ may be a threat the new establishment might be unprepared to confront. Reneging on a few promised deadlines may be a small price for a guaranteed political survival.

The most potent force of the establishment, the military leadership, seems to have temporarily vacated centre stage and withdrawn to the wings as vigilant spectators of the resolution, or otherwise, of the political affiliations in the offing. Their scrutiny stays while interference in any measure is avoided to ostensibly provide a level playing field to the old and new rulers, without let or hindrance. They seem to impartially await the crystallisation of a new political order before any muscles are flexed, and that too only in dire need. For the moment they would like to concentrate on their profession.

So the establishment is in the melting pot, expected to soon emerge afresh with its contours reflecting the new mosaic being woven by the master craftsmen of the recently empowered political forces. Are these forces any the wiser after 12 or eight years in the political wilderness? They should realise that the wise ruler must select his principal advisers purely and ruthlessly on merit of competence, and loyalty should be their second virtue and not the first.

It is only the wisdom of the ruler that steers the state out of a morass of debilitating circumstances, a situation in which Pakistan finds itself today. This wisdom essentially manifests itself in the quality of the establishment coterie he surrounds himself with. Will there now be an establishment clever in statecraft that will consciously pursue the public agendas of the political parties in power, or will it relapse into the more enticing palace intrigues and schemes for personal aggrandisement? The proof of the pudding will be in the eating and the rulers will be solely responsible for the fare of governance they offer.

Historically, due to a lack of continuous democratic rule and the gnawing tentacles of bureaucracies, even political governments have relied on unelected kitchen cabinets. The governments of the nineties were distinctively dictatorial and the rulers beckoned only sycophantic loyalists to their proximity. Except for a distant stewardship from a military leadership intervening only in important matters of national security, the establishments of the 1990s were generally reputed for loyalty rather than competence, medieval-style courtier craft and a creative panache for corruption.

The ruler’s main advisers were mostly from outside parliament: ingratiating bureaucrats, boyhood pals, wheeler-dealers of dubious intentions and political hangers-on. The bureaucrats were narrow-minded and self-seeking, the cronies clueless of governance and the others motivated only by pecuniary profits. With an establishment of such nondescript qualifications public good could not be expected. The state was the loser and the political rulers became victims of their own poor governance.

Now that the political rulers of the nineties are coalescing into one government, what can we expect vis-à-vis the shape and composition of the new establishment? One perception of these political bosses, now maturer by a decade, is of greater cool-headedness rather than the ebullience of their salad days. The question remains though whether they are now cool customers only in bargains of power, or have they learnt their lessons in statecraft as well. Are they personally, materially satiated to now focus entirely on their stated manifestos of public good?

If the public articulations of Messrs Asif Ali Zardari, Nawaz Sharif and Asfandyar Wali are any indication, their metaphor is maturer, their intentions clearly stated and their strategy well considered. But political parties have never been short on slogans. In the past the gap between their words and deeds was dangerously vast and the ordinary citizen, short public memory notwithstanding, is still cynically wary of these declarations of noble intent.

A new establishment is slowly taking shape with some key players already strategically placed. So far it has been a smooth run to the finish for the trusted, though prodigal, members of the establishment of the nineties. They lived in exile, forced or voluntary, during the decade of their deprivation of authority. Having successfully passed through the filters of loyalty tests — genuinely or circumstantially — they return to the corridors of power to take their appointed positions in the establishment.

Many questions may, however, loom large over the selection of these outstanding persons. Are these returning advisers repentant and cleansed of their past practices? Are they converted to the cause of governance? This nation is now shorn of all shock absorbers and cannot bear another attack on political stability, perversion of the constitution, corruption and lack of accountability. If these symptoms of a lack of governance surface again — perhaps inviting another adventurous intervention — there may be nothing stopping us from plunging into the abyss of disintegration.

Our rulers must be aware of the lack of space now available for experimentation, while typical sycophants pander to their bloated egos in sessions of culinary indulgences or nocturnal retreats. The new establishment must be formed of rather dry, serious-minded, competent advisers: wise, visionary, committed to the cause of governance and mindful of a vigilant civil society. The new caucus of power will have a historic role. What future course this country takes will be determined by the style of governance of the next few months.

It has been encouraging to observe that the new political bosses publicly emphasise the supremacy of parliament. With that conviction, it will only be naturally fruitful if the new establishment essentially comprises elected representatives who will have the force of the electorate behind their advice. So will the old order change, or the wicked days of yore return? As the entire ensemble of the new establishment appears on stage, the discerning eye will soon find out.

MUSHARRAF “has no objection” to the release of judges and would have no problem with their restoration “provided a constitutional procedure is followed”, which “meant that a two-thirds majority of both houses of parliament could amend the constitution” (Dawn, March 27, 2008).

Under our constitution, the president cannot make policy statements nor express his opinion, let alone one in respect of a sensitive matter involving his person. Every businessman knows that whenever a director’s personal interest is involved he leaves the boardroom and does not vote. In the case of the president the standard ought to be, and is, much higher. The president’s oath of office stipulates “that I will not allow my personal interest to influence my official conduct or my official decisions”. The restoration of the judiciary threatens Musharraf as the restored judges may determine whether he can be president.

The presidential oath further requires the president to discharge his “duties … in accordance with the constitution … and always in the interest of the sovereignty, integrity, solidarity, well-being and prosperity of Pakistan”. Is the sacking of judges in accordance with the constitution? Is such an action in the interest of Pakistan? Either it is or it isn’t. If it is then a date for the next sacking should be notified — or will it coincide with Musharraf seeking public office again?

As yet, not even the clapping claque surrounding Musharraf contends that destroying the judiciary benefits Pakistan. However, if the periodic sacking of judges is recommended then peddlers of law like Malik Qayyum, Sharifuddin Pirzada, Shahida Jamil, Mohammad Ali Saif, senator-lawyers and other beneficiaries of Musharraf’s gravy train should point out the merits of such action. But even Musharraf’s obsequious flatterers have not revealed the virtues of such a flushing. The entire nation believes it was perfidious.

Whilst on the subject of oaths, the minister for law and justice in Musharraf’s hand-picked federal caretaker government, Syed Afzal Haider, recommended himself as a judge of the Federal Shariat Court. How will his conscience circumvent the oath that he took, “That I will not allow my personal interest to influence my official conduct or my official decisions?” His success in the venture will be no less remarkable than Houdini escaping his fetters.

Other caretakers also took care of themselves and their own. TV’s knight against corruption, nepotism and patronage landed himself an extremely lucrative job in the state-controlled media. The minister for information extolled his benefactor’s virtues through advertisements paid for by the taxpayers and secured his daughter a reserved seat in parliament on the PML-Q ticket. The caretaker prime minister gave himself a whopping package.

The self-promoting head of his self-named trust spent most of his ministerial time projecting himself. He freed a convicted spy under the media spotlight but remained unconcerned about illegally incarcerated Pakistani judges. These men and women represented no one. They were, each and every one, hand-picked by Musharraf.

When Musharraf waxes eloquent about matters constitutional one wonders where he learnt law. Did he receive his legal education at the hands of Sharifuddin Pirzada? In the case of Asma Jilani v Government of Pakistan, Pirzada supported the view canvassed by A.K. Brohi that martial law, including the variety we saw on Nov 3, 2007, is a “law which is imposed on an alien territory under occupation by an armed force of which the classic definition was given by the Duke of Wellington when he stated in a debate in the House of Lords in 1851 that, ‘Martial Law is neither more or less than the will of the General who commands the army.

In fact, Martial Law means no law at all.’” History records that Mr Pirzada’s views underwent a convenient change subsequently.

Or has Musharraf been taught law by the attorney general, about whom a seven-member bench of the Supreme Court in the case of Asif Ali Zardari v. The State said: “Reference No. 30 of 1998 was virtually chased by Malik Muhammad Qayyum, J. and the exercise had caused substantial financial loss to the state exchequer. The chase thus given amply demonstrates the keen interest of Malik Muhammad Qayyum, J. to impose himself on the matter and take it to its end according to his preconceived notions.”

The Supreme Court further found that he had “acquired a personal interest in the case by deriving an out of the way favour of grant of diplomatic passport to him and his wife.” The ministry of foreign affairs had objected: “According to the rules covering the issuance of diplomatic passports, Justice Malik Muhammad Qayyum and his wife are not entitled to hold a diplomatic passport.”

The Supreme Court damned him further. “Malik Muhammad Qayyum, J. being the senior member of the bench had exerted his influence on the second member.” The court concluded thus: “We are convinced that the trial in this case was not fair and on account of bias of the Ehtesab Bench, the trial of appellants stands vitiated.” These were probably the strongest remarks ever made against a judge. The signatories to the court’s order included Iftikhar Mohammad Chaudhry, who was then eighth in seniority.

Qayyum’s case was to be referred to the Supreme Judicial Council but he resigned. Ironically he represented Musharraf’s government against the chief justice in the infamous March 9 reference. Attorney General Makhdoom Ali Khan presented the reference but an experienced hand was needed at the tiller. Qayyum’s particular expertise probably necessitated his hiring, at a cost of Rs4m paid by Pakistani taxpayers, for a few days’ work.

Qayyum endeared himself to Musharraf and was then appointed to the highest legal office. The constitution requires this office to be held by a person who must be “qualified for appointment as a judge of the Supreme Court”. After the unanimous finding against Qayyum by the highest court was he “qualified for appointment as a judge of the Supreme Court”?

The attorney general “gives advice to the federal government”. It is thus an office which the government of the day has the right to fill. Attorney and advocate generals resign with the change of government but this time they haven’t. Why?

The Constitution of Pakistan commences with these words:

“Whereas sovereignty over the entire Universe belongs to Almighty Allah alone, and the authority to be exercised by the people of Pakistan … is a sacred trust. And whereas it is the will of the people of Pakistan to establish an order … Wherein the independence of the judiciary shall be fully secured.”

Who are the men and women of scruples to interpret the constitution and best discharge this sacred trust? Musharraf, Pirzada, Qayyum, et al?

PAKISTAN is enveloped in a pernicious vortex of suicidal terrorists juggernauting their mind-boggling, heart-rending and body-blowing agenda, and a global economic downturn from which our economy is not immune. Suicide bombings and a growing sense of panic exacerbate Pakistan’s economic plight to the advantage of terrorists.

They enervate our stretched counter-terrorism capabilities and doom our resolve to shackle terrorism as we look temptingly, and wrongly, to the path of least resistance: negotiations with avowed terrorists.

First and foremost amongst the priorities of the new coalition government ought to and must be a fiercer resolve than the previous government’s in ridding the country of Al Qaeda, Taliban and their local sympathisers. This is a tall order. Their tentacles now extend to the heartland, striking once-pristine and terror-free Lahore four times in a matter of months. The pall of fear, paranoia and despair cast over the country, periodically made darker by the terrorists, must be countered and dispelled by the new government through coherent, sincere and dedicated efforts to asphyxiate the sources of terrorism. Fearless and firm follow-up will, surely, reap the results we have long sought since we officially abandoned the Taliban on Sept 12, 2001.

The experience of India in containing urban suicide bombings may be well worth studying. Mumbai has not been struck since the heinous railway attacks of summer 2006, and Delhi since the assault on parliament in 2002. While India has been battling insurgents on the margins, the spillover effects of this battle haven’t derailed its engines of economic growth or tarnished its symbols of military might. Terrorist attacks in India are an exception; in Pakistan they are the rule.

Secondly, compassionate and people-centric economic policies, economic opportunities and the assurance of upward social mobility — not merely fiscal lip service and the touting of macroeconomic indicators that have little relevance in the street — will help asphyxiate terrorism. At a time when CPI food inflation can hit 18.25 per cent (the figure for January), there is a clear and present danger of worsening economic conditions playing into the politics of fear and terror. The security of the citizenry and state will remain elusive if the meat-and-potato issues continue to fester.

Laissez-faire thinkers seeking to link local prices with international markets audaciously mask the reality that developing and developed countries alike have highly protected agrarian sectors shielding their exposure to regional and global volatility in commodities. Not even the US or India has caved into WTO pressures for agriculture-based free trade. And, of course, transatlantic agrarian feuds are notorious. These blithe ivory-tower assertions fail to appreciate the Pakistani consumer’s inability to purchase food commodities at international prices. Instead, the government should seek to nimbly reduce and stabilise prices of food staples by encouraging production through modernisation and expert management of our resources.

Yet another potential source dampening the people’s resolve in counter-terrorism, although arguably not directly contributing to it, is the dire market gap in the power sector. Images of Karachi residents rioting in the summer of 2006 illustrated the gross mismanagement of a crucial backbone of the country’s economy. Pursuing alternate sources for power generation — hydel, coal, nuclear and wind — is the way forward. The utilisation of Pakistan’s extensive coal reserves in Thar and Lakhra is critical for cheap power, as is the successful implementation of power projects in the wind corridors of lower Sindh. The case for Pakistan’s de jure entry into the nuclear club must be made in order to pursue cheap nuclear power.

Valuable state resources must also be wrested back from the alphabet soup of recently midwifed institutions that have become impediments to progress as it will come at a high opportunity cost. Take the National Accountability Bureau, a byword for political victimisation. Its high-minded raison d’être ceased when, in 2002, this organisation employed coercive tactics to tame political opponents and herd them to the military-guided political order of the day. Its credibility and independence have been so dubious that its dissolution announced by Prime Minister Gilani will not be questioned.

Similarly, the National Reconstruction Bureau dispensed with the tried and tested municipal system and introduced in 2001 the local government system which, however noble in theory, resulted in duplication of responsibilities and strains on the budget while providing little or none of the grassroots democracy that it promised.

The Bureau’s signature enterprise added little or no value to good governance and only reinforced the buck-passing in local and provincial politics. And what exactly does the National Commission for Human Development do?

A cost-benefit analysis of such organisations is essential to ascertain their pros and cons. But this must be undertaken dispassionately, devoid of personal angles and agendas, to the greatest possible extent. A precedent must be set for once to show that Pakistani politicians have either ingrained or acquired greatness in them; that the politics of recrimination and revenge can be forsaken in the larger mission of reconciliation in the country.

It is in this spirit that the new parliament can become the ultimate arbiter of the people’s will. Through a systematic, institutional process, a la Westminster, a great number of wrongs can, arguably, be righted within the first 100 days of the incoming government of national unity.

Hope springs eternal from Feb 18. We will be turning a new page in our blighted history if the new government does not rock an already rickety boat by spurring confrontation with the president or the judiciary, and instead renews efforts, intentions and capabilities in the ongoing operations against the militants who have seized our land.

This is de rigueur in the hope of pre-empting overt US hot pursuits inside Pakistani territory. Internally, this struggle can gain much-needed popular support once economic hardships are alleviated through rigorous, austerity and economic growth programmes which do not inhibit new investments and private businesses. It is only then that the ‘balkanisation of Pakistan’ theorists can be contested.

THINK of a place with beautiful pristine beaches, clear blue waters, swaying coconut palm trees and the friendliest, easiest-going people on earth — and you think of Goa. Think again of a place full of corrupt cops and politicians, a land full of crime, drugs and alcohol — and you also think of Goa. Paradoxical, yet true. These two contrasting images of Goa have come to the fore with the recent rape and murder of a 15-year-old English girl, Scarlett Keeling. Her bruised body was found at Anjuna, one of Goa’s most popular and scenic beaches, where foreigners like to hang out. It was later found that she had been high on a lethal cocktail of cocaine and booze. Whether she was deliberately murdered after being raped, or drowned while in a stupor, is still a matter of police investigation.

Scarlett’s mother, 44-year-old Fiona McKeown, a mother of nine children, landed in India immediately after she learnt of her daughter’s death and went on the offensive against the Goa administration.

She accused the state’s home minister (law and order comes under him), no less, and the police chief of being in cahoots with the drug trade, leaving the administration red-faced and spluttering. The trouble is that a lot of people believe her.

Both men of course hotly denied the charge and, instead, pointed an accusing finger at Fiona. How could she be so callous as to leave a 15-year-old girl alone without protection, they asked.

Their question, however, skirted the main issue: how has Goa, a much sought-after destination for tourists, both Indian and foreign, bringing in valuable foreign exchange, turned into something of a nightmare?

I first came to Goa in early 1964, on my first major assignment as a reporter for the Times of India. Three years earlier, over three centuries of Portuguese rule over the territory had come to an end, with the Indian army marching into Goa.

India’s then prime minister, Jawaharlal Nehru, his popularity waning, needed something to boost his party’s electoral prospects. A forced takeover of Goa was his answer. There was little resistance from the few Portuguese troops based there and the Indian army had a cakewalk. But India’s show of military might saddened many who were proud of the country’s tradition of non-violence and peaceful coexistence.

After Goa’s ‘liberation’, an opinion poll took place, with Goans being asked whether they wanted to merge with the adjoining Maharashtra state, with whom they had strong cultural links, or be on their own. To the surprise of most Indians, they preferred being separate.

I went to Goa several times after that, enchanted by the beauty of the place and the friendly, liberal nature of its people, 40 per cent of whom were Roman Catholic and the rest Hindu and Muslim. This combination of natural splendour and cultural mix is what attracted hordes of tourists — close to 400,000 foreigners a year — but it was also the undoing of Goa.

Alcohol was always easily and cheaply available in the countless Goan bars and taverns that dot the state and are part of its charm and ethos. Feni is the local brew, made either from the cashew fruit or the sap of the coconut palm. A thriving cottage industry revolves around feni.

But with alcohol came drugs — hashish, marijuana, cocaine, ecstasy and, most lethal of all, pure heroin. The drugs were openly sold and it is no secret that politicians and officials were deeply involved in the trade, as were some foreign tourists, particularly from Israel and Russia. Indeed, the Russians now monopolise Morjim, one of the beaches in north Goa, and there is considerable talk of the clout of ‘the Russian mafia’ in the state.

With a population of only a little more than one million over a large stretch of territory, land was relatively cheap in Goa. A decade ago, I bought a small one-bedroom, 600 sq ft studio apartment near Colva beach in southern Goa for the equivalent of $10,000. It was a steal and has appreciated several times since then. Many other non-Goans did the same, as did quite a few foreigners. The result? Real estate prices in Goa have gone through the ceiling. Worse, developers, in league with corrupt local politicians, have grabbed land illegally, flouting environmental and local regulations, levelling coconut and cashew plantations and constructing ugly apartments and townships totally out of character with Goan architecture, a charming and unique blend of Latin and Indian styles.

Little wonder that Goans are outraged, as they see their state pillaged and vulgarised and their way of life threatened as never before.

Remo Fernandes, acclaimed singer and composer who has adapted traditional Goan music to modern influences, creating a style entirely his own, is a thoroughly disillusioned man. Asked who was responsible for the mess that Goa now finds itself in, he answered: “Everyone in power, because everyone in power in India is corrupt, especially in places where there’s money to be made from every square inch of land.”

What is his solution? “The ideal would be a Goa declared an ecologically protected state, where no person from out of the state would be allowed to buy or build, where Goans would build just enough accommodation for visitors who would come on holiday and then go home,” he responds. “If we urbanise and destroy our protected places, where will we go on holiday?” Utopian? Perhaps, since the Indian constitution allows Indians to move to wherever they want in the country and to buy property. Nevertheless, after Scarlett’s brutal death, one wonders what went wrong with the Eden that once was Goa and how it can be restored.

The writer is a former editor of Reader’s Digest and The Indian Express.

singh.84@hotmail.com