IT is not strange that specialist academics consider themselves to be the ultimate repositories of scholarship and knowledge. Thus fortified, and with a self-righteous disdain, they lament the audacity of lesser mortals, untrained in political economy, to waste precious space in 21st century op-ed pages by exercising literary licence to give symbolic and metaphorical meaning to terms like feudalism.

These men of knowledge can only recede into history to enforce the entrenchment of certain terms securely in their historical, classical context. They are unconcerned that, in a living language, etymology of any significant term reveals, over centuries, substantial changes in the nuances a word creates in the reader’s mind. Usage may add newer and expanded meanings outside the original context i.e. it adds a later flavour to older and stricter parameters.

Obviously, the licence to and discretion of introducing these growing changes lie squarely in literary hands of acknowledged scholarship and this liberty does not belong to minions like me. Suffice it to say that feudalism is now acquiring a usage that denotes relationships of exploitation. Even respected dictionaries (Chambers 20th Century) now define feudalism (perhaps sacrilegiously in the eyes of these experts) as ‘a class-conscious social or political system resembling the medieval feudal system’.

But our experts of political economy have taken such affront to the liberal use of the term that they have invoked the greater gurus of history in Pakistan to intervene to reassert the sanctity of their knowledge and to suppress the tendency to free terms from the tentacles of their scholarship.

The invocations have so far received mixed reactions: some protagonists, unnecessarily on the defensive, are trying to find classical feudalism in our midst; others — more balanced like Harbans Mukhia — suggest a better understanding of the parameters, particularly in the non-European context, and prefer a more objective enquiry. What does all this indicate?

Feudalism is not the subject of this piece. The purpose is to highlight the tendency of the wielders of the power of knowledge to exercise it in pursuit of another political agenda. These players are persons of acclaimed scholarship. However, their self-righteous intellectualism limits tolerance of divergent views expressed by lay persons.

Reverting to feudalism, we know that in recent years there may have been a revolt against the term — many historians and political theorists have been led to reject it as a useful concept for understanding society. That is the politics of their knowledge. They would rather order the death of a word than allow it to assume a wider connotation. The latter emanates from the classical concept but is expanded, in this case to describe present-day society which is characterised by the continuing gulf between the very few, very rich landholders — though not necessarily the latter — and the poor who work under newer forms of bondages and exploitation. A state of mind really.

Experts of political economy, more than anybody else, can understand and appreciate the changing and expanding connotations of the term. Political economy, originating in moral philosophy, was a term for studying production, buying and selling and their relations with law, custom and government. Contemporary political economy refers to different, but related, approaches to studying economic and political behaviour, ranging from the combining of economics with other fields to the use of different fundamental assumptions that challenge orthodox economic views.

Would our highly trained experts of political economy reject the current expanded definition of the term and limit themselves to its 18th century parameters? In this case, the power and politics of their knowledge is no barrier to the development of a term over the years — a term not necessarily confined to its original use as it justifies growing intellectual power.

Our history, both recent and distant, is replete with examples of a tendency amongst the wielders of the power of knowledge to surreptitiously pursue a political agenda in furtherance of views of their own or of their masters. From Justice Munir to Altaf Gauhar to Tanwir Hussain Naqvi, we see the continuity of self-proclaimed men of knowledge. They had some knowledge; more power and greater political weight. They used the power of their knowledge to pursue the political agendas of their masters — not friends. In the process, knowledge may have been demeaned and power demonised.

In the last eight years, there have been several lesser intellects — from experts on economic management to those on governance reforms — who have made petty use of their superficial knowledge in trying to build edifices of political power for themselves, without regard for what the world thinks of these subjects now. Some lecture us daily as if we were an undergrad class and make nonsense of the word ‘development’. But they are too recent to be named.

The power of knowledge can be used for political objectives successfully only by real men of learning. Others, less deft, can hurt their reputations grievously in such attempts. At this juncture, one is reminded of the great philosopher-theologian — and later Sufi — Imam Abu Hamid Al-Ghazali. Omid Safi’s recent research, The Politics of Knowledge in Premodern Islam: Negotiating Ideology and Religious Inquiry — that inspired the title of this article — shows that through his political treatises, such as the Al-Mustazhiri, the Nasihat al-Muluk and Tuhfat al-Muluk, Ghazali changed his theses to account for the changing political times.

According to Omid Safi “as the Seljuqs rose to positions of greater and greater prominence vis-à-vis the Abbasid caliphs, Al-Ghazali turned gradually from a model focused on the caliphate to one envisioning cooperation between the caliphate and sultanate before finally writing his last two political treatises completely focused on the Saljuq Sultanate”. All this before he withdrew to Jerusalem and Sufism, perhaps unable to tolerate the arbitrariness of the ruler’s power anymore.

But you have to be a Ghazali — a great philosopher and a man of piety — to retain your reputation unscathed. Men of lesser claims to knowledge may like to refrain from employing politically-motivated pontifications.

As a plea to men of such knowledge a quatrain of Baba Bulleh Shah may be appropriate:

“Khana shuk shubeh da khawain,
Dassain hor, kamanway hor,
Under khoat, bahir suchyar,
Ilmoon bus kareen o yaar.”

“You are a victim of doubt,
Suspicion and disbelief,
And a reflection of inner deceit.

O save us from the cacophony of such knowledge.”

(Translation by Raheel Ijaz)

jha45@yahoo.co.uk

GONE are the times when the use of arms was invariably linked to the tribal or feudal culture. Now violence is the lingua franca of the metropolis as well as the mountains. Only some sound bites are less deafening than others; otherwise, the air echoes with the noise of ‘booms’ and the cries of moaning mothers. The entire fabric of state and society contains gaping holes caused by the violent jabs of state and non-state actors, all in the name of conflicting labels of righteousness. Just look at the recent happenings.

In Karachi, frenzied mobs captured petty thieves, beat them to death and then publicly set their bodies ablaze. Why? They didn’t ‘trust’ the criminal justice system. In Larkana, three workers were killed: a waiter, a shepherd and a peasant. Why? They were killed in place of a murderer who happened to share their caste.

In Quetta, a university teacher of 20 years was assassinated. Why? He was not a ‘local’. In Bajaur, an American drone aimed a missile at a communal abode killing scores of people, including children. Why? ‘They were Taliban’ was the reason given.

Besides, countless bodies are falling everyday in Fata and Balochistan under the banner of national security. Brutal force is used in the name of law and order to quell the civil society/lawyers’ protest. But perhaps the more sinister form of violence is that expressed in terms of ‘isms’ and injunctions. A poor Hindu labourer was lynched by his fellow workers for ‘blasphemy’. Girls schools and video shops are regularly blown up for being ‘anti-Islamic’. Couples eligible for marriage are frequently killed in the name of karo kari. The beautiful Swat valley has been turned into a battleground in the name of the Sharia.

Moreover, there is a covert but equally pernicious genre of institutionalised or state-sponsored violence which hits a particular group or section of society. For example, denying justice, peace, security, education, health, housing and lately wheat flour to the poor. Failure to stop corruption and malpractices in public departments also comes within the ambit of violence. Economists treat graft (Rs60bn per annum) as a burdensome rent which affects the economy and aggravates social crises.

One can add to this mix a string of scams which regularly bleeds all major sectors of economy — cement, sugar, stock exchange, banks, public land — and involves billions of rupees. Who bears the brunt of this colossal theft? Obviously, it’s the common man. Meanwhile, ever since Gen Zia equipped and armed jihadis to fight communism, and introduced state-imposed ‘Islamic laws’, faith-based violence has emerged as a major threat to the writ and legal order of the state.

While the debate is still on as to the propriety of using force against the Lal Masjid militants, the state seems to have somersaulted by agreeing to introduce the Sharia in Malakand just to appease the militant Islamists. Besides causing conflict in law, such appeasement will embolden other sects to demand the Sharia at gunpoint. That would split society into sectional boxes guarded by private militias.

Thus, looking at so many faces of violence, one wonders in which direction state and society are headed. Is there a ray of light at the end of the tunnel? To answer these questions it is important to study the genesis of violence. Historically, violence, both private and public, is inextricably linked to the denial of what is legally as well as socio-culturally due to individuals and groups. The question what is ‘due’ has caused revolutions and civil wars. The issue was finally settled by the arrival of the democratic state through a ‘social contract’ (or constitution) which lay down all the rights and duties of citizens and distributed powers among the organs.

Yet, since the state is vulnerable to ever-changing socio-political realities, it continuously requires catching up with the new realities by changing laws or amending constitutions. Democracy provides the state with the means to adjust and advance with the will of the people.

Therefore, from the disarray of the Roman Empire to the disintegration of Yugoslavia, history has over and over again substantiated with stark facts the symbiosis between democracy and social harmony.

Juxtaposing dictatorship and democracy, history also presents accounts of many a nation which faced political, religious or social violence at one or the other stage of its development. But ultimately, all of them (except for some like ours) got rid of violence through the democratic discourse. It is a proven fact that true democracies are less prone to violence. In fact, the most genuine, such as that of the Scandinavians’, are completely free from violence. Indian Nobel laureate Amartya Sen, even claims that famines don’t happen in democracies.

But democracy demands social responsibility and the sharing of wealth and political power. Unless all people, the ultimate source of sovereignty, are partners in the affairs of the state, the concentration of wealth and power will remain lopsided leading to a culture of denial and violence. Therefore, in democracies every elected government is honour-bound to work for the welfare of the greatest number of people. Here, violent revolutions don’t happen even during the worst recessions although governments change under popular pressure. And why don’t revolutions take place anymore? Because democratic nations have learnt from their past. Edmund Burke’s Reflections on the Revolution in France remained a political bible for the English aristocracy that witnessed the horrors of the French Revolution.

To thwart such horrors, Britain introduced social and political reforms as did Bismarck in Germany. But the French, Austrian, Russian and Ottoman empires learnt nothing and perished in wars and revolutions.

This brings up the question: is the leadership, civil and military, ready to learn from the past and allow democracy to deal with violence by removing the culture of denial? No political order can exist without establishing a just and legal order. Already, the wrong done to the judicial system is turning the people into a mob ready to apply on-the-spot ‘justice’. The judiciary must be made respectable again.

It was neither the end of the Peloponnesian war which united Sparta and Athens, nor Alexander’s conquests. It was Socrates’ drink of death in deference to the laws that laid the moral foundation of the Hellenic civilisation that brought about unity. When Crito, his pupil, suggested escape from prison, he refused, saying: “Do you imagine that a city can continue to exist and not be turned upside down, if the legal judgments have no force?”

shahabusto@hotmail.com