I HAD barely been at university for two weeks when the buzz began: Nelson Mandela, then president of South Africa, was coming to campus to receive an honorary degree.

It was the third time in the institution’s 362-year history that a special convocation would be held to bestow such an award: the previous recipients were George Washington and Winston Churchill. It was history in the making.

The convocation ranks as one of the most memorable days of my life: over 25,000 people gathered in my university yard to hear Mandela speak, and see him receive the distinct honour. It also offered one of the most important lessons of my university years: that the best learning does not necessarily happen in the classroom.

For a freshman, attending the historic recognition of Mandela’s struggles against apartheid was an exercise in humility. I believed until then that a good degree was a ticket to success; his example demonstrated that it would take much more than just graduating to make a real difference.

Since Interior Minister Rehman Malik received an honorary degree from the University of Karachi, and that too in a special ceremony at the Governor House, the memory of Mandela’s convocation has recurred to me many times. In retrospect, what strikes me most about that event is that before Mandela took the podium, the president of the university delivered a speech explaining why Mandela was receiving an honorary degree.

The speech listed all of Mandela’s achievements, from his early years as a student activist to his time in prison and his gains as South Africa’s first black president. None in that crowd of thousands would have disputed that Mandela deserved the degree, and yet the university president retraced his long walk to freedom.

I now realise that this preamble was necessary to maintain the integrity of the institution by publicly justifying its motivations for honouring Mandela.

As such, the convocation was simultaneously a celebration of Mandela’s remarkable career and the university’s values. The message for assembled students was clear: do not take accolades lightly, earn them and revere them. It is truly unfortunate that Malik’s recent degree ceremony conveyed a far less inspiring message for Pakistan’s college-age students.

In a country where knowledge and merit are regularly trounced by violence and social connections, Malik’s honorary degree reiterates that who you know is more important than what you know.

This message rings truer because an incomplete university syndicate approved the decision to award Malik the degree, meaning that proper university protocol was not observed in this case. Speaking to the press, many KU faculty members have expressed serious reservations about the decision. This dissent will no doubt further mar the integrity of the university administration.

The obvious political dimensions of the award could also have far-reaching consequences for educational environments.

Students may be more inclined to engage with the student wings of political parties, believing those contacts to be more useful to their future success than their coursework. Given the aggressive and counterproductive nature of student politics at KU, this is not necessarily a good thing. Student politics are meant to nurture the bud of democracy, not blight it with nepotism.

The award is particularly damaging in light of the recent ‘fake degree’ scandal in our parliament (who can forget Balochistan Chief Minister Nawab Aslam Raisani’s “a degree is a degree, whether it is fake or genuine” logic?). That episode had senior politicians discrediting the worth of education by deeming it irrelevant. Malik’s doctoral degree is further proof that educational qualifications have utility even if they are hollow and shambolic. Many are also questioning the timing of the degree, which acknowledges Malik’s efforts to bring stability to Karachi and fight terrorism. Violence continues to erupt in corners of Karachi, and recent newspaper headlines have decried the non-implementation of the Supreme Court’s recommendations in its suo motu judgment.

Counterterror initiatives are also flagging: there has been an uptick in terror attacks; Pakistan’s recent tensions with the US cast doubt on its commitment to dismantle militant groups; and the memory of the terrorist attack against the Mehran naval base in Karachi lingers. In short, the task of bringing peace to Pakistan has barely even begun — any awards that imply otherwise are certainly premature.

There’s also the simple matter of lowered standards for politicians: as the interior minister of our country, it is Malik’s job to stem violence in the commercial capital and to spearhead the national fight against terror groups. His achievements, however they are counted, are the basic responsibility of his political position. That which KU has recognised him for is what our other elected representatives should be doing day in and day out, in service of the nation.

Take a step back from the situation and it becomes disturbing to think that a politician who makes a few gestures that resemble service is awarded an honorary doctoral degree. Leave aside the political context of the award and it becomes an indication of how low Pakistani expectations of politicians are.

Ultimately, though, the most problematic aspect of Malik’s honorary degree is the negative impact it has on role models for Pakistani youth. Already, our country’s youngsters have few nationally revered figures to admire and emulate. Even fewer of these are intellectuals. Our one Nobel Prize laureate has been wiped from the public imagination owing to rampant religious discrimination.

The controversy surrounding Malik’s degree could cast doubt on the integrity — and more importantly, the relevance — of genuine academics throughout the country. And that’s the last thing a country suffering such severe intellectual poverty needs.

The writer is a freelance journalist.

huma.yusuf@gmail.com