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RECENTLY, I watched an episode of University Challenge, the popular BBC quiz show for undergraduate college teams from across Britain.
Hosted by Jeremy Paxman, the recently retired Newsnight anchor known as the ‘Rottweiler of TV journalism’, the programme airs at 8pm, and is widely watched. Last week, the contestants were Oxford University’s Balliol College versus Cambridge’s Magdalene.
Paxman fired out questions on subjects ranging from Latin grammar to particle physics, and the students — given about 30 seconds per question — answered at the same speed. The teams took turns in the lead, but when the final bell rang half an hour from the start, Balliol emerged as the winner to go through to the next round.
What impressed me was not so much the quick intelligence of the young students, but the fact that the BBC airs the programme at peak viewing time, and gets a highly paid heavyweight like Paxman to host it. In Pakistan, we have our TV channels competing with their own political chat shows in the same prime time slot.
Politics has been transformed into a blood sport.
In fact, around the clock. In their relentless Darwinian struggle for ratings and advertising revenue, media moguls have forgotten that TV’s only function is not just to inform — although misinform would be more accurate — but to educate and to entertain.
Politics has been transformed into a blood sport, with representatives of political parties squaring off like gladiators, shouting their adversaries down. Anchors allow their guests to rant on in the hope that this is what viewers want. And judging by ratings, I suppose they aren’t wrong. Apart from the rudeness guests often display, the ignorance of most of our popular studio hosts is appalling.
We are often told how much better off we are because of a free media. Frankly, I occasionally find myself missing the boring certitude of the days when the state-controlled Pakistan Television ruled the airwaves. We all knew it only gave us the official line, and switched on the BBC World Service on the radio for an approximation of the truth.
But to its credit, PTV had good informational and entertainment programmes on prime time. As it wasn’t competing for ratings, it was conscious of its wider role in society: thus, Pervez Hoodbhoy once did a wonderful educational series, and much new acting talent was discovered and nourished.
In Pakistan, freedom has been taken as licence to do whatever one wants, irrespective of consequences. We have seen TV channels launch unsubstantiated attacks on politicians and institutions. As a result, democracy has been weakened: according to opinion polls, a majority of Pakistanis despise politicians and think the military would do a better job of running the country.
But the media isn’t the only one to confuse freedom with licence: witness the behaviour of many of our lawyers. When a group of the fraternity showered Punjab governor Salmaan Taseer’s killer with rose petals, they brought disgrace to their profession. This was compounded by their thuggish actions in several courtrooms where they have threatened and assaulted each other as well as judges.
The judiciary itself has not been immune to this syndrome. Judicial independence has been taken to mean the right to usurp executive functions. Frivolous suo motu notices have flown thick and fast. And, apparently to block criticism, questionable contempt of court laws have been used freely. The result is that our judiciary is perceived to have made itself the laughing stock of the international legal community.
The different interest groups now flexing their muscles are whittling away at executive authority. Elected governments, forced to share power with a Bonapartist military, are now having to deal with a number of other unruly actors.
But this confusion between freedom and licence raises a wider issue of public discipline. As a people, we tend to scorn authority and flaunt the rules. Years ago, I remember a friend in Karachi telling me about an incident when people in the car behind him at a traffic signal were furious that he had stopped at a red light, accusing him of being a government toady, or in Urdu, a chamcha.
In such an environment, there are no brakes, and in the ensuing free-for-all, the devil take the hindmost. This mindset is evident in the refusal to form queues, or wait for your turn for any service.
Not that long ago, it was expected that education would instil some self-restraint. Wrong. Who could be better educated than judges and lawyers? If they don’t uphold the values of a civilised society, who else will?
Laws, rules and regulations form the steel structure that holds society together. And these are framed under a Constitution that is a compact between the state and its citizens. Informing this agreement are not just words, but an underlying spirit. If the best placed people in the country flout this social contract, then we shouldn’t be surprised when the system breaks down.
Published in Dawn, November 1st , 2014
