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ONE of the earliest facts to emerge from the horrendous Kasur district child abuse case was the expediency and complicity of local law enforcement in firstly providing protection, and secondly, in attempting a cover-up. Organised crime of any variant, including such heinous child abuse and pornography, cannot function without the complicity of state institutions. What is also clear is that without the involvement of some individuals who possess traction and influence with local authorities, criminal enterprises cannot function for extended periods of time. These individuals leverage political power and resources, thus enabling the state machinery to provide informal cover to illicit activities.
Politicians in any part of Pakistan — whether they’re elected representatives in provincial and national assemblies, or local brokers and patrons gathering votes and exercising influence on behalf of others — are almost always straddling the divide between legality and illegality. This may manifest in something as comparatively benign as redirecting development funds to their supporters (versus where the money is actually needed), or something more sinister like large-scale corruption and kickbacks in public procurement, or in some cases, outright criminality, like the facilitation and management of organised gangs and militants, such as in Karachi.
Coupled with a deep-seated inability to improve services, deliver on reforms, and take decisive action, the general level of public frustration with Pakistani politicians, or what’s called the ‘political class’ is always fairly high. Again, this is not unique to our context. There are probably very few countries in the world where local politicians are thought of favourably. As a vocation — if one can call it that — it probably ranks as the most universally reviled, regardless of whether one is in the UK, India, or Denmark.
The nexus between profit, elite status, and politics actually incentivises criminal behaviour.
All of this leads many to question what we’ve done to deserve a spectrum of representatives and local community leaders that range from incompetent and corrupt on one end all the way to criminal and dangerous on the other. Why — a question often posed by many people — are so many of our politicians the way they are?
I think the starting point for this earnest question is misplaced. In a country with a weak party system (ie where parties are more like loose clubs than organised institutions), politically influential individuals grow outside the formal structure of politics. Put simply, they aren’t powerful and corrupt because they were trained and groomed after joining a political party. In fact, the opposite is true — they’re part of political parties, and the political process in general, because they’re locally powerful and influential.
A more precise question, therefore, to demystify the earnest one stated earlier is ‘who’ are our politicians?
A short answer here is they’re, overwhelmingly, local elites. In rural areas, this means landowners, and caste/biradiri/tribe heads; in urban areas, the elite landscape changes, and so we see traders, industrialists, and the occasional professional (lawyers/doctors). Out of all individuals elected in urban areas in Punjab, 65pc listed ‘business’ as their vocation; a similar number in rural areas give ‘agriculturalist’ as their occupation. Since the decline of trade and student unions, only people wealthy enough to bear the cost of politics — mobilising voters, distributing services and charity, and bribing public officials — actually stand a chance of garnering influence, and hence winning.
Due to a number of historical factors, the contemporary, deep-rooted nexus between profit, elite status, and politics actually incentivises criminal behaviour. To understand this better, let’s take the example of a local businessman whose primary ambition is the accumulation of profit. To further this singular cause, he will form mutually beneficial relationships with the police, tax inspectors, and the local administration. Many corners will be cut, bribes will be given, and preferential treatment from the state (either through tax evasion or contracts) will be obtained. The constant accumulation of wealth thus brings with it local influence (through all the connections with local officials), which then paves the way for an entry into formal politics.
Naturally, not all those who accumulate wealth in Pakistan have political ambitions, but for many, political influence is crucial for furthering accumulation of profit. It is this particular connection — the one between profit and influence — that engenders criminality in politics.
Again, both history and the present tell us just how completely banal and unexceptional this state of affairs is. Next-door India, where political institutions are generally stronger, sees rampant criminality and corruption in politics at a scale that’s significantly higher than ours. Even in a mature political system like the US, mobsters, racketeers, and other criminal elements were thriving under the protection of self-serving political machines in cities like New York and Chicago just a few decades ago.
So, what’s the solution? A basic one would be the creation of alternative kinds of political associations, where non-elite, non-profiteering individuals could organise and mobilise the electorate, and erect the requisite barriers between profit-motive, criminality, and the state. However, in a country weighed down by the enormous material and non-material cost of doing politics, this looks very difficult. Another, far more likely solution — similar to what happened in the US during the early to mid-20th century — is increased scrutiny by the electorate and the print and electronic media. This is already in motion and even working to some extent in Pakistan’s case.
A lot of our day-to-day analysis rests on seeing politicians as a particularly unique, criminal demographic, whereas a more honest appraisal would require seeing criminality as prevalent amongst many parts of the elite, and how some of those elites become politicians. Any solution to our current mess would have to be premised on a recognition of this systemic problem. Perhaps only then we’d be able to gain more success in eliminating it.
The writer is a freelance columnist.
Twitter: @umairjav
Published in Dawn, August 17th, 2015
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