The geniuses on government payroll are experts in trapping the people of Pakistan in psychological mire
“THEY (the politicians) should not presume to decide what is good music, or good biology, or good philosophy. I should not wish such matters to be decided in this country by the personal taste of any Prime Minister, past, present or future, even if, by good luck, his taste were impeccable.”
The preceding paragraph is an extract from Bertrand Russell’s lecture on Authority and the Individual that he delivered from the BBC 55 years ago, in 1948. It appears relevant to the recent gimmicks of our rulers who are trying to tell us what television channels we should watch, and what channels we should desist from watching.
The wise, the scholars and the intellectuals have expressed their opinion on the recent gimmicks of the government. They all deduce that the recent gimmicks of the rulers are aimed at diverting the attention of the people from two burning issues, LFO and Gen Musharraf’s insistence on remaining President, and at the same time Chief of the Armed Forces of Pakistan. The ordinary subjects of this country have experienced such trickeries of succeeding rulers from time to time. The geniuses on the payroll are experts in trapping people of Pakistan in psychological mire. They magnify fabricated trivial issues out of proportion to relieve the rulers from tensions.
I on my own have gathered opinion from an ascetic, a lone wolf, and a rebel sculptor on the channel issue.
“Television or no television, who are they to tell me what to see, and what not to see?” The ascetic felt annoyed, and said, “It is not they who have given me eyes. Allah Saeen has given me eyes. These are my eyes. I would see what I like to see. I am nobody’s slave. How can they tell me what to behold, and what not to behold?”
I kept recording the ascetic. He paused, and then sucked at his cigarette. As I put my gadgets on pause, the ascetic suddenly turned around, and asked, “Would they someday ask me what to think, and what not to think?”
I scratched my head, and said, “I do not know, dervish.” “You better find out from them.” The ascetic said, “I would be the first person to sell my brain.”
I smiled, and asked, “Who do you think would buy your brain, dervish?”
He looked straight in my eyes, and asked, “Do you relish brain-masala (fried and mashed spicy brain)?”
“Yes, of course.” I replied.
The ascetic said, “Then be it known to you, and to your rulers that you have been relishing spicy brain-masala made from the mashed brains of the people who do not think.”
The next person I talked to was an elderly lone wolf. His mod wife and children, two daughters and a son, have left him. Nitasha, his youngest daughter, visits him on weekends and brings loads of medicines, confectionery and grocery for him. She sits with him and draws him in conversation, an arduous task. While leaving, Nitasha takes along his linen and clothes for laundry. The lone wolf occasionally talks to me, and greets me with a meaningful smile. We live in the same building in Old Clifton. He lives in an uppermost apartment in the tall building. Most of the time he keeps looking at the horizon where earth, ocean and sky seem to meet. He is not a meteorologist. He is a retired professor of Anthropology.
I asked him, “Sir, how would you react to the Government’s recent directives on showing and not showing of certain television channels in Pakistan?”
He replied, “If they are aiming at converting Pakistan into a Russian type of a communist state, then the move is perfectly all right.”
I said, “Sir, Pakistan is a progressive, modern and forward-looking Muslim country.”
“Then it is fundamentalism of another type.” The lone wolf said, “When you segregate certain channels from showing, you clearly express your intolerance. In the history of communication, I call it Fundamentalism in Media.”
I then called on a young rebel sculptor. He was working at a monumental burst of a person who had no eyes, no ears, and his lips were sealed.
Surprised, I asked, “What are you working at?”
“It is symbolic representation of the bewildered Pakistani nation.” He coolly replied, “We are not allowed to see what we want to see. We are not allowed to listen what we want to listen to. We are not permitted to speak what we want to speak.” I told him the purpose of my calling on him, and asked, “How do you look at the ban imposed by the Government on certain television channels in Pakistan?”
He moved away from the sculptor, turned around, and said, “Can a government compose poetry, and conduct music? Can a government play piano, violin, sitar, or tabla? Can a government sing a song? Can a government paint a portrait, landscape, or a mural? Can a government carve out an astonishing figure from stone, wood, metal or clay? Can a government write a short story, a novel or a play?”
I shook my head, and said, “I’m afraid not.”
“The world of arts, fine arts, and performing arts is another world.” The young sculptor said, “No sensible government would meddle in the affairs of a world they do not belong to.”
