Feudalism: a state of mind

RECENTLY, Ayesha Siddiqa wrote a very thought-provoking article (Dawn, Feb 1) initiating a debate on feudalism. She always invigorates our thinking processes, and a contextualised discussion on feudalism in the Pakistani perspective needs more dilation.

Our march into this century of freedoms of all variety notwithstanding, the lord, the vassal and the fief have not vanished into the recesses of history.

The manifestations of feudalism are more than physical now, more deeply pervasive. It persists, as Ms Siddiqa observes, as a social attitude. Not only are the 17th century ingredients of feudalism still visibly present in our society, they also manifest themselves as a state of mind.

We all recognise the pernicious influence of feudalism on our body politic; how it inhibits the development of freedom, of institutions and even of happiness. Though it lies at the root of our failures, in more than half a century we have not succeeded in reducing its fracturing role in social development. Its protagonists have guarded themselves well, fortifying their insulated power bases.

It is all about power and strength. The feudal drives and exercises power through his control over the lives of the weak who are made subservient through perennial coercion and exploitation. It is not power through influence and affection that a compassionate and sincere populist leader may enjoy. The modern-day feudal weaves a complex web of debilitation around his target population where all escape from such socially and economically claustrophobic detention is in the hands of the feudal lord — for a fee, or submission or both.

As a historical progression, we need to study feudalism in three distinguishable time-frames. For the purposes of simplification, we will not confuse it with tribalism. While there are feudals amongst tribal chiefs, there is a queerly democratic relationship between the tribe and its chief, which sets it apart from the possibly multi-tribal complexion of the tillers — or economic subjects — subservient to one feudal lord.

The colonisation of barren lands around the Indus and Punjab rivers, post canal irrigation systems developed by the British, is a landmark of the second half of the 19th century bringing in economic development and social change. So there are the pre-colonisation feudals, the feudal products of colonisation who enjoyed the political heyday between the 1860s and 1960s, and the neo-feudal of the last 40 years.

Come 1947 and the pre-colonisation feudals in the agricultural plains were few and far between. Many of these old feudals migrated to Pakistan from what now remains as India, retaining some political influence but little else. These nabobs and chiefs exercised plenty of political clout in the earliest years, mostly for emotional reasons. But their power waned soon and their value was confined to being a showpiece in the wealth-flaunting parties of the nouveau-riche.

The feudals of the irrigation system have enjoyed constant power over the lives of the common people, and still retain a considerable hold in the rural areas. With decreasing incomes from absentee landlordism, many have ventured into industry. These sugar barons manipulate supply and prices in flagrant disregard of the needs of the very people whose lives they preside over.

Illegitimate governments need these feudals as a façade of populist support and hence the state machinery does not bar or contain their illegalities, and the enforcement of the law has been in the form and measure allowed by the wadera, sardar or chaudhry — howsoever the lord of the manor is known. They jealously guard their control over the lives of the common people, and the good they do in benefaction to their vassals is more to keep the herd inside the pen of their authority than to empower them, or free them from the shackles of slavish acquiescence.

In 1947, the lack of education was generally perceived as the reason that allowed feudal influence to dominate. But time has proved that it was not just influence, but actually control over the lives of the poor, sustained through the manipulation of state policies, that has enabled these feudals to retain their power. The opinion of the common man is disenfranchised and the state is allowed to recognise the feudal as the sole voice of the rural areas.Insensitive and unaccountable governments have done little to ensure the universal provision of education, as guaranteed by the Constitution, particularly in the rural areas. Thus the minds of the poor are not freed from traditional bondages.

But quality western education acquired by a new generation of scions and progenies of the colonisation era feudal reveals no demurring on their part where historical mindsets and the controlling of the lives of others through exploitation are concerned. Thus these latter-day Makhdooms, Syeds, Shahs, Legharis, Qureshis, Tiwanas, Noons et al proudly retain and flaunt their feudal power and pride in their heritage of subjugation of the people.

The graduates of foreign private universities, this new breed may dress differently from their forefathers but carry the same soulless bodies in their new garb. The ordering of their own lives, inbreeding within the feudal complex through inter-marriages, these feudal lords keep a tight grip over their large niche of authority — and keep the masses far from the realisation of the dream of equal opportunity that democracy promises.

To compound the tragedies of the people, we now have a strong class of neo-feudals, a product of the last 40 years or less. These people managed meteoric socio-economic uplift through personal brilliance, wealth by stealth, chance or circumstance. Coming from humble or middle-class beginnings, they came to occupy positions of authority — in bureaucracy (generally military), politics (urban rather than rural), business and industry.

In their newfound positions, these power lords exercise control over the fortunes of many rather than the lives of a few. Usually uncomfortable with their backgrounds, they socially unhinge themselves from their roots and align themselves with the old club. Those from the middle classes feign feudal connections and in the exuberance of their new status are more ruthless than the older feudals, having no vassals to protect, only coffers to fill.

These new feudals now occupy the corridors of power, clinging to their positions with distorted moral undertones. They have devised devious methods to protect their turfs. Well-trained mafiosi with gun sights always tested are in command of the lives of the populace on behalf of these neo-feudal overlords. Private militias, generally called ‘forces’ with one adjunct or the other, are the brigades of coercion that keep the new feudals aloft. Unlike the older ones, they reveal not an iota of compassion.

So here we are, having been subjected to three waves of feudal control, with each succeeding wave more dangerous in manipulatively denying the masses the benefits of equality before law and opportunity. It has strengthened the stranglehold of the elite — whether older or new — over the resources of the country, both human and material. It is only be through quality education and the sentinel functions of civil society that we can become an inclusive polity in the foreseeable future.

The writer is a retired federal secretary.

jha45@yahoo.co.uk

Province sans frontiers

A WEEK before the election, a studied calm hung in the cold air of Peshawar. Banners and buntings of the Awami National Party and the People’s Party adorned the roads, with little on-the-ground activity in terms of corner meetings or enthusiastic youngsters rallying out. The absence of security personnel in public places meant that all was perhaps well in the Frontier capital, if not in areas close by.

Much has changed yet again in this ancient city over the last few years. A majority of Afghan refugees have repatriated to their country along with their obvious signs and symbols — public transport vehicles and the sprawling refugee camp site along University Road being the most conspicuous. A signboard posted every few hundred yards warns encroachers that the land vacated is the army’s property and trespassers will be prosecuted. The warning is well heeded except by stray animals and the odd scavenger going though heaps of garbage that is dumped between the road and the ghost town and ruins of the mud-lined refugee camp.

Those selling coffins, for some odd reason, seem to be doing brisk business. You see clusters of coffins standing along the roadside with their manufacturer’s contact numbers pasted on them. They go for upwards of Rs2,000 a piece and look quite uncanny, if not altogether outlandish. Traditional body-carrying charpoys too are a common sight as they share the space with the coffins. The death rate must have gone up, somehow. You wonder.

The Afghan border is now more porous than ever before in recent years. People tell you that since the return home of the refugees, it’s nearly a free, unobstructed ride across Torkham.

“We speak the same language; have relatives on both sides so we come and go,” explains a teenager selling the coffins.

Many like to bury their dead in Afghanistan, in their ancestral graveyards there. This winter has been a particularly harsh one, full of frostbites. The Khyber Pass is snowbound. Beyond Torkham, the cold gets ever so much more biting. That perhaps explains the sudden appearance of the coffins. Even the dead need some comfort on their way to eternal rest. Clearly, the stately ritual is not for ordinary mortals who live on less than Rs2,000 as their monthly kitchen expenses.

In the Karkhana Bazaar along the road to the border, surplus Afghan transit-trade merchandise of all categories, including the contraband, competes with goods brought over for sale from beyond Afghanistan. The prices are ridiculously affordable. Bulk buyers from Punjab enjoying a good rapport with the customs staff at the Attock bridge continue to make hay. Those taking the marvellous new motorway snaking its way through the Swabi meadow plains along the Kabul River are even luckier. The toll tax paid to drive into Punjab is the only levy they have to contend with.

Back in Peshawar, the cab is stopped near the Governor House. A missing security zone sticker is required to be posted on the windscreen to navigate through this stretch of the road. The driver, however, has his way with the levy guard, and he’s let through “this once”, he says, “because we speak the same language”. The phrase is repeated. On interpretation you know that it’s the word of honour given by a Pathan to another that is respected. There is no suspicion of a breach here; no rude awakenings, or the practice would have been long abandoned. The pristine purity of the word is preserved; the sanctity holds.

“Come to Kabul with me. I go all the time with friends. No passport, no papers required,” a university professor from Khyber Agency makes the generous offer, repeating the same-language adage. “You must come psyched up for it next time around. I’ll take you there myself,” he insists.

Only a couple of days later the Pakistani ambassador to Kabul goes missing while climbing up the snow-covered Khyber Pass on his way back to Kabul.

“We go to the Taliban and ask them what we can do for them for keeping the peace, and they always oblige. That’s because we speak to them, not at them. When it comes to bullets, that’s tricky business, all right. Why go there if you can achieve the results you want without losing lives?” asks a serving officer. “All they (higher-ups) want is a report of ‘all correct’, so why should I risk my life?”

“And for what?” asks a retired officer.

“When guns, the free rein of power over certain areas and a bit of respect are all they demand for keeping the peace, why quarrel?” he argues.

“And those more or less are our orders,” confirms the serving fellow.

Then what’s the whole hullabaloo about, you wonder.

“We told you what we’re privy to. High officials may know the bigger picture, if there is one, which I doubt,” comes the straightforward answer.

Regular drills, like daily physical training and inspection trips to schools, et al, are not the virtual norm anymore though on paper these activities do take place. Even periodic medical check-ups have a high proxy attendance rate, as long as your commanding officer acquiesces, they say.

“Flattery is the general rule to follow, which I do quite well, I assure you,” confides another officer, who refuses to talk about politics. “There’s not much here. In Balochistan, I could get you picked up just by saying that your last name was Marri or Bugti, and you’d be gone for at least six months. None of this in the Frontier. At least not to my knowledge,” he vows.

Back in the city, the two hot favourites are the ANP and the PPP-Bhutto as opposed to the Sherpao faction, you’re told. Mr Asfandyar Wali, Mr Afrasaib Khattak, Mr Sherpao, the Arbabs, the Bilours and anyone worth the name are confined to the safe environs of their homes, with target killings of even second/third tier leaders in recent weeks. A pall of gloom hangs over the election campaigns.

Even then, the APDM’s election boycott call does not find much resonance. The seemingly religious-minded say they would vote. For whom? Many have yet to decide.What’s refreshing is that there are no conspiracy theories doing the rounds, which is not the case elsewhere in the country. Many in the Frontier believe that elections may be rigged.

To what extent, they do not speculate, while few say that with the JI out of the fray, they do not expect rigging. Swat, the troubled tribal areas and the terrorists’ backlash remain a worry. Overall, that the Frontier is returning to being an ANP-PPP battleground, with the JUI holding firm in the southern parts of the province and the PML-N showing influence in the Hazara belt, seems to be the consensus.

The diminishing trend since the 1980s of looking westward to Afghanistan seems to be returning, not least because they speak the same language, though Pashtun nationalism is making a steady comeback. The emerging economic pull for those qualified in their fields and not having the opportunity of gainful employment in Pakistan is the real reason.

Unemployment and huge pockets of utter poverty amidst the new motorway and affluent Hyatabads in the making, and not the lack of religious fervour, are what bother the Frontier — much like the rest of the country.

How will our MPs learn?

WITH general elections round the corner, it is essential that we step back and take a look at the level of democracy Pakistan has been able to achieve in the last two decades.

We may have had the first elected assembly complete a full five years of rule but the public is now increasingly aware that casting votes is not equivalent to, or a guarantee of, democracy.

According to the findings of a citywide pre-election survey in Karachi conducted by Dawn, a majority of people have said that the members of parliament in the last government had not been accessible to them. Before the elections, politicians came knocking on their doors, seeking their votes and making tall promises but once the elections were over, the elected representatives were hardly ever seen. Moreover, they seldom, if ever, established any means of communications with their constituents.

In mature democracies, there are several ways through which constituents can communicate with their representatives on a regular basis. They are often seen in parliament vociferously pursuing the development needs of their constituency. As a developing country, Pakistan is marred by several social, economic and political problems that need to be communicated and addressed regularly. However, most people do not even know the name of the person who was elected from their constituency, let alone communicate their concerns and grievances to him/her.

Why is it that members of parliament in our country are so withdrawn from the people they are mandated to represent? Does this not defeat the purpose of democracy? The fact that people do not even know who their representatives are is proof enough that the interest of politicians in getting elected is based on selfish motives and serving the people they represent is a task that is of much lesser importance, if at all.

Come the next elections and the politicians are back, seeking votes. But the public, thanks to the media, is no long politically naïve. They know what their rights are and what the responsibilities of their members of parliament are. Given their performance in the last government, they will not blindly cast their vote for the same person again. Some villages in Punjab have even put up banners telling their last members of parliament not to bother seeking votes from them again! Certainly, a move to make the rest of us proud.

The indifference of some elected representatives is such that they are absent from most sessions of the National Assembly and the party chief whips play a minimal role in ensuring a full quorum. It is not often that one sees full attendance in parliament.

It is no wonder then that a majority of the survey respondents also said that members of parliament did nothing to help solve the issues of their constituency. The survey, despite being basic in character, is a clear and alarming indication of the long road that Pakistani democracy still needs to travel, all other things being equal. The essence of democracy lies in constant interaction between the people and their representatives. A member of parliament is the voice of his people and the man in charge of ensuring that the government takes due notice of the needs of his constituency and action for the same.

However, as per the prevailing situation in Pakistan, a lot is being done in the name of democracy, but little is being done that is truly democratic. Things will not change if elections are not held periodically and the military does not refrain from meddling in politics. Thus alone will the MPs learn that to win they will have to be accountable to their voters.

Threat or promise

Vladimir Putin said on Thursday that Russia was not interested in a return to the cold war. We are all glad to hear it, but it was the Russian president himself who let this particular hare out of the trap.

A year ago, at a security conference in Munich, he accused the US of trying to dominate the world “with no restraint –– a hyper-inflated use of force”. Two months later, Mr Putin said the world faced a threat to peace similar to that posed by the Third Reich.

But nothing is that simple. In his last annual press conference before leaving the Kremlin, Mr Putin restated his opposition to the Pentagon’s plans to install missile-defence systems in central Europe. He said Russia would be forced to re-target its missiles on Poland and the Czech Republic. There are two main reasons why the West should not be led down the garden path by those who argue that the KGB is back in control, that Russia has returned to the mindset of the Soviet Union and that we do indeed face a new cold war.

First, it is not true. Vladimir Putin’s Russia is nothing like Yuri Andropov’s Soviet Union. Russia is capitalist. Its military-industrial complex is a pale shadow of America’s. Russia does not have a competing ideology; in fact it has little ideology at all.

Second, Russia is not the same place internally. None of this is to deny the murder of journalists and political opponents, rigged elections or the existence of political prisoners. In today’s authoritarian Russia there are all three. Yet, qualitatively and quantitatively, it is a different place.

The Kremlin does not have the control it once had over the minds of millions of its citizens. Russia is not a natural enemy, unless the West reacts in a way which makes it one again.

––The Guardian, London