Us, them and the money

Pakistanis persist in believing in a great many ‘realities’ without bothering to either rationalise or analyse. One hears the clichés often in the drawing rooms of the chattering classes: there is something fundamentally uncontrolled about Pakistanis; this country cannot understand or employ to its advantage the principles of a functioning democracy; the masses need to be dealt with firmly for their own good, and so on.

Such a blinkered understanding of the multiple and often schizophrenic realities of Pakistan has led to grave injustices in past decades. Such views have underpinned and been used to justify, variously, takeovers by the army, truncate the tenures of legitimate governments, and harass, incarcerate and torture citizens. These have, in turn, led to the curtailment of a great number of freedoms and rights. An unelected head of state, or manipulated elections, for example, strip the citizen of his right to choose who represents him in government. The right to education, health and economic opportunity has been curtailed by the establishment of different systems for the so-called ‘elites’ and ‘awam’: one lot enjoys all the cosseting of expensive, private institutions while the other is forced to make do with inefficient public sector facilities, where they are available. Through means such as the limiting of press freedoms, laws relating to blasphemy, obscenity and sedition, and even bans on means of expression such as dance, drama and film, curbs have been laid on what we are allowed to say and think, and how we may express ourselves. Even our freedom to congregate where and when we please is under constant threat from the ubiquitously-used Section 144.

On the surface, these myriad transgressions against civil liberties appear to have been caused by differing factors and circumstances that have little in common. However, a more academic analysis shows that at a certain level, what all of them have in common is the assumption that there are in fact two Pakistans: one is comprised of the ‘awam’ while the other is the ‘elite’ that includes people with economic, governmental and official power, from those running banks and factories to the civil bureaucracy and the army.

This underlying idea of ‘us and them’ permeates every single thing we say and do as privileged Pakistanis. When our recent president, Mr Musharraf, asked the world to let us take the road to democracy at our own, slow, pace, what he meant was that the awam was not yet ready for it. When we berate the rickshaw driver or domestic servant for being inefficient or stupid, the underlying assumption is that we, the privileged, would never perform the same task in as unthinking a manner. In our drawing rooms, we talk about this being a nation that can only be straightened out by force – spare the rod and spoil the child, seems to be the thinking – which is why a cheer went up when Musharraf likened himself to Kamal Ataturk. Most of us persist in believing that the masses need to be controlled. And, surprise surprise, we’re the ones making the laws to control them, so of course these laws don’t really apply to us – only in spirit, perhaps, but certainly not in actuality.

What’s worse is that even the best of us find reasons to believe that the awam is inferior – not inherently, but in effect. We quote factors such as the lack of education and exposure, the lack of training and recreational facilities, an out-of-control population and the resultant pressures, etc (while conveniently passing lightly over the fact that as the ones with power, was the elites’ job to provide such opportunities). We soothe our conscience with comments such as “the wagon driver or the peasant can’t help but be a boor, after all the man never got a decent education!”

Well, I’m sorry to say it, but this is all just bosh. In persisting to think that there is a difference between the awam and the elites on the basis of education, exposure and behaviour, we are merely trying to make ourselves feel better. For if education made the man, the one driving the Prado would display better road manners than the one driving a rickshaw. If exposure made us more civilised, people would not jump the queue at the airport immigration counter. If access to resources and economic comfort made one a better behaved and tolerant human being, the politicians and landowners of the country would not be as boorish as they usually are.

Rather than mouthing these bleeding-heart rationalisations, therefore, it would be better if we, the elites, started to recognise the fact that the difference between us and them in Pakistan is measurable only on the basis of money, and nothing else. In actual fact, there is no difference between the behaviour, culture and mindset of the man who drives the Prado and the one in the rickshaw – only, one commands ‘respect’ because he has money. The young man from a top private school is the same as the one from Government Model School No X: both will angle situations to give maximum advantage to themselves instead of society, both are likely to leer at women, both will lie and cheat when convenient; but one will grow up to be a ‘businessman’ who does ‘deals’ while the other will be called a ‘petty embezzler’ or ‘thief.’ A woman dancing on the commercial stage, on a cut-price set, is labelled ‘obscene’ and bans are sought against her. Put that same woman, artfully made-up and wearing minimalist designer-wear, on a multi-million rupee style awards’ set and the same dance becomes ‘art’.

The difference between ‘us’ and ‘them’, I’m afraid, is only money. This is yet another of Pakistan’s many tragedies: pick any member of the ‘awam’ and give him the proceeds from the lottery, he’ll blend seamlessly in with the elites. Reduce any one of our so-called educated and civilised lot to poverty, and I’m willing to bet he’ll be up before the judge before the week is out.

If as a country, we are able to realise this fact – that there is no ‘us’ and ‘them’ – then there’s a slim hope of actually getting somewhere. Then, we may yet find a way to counter the growing schisms and schizophrenia of Pakistani society, to address what is rapidly becoming a showdown between the two sides.

Postscript: On the other hand, as a man said in a film, “I’ve never seen hope when it’s not on a diet!”

hmumtaz@dawn.com

Comedy of (t)errors

AFTER the latest call that shook and stirred Islamabad may be it is time to raise a cautionary alert for those making their way into the federal capital. The appendage to Welcome to Islamabad the Beautiful slogan could read something like ‘the city that shakes and stirs’ (although this time, it only managed to be shaken and stirred — and that, too, by its own custodian!)

Given the pattern of ‘my-way-or-the-highway’ calls made to Islamabad post-Nine Eleven and the ripple effect these create, it is a unique capital of the world.

For those, who thought until now that only an American secretary of state could make a sasti call, will now be forced to add names to the list of those who are willing to subscribe to the cheap package.

Thanks to the largely South Asian Subcontinental proclivity to brush embarrassment under the carpet, we don’t know who to thank for leaving us wide awake, dry and non-plussed in this winter chill: Mr Asif Ali Zardari, who allowed himself to be driven by an air thick with drama and intrigue, his team of call handlers or (let’s graciously admit it) the brilliant impersonator, who has given cross-border terrorism a whole new dimension with his phony diatribe.

Amid heightened tensions for many of us in Islamabad, a sense of foreboding could be felt in the air, much in the mould of the Cuban Missile Crisis during the Cold War.

The overriding perception among the chattering classes is that it is one thing to be ‘droned’ out by the world’s only superpower bent on a unilateral course but even the thought of India providing an encore, with however less sophistication, is enough to get their goat (even if any linkage to the approaching Bakr Eid was purely, coincidental).

Now, what this impersonator of Indian External Affairs Minister Pranab Mukherjee has achieved with his sasti call is not only provide a horror script that the man on the hill gullibly passed on, thereby sending the entire civil and military establishment into a tailspin, but also proffer a new idea for Bollywood filmmakers, who are past the Veer-Zaara stage.

But this comedy of (t)errors did not stop at its known call centre: Islamabad. After ‘Mukherjee’ (no relation to the much-loved cine queen Rani Mukherjee) had done his bit to scare the hell out of a regime still getting used to the heat in the kitchen sink, the response of the prime mover-and-shaker this side of the Indus was reminiscent of a cry made in a single of critically acclaimed Shehzad Roy album Qismat Apney Haath Mein (Fate In One’s Own Hands).

In that single Laga Reh (Brave On), Roy takes a dig at how every few years, the nation is fed on the theory that Pakistan is passing through a critical juncture of its history. Very poignantly, Roy makes a recall by using a small boy’s vocals, who shouts Abuuuu (dad) to draw his attention to the same “critical juncture” monologue on the scripted khabarnama.

In the aftermath of the call from the archaic South Block in New Delhi, a vulnerable Islamabad appeared to shout Baaaaaaji — in a metaphorical sense — and pronto, the most recognised cellular operative with the widest network (a.k.a. secretary of state) was at work.

Worried over the possibility of ‘losing connection’ on the western borders in the event of Pakistani troops scampering for the tum hi tau ho (you’re the one) buzz on the east, Condoleezza Rice got down to business immediately, calling up the real McCoy — Pranab Mukherjee — at 1:30am (IST) to verify the sasti call that potentially could have unleashed hell as well as restrain India from running into Pakistan.

However, as we all know now — much to everyone’s mirth, one might hasten to add — the real Mukherjee denied attempting any call, let alone clarion one, before accusing Islamabad — at a more alive hour — of playing Wag The Dog.

But, so critical is a smooth connection to American interests in the region that Baji did not simply confine herself to being on the line with New Delhi and Islamabad.

After making the former her first port of call, in person, she landed at the familiar call centre before flying back home. There is no doubt about how critical the undertaking was to maintain the network for all concerned.

My own view on Zaffar Abbas’s front-paged scoop in Dawn, is that regardless of the reactions to the story — and these have varied from being the apocalyptic kind to the Alice in Wonderland type — the great favour it has rendered, in the end, is that it will hopefully, make the nuclear-armed neighbourhood more alive to the dangers of a misstep.

Ever since India and Pakistan developed nuclear arsenals, the world has been constantly putting them on message about how a single unintended accident could trigger a conflict that may potentially, annihilate them.

That a hoax call could spur an Oracle of Delphi (or should that now read Delhi?) may no longer be in the realm of imagination. For the sake of the billion-plus people on both sides of the divide, the least India and Pakistan can do is to stay connected. It is the best bet to avert a close call.

The writer is News Editor at Dawn News. He may be contacted at kaamyabi@gmail.com