WHEN Gen Musharraf and acolytes get into chorus mode about their achievements, at the top of the list figures that magic word ‘devolution’. Power, they ecstatically declare, has been transferred to the grassroots, heralding the outbreak of a ‘silent’ revolution across the country. (Why are Islamabad’s revolutions always so ‘silent’? Why can’t they be heard and felt for a change?)

As hype goes, this is not bad. Up to a point it is even persuasive because the chattering classes, training their binoculars on the national scene from their drawing rooms, are largely ignorant of conditions at the district, tehsil and thana levels. Of the great issues of war and peace they can hold forth eloquently. Their passion dips when it comes to such subjects as public health, local schools, municipal services, district administration, or the comedy that goes by the name of justice.

As for the NGO sector — now almost as big as the real estate sector (if you aren’t into real estate or NGOs, you haven’t arrived) — its pitch is attuned to the sensitivities of western donors. Since the whole concept of devolution, not to mention funding, came from them, and since they made up their minds long ago that devolution is the best thing ever to have happened to Pakistan, don’t expect NGOs to question this wisdom. No one likes quarrelling with one’s bread and butter.

Sure, the idea of devolution is not bad and was perhaps long overdue. But the devil is in the implementation. How has this great philosophy fared on this count? A revolution it may have triggered but not of the kind envisaged in Islamabad. Its most outstanding achievement is the creation of 102 mini-dictatorships in the 102 districts of the country. (With the creation of three more districts in Sindh, that number now comes to 105.)

The situation is a bit different in the Frontier where given the MMA’s whip-hand, there is some check on the district nazims. But in the other provinces, especially Punjab and Sindh, the district nazim is king, unless of course he happens to be from the PPP, in which case there is sudden loss of power and authority (ask Nafisa Shah, PPP nazim from Khairpur, Sindh, who can tell you all about it).

Those who moan about parliamentary irrelevance in the Musharraf era have it all wrong. The system is designed this way with one strongman — guess who? — at the top of the pyramid and 102/105 mini-strongmen at the base, everyone else in between — parliament, prime minister, et al — powerless and irrelevant. Small wonder, whenever ruling party MNAs and MPAs petition the president, the prime minister or their respective chief ministers, their one constant moan is about the nazims — how, as opposed to their power, they (MNAs/MPAs) are powerless.

This is a presidential system twice over, once at the centre, then again in the districts. Whatever the Constitution might say, with Musharraf calling the shots, this is a presidential system in all but name. In the districts too the nazims, elected by the councillors, are not answerable to the district assembly, indeed, in the exercise of power and the framing of the budget, answerable to no one at all. The district assembly debates, discusses and passes resolutions, much on the lines of parliament in Islamabad.

Certainly, more money, under various heads, has poured into the districts during the last four years than at any time in the past. This is one of the achievements of Musharraf’s devolution: big bucks for the first time at the disposal of the districts. But implementation has not matched available resources, with nazims, unhindered by any checks, free to misuse funds to reward supporters through development schemes meant for individual rather than collective benefit.

This doesn’t mean no good work has taken place at all but with more transparency and less arbitrariness, there would have been greater value for money. As if all this wasn’t enough, disturbing reports have come to light suggesting the government is contemplating changes in the Police Order 2002 which, in the name of reform and efficiency, would place the district police officers (DPOs) under the thumb of the nazims. The nazims would write annual reports of DPOs and DPOs would be bound to follow the general directions of the nazims as regards law and order.

All sounds very democratic on paper. In practice it would destroy what’s left of the police force and make the nazims into bigger mini-Caesars than they already are. Control of the police force is the dream of every Pakistani (and I daresay Indian) politico, for it means the power to harass, hound and make life miserable for one’s opponents. Do the moving spirits behind these amendments realize what they are going for?

The politicization of the police force during Pakistan’s ill-starred decade of democracy (roughly the period 1985-99) made the police more corrupt than ever, a process only halted and partially reversed, it must be admitted, by the advent of the Musharraf order.

The so-called reforms of 2002 (so-called because more show than substance) were meant to institutionalize political non-interference in police matters. This may have been a mirage given the marked tendency of subcontinental politicos to think their power incomplete unless they can get police favourites posted in their home districts/thanas. But at least it was a move in the right direction.

The latest proposals, however, signify a regression, aimed at eroding the last notions of police independence and returning the country to old-style politicization. The Musharraf regime already has many firsts to its credit, destroying the civil service, earning ridicule for the army by putting soldiers to such tasks as checking water connections and electricity meters and asking — hard though it may be to believe this — corps and div commanders to select district and tehsil nazims. Is the destruction of the police force about to be added to this list of accomplishments?

Maybe the police force had it coming, for despite the Police Order 2002 there is nothing to suggest any improvement in its performance. If people were asked about their favourite villains, there is no doubt policemen, doctors, Wapda cutthroats, and perhaps journalists, would top the list.

The old civil service had it coming, for well before its axing at the hands of Gen Naqvi (his name forever associated with its death throes) it had outlived its utility. When civil service codgers get sentimental about the office of the district magistrate they are taking a ride in fantasy lane. Well before his (unmourned) demise, the district magistrate had come to represent a moribund institution.

The police had their own complexes. Chafing at the need to play second fiddle to the civil service, the force resented its position of secondary importance. So when the civil service fell to military assault, the paladins of the police service cheered, thinking they had inherited the earth. This newly-acquired space should have been used to improve performance. Instead, it was merely used to go on an ego trip. Reform or no reform, the police remain as corrupt, oppressive and unaccountable as ever.

So grovelling before the district nazims may just be the medicine the service deserves. The flip side, however, is that whereas the DPOs will take readily to groveling — no fears on that count, there being no reason to entertain too high an opinion of the moral scruples of Pakistani officialdom — the ultimate losers and sufferers will be the common people.

So while the police may deserve every punishment, the people, already whiplashed by fate, don’t. One all-powerful nazim at the top, now promising ‘real democracy’, now ‘enlightened moderation’, is all they can endure. Hundred-and-five petty tyrants, DPOs at their beck and call, would break their back. So please think again before scripting another disaster.