World of privilege

Published October 21, 2017
irfan.husain@gmail.com
irfan.husain@gmail.com

CORRECT me if I’m wrong, but didn’t the Election Commission of Pakistan issue a non-bailable arrest warrant for Imran Khan recently?

In fact, if memory (still) serves, an earlier warrant was issued in the wake of his dharna in 2014. So why hasn’t the PTI leader been locked up? After all, it’s not as though he has been in hiding: his Bani Gala mansion isn’t exactly a secret, and his movements are marked by the presence of many acolytes.

When Ahsan Iqbal, the interior minister, was asked this question on a recent TV interview, he waffled about how the government didn’t want to create a crisis at a time it was engaged in a war on terrorism. Also, he didn’t want to give Khan the satisfaction of becoming a political martyr less than a year before the next general election.

Arrogance percolates across society.

The lesson here is that if you make a big enough nuisance of yourself, the law does not apply. As the interviewer said in so many words, political expedience overcomes the law of the land. At work here is also a sense of entitlement: Khan is convinced that he can’t be touched by virtue of his being a member of the country’s elite. After all, Aitchison College, Oxford University, cricketing superstardom and marriage to a prominent British heiress should all count for something.

I don’t particularly wish to see Imran Khan in jail, and nor do I think he is alone in thinking he is above the law. This feeling of smug superiority permeates the upper echelons of Pakistani society. For example, I was told by a senior bureaucrat in the Sindh government that when Iftikhar Chaudhry arrived at Karachi airport from Islamabad while he was chief justice, he was deeply offended to be offered a Toyota Corolla, and refused to leave until a Mercedes was arranged by the protocol department.

This kind of arrogance percolates across society. I have occasionally heard ex-civil servant colleagues bark at some underling: “Don’t you know who I am?” As an aside, a nurse at a London hospital, when asked this question by an aristocrat, replied: “You poor dear, don’t you know who you are?”

Whatever your views about Nawaz Sharif and Benazir Bhutto, the fact is that they put in a lot of time and effort to achieve what they did. The latter spent years in detention, and was ultimately assassinated. But for their children to assume they deserve the mantle of leadership because they had the good fortune to be born into the homes of these powerful people reflects the sense of entitlement I am talking about.

Neither Maryam Nawaz nor Bilawal Bhutto-Zardari has any experience to lead major political parties. And yet an accident of birth has propelled them to the top at a relatively early age. Had they displayed any idealistic desire to change society to make Pakistan a better place, perhaps their sense of entitlement could be excused. However, all they seem to want is a continuation of an exploitative and cruel status quo.

When Jamshed Dasti, a maverick MNA, was arrested on an absurd charge, he was not only jailed, but allegedly tortured. From a humble background, Dasti obviously was not shielded by the cloak of entitlement people like Imran Khan wear with such casual ease.

I have often thought this attitude comes from our feudals and tribal chiefs who are so accustomed to wielding immense power. Bureaucrats, generals and industrialists throw their weight around. In the past, many from the first two categories came from a feudal background, and over time, became role models for junior officers who aped their mannerisms.

Whatever its origin, this superiority complex has erected a barrier between the ruling class and the ruled. To reinforce it, we have made sure that state schools for the masses impart a substandard education so that children forced to attend cannot compete with our privately educated kids. Indeed, the ruling elites do as little as possible to improve the lives of those less fortunate.

Years ago, I remember being in line to check in for a flight at Lahore airport. A guy, followed by a porter, strode straight to the desk without so much as a glance at the queue.

When I asked him loudly to get in line with the rest of us, he ticked off his porter and, muttering angrily, joined the queue. When he turned around, I realised I knew him from the Karachi party circuit; to this day I don’t know which one of us was more embarrassed.

The point of this story is that he would not have dreamt of jumping the queue at Heathrow. He, and many of his ilk, only throw their weight around in Pakistan because they know few will stand up to them. But until the masses do, they will remain condemned to their fate.

irfan.husain@gmail.com

Published in Dawn, October 21st, 2017

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