RECENTLY, I received an e-mail from a reader in cyberspace who said he understood the mechanics of political corruption in Pakistan, but was trying to work out the motivation behind it. He then launched into a long behavioural explanation that ranged from inherited genes to upbringing.
My own explanation, based on 30 years in government, including a couple of years in the PM's secretariat in the mid-seventies, is far simpler: once in the saddle, our rulers become so drunk with power that they truly believe nobody can remove them. Without exception, they place so much reliance on the bureaucracy, and are so dazzled by the pomp and glory associated with supreme authority, that they become completely cut off from reality. Surrounded by sycophants who tell them what they want to hear, and shielded by intelligence agencies that rigorously filter out the truth, they are convinced that all is well until the axe falls. Seldom reading newspapers, they attribute negative comments to opposition misinformation. The state-controlled radio and TV reinforce the impression that all is well.
The irony, of course, is that when these very leaders are out of office, they perceive very clearly the pitfalls of power. But almost immediately after being sworn in, they seem to forget all the lessons they learned and fall into the same trap. They begin believing radio and TV, as well as the daily intelligence reports. These latter are in reality a contradiction in terms as their content is anything but intelligent. A compendium of gossip, newspaper comment and field reports, they lack analysis and substance. The party hacks and handpicked bureaucrats in the PM's secretariat are not the people to risk their jobs by giving free and frank advice. When I accused an old friend who was a very close adviser to Benazir Bhutto of shirking his responsibility by not telling her the truth, he said he'd be sacked and would then be even less effective.
I suppose all of us find reasons and rationalizations to justify taking the path of least resistance. But it is a function of leadership to seek good and honest advice. Unfortunately, our leaders prefer the ambience of a Moghul court where only the king can be right. This reminds me of the courtier who sang the praises of aubergines because his liege lord preferred them to all other vegetables. After he died, his successor decreed that he hated aubergines, and they should never be served at his table again. "You have such impeccable taste, sire", said our courtier. "They are revolting things indeed." Later, a colleague reminded him how he had professed to love them until only a few days ago. "Fool!" replied the courtier. "Do I serve the king or the aubergine?" Just so, a Capital Development Authority chief will produce a hideous neo-Moghul design for a prime ministerial office for Nawaz Sharif in his first stint, and then agree with Benazir Bhutto that it was truly awful. This weak-kneed sycophancy is rife in our power centres and prevents open and frank discussion and debate from taking place. But this is a reflection of what I call the "ji hazoor" ("yes sir") syndrome that is part of our culture. Watch any discussion on TV, and you will rarely find people disagreeing with each other. Behind people's backs, of course, we tear them to shreds, but prefer not to confront anybody directly.
When politicians assume control of the levers of power, they become convinced that no ordinary mortal - unless he is in uniform - can possibly remove them from office. Their rivals look like pygmies when compared with the might of the state, so leaders assume that they cannot be turfed out. Confusing government with the state, they cannot imagine that the latter can turn against them.
Shortly after he announced the dates for the fateful 1977 elections, Bhutto was asked by an American journalist how he saw his future. The assumption was that he would easily win the next election. "Do you think you'll want a third term?" Bhutto replied: "I can't see beyond two terms. The Bhutto men do not live very long." Prescient man! But nobody could have foreseen the tragic end of the three Bhuttos.
Even a populist leader like ZAB allowed himself to be cut off from his constituency. Increasingly reliant on the bureaucracy, he asked deputy commissioners and commissioners to nominate many of the candidates for the election, thus bypassing his own party. When the chips were down, many of the PPP workers refused to come out on the streets. Twenty years later, his daughter made the same mistake and shared a similar rejection from the PPP.
The point is that once a leader has convinced himself of his own infallibility, he feels he is not accountable to lesser mortals. During his stint as chief minister, Nawaz Sharif had his discretionary allowance increased from 20 million to 90 million, and went around distributing largesse to all and sundry, much in the manner of a moghul prince. It is this blurring of the line between personal funds and the state exchequer that leads to the next step of dipping into the latter at will.Somebody like Nawaz Sharif simply cannot understand the fuss about his multi-billion bank defaults and his alleged tax evasion. Similarly, Benazir Bhutto shrugs off the charges (some now proven) of corruption on an epic scale. Zia's son Ijazul Haq will not admit that his father did any wrong in leaving him assets far, far in excess of his known income. All these people are secretly convinced that these extras go with the job. What is the point in becoming the chief executive if you can't feather your nest?
Remember, for all their fine words about wanting to serve the people, the only people they actually want to serve is themselves and their immediate families. But above all, they are so convinced that the power of the state will protect them from accountability that they do as they please.
Unfortunately, civil servants generally do not have the spine to stand up to them. When Nawaz Sharif launched his hare-brained yellow cab scheme, he was applauded by Salman Farooqi, the communications secretary, and Qazi Alimullah, the finance secretary. Both of them rose to greater heights under BB. When some bankers asked about security for their funds, they were told by Alimullah that if they could not deliver, replacements who could would be easy to find.
When ambitious men and women scale the greasy pole of political power, they should remember that the higher they climb, the harder they fall.