Theatre of the absurd
In 2035, kids flicking through their history texts will ask themselves: was this country serious?
PHOTO: REUTERS/FILE
In 2035, kids flicking through their history texts will ask themselves: was this country serious? And any self-respecting historian would have to say no.
Or at least blame the press: turn on the TV and watch the PTI chairman doing pushups for the cameras, while Islamabad awaits its biennial siege. Or switch to the ruling party turning Islamabad into Attica, while senators hint the opposition enjoys the powdery stuff.
In a place that saw mass murder in Quetta and ethnic cleansing in Karachi, the news has gone the way of full-blown farce. We have a news cycle that involved courtroom drama, bike chases, and a slow-burn standoff in the capital. And like the best B-movies, this one’s a remake: the PTI’s in dharna mode again, and thinks it can go for the gold. An interviewer even chastised Mr. Khan that this round would have been more explosive if he hadn’t gone for the first dharna. The Chairman replied, ‘Mujhay thori pata tha yeh ho jaye ga.’
By yeh, Mr Khan means the Panama leaks: politicians dodging tax and stashing cash far and away. In any other place, Panama made for a clear line of questioning. In any other place, it should have taken all of three weeks: inquiry, investigation, resolution, consequences in case of guilt.
We would have moved on, and the state could have gotten down to the real work: the drizzly economy, the Quettas and Karachis. Instead, there was a slow dance with the opposition, TORs rejected by other TORs, and a flurry of court petitions and counter-petitions. Half a year later, Panama’s questions remain with us — uncured and unanswered — and have sent PTI into siege mode.
They’re calling it the Lockdown, a warmed-over version of 2014’s #ShutdownToRebuild. Only, Pakistan can afford neither shutdowns nor lockdowns — especially not now: the police are being bustled in from all corners, costing millions. The stock market’s taken a dive, while blocks and barriers make the lives of Islamabad residents even number than they already are. Then there’s the dark prospect that clashes turn violent — i.e. the default mode of both the Punjab Police and the FC.
But neither side looks to be backing down. As with 2014, the PTI has a Plan B and a Plan C (each more unhinged than the last), with Asad Qaiser & Co. bringing in loaders and lifters from the north.
Meanwhile, the government is acting as if a D Chowk protest is the Normandy landings: the FC’s pay is being beefed up, PTI workers are being hauled away, and LalHaveli is getting garrisoned (if for no other reason than the glory of Sheikh Rasheed Ahmad, prince of Pindi Boys).
As if sense of proportion wasn’t already out of the way, an entire SWAT team detained Sufi rocker Salman Ahmad, and put him away in a police van. In what can only be called an act of Rock & Roll Jihad, Mr Ahmad opened the (unlocked) van door and fled the scene. Why this sham merits mention is that — while Noon was jailing Junoon (and failing) — banned outfits had already rolled into Aabpara. What is doubly depressing is the climate: the National Action Plan was already under fire, but then the sectarians decided to make it a joke altogether.
The NAP is made up of twenty points, of which Point 15 declares ‘zero tolerance for militancy in the Punjab,’ at least on paper. In real life, not only does the state stay clear of Punjab, it allows those militants to assemble in Islamabad.
There’s also Point 18 — ‘dealing firmly with sectarian terrorists.’ Again in real life, this means granting said terrorists a police guard, because calling for ethnic cleansing is a risky business these days. There’s also the rest: ‘prohibiting militant groups from operating in the country’ (Point 3), ‘ensuring against re-emergence of banned outfits’ (Point 7), and ‘banning glorification of terrorists through print and electronic media’ (Point 11). In sum, the state did nothing about a sectarian soiree that broke Points 3, 7, 11, 15, and 18 of the NAP.
And there lies the problem. Pakistan’s future lies in whether it manages to prevent future Quettas, future APS attacks, future sectarian rallies in the heart of the capital. Instead, it finds itself in a fistfight between its two major parties, over starting an investigation that should have ended months ago.
Not that there aren’t ways out: the Muslim League can still sue for peace, enacting a law in parliament that creates a judicial commission per the joint opposition’s TORs. The PTI has hinted at such an olive branch, but they’ve been waving it in the dark ever since.
Second, the PTI could abide by a recent decision of the Islamabad High Court: rather than jam up the works, it could protest in Democracy Park in F-9, and the state, for its part, would do away with its containers. Let us get through to 2018, sirs — democracy’s tough on everyone, but there’s just 19 months left. The system cannot hold this way.
Third, the obvious (and least probable) choice — state institutions could shake themselves awake, and launch an actual probe into all the hucksters connected to Panama. In this ideal ending, the probe would bring concrete results, corruption would become a dirty word, and the PTI would delay revolution until the actual election.
But Pakistan seldom gets its share of ideal endings. Most likely, we get none of the three, and brace ourselves for Sheikh sahib’s next appearance. Quetta can wait.
Published in The Express Tribune, November 1st , 2016.
Or at least blame the press: turn on the TV and watch the PTI chairman doing pushups for the cameras, while Islamabad awaits its biennial siege. Or switch to the ruling party turning Islamabad into Attica, while senators hint the opposition enjoys the powdery stuff.
In a place that saw mass murder in Quetta and ethnic cleansing in Karachi, the news has gone the way of full-blown farce. We have a news cycle that involved courtroom drama, bike chases, and a slow-burn standoff in the capital. And like the best B-movies, this one’s a remake: the PTI’s in dharna mode again, and thinks it can go for the gold. An interviewer even chastised Mr. Khan that this round would have been more explosive if he hadn’t gone for the first dharna. The Chairman replied, ‘Mujhay thori pata tha yeh ho jaye ga.’
By yeh, Mr Khan means the Panama leaks: politicians dodging tax and stashing cash far and away. In any other place, Panama made for a clear line of questioning. In any other place, it should have taken all of three weeks: inquiry, investigation, resolution, consequences in case of guilt.
We would have moved on, and the state could have gotten down to the real work: the drizzly economy, the Quettas and Karachis. Instead, there was a slow dance with the opposition, TORs rejected by other TORs, and a flurry of court petitions and counter-petitions. Half a year later, Panama’s questions remain with us — uncured and unanswered — and have sent PTI into siege mode.
They’re calling it the Lockdown, a warmed-over version of 2014’s #ShutdownToRebuild. Only, Pakistan can afford neither shutdowns nor lockdowns — especially not now: the police are being bustled in from all corners, costing millions. The stock market’s taken a dive, while blocks and barriers make the lives of Islamabad residents even number than they already are. Then there’s the dark prospect that clashes turn violent — i.e. the default mode of both the Punjab Police and the FC.
But neither side looks to be backing down. As with 2014, the PTI has a Plan B and a Plan C (each more unhinged than the last), with Asad Qaiser & Co. bringing in loaders and lifters from the north.
Meanwhile, the government is acting as if a D Chowk protest is the Normandy landings: the FC’s pay is being beefed up, PTI workers are being hauled away, and LalHaveli is getting garrisoned (if for no other reason than the glory of Sheikh Rasheed Ahmad, prince of Pindi Boys).
As if sense of proportion wasn’t already out of the way, an entire SWAT team detained Sufi rocker Salman Ahmad, and put him away in a police van. In what can only be called an act of Rock & Roll Jihad, Mr Ahmad opened the (unlocked) van door and fled the scene. Why this sham merits mention is that — while Noon was jailing Junoon (and failing) — banned outfits had already rolled into Aabpara. What is doubly depressing is the climate: the National Action Plan was already under fire, but then the sectarians decided to make it a joke altogether.
The NAP is made up of twenty points, of which Point 15 declares ‘zero tolerance for militancy in the Punjab,’ at least on paper. In real life, not only does the state stay clear of Punjab, it allows those militants to assemble in Islamabad.
There’s also Point 18 — ‘dealing firmly with sectarian terrorists.’ Again in real life, this means granting said terrorists a police guard, because calling for ethnic cleansing is a risky business these days. There’s also the rest: ‘prohibiting militant groups from operating in the country’ (Point 3), ‘ensuring against re-emergence of banned outfits’ (Point 7), and ‘banning glorification of terrorists through print and electronic media’ (Point 11). In sum, the state did nothing about a sectarian soiree that broke Points 3, 7, 11, 15, and 18 of the NAP.
And there lies the problem. Pakistan’s future lies in whether it manages to prevent future Quettas, future APS attacks, future sectarian rallies in the heart of the capital. Instead, it finds itself in a fistfight between its two major parties, over starting an investigation that should have ended months ago.
Not that there aren’t ways out: the Muslim League can still sue for peace, enacting a law in parliament that creates a judicial commission per the joint opposition’s TORs. The PTI has hinted at such an olive branch, but they’ve been waving it in the dark ever since.
Second, the PTI could abide by a recent decision of the Islamabad High Court: rather than jam up the works, it could protest in Democracy Park in F-9, and the state, for its part, would do away with its containers. Let us get through to 2018, sirs — democracy’s tough on everyone, but there’s just 19 months left. The system cannot hold this way.
Third, the obvious (and least probable) choice — state institutions could shake themselves awake, and launch an actual probe into all the hucksters connected to Panama. In this ideal ending, the probe would bring concrete results, corruption would become a dirty word, and the PTI would delay revolution until the actual election.
But Pakistan seldom gets its share of ideal endings. Most likely, we get none of the three, and brace ourselves for Sheikh sahib’s next appearance. Quetta can wait.
Published in The Express Tribune, November 1st , 2016.