Our petty culture wars

Pakistan was created that way. It was bound to have culture wars. During the struggle for the new homeland people representing diametrically opposite views joined the movement. They had very different and competing visions for the new country. Where Shabbir Ahmed Usmani represented the religious right, Mian Iftikharuddin of the hard left was also present. Meanwhile the elite of parts that joined the new nation, groomed by the British, was deeply secular but publicly paid lip service to religion. Something just had to give. There hasn’t been a dull moment in the country’s history ever since.

Now that the elections are approaching, the PML-N and the PPP look less interested to win. Consequently, the new kid on the block (or at least that is how the party likes to see itself) the Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf while hunting for a sherwani for its leader, Imran Khan, resembles the exact same contradiction. From far right to far left, it has representations from all shades of opinion. That is precisely why one moment Imran Khan sounds like Donald Trump, another like Bernie Sanders. Interesting times be damned!

And yet the party is just a microcosm of what we have witnessed in the past two decades. Pervez Musharraf’s sudden decision to join the US-led war on terror brought cracks to the country’s long cherished national narrative. Enlightened moderation versus benighted fanaticism. Enlightened moderation prevailed. And then as the power began to slide out of hands owing to the lawyers’ movement, enlightened moderation was replaced by stubborn petulance. That was how the former strongman’s last year in power was spent. Disbelief, anger and annoyance. Old confidantes were replaced by the sort of chaps who make a career out of a weakening leader’s defence. They know he’d be gone soon and to them would come the spoils. He did. And they did. And to think he could salvage his stay in power by simply reaching out to those whose voices he once trusted and whose recent criticism had alarmed him so profusely. But he was gone. The lot around him did not. And thus, began the new culture wars.

Seeing an opportunity in the widespread disquiet against Musharraf’s counter-terrorism policies even the most moderate and liberal political parties had gravitated towards the hard right. After his departure they couldn’t maintain the balance. The polarisation between what passes for the right and the left in the Islamic Republic remained explosive. Quite literally so. But between the religious right and the democratic left there emerged a third category: the ones who couldn’t tolerate the clerics but couldn’t trust the established political parties. The allies of Musharraf’s final days in power. He had gone. They had stayed. Mostly on television screens. Until 2011. Until the PTI staged its first surprise, if mammoth, public gathering in Lahore. Remember how many known faces of political television were there? Too many. Their faces radiant. Their voices jubilant. Their political lifeboat had arrived.

If that was the case of momentary allies of the man who was the law and the ultimate national interest for eight years think of the permanent fixtures of state. For organisations eight years are nothing short of a lifetime. In the time of crisis people make quick choices which seldom are rational. And then the man in question was not at all a bad administrator. Lack of legitimacy his Achilles’ heel. But what does organisational loyalty have to do with legitimacy at the national scale. His immediate successors did not offer anyone any solace. And hence the culture wars began to intensify. How do you work with or under someone you do not respect, who has shown no vision or charisma and is subject of widespread conspiracy theories?

So, in the past ten years we have witnessed a confluence of firebrand TV pundits and the disaffected elements in the state and the society blocking the path of democratisation. Or whatever passes for it. It was painful to watch. And excruciating to experience. Politicians mostly out of their depths and yet beguiled by an unshakeable belief in their infinite wisdom trying to outsmart the smart ones. From the memo to the leaks, every episode a living hell for the firm believers in democracy. If you consider yourself a democrat, have you stopped to take stock of how much injury has been done to you by these ‘custodians of democracy’? No, you have not. You never could make the time. Because you were endlessly busy fighting their culture wars. For them. You got nothing. They lived to fight another day. Or to make you fight another day. If democracy is meant to serve me, empower me, why is it that I am always fighting for it? And why is it that the democrat leaders we are supposed to defend seldom lift a finger to alleviate our pain? They could begin by stopping to hatch these hairbrained conspiracies that unravel midway and leave us to embarrass ourselves trying to rationalise.

So, my new motto? Que sera sera. Whatever will be, will be. Granted, there are a few good men on all sides. When you stop taking sides you can easily function as a bridge. If you are too tired, then step aside. Someone else might want to fill the void. If it is the time of healing, it will come.

When I try to look back I realise I am incapable of taking stock myself. The excruciating pain of the past ten years (and more intensely of the past five) has befuddled my memory if not completely addled the brain. I have spent the past four years complaining about the countless ways in which the four-month-long sit-in tormented me. My office was attacked. To pass through the angry hordes congregating on the way to my workplace was always a disturbing experience. But now that I look back I realise that all of this could have been stopped if that fateful Model Town operation was avoided. They didn’t consult me before the operation. They didn’t consult me before the sit-in. Then why should I be bothered?

As things are shaping up whosoever wins will try to mould the country in their own image. Before taking sides do pause for a moment to appreciate the fact that every one of them is honed by the very hand you think you are planning to resist. You can tell when I am giving up on someone. I tend to start agreeing with their choices. So, I will shake the hand of whosoever wins and tell them I agree with their choices wholeheartedly. That is the number your petty culture wars do to an incorrigible optimist.

Published in The Express Tribune, June 28^th, 2018.

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