Days of Future Past
Musharraf trial may not answer questions on progress past, present and future, but start debate on where we should go
The writer is Director News, Express News. He tweets @fahdhusain fahd.husain@tribune.com.pk
The Musharraf saga will reach a conclusion sooner or later. The debris of the trial won’t.
There is much that has bubbled to the surface since the former president was dragged into court. Laws, politics, vendettas and institutional clash of egos have blended together into an explosive — and dare I say toxic — mix that continues to rock the national landscape on a daily basis. Past, present and future, it seems, are locked into a deadly embrace, blurring the lines so clearly etched by time.
As Ziaul Haq’s martial law rumbled on in the 1980s, it exuded a certain disturbing permanence. Except that it didn’t. In the 1990s, the see-saw of democracy felt like it was here to stay. Except that it wasn’t. In the 2000s, the Musharraf rule had no end in sight. Except that it did. And now?
Well, now we are supposed to be transitioning into the final transition. There is, they say, a certain balance within this chaos. Constitutional creases have been ironed out, a peaceful transfer of power achieved and the centre-province wrestling transformed into unaesthetic choreography. But the days of future past are never too far away.
And herein lies the tragedy of Pakistan: somehow we can never really and truly shrug off the baggage of the past that we lug along on the rocky journey to somewhere. Khaki shadows cast a certain dread over the political landscape as little men struggle to manoeuvre a minefield. Fear lurks in dark corners as decision-makers huddle together in fear and conspire in hushed tones. They are used to acting this way. A haunting past, an uncertain present and a hazy path to the future compels them to be hesitant, unsure and perhaps torn between doing what they want to do and what they should do.
Take too sharp a turn and you can capsize like the Korean ferry. But how sharp is sharp? And how and when to turn the steering wheel to stay on course? This is the burden of leadership, and this is where men and women mandated to lead are tested the most. The cost of bad judgments by powerful people is borne by a generation of citizens. The history of Pakistan is littered with such abominable decision-making by people whose egos were much bigger than their visions. Small men entrusted with big offices and bigger titles are generally bad news for those who have to suffer their rule.
The civil-military imbalance in Pakistan is the elephant in the room. It’s like a dragon that pretends to be dead, but is actually just sleeping. Disturb it and you’re toast. Sixty-seven years should have been time enough to set the imbalance right. Wishful thinking. Sixty-seven years should have been time enough to do a lot of things: put all our kids to school, clean up our electoral system, reform our institutions and replace the rule of men with rule of law. Perhaps, this list of tasks is too ambitious, too complex, to achieve in six decades. Did not America acquire independence in 1776 but struggled with the issue of slavery for another century? Is it a century we need before we can resolve the issues of the past and set our eyes on the future?
Yes, maybe we are acting a bit impatient. In the arc of time, we are still infants. And infants stand, stumble, fall, stand, stumble, fall. But then they learn to walk, and never unlearn it.
What have we learnt, and more importantly, unlearnt? The wounds deep within the folds of society continue to fester. Injustice, brutality and abuse of power co-exist uneasily with representative government and trappings of constitutionalism. They should not. A linear path of progress should ensure an automatic relationship between crime and punishment, regardless of who the perpetrator is. It should ensure the state is not a predator against its own citizens. It should ensure that the excesses of human nature are controlled by the iron web of laws.
This has not happened. Why? Because the path to progress is not linear. Because we have tried to run before we can walk. Because we believe modern roads, bridges and airports are a good substitute for a medieval mindset. Because we have moved ahead in fits and starts, lurching from one whim to another and dressing it up as policy. The muddled, confused and blistered past now drives the future.
John Adams, one of America’s founding fathers and its second President, told a French court in the 1770s: “I must study politics and war, that my sons may have the liberty to study mathematics and philosophy, natural history and naval architecture, in order to give their children a right to study painting, poetry, music, architecture, tapestry and porcelain.”
That’s linear progress.
Musharraf’s trial will not answer these fundamental questions about progress past, present and future, but it should trigger a debate about where we want to go. This one simple question yet begs an answer. This one simple question has not been addressed by those who are mandated to chart our future.
Who is in the dock now?
Published in The Express Tribune, April 20th, 2014.
There is much that has bubbled to the surface since the former president was dragged into court. Laws, politics, vendettas and institutional clash of egos have blended together into an explosive — and dare I say toxic — mix that continues to rock the national landscape on a daily basis. Past, present and future, it seems, are locked into a deadly embrace, blurring the lines so clearly etched by time.
As Ziaul Haq’s martial law rumbled on in the 1980s, it exuded a certain disturbing permanence. Except that it didn’t. In the 1990s, the see-saw of democracy felt like it was here to stay. Except that it wasn’t. In the 2000s, the Musharraf rule had no end in sight. Except that it did. And now?
Well, now we are supposed to be transitioning into the final transition. There is, they say, a certain balance within this chaos. Constitutional creases have been ironed out, a peaceful transfer of power achieved and the centre-province wrestling transformed into unaesthetic choreography. But the days of future past are never too far away.
And herein lies the tragedy of Pakistan: somehow we can never really and truly shrug off the baggage of the past that we lug along on the rocky journey to somewhere. Khaki shadows cast a certain dread over the political landscape as little men struggle to manoeuvre a minefield. Fear lurks in dark corners as decision-makers huddle together in fear and conspire in hushed tones. They are used to acting this way. A haunting past, an uncertain present and a hazy path to the future compels them to be hesitant, unsure and perhaps torn between doing what they want to do and what they should do.
Take too sharp a turn and you can capsize like the Korean ferry. But how sharp is sharp? And how and when to turn the steering wheel to stay on course? This is the burden of leadership, and this is where men and women mandated to lead are tested the most. The cost of bad judgments by powerful people is borne by a generation of citizens. The history of Pakistan is littered with such abominable decision-making by people whose egos were much bigger than their visions. Small men entrusted with big offices and bigger titles are generally bad news for those who have to suffer their rule.
The civil-military imbalance in Pakistan is the elephant in the room. It’s like a dragon that pretends to be dead, but is actually just sleeping. Disturb it and you’re toast. Sixty-seven years should have been time enough to set the imbalance right. Wishful thinking. Sixty-seven years should have been time enough to do a lot of things: put all our kids to school, clean up our electoral system, reform our institutions and replace the rule of men with rule of law. Perhaps, this list of tasks is too ambitious, too complex, to achieve in six decades. Did not America acquire independence in 1776 but struggled with the issue of slavery for another century? Is it a century we need before we can resolve the issues of the past and set our eyes on the future?
Yes, maybe we are acting a bit impatient. In the arc of time, we are still infants. And infants stand, stumble, fall, stand, stumble, fall. But then they learn to walk, and never unlearn it.
What have we learnt, and more importantly, unlearnt? The wounds deep within the folds of society continue to fester. Injustice, brutality and abuse of power co-exist uneasily with representative government and trappings of constitutionalism. They should not. A linear path of progress should ensure an automatic relationship between crime and punishment, regardless of who the perpetrator is. It should ensure the state is not a predator against its own citizens. It should ensure that the excesses of human nature are controlled by the iron web of laws.
This has not happened. Why? Because the path to progress is not linear. Because we have tried to run before we can walk. Because we believe modern roads, bridges and airports are a good substitute for a medieval mindset. Because we have moved ahead in fits and starts, lurching from one whim to another and dressing it up as policy. The muddled, confused and blistered past now drives the future.
John Adams, one of America’s founding fathers and its second President, told a French court in the 1770s: “I must study politics and war, that my sons may have the liberty to study mathematics and philosophy, natural history and naval architecture, in order to give their children a right to study painting, poetry, music, architecture, tapestry and porcelain.”
That’s linear progress.
Musharraf’s trial will not answer these fundamental questions about progress past, present and future, but it should trigger a debate about where we want to go. This one simple question yet begs an answer. This one simple question has not been addressed by those who are mandated to chart our future.
Who is in the dock now?
Published in The Express Tribune, April 20th, 2014.