The war of the…
Never underestimate power of slogans; they are known to jolt nerves, senses, shaky coalitions, unpopular governments
Jim Rohn said, “The challenge of leadership is to be strong, but not rude; be bold, but not bully; be humble, but not timid; be proud, but not arrogant; have humor, but without folly.” And as I read these words, the nature of discourse, or the lack thereof, between leaders/wannabe leaders in Pakistan emerges in all its non-performing idiomatic ignominy. If only Harper Lee knew how true her words are even today, far from her native Monroeville: “Bad language is a stage all children go through, and it dies with time once they learn they are not attracting attention with it.” If only…
The recent word-war, in all its sloppiness, on Twitter between the supporters of the PTI and the PML-N, once again reiterated how a few words of one known name snowball — mostly slushy, grimy snow — into a K2 of mostly redundant epithets. He-said-she-said-they-said-the ancestors-said-the Martians-said, and before you roll your eyes, and click mute/block, voila, there’s a new epithet on your timeline. Mostly of the @#&$±@ type. As the PTI goes through assorted realms of its azaadi march, the twists and turns of its leaders’ words notwithstanding, one chant has assumed the tenor of that background score in a horror movie that first startles, then scares, and then makes the hair on your back stand, you being, in this case, the PML-N folk. The “go-Nawaz-go” has become that Psycho music that people attach to being scared in a movie theatre. Call it conditioning. Or the effect of a mass chant that takes on the resonance of a call of the public, when being chanted by a massive crowd at a rally at the Minar-e-Pakistan. It’s everywhere, even if it’s one or two voices. It doesn’t leave you alone on TV, on Twitter, on WhatsApp statuses, as graffiti, in government-sponsored programmes (the boring ones with long speeches, tepid tea, stale sandwiches), and in Wazirabad. Hey, never underestimate the power of slogans; they are known to jolt nerves, senses, shaky coalitions, and unpopular governments, both sides of the Pacific.
And the bored response, initially, may be that of “oh-puhleez, ignore the ‘burgers’”, but as you straighten your starched-clothed back, or shake your perfectly-shaped head, styled with your perfectly-curled tresses, and your SUV/BMW/Mercedes speed down the rundown road of your/your father’s constituency, you hear that nagging sound. Again. Maybe it’s just your angry subconscious, or that bratty child running parallel to your roaring vehicle when it slows down. I mean who knows. Its constancy is infuriating, to say the least, and no amount of “ro-Imran-ro” seem to muffle it. You have had enough. It’s like that latest Bang Bang song that plays everywhere — at the mehndi, the car next to yours, your kid’s iPhone6, as your driver’s caller-tune, the paan khokha you go by. You have had enough. It must go. But how? From jalsas to toddlers’ naked bums, it’s unapologetically, and in some cases, shamelessly there. You are livid now. And hell hath no fury like a woman/daughter scorned, or mocked.
Fast-forward to doctors attacking doctors, young men punching one another, women getting into catfights — mostly verbal, and the gloves are off. Maryam Nawaz Sharif tweet-warns the PTI supporters to shut-the-hell-up or be ready to be beaten up. Oh well. The PML-N lives on, FIR-fully unaware, that the Punjab ain’t their personal territory, and people will do/chant as they please. Learn to live with it, or not, who cares. Right? And before you know it, Imran Khan does his “oye-Maryam” (yawn) in his daily speech at the dharna at that what’s-its-name-now chowk in Islamabad. The war of words spills into the timelines of party supporters, as it turns into a free-for-all mud match in some Golding island far from here. And the result: errrr, nada.
The leaders/their offspring speak. The supporters hang on to their every word — sensible or incoherent is not really the issue here. And then they go on a concerted campaign (online) of endorsement/spreading/denial, and, sigh, we sit and watch the misplaced rage and misspelt fights, twiddling our Twitter-loving thumbs. Who will tell the big ones to watch the lip, if they can’t zip the lip? And who will tell their keyboard jihadis to just … get a life? Pronto?
Published in The Express Tribune, October 10th, 2014.
The recent word-war, in all its sloppiness, on Twitter between the supporters of the PTI and the PML-N, once again reiterated how a few words of one known name snowball — mostly slushy, grimy snow — into a K2 of mostly redundant epithets. He-said-she-said-they-said-the ancestors-said-the Martians-said, and before you roll your eyes, and click mute/block, voila, there’s a new epithet on your timeline. Mostly of the @#&$±@ type. As the PTI goes through assorted realms of its azaadi march, the twists and turns of its leaders’ words notwithstanding, one chant has assumed the tenor of that background score in a horror movie that first startles, then scares, and then makes the hair on your back stand, you being, in this case, the PML-N folk. The “go-Nawaz-go” has become that Psycho music that people attach to being scared in a movie theatre. Call it conditioning. Or the effect of a mass chant that takes on the resonance of a call of the public, when being chanted by a massive crowd at a rally at the Minar-e-Pakistan. It’s everywhere, even if it’s one or two voices. It doesn’t leave you alone on TV, on Twitter, on WhatsApp statuses, as graffiti, in government-sponsored programmes (the boring ones with long speeches, tepid tea, stale sandwiches), and in Wazirabad. Hey, never underestimate the power of slogans; they are known to jolt nerves, senses, shaky coalitions, and unpopular governments, both sides of the Pacific.
And the bored response, initially, may be that of “oh-puhleez, ignore the ‘burgers’”, but as you straighten your starched-clothed back, or shake your perfectly-shaped head, styled with your perfectly-curled tresses, and your SUV/BMW/Mercedes speed down the rundown road of your/your father’s constituency, you hear that nagging sound. Again. Maybe it’s just your angry subconscious, or that bratty child running parallel to your roaring vehicle when it slows down. I mean who knows. Its constancy is infuriating, to say the least, and no amount of “ro-Imran-ro” seem to muffle it. You have had enough. It’s like that latest Bang Bang song that plays everywhere — at the mehndi, the car next to yours, your kid’s iPhone6, as your driver’s caller-tune, the paan khokha you go by. You have had enough. It must go. But how? From jalsas to toddlers’ naked bums, it’s unapologetically, and in some cases, shamelessly there. You are livid now. And hell hath no fury like a woman/daughter scorned, or mocked.
Fast-forward to doctors attacking doctors, young men punching one another, women getting into catfights — mostly verbal, and the gloves are off. Maryam Nawaz Sharif tweet-warns the PTI supporters to shut-the-hell-up or be ready to be beaten up. Oh well. The PML-N lives on, FIR-fully unaware, that the Punjab ain’t their personal territory, and people will do/chant as they please. Learn to live with it, or not, who cares. Right? And before you know it, Imran Khan does his “oye-Maryam” (yawn) in his daily speech at the dharna at that what’s-its-name-now chowk in Islamabad. The war of words spills into the timelines of party supporters, as it turns into a free-for-all mud match in some Golding island far from here. And the result: errrr, nada.
The leaders/their offspring speak. The supporters hang on to their every word — sensible or incoherent is not really the issue here. And then they go on a concerted campaign (online) of endorsement/spreading/denial, and, sigh, we sit and watch the misplaced rage and misspelt fights, twiddling our Twitter-loving thumbs. Who will tell the big ones to watch the lip, if they can’t zip the lip? And who will tell their keyboard jihadis to just … get a life? Pronto?
Published in The Express Tribune, October 10th, 2014.