As the unfettered reign of the caretaker government comes to an end (much to the dismay of the power-deprived individuals who make up the dynamics of Pakistan’s political backdrop), there are quite a few things that I — as an inevitable observer and a frustrated nationalist — have to say. Before we leave our houses on the morning of February 8, 2024, we must remember the ones who came before us: the safeguards and detractors of the vision that birthed Pakistan. There is no going back to ignorance; gone are the days when you could switch your TV off if you did not like what Imran Khan had to say in another speech during the dharna, or when it was acceptable to be both a patriot and still advocate for your inherent class privilege. This is the future of the nation that we will inherit soon, and the consciousness of our decisions will come back to haunt us.
If you asked me to describe Pakistani politics in one word, I would have my generous share of options. Clandestine, with its illicit back-door deals and the absurd phenomenon of everyone knowing the what, but no one knowing the how, there is a rich history in the tight-lippedness of this continuum. Dirty: everything about this political structure symbolises the unfair, ruthless and distortingly complex intentions that rule the fate of its civilians for decades to come. And of course, a personal favourite: magical; no description of a Pakistani government sounds complete without the incessantly obvious players, the ‘celestial beings’ that only come out every five years. Or so we thought.
With great gore comes greater responsibility, and to understand the history of Pakistan’s politics is no less than a feat. It has always been an instrument of propagating the ideology of the then government, glorifying the indoctrination of Islamic extremism and perpetuating the political agenda most suited to the military chiefs who have never taken a day off from meddling in the affairs of the civilian population. Take, for example, the very first page of our passport, the fourth worst in the world. While many express pride at the words ‘Islamic Republic of Pakistan’, few understand the implication of this blatant deviation from the secular ideology proposed by Jinnah, whose admiration is today reduced to his imprint on our ever-deteriorating currency. But then again, a country that produces army chiefs who have the audacity to contest against the Madre Millat in general elections, rig said elections and also fail to investigate her mysterious demise, deserves no better.
Every student undergoes the excruciating ordeal of studying the post-independence change in power that our reductionist Pakistan Studies syllabi portray. But a point of concern is how many of them convey strong agreement with the hate-fueled policies that Zia’s era brought. While stoning to death for a crime that could not be proven but was innately prejudiced against women may have seemed unreasonable, a majority of people support the painful consequences they did not have to reap. An interesting question arises here: Why is it that a nation so engrossed in patriarchal civil imbalance glorifies Benazir Bhutto, a very heterosexual female, so much so that she became the Prime Minister of the country at the peak of Pakistan’s foreign policy disaster? I do not know the answer to this paradox, but what I know is that it is just as questionable as the recent return of the convicted Ex-PM Nawaz Sharif and the incredible overturning of his convictions in a span of a single week. The singularity of this is as follows: perhaps there truly was some celestial work underway after all.
Like many my age, I grew up during the exciting times of the 126-day sit-in at Islamabad. It was irresistible, to watch someone new talk about us, address us and tell us, that everything was going to be alright. Pakistan’s politics had been so embedded in the dynastic arrangement of the alternating Sharif-Bhutto saga, that the appearance of Khan on the front page was like a clean slate for the disappointments we had experienced till then. This was also, precisely the time, everything headed into the long-stretched downward spiral, whose aftershocks we experience today.
The world saw how unarmed civilians marched towards the PM House, the open bullets at 12 midnight, the impediments to the supply of food for the people who had made camps near their Leader’s container, the eventual end of the march, the Panama leaks and its comical proceedings. From the love-bombing of the judiciary (No names needed. On second thoughts, Q is a much revered initial) to the 360-degree turn of PTI’s victory in 2018, the crossfire of puppetry has only become more real. Under the government of Khan, Pakistan saw in itself a unique confidence restored; suddenly, we weren’t afraid to proclaim our citizenship. For the first time in history, there was hope for some semblance of equality: health cards gave medical immunity of up to 1 million PKR to the less fortunate families, afforestation campaigns were inaugurated in an effort to minimise the impact of climate change, as well as funding for dams to overcome the environmental crisis that loomed critically over our heads. With one of the most systematic responses to COVID-19 globally, Pakistan was on its way to decolonisation and the heights of popularity. It all came down the day Khan gave the historic speech at the UN (after Bhutto’s impassioned one, this was a breeze) and the world came to a standstill at two simple words: ‘absolutely not’.
Ever since then, we have seen a perpetual state of emergency in the country. With over two hundred cases that came to life in a matter of days, and the ever-special favouritism for Khan that opened federal courts on weekends to facilitate his conviction, Pakistan is at a crossroads again. Amid violent protests and ‘conspiracies’ against one of the most advanced military forces in the world, the neverending conflict of interest between civilians and their leather-booted counterparts has become apparent. Treason carries a twisted definition, only applying when it outcasts a certain segment of Pakistan’s front stage. But for the first time in history, we actually know where our loyalties lie and what our aspirations are for this country.
Where the constitutional court engages in open debate about a woman’s fertility and menstrual cycles, and oral judgements are delivered without the presence of attorneys, it is crucial to remember that this is not just our present, but our future for years to come. This intellectual discrepancy reveals the calibre of the protectors of justice, and their capacity for administering it in light of the recent resignations. Sectarian hatred adorns the clean roads of Islamabad, echoing the legacy set by the great 1967, a high that these leather boots have seldom come down from. The coming years will see women’s chastity being the primary subject of legal proceedings (Zia must be rolling in his grave), in the same courts that five years ago demanded life guarantee for a convict who specialises in property development and Swiss chocolates. In a society that already constricts the existence of women, where rape victims are publicised and entertainment groups find their inspiration in their trauma, take a moment to see where we are heading, and if this is the liberty we envision for our daughters. Even the hardened leftist Aurat March, which has historically been led, influenced and motivated by the ideologies shared by the Sindh establishment, and failed to acknowledge its faulty leadership in the family of a rape apologist, has come out to condemn this feat. Such is the absurdity of the spectacle.
Political victimisation at its peak, the past few months have seen a certain party’s members arrested, attacked, kidnapped and murdered. From stripping off political signs to rendering confusion in the electoral process, there has been a false realisation at tail. The puppeteers of this nation have somehow believed that ideologies can be robbed. You may not care now, but when you will be standing in line at the police station because your daughter got sexually assaulted, or trying to access the Ombudsman to issue a police misconduct against your son or making repeated trips to the Courts on account of property disputes, you will be forced to think. And ponder. Finally, regret. Don’t let our ideologies become mercenary transactions.
Our taxes should not have to harvest the private lands of a few officers or fence the boundaries of their prestigious housing societies. We are not to become outlaws in our own country. The youth of Pakistan is no longer interested in being brainwashed into another jihad; fight the product of the hate you sowed, we are not here to become another specimen of your collateral damage. Murder our histories, but do not try to wash off the blood from your hands.
I cannot convince you to use your right to self-determination against your will. Neither can I tell you who to vote for. But here are a few things to ask yourself before you make the final decision. Are we doormats whose sole purpose in life is to chase the comforts of their privilege and ensure that it is maintained, or do we have the courage — the Pakistaniyat — to look into the anti-democratic tendencies that lie within our conscience, and decide what is more important: the Pakistan we want, or the Pakistan we all deserve? Vote for the twenty-three million out-of-school children, the fifty-four per cent of women who are financially dependent, and the two million lives lost for the freedom of independence that we are about to give up on. While there is no way to ensure what proportion of our voice will be undertaken, it is crucial that we shed our inhibitions and make a decision once and for all. If our votes were merely pieces of paper, they would not be sold in backdoors for a few thousand Quaids. Snatch the rifles that ‘guard’ us, until they are ready to kneel. This is our time.
By Ariba Ashraf
Writer (Team 2023-2024)
Note: the views expressed in the article solely belong to the writer and do not reflect TLC.