Pakistan: A people’s journey

Genesis

Pakistan came into being in August 1947. It was the result of a movement in British India for the creation of a separate Muslim-majority state.

The movement was navigated by lawyer and politician, Muhammad Ali Jinnah, and his All India Muslim League (AIML).

The League, especially after 1940, had opted to merge its ‘modernist’ Muslim disposition with a more populist strand of politics.

By the mid-1940s, it was able to sprint past a number of other political outfits claiming to represent the Muslims of India.

The League positioned itself at the centre; or between the right-wing Muslim religious groups on the one side, and Muslim-dominated secular outfits on the other. Both of them were accused by the League of having the backing of the party’s main opponent, the Indian National Congress.

The League’s impressive victories in the 1946 election (especially in the Punjab province and Bengal), paved the way for the creation of Pakistan. The Muslim League became the new country’s first ruling party.

Birth pangs

Pakistan’s first decade as an independent Muslim-majority state was unstable. Its founder, Muhammad Ali Jinnah, passed away just a year after the country’s creation, and Pakistan’s founding party, the Muslim League, fell into disarray, weakened by in-fighting.

The party struggled to come to terms with the many problems besieging the new country. Pakistan had received very little by way of industry and resources and its two wings, West Pakistan and East Pakistan, were more than 2000 kilometers away from one another.

The Muslims of India had agitated for a separate country in India as a minority. In Pakistan, this minority had become a majority.

But it was a Muslim majority made up of various ethnic cultures, languages and communities. It also had various Muslim sects and sub-sects, apart from Christian, Hindu, Zoroastrian and some Sikh communities.

As politicians spent most of their energies firefighting personal battles and issues, the state, mainly dominated by the bureaucracy and the military, tried to impose a singular concept of Pakistani nationhood.

This concept was said to be based on the ‘modernist’ Islamic constructs of Muslim scholars such as Sir Syed Ahmad Khan and Mohammad Iqbal; and which attempted to dissolve identities based on ethnicity and Islamic sects/sub-sects.

But all this was attempted through a myopic procedure that attempted to bulldoze the state’s concept of nationhood without any democratic or consensual process. This opened up cleavages between the state and various ethnic groups.

The state’s narrative was largely modernist but suspicious of democracy and ethnic identities. And, even though, attempts were made to streamline right-wing religious groups, the narrative was equally suspicious of them as well because most of them had opposed the creation of Pakistan.

Growing political instability triggered by political infighting; intrigues between politicians and the bureaucracy; and the weakening of the economy, saw the military under Field Marshal Ayub Khan impose Pakistan’s first Martial Law (1959).

Stability, growth, implosion

From 1959 till 1966, Pakistan experienced unprecedented economic growth and political stability. Ayub Khan ruled with an ‘iron hand,’ keeping opposition from religious parties and those from the left in check.

The religious parties attempted to trigger agitation against Ayub’s ‘overtly secular policies,’ whereas leftist outfits criticised his ‘state-backed capitalism,’ ‘cronyism’ and his refusal to grant ethnic groups democratic autonomy. Both fronts failed to dislodge him.

Economic growth (mainly achieved through rapid industrialisation) infused confidence in the state and society. The state’s narrative under Ayub became even more modernist. It explained Pakistan as a modern Muslim-majority state and one of the most advanced in the Muslim world.

However, confidence led to an ill-planed war against India in 1965. The war ended in a stalemate, but it negatively impacted the country’s economy and polity.

Economic gaps between classes became stark giving leftist groups an opening to launch a widespread movement against Ayub.

By the late 1960s, the regime had been cornered by enraged political, workers and student outfits, and Ayub was forced to resign. He handed over power to General Yayah Khan who imposed the country’s second Martial Law.

In 1970 he held the country’s first election based on adult franchise.

A new beginning

The 1970 election brought forth populist politics in Pakistan. Most of the seats were won by leftist parties which had been opposing Ayub’s state-backed capitalist policies. In East Pakistan, the election was swept by the left-leaning Bengali nationalists.

Though the religious parties were largely trounced in the election, however, they did manage to get more than a dozen members elected to the National Assembly. They had never had more than 3 members in any legislative body of the country before 1970.

The leftists (including ethno-nationalist groups), as well as the religious parties had been kept at bay by the modernist/centrist ruling elite of the country. But both came to the fore after East Pakistan broke away in a civil war (and became Bangladesh); and ZA Bhutto’s left-leaning and populist Pakistan People’s Party (PPP) came to power in December 1971.

The new government inherited an economy that was in shambles and a polity reeling from the effects of the break-up of the country.

The situation changed the state’s narrative as well.

Out went the one that was driven by ‘modernist Islam’. The religious parties blamed it for causing the ‘East Pakistan debacle.’

Under Bhutto, a new narrative was being formed. It was shaped by blending together a populist notion of nationhood and political Islam.

Pakistan’s economy picked up in the early 1970s, but suddenly began to nosedive after 1974, especially due to the international oil crisis and the haphazard implementation of the government’s ‘socialist policies.’

By 1976, Pakistan was in crisis again. Ayub’s economics had given birth to an expanding urban middle and lower middle-class which felt left-out and hard done by Bhutto’s populist brand of politics and policies.

In 1977, a movement powered by the urban bourgeoisie and petty-bourgeoisie, and navigated by the now emboldened religious parties challenged Bhutto’s regime which, eventually, was toppled in a reactionary military coup.

In July 1977, General Ziaul Haq declared the country’s third martial law.

Change of guard

In the 1980s Pakistan’s evolution was navigated towards a completely uncharted territory.

With the coming to power of the Ziaul Haq dictatorship, the state of Pakistan changed course by altering the state’s old narrative based on ‘modernist Islam.’

Though this narrative had already begun to erode during the populist Bhutto era, it was discarded (along with Bhutto’s populist notion of nationhood) by Zia.

Under Zia, religious entities were given greater legislative powers to supposedly help the regime turn Pakistan into an ‘Islamic state.’

Due to a civil war in Afghanistan, Pakistan became a recipient of huge American and Saudi aid. Zia rolled back Bhutto’s ‘socialist policies,’ and this, along with foreign aid, created an economic boom.

But this boom was quite unlike the one experienced during the Ayub era. It triggered a rather anarchic form of capitalism and a two-fold growth in institutional corruption and crime.

Due to the regime’s intransigent social, political and cultural policies, the Pakistani society retracted. From being populist/extroverted it became conformist/introverted.

Zia was killed in a plane crash in 1988. But the seeds sown during his regime would begin to sprout events and effects from which Pakistan is yet to recover.

One of the first batches of the ‘Afghan Mujahideen’ arrives in the tribal areas of Pakistan. (February 1980).

The downward spiral

A pleasant but short-lived breeze of euphoria blew across the country when it witnessed a peaceful transition of power from a military dictatorship to a democratic system (November 1988).

But the coming decade that had promised effective and democratic resolutions to the many social, religious and political issues that had cropped up during the Zia dictatorship, failed miserably to accomplish what it was expected to achieve.

Though, throughout the 1990s the country remained driven by democracy and civilian political parties, the truth was, the political parties lacked the cerebral and strategic resources and acumen required to effectively challenge and neutralise those forces that had been fattened by the Zia regime and had managed to retain their hold over the country’s politics and polity.

The illusion

Just as the Ayub Khan coup in 1958 had (initially) been popular, the military coup pulled off in 1999 by General Pervez Musharraf too, was largely received with a sigh of relief and even joy by most Pakistanis.

Tired of the political chaos, corruption, intrigues and ethnic and sectarian violence that had plagued the 1990s, Pakistanis looked forward to a period of some sort of stability.

In the first five years of his dictatorship, Musharraf managed to inject this sense of stability. Ethnic violence greatly receded, the economy bolstered, various radical religious and sectarian organisations were banned, and neo-liberal capitalist maneuvers strengthened the economic status of the middle-classes.

However, the feel-good sentiment that the regime managed to inoculate in its first few years was achieved through political repression.

Also, it was awkwardly paralleled by the rise of resistance to the regime by violent religious outfits that began to emerge after Musharraf agreed to join the United States’ ‘War on Terror.’

By 2005, the upbeat economic and cultural disposition of the regime and its achievements began to steadily crumble due to the government’s selective action against extremist outfits (eliminating some, patronising others). The gradual erosion and rollback of the economy began to polarise the Pakistan society into liberal, moderate and conservative segments.

Musharraf was forced to resign, soon after the two main opposition parties, the PPP and the PML-N, won the 2008 election defeating the pro-Musharraf PML-Q.

But this did not stem the rot. The new PPP-led regime was besieged by a failing economy, rising cases of extremist violence and crime, and by its own incompetence. The government seemed paralysed and out of breath, and the state’s writ continued to erode in numerous areas across Pakistan.

Another beginning?

The PPP was swept out by the centre-right PML-N in the 2013 election. Prime Minister Nawaz’s government inherited a disaster.

The economy was spiraling down, terrorism was at its peak, an extremist mindset seemed to have deeply penetrated every section of the polity and the state and there was new populist entity in the shape of Imran Khan’s PTI hell-bent on toppling the regime.

For months the government seemed to be paralysed, baffled by the magnitude of the problems facing it.

Then, in December 2014, one of the worst incidents of extremist terror in Pakistan shook the state, government and society from its defeatist slumber.

When terrorists killed at least 144 students at a school in Peshawar, the government instead of capitulating, finally grew some teeth.

Backed by the new army chief, General Raheel Sharif, the regime began to initiate various unprecedented maneuvers that saw Pakistan shifting its political and ideological paradigm once again.

The state and government began to return to the narrative of ‘modernist Islam’ that had begun to erode in the 1970s and was replaced by an entirely reactive one from the 1980s onwards.

But the new narrative is more pragmatic than ideological. It simply suggests that to make Pakistan an important economic player in the world, certain radical steps are necessary.

These steps include the proliferation of free enterprise and foreign investment which, in turn, requires Pakistan to change its security policies and crackdown on anything threatening the erosion of local and international economic confidence.

Optimists have already predicted that Pakistan is well on its way to pull itself out of the quicksand which it created (and then fell into since the 1980s); whereas the skeptics have advised caution.

They say it was just too early to predict anything conclusive because the mountain through which the country is now trying to drill a tunnel, has been piling upwards for over 30 years now.

Source: Pakistan: A people’s journey
Published in Dawn, March 4, 2016

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Smokers’ Corner: Once upon an ancient Karachi

Karachi is a complex creature. Pakistan’s largest city, it is also the country’s most diverse and pluralistic metropolis. But it is a tense place, with a high crime rate. Here, political, economic and ethnic tensions are always threatening to break out from their uneasy slumber.

Karachi’s history has mostly been documented and told from the 19th century onwards. Or mainly from the period when, in the mid-1800s, British colonialists occupied what was then a dusty and rugged fishing town ruled by a Muslim Sindhi-Baloch dynasty (the Talpurs).

The British then began turning this town into a proper city and an important trading post. That is why Karachi is treated as a relatively ‘new city’.

Karachi did not evolve like most ‘historical cities’ of South Asia, such as Lahore and Delhi.

The earliest traces of Karachi may go back to the Greek period, but its modern history begins with the British rule
Till the 17th century, it was a barren land of rolling sand dunes and thorny shrubs. It hardly ever rained here, and the weather was hot and sultry for eight months of the year. The winters were sunny and pleasant, but short.

Under the British, Karachi rapidly evolved from being a dusty little town to becoming a prosperous, diverse and one of the most stable cities in British India.

Karachi’s reputation as a robust centre of trade and pleasure remained intact till the early 1970s. The situation began to go downhill from there onwards. An ever-increasing population and haphazard planning put the city’s resources under tremendous pressure, triggering ethnic tensions and conflict and an increasing crime rate. This trend is yet to be effectively arrested.

The question historians have asked is, how did such a ‘new city’ expand so quickly? What made people settle here and eventually turn it into a gigantic metropolis?

Unlike most major cities of the world, Karachi was nothing more than an insignificant dot on maps before the 19th century. It was an inhospitable place, sprinkled only with a few inconsequential fishing villages.

But it had a natural harbour. Yet, this harbour did not gain any significance before the Talpur dynasty built a small fort near it, and before the British turned this fort into a thriving trading hub.

Nevertheless, Karachi does have a history which precedes both the Talpurs and the British.

Its natural harbour was first mentioned by a passing army of Greek king and warrior, Alexander the Great, in 325 BC.

The army was exiting India through the Indus River in present-day Pakistan. One of Alexander’s commanders, Nearchus, sailed all the way down to the mouth of Indus which empties the sweet waters of the river into the Arabian Sea.

Some historians suggest that the commander’s army arrived at a place they named, ‘Morontobara’, which is the present-day Hub area in the far north of Karachi.

Morontobara in ancient Greek means, ‘woman’s harbour’. Historians have concluded that the area at the time was a fishing village, most probably ruled by a matriarch.

While on their way to the Makran coast (in Balochistan), Nearchus and his men arrived at a place where today stands the busy Karachi port.

A great sea storm was raging at the time, but the commander was impressed by the harbour. He also noticed a small village here and called its inhabitants ‘the fish-eating people’.

Much of this information was derived by historians from the surviving texts of ancient Greeks about Alexander’s invasion of and exit from India thousands of years ago.

After this, the area which today is called Karachi, vanishes from ancient writings. There is no mention of it.

However, it reappears hundreds of years later in 711 CE, when Arab commander, Mohammad Bin Qasim, invaded Sindh (by sea).

His forces entered Makran from where they reached a small port city which Arab writers called Debal.

According to M. Usman Damohi ‘s Karachi: In The Mirror of History and many other historians and archeologists, Debal is Manora: a coastal area of present-day Karachi. Debal was a small fishing and trading post and its inhabitants were largely Hindu. There were many Buddhists here as well.

Sindh at the time was under the rule of Hindu king, Raja Dahir. The locals called Debal, Diwal, a word derived from Sanskrit, meaning the abode of God.

After defeating an army at Debal, Qasim moved north into Sindh.

Eighth-century Arab historian, Ibn-i-Hawqal, described Debal as a dry and arid land that supported little agriculture. But he adds that the inhabitants of the city were very enterprising. They lived in houses made of mud and maintained fishing vessels. They mostly spoke ancient Sindhi and a dialect of Balochi.

Some 800 years later, in 1554, an admiral of the Turkish Ottoman Empire, Syed Ali Reis, visited Debal and opened trade with the inhabitants. In 1568, a Portuguese fleet attacked Debal.

This suggests that the city was not under the direct control of the mighty Mughal Empire of India. The Portuguese destroyed Ottoman ships anchored there. By now the population of the city also had Muslims, but the majority were still Hindus. Almost all of them spoke Sindhi and Balochi.

This area once again vanishes from history books until the arrival of the British.

According to some 19th-century British travellers, the city (in the 18th century) was being called Kolachi Jo Goth (‘Kolachi’s village’ in Sindhi). Historians have concluded that Kolachi was probably a descendant of the matriarch that the Greeks had first mentioned. The matriarch was from a fishing village around a freshwater well. This place was called Meethadar (sweet water door) when Sindh was being ruled by the Talpur dynasty.

The Talpurs had constructed a wall around the most populated area in the city which today is Karachi’s impoverished and troubled Lyari area. The fort had two doors, Meethadar and Kharadar. Kharadar faced the sea and means saltwater door. Both names have survived till this day.

British travellers and officers who came here at the time called the town, Kurachee. They observed that a majority of the city’s population was involved in the fish trade and lived in the walled area (Lyari).

Outside the walls the area was largely arid and sandy, with few animals and birds, such as dogs and fox, eagles and crows. There were some tiny fishing villages near the sea.

The British writers observed that crime was rife in the city, and houses (made of mud) were built close together. There was no sanitation or any idea of garbage disposal or collection. Men and women were aggressive and loved to wear ‘gaudy clothes’.

The writers also noted that though alcoholism and rowdiness was high among men, they were hardworking, and that the city’s Hindu and Muslims coexisted peacefully.

There were many Sufi shrines and Hindu temples here as well. In 1839, the British attacked the city and made it a part of British India. And from here begins Karachi’s modern history.

Source: Smokers’ Corner: Once upon an ancient Karachi
Published in Dawn, Sunday Magazine, March 13th, 2016

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The world is changed by your example, not by your opinion !

Beware of the Women's Protection Billi, brethren!

Dear brethren (and some sisthren), today our people are faced with a very serious and dangerous hazard: Women!

We must wake up from our sinful slumber, dear brethren (and sisthren who became brethren) and rise and face this severe threat: Women!

We must unite and protest against this menace that has been emboldened by the impious Punjab government with the imposition of the Women’s Protection Billi.

Beware of this billi, brethren and sisthren who became brethren. It is an evil billi, out to topple the proven superiority of the billa. This just cannot be tolerated.

It is now quite clear that conspiracies are being hatched to turn our people into Danes, Welsh, Scots and Alaskans; and to undo our real identities and wrench out our roots away from the area of our birth as a nation and culture: Yemen.

Let me elaborate, dear brethren and and sisthren who became brethren because they refused to be administered polio drops: First, an election was rigged to keep out as many pious brethren from the parliament as possible.

Then, a party that was once full of brethren was made to win the election. This was a smokescreen. A clever ploy. Because at the time, the nation did not know that the ideology of the party had been compromised. It had secretly been replaced with a very violent, ferocious and cannibalistic idea: Liberalism!

Yes. Brethren turned into liberthren. How did that happen?

Well, former brethren, Prime Minister Mian Nawaz Sharif, was deceivingly exposed to some invisible waves and rays emitting from his 50-inch Sony LD TV screen.

Ah, my naïve brethren, here lies the conspiracy.

These waves and rays are no ordinary waves and rays. They were originally being emitted from Gakona, Alaska. Now, what is in Gakona, Alaska, you ask?

HAARP! America’s High Frequency Active Auroral Research Program.

According to highly respected spiritual science brethren, apart from using destructive weather patterns as a weapon against brethren nations, HAARP is also being used to conjure waves and rays from Earth’s stratosphere, troposphere and mesosphere.

These waves and rays are then aimed at the minds of brethren leaders to turn them into violent liberthren.

Unfortunately, Nawaz’s mind was weak. And he uncannily allowed himself to be transformed from being a brethren into a liberthren.

He should have learned from Indian primer, Modi.

Modi watches TV while wearing a steel Bajaj motorcycle helmet. The waves and rays of HAARP are unable to penetrate his mind. He also has a specially designed suit made from ancient Vedic technology for this purpose.

Now, I know many brethren will be surprised by my praise for Modi. But, brethren, think! He may be anti-Pakistan, but at least he is not liberal, and his government hates liberthren, dear brethren.

So this was the first conspiracy. To transform Nawaz.

The second conspiracy against us has been the coming of General Raheel Sharif as Pakistan’s military chief.

He was never a brethren, dear brethren.

According to spiritual scientist brethren and anti-polio-dropping sisthren, Raheel is an android. He was built in the future, most probably in 2029, and sent back to infiltrate the Pakistan army.

In 2029 the world is being ruled by highly evolved (but inexpensive) Chinese microwave ovens. The ovens in this timeline will be defeated by the Pakistan army and fellow brethren like you and I and the peaceful farmers of North Waziristan.

So, the ovens, in 2029, are attempting to change the past and create an alternative timeline by building an android. They sent this android back to the 20th century where it managed to infiltrate the Pakistan army and become a general in 2013.

Think about it. Is this how a Pakistani military general behaves? Arresting brethren, banning brethren and quietly supporting a billi that stops brethren from beating up sisthren?

Why do you think the Chinese have decided to invest millions of dollars in Pakistan?

The Chinese want to make Pakistan into a Godless, communist, capitalist Changhong Ruba state. Apart from, of course, continuing to control their android, and adding fried frog legs to our daily diet.

So wake up, brethren! We are facing an invasion.

The liberthren claim to want to create Jinnah Ka Pakistan. What Jinnah Ka Pakistan? It is Bin Qasim Ka Pakistan. And now it is also becoming Jackie Chan Ka Pakistan.

And one such ploy to do this is to unleash the Women’s Protection Billi. Beware of this billi, brethren. It will turn us into a dangerous, amoral and destructive creature: Women.

Source: Beware of the Women's Protection Billi, brethren!
Published in Dawn, March 17, 2016

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The world is changed by your example, not by your opinion !

Smokers’ Corner: Man of action

On July 26, 1943, a young man managed to sneak into the Bombay residence of the future founder of Pakistan, Mohammad Ali Jinnah. He was carrying a knife in his front pocket. He calmly asked to see Mr Jinnah because he was an admirer of his.

Jinnah was reading a newspaper in his bedroom when he was told (by a house help) about the young man’s visit. Jinnah put down the newspaper and went out to meet him, cigar in hand.

Watching Jinnah come out, the young man began to rapidly approach him. He also started to curse and abuse Jinnah, as he whipped out the concealed knife and swiftly fell upon him.

According to the July 27, 1943 edition of Bombay daily, The Tribune, the house helpers nearby managed to overpower the man and take the knife away from him. The newspaper went on to report that Jinnah got cut a bit on the chin and across his right hand with which he had tried to stop the man from stabbing him in the stomach.

Many believe that among the heroes of the Pakistan Movement, Inayatullah Khan Mashriqi was an ‘anti-hero’
The young man was Rafiq Sabir, a member of the radical Khaksar party. Even though the party, led by Inayatullah Khan Mashriqi, insisted that Sabir was not a member of the Khaksar, the All-India Muslim League (AIML) rejected the clarification.

Sabir’s connections to the Khaksar were never convincingly proven; but a large number of people believed AIML’s claims. The main reason for this was the reputation that the chief of the Khaksar party, Mashriqi, had gained over the years.

In a 1941 essay, conservative Islamic scholar and founder of Jamaat-i-Islami (JI), Abul Ala Maududi had described Mashriqi as ‘an anarchist’. Maududi had even gone to the extent of describing Mashriqi’s thoughts ‘like that of a car being driven by a drunk’.

Yet, at one point, the Khaksar was passionately being followed by thousands of young Indian Muslims, who hailed Mashriqi as a ‘genius’. By 1940, the Khaksar had become a major thorn in the side of the British colonial government, which threw him in jail.

As a child, Mashriqi was considered a prodigy who excelled in mathematics. He was just 19 when he received a Master’s degree from the Punjab University. He then won a scholarship to Cambridge University in the UK.

On his return to India, he was immediately appointed as the principal of Peshawar’s Islamia College. He was just 25 at the time. A few years later he became a civil servant, one of the youngest Muslims to be accepted in the colonial bureaucracy.

In 1924, Mashriqi authored his first major book, Tazkira. The book is a detailed commentary on the Quran in the light of science; and in which Mashriqi tried to prove that Islam was a ‘modern and scientific faith’. The book was nominated for a Nobel Prize, but it failed to win it when Mashriqi refused to translate it into English or in any other European language.

By now Mashriqi had become vehemently anti-British and began to dabble in Indian nationalism. But he was disappointed by Mahatma Gandhi’s passive approach. Mashriqi suggested that the Indian National Congress (INC) and Muslim outfits in India must use more aggressive methods to dislodge the British.

In an article, he denounced Gandhi as an ‘effeminate leader’, and insisted that only through conflict and violence could the Hindus and Muslims remove the British from India.

It was for this purpose he formed the Khaksar in 1930. The party was shaped on semi-fascist lines, in which the members were given special khaki-coloured uniforms and spades. Regular marches were held in which Khaksar members paraded through streets with their spades and indulged in voluntary social work.

Mashriqi was an enthusiastic student of the concept of conflict. He closely studied the writings of revolutionary German ideologue, Karl Marx, and controversial German philosopher, Friedrich Nietzsche. He was also impressed by the rise of fascism in Italy. Soon, Mashriqi became notorious for actively seeking out violence and conflict.

Though influenced by fascism and Marxism (rather, Stalinism), Mashriqi eventually immersed himself in the study of sacred Islamic texts. He concluded that divisions in Islam and the conflict between various faiths were the work of self-serving preachers and politicians, and that all religions carried a singular message: civilised unity of mankind.

Another conclusion of his was that the message was best served by Islam and for this the Khaksar would attempt to create (through a violent revolution) an ‘Islamic government on earth’.

Unlike Islamic outfits such as the JI, the Majlis-i-Ahrar and Jamiat Ulema -i-Islam Hind (JUIH), the Khaksar supported Jinnah’s AIML when it called for the creation of a separate Muslim-majority state in the region. However, by the early 1940s, Mashriqi had had a falling out with Jinnah.

Jinnah, who was also being opposed by fundamentalist Muslim organisations such as JI, the Ahrar, and a large faction of the JUIH, described Mashriqi as ‘dogmatic’.

Mashriqi was also criticised by the JI and the Ahrar. Both accused him of confusing Islam with communism, and for ignoring the promotion of Islamic rituals.

The Khaksar was banned in 1940 after the party got into a violent confrontation with the Punjab government. Mashriqi was jailed. As a response, he offered the British 50,000 Khaksar volunteers to fight for them in the Second World War. The British declined.

Mashriqi again made peace with Jinnah. After the creation of Pakistan in 1947, Khaksar members helped the Pakistan government in transporting refugees from Indian Punjab to the newly created country.

Mashriqi disbanded the Khaksar in 1949 and formed the Islam League (IL) in Pakistan. With IL he changed tackand became a vehement opponent of communism. He welcomed Pakistan’s 1954 military pact with the US (against the Soviet Union).

But his conflict with the JI and the Ahrar continued, and the IL refused to take part in the anti-Ahmadiyya movement by the two in 1953.

In 1955, he offered to merge his party with the Muslim League. The merger could not take place and Mashriqi once again turned against the League. He accused it of not supporting Egypt’s Arab nationalist government in its 1956 war against Israel and Britain.

In 1958 Mashriqi was in trouble again. Along with another IL leader, Ata Muhammad, Mashriqi was arrested for assassinating the chief minister of West Pakistan, Dr Khan Sahib. Mashriqi was released by a court, but his party was banned. Ata Muhammad, however, remained in jail and was hanged in 1961.

After his release, Mashriqi welcomed the 1958 martial law of Field Marshal Ayub Khan. He was left alone by the Ayub regime as long as he stayed away from doing politics. Mashriqi agreed.

In August 1963, he quietly passed away, aged 75. Thousands of people turned up to attend his funeral in Lahore.

In a twist of irony, though Mashriqi’s party remained banned during the Ayub regime, the field marshal issued a glorious tribute to him on the day of his funeral.

Many believe that among the heroes of the Pakistan Movement, Mashriqi was an ‘anti-hero.’ A man unafraid (or unable) to hide his vulnerabilities and passions.

Source: Smokers’ Corner: Man of action
Published in Dawn, Sunday Magazine, March 20th, 2016

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The world is changed by your example, not by your opinion !

The beggar's banquet

I approached a beggar outside a shop. I gave him some money and then invited him to a cup of tea at a roadside place.

He seemed to be in his early 30s; his parents hailed from Swat in the Khyber Pakhtunkhwa province, but he was born and raised in Karachi. He agreed to have tea with me.

Just after I had ordered two cups of tea, he asked: 'Ab aap poochein gay mein bheek kyoon maang ta houn?’ (Now you will ask me why I beg). His Urdu was clear; crisp.

‘No,’ I replied.

‘Then, why the hospitality?’ he inquired, one of his hands trembling. He noticed me noticing the hand. ‘Mien heroinchee nahi houn …’ (I am not a heroin addict).

‘Ghareeb ho …’ (You are poor), I said.

He didn’t reply. Instead he slowly turned his head and began to look towards the man who was preparing tea for us.

‘I am a journalist,’ I told him.

He turned his face towards me again: ‘Aap meri kahani likhain gey?’ (Are you going to write my story?).

‘No,’ I replied. ‘But I will ask you a question. And I hope you will answer honestly.’

He stared at me: ‘I cannot afford a decent meal in a day, but I can afford to tell the truth.’ He was Pukhtun, but continued to amaze me with his Urdu.

Impressed by his reply, I continued: ‘When you were asking people for money, I heard you say that you have no home, no family, nothing …’

‘That is true,’ he said, now looking towards the tea man again.

‘What happened to your family?’ I asked.

‘Pata nahi,’ (Don’t know), he said, shrugging his shoulders. ‘They were extremely poor. So I ran away from home, which was a hut. I was very young. I grew up on the streets …’

I could not complete my next sentence because he interrupted me: '... lived on the streets like a dog (Kuttay kay mafiq).'

The tea arrived. I asked him whether he would like to have some cake or biscuits with his tea. ‘Aap khaien gey?’ (Are you going to have some?), he asked.

‘No, but I’ll order some for you.’ I ordered a piece of cake and some biscuits.

‘So can I ask my question now?’ I requested. He nodded, while sipping his tea.

‘Have you ever wanted to kill someone you thought is responsible for your poverty?’ I asked pointblank.

He kept sipping his tea, entirely unperturbed by my question. After about a 30-second gap, he replied: ‘Jee …’ (yes). Apnay aap ko’ (Myself).

‘Why? Because you are poor?’ I enquired.

‘No,’ he replied. ‘Because I beg.'

‘You have to beg because you are poor,’ I said.

‘Millions of people are poor,' he replied, almost immediately. 'Not all of them beg,’ he said, turning to face me again.

I nodded and stared back at him: ‘Many well-off people say that those who go around killing people as suicide bombers do so because they are poor, ignored and uncared for …’

He sank his mouth in his cup of tea again: ‘Unn mein Khuda ka khauf khatam hogaya hai …’ (They have lost the fear of God).

‘They believe they are doing it for God,’ I replied. ‘I beg in the name of God,’ he half-smiled. ‘Does that make begging right?’

I smiled back: ‘I personally have no problem with what you do. Illiteracy and poverty can lead a person to beg, especially when he is uncared for and ignored.’

‘Have you ever begged?’ He asked nonchalantly.

‘No,’ I replied. ‘But, of course, you knew that. I am not trying to make you feel better. I am not justifying begging.’

He picked up a piece of cake that had arrived on a small plate: ‘Why are you asking me this? I am just a beggar. A nobody. Do you think I am a terrorist?’

I laughed. He didn’t.

‘No,’ I said, not laughing anymore. ‘Did you ever know someone who was as poor as you are and was being driven to commit a crime out of desperation?’

He snickered: ‘Yes. They became thieves, but all of them are in jail now.'

‘So none of them wanted to take their revenge against the government and society for their condition by killing civilians, soldiers and cops …?’ I asked.

'Khuda ka khauf khatam hogaya hai ...'

‘Is this how you see those who kill because they believe the society and state has treated them badly? That they have lost their fear of God?’ I asked.

He shrugged his shoulders: 'If I can't justify my begging, how can they justify their killing?'

'But you can justify your begging,' I said.

'No, I can't' he replied.

I continued: ‘Some people think terrorism is because of poverty and injustice, even though, I don’t know if you know this, but a lot of terrorism these days is also being done by young well-to-do folks. Did you know that …?’

He shook his head and went back to sipping his tea: ‘Khuda ka khauf khatam hogaya hai.’

I noticed that the tea man had kept turning his head and looking at the beggar and hearing our conversation, but without any significant expression on his face.

I offered the beggar a cigarette. He took one. I lit it for him: ‘My name is Nadeem,’ I said. ‘What’s yours?’

‘You are a curious man,’ he smiled. ‘You didn’t ask me why I beg, why I don’t work, whether I have any drugs on me …’

‘Do you?’ I asked. ‘No,’ he said.

‘Good,’ I replied. ‘I do not like drugs. Sometimes I drink, but not very frequently.’

‘Desi ya faaran?’ (Local or foreign?), he asked.

‘Donu, par achi quality ki’ (Both, but of good quality), I smiled, now lighting myself a cigarette as well.

He put a hand in his front pocket, the hand that was still trembling. He took out the 100 Rupee note that I gave him: ‘You are a very decent man. I can’t take this from you. I will waste it on cigarettes and cheap liquor. But if you can, give me your pack of cigarettes.’

‘No, no’ I pushed his hand away. ‘Please keep the money. And you can also keep my pack of cigarettes.’

‘Shukriya. Khuda aap ko khush rakhay’ (Thank you. May God keep you happy), he said, and went back to smoking his cigarette.

Before I could I ask my next question, he asked me one instead: ‘So why are well-to-do people doing terrorism?’

‘I don’t know,’ I shrugged my shoulders. ‘Maybe they are confused, believing they are serving their faith this way.’

He shook his head slowly but dismissively: ‘Khuda ka khauf khatam hogaya hai. How can anyone serve his faith without first fearing God?’

‘Or without respecting the life of His creatures,’ I added.

He agreed: ‘Yes. People are always asking me, why I beg, why I don’t work. What can I say? I can’t give anything to them. I have nothing, just nothing.'

At this point, the tea man turned around and told him something in Pushto. He half smiled.

‘What did he say?’ I asked.

‘He says I have a lot to give'.

'Like what?' I asked.

'Merey pas khuda ka khauf hai …’, he smiled. Saying this he suddenly got up, shook my hand, thanked me for the pack of cigarettes and walked away.

I told the tea man that I liked what he had said to the beggar. The man just nodded and mumbled (in Pushto-accented Urdu): 'Acha baat toh woh kar raha tha …’ (He [the beggar] was the one doing the good talk).

‘Indeed,’ I replied. I paid off the tea man and returned to my car. A few yards away was the beggar, going about his business: begging.

He had nothing to give. And yet, I felt he had given me a lot. But, I'm still not sure what.

Source: The beggar's banquet
Published in Dawn, March 24, 2016

__________________
The world is changed by your example, not by your opinion !

Smokers’ Corner: In a flux

Tauqeer, an old college friend of mine from the 1980s, emailed me the other day, and titled it ‘The Pakistani right in a flux.’

Tauqeer is an established chartered accountant in the United States and this is what he wrote: ‘Pakistani religious parties are in a flux. The sudden burst of activity on their part, like rallies, protest marches, angry posters and all, is proof of this. They were the last ones to realise that a shift in thinking is taking place in the military establishment and, consequently, in the civilian ruling circles. A sudden, late realisation of this has thrown the parties in a bog [sic] …’

But why am I quoting from an email on the present affairs of Pakistan’s right-wing parties written by a chartered accountant?

Well, Tauqeer was one of the leading men of the Islami Jamiat Talba (IJT) at the college in Karachi where we were both students between 1984 and 1987. The IJT is the student-wing of the Jamaat-i-Islami (JI). Though Tauqeer was an opponent of the ‘progressive’ student outfit that I was a member of, we still managed to strike an amicable and lasting friendship.

He remained with the IJT till 1990, and even when he joined a bank after completing his MBA in 1991, he continued to be a supporter and voter of the JI. He left Pakistan for greener pastures in 1998, first to Qatar and then the United States where he lives today.

A gradual paradigm shift in the thinking and narrative of Pakistan’s mighty military establishment and the teetering civilian polity has left the religious parties feeling nervous, uncertain and maybe even isolated
Tauqeer was a voracious reader with a keen understanding of political trends in the Muslim world. In his email, he added: “Though Jamaat still has my sympathies, but decades of being pampered and appeased by the establishment, all religious parties failed to notice and adjust to the undercurrents of change shaping Pakistan. Now that they have, they are striking chaotically, conjuring up bygone slogans and fears which truthfully have no place left in the new realities of our country …”

Tauqeer is correct to note that a slow but gradual paradigm shift is taking place in the thinking and narrative of Pakistan’s mighty military-establishment, and wobbly civilian polity.

I also agree that the shift has left the religious parties feeling nervous, uncertain and maybe even isolated.

Events such as the passing of the Women’s Protection Bill by the Punjab Assembly; the carrying out of the sentence against the assassin of the former governor of Punjab; widespread military and police operations against extremist groups; and the changing nature of the national and social narrative being shaped by the military, the civilian government and the parliament, are being seen by the religious groups as an onslaught against the narrative that was largely moulded by these groups from the late 1970s onward.

These groups were fully brought into the mainstream of politics and strengthened by the Ziaul Haq dictatorship (1977-88). They have remained influential ever since.

But as Tauqeer noted, they now believe that this influence of theirs is eroding mainly because of the change taking place in the armed forces and also within the large centre-right party, the PML-N, which was once seen as a ‘natural ally’ of smaller right-wing groups.

But this is not the first time that the religious parties have felt the need to react in the manner that they are doing today. The first time such a reaction emerged from them was in the late 1960s.

But 40 years ago they were trying to make their way into the mainstream scheme of politics in Pakistan; whereas today they are reacting in a similar manner as a desperate attempt to retain the influence and relevance they eventually gained from 1977 onward.

Last year, during research for a chapter in my recently published book, End of The Past, I managed to get access to some transcripts of speeches by certain JI and Jamiat Ulema Pakistan (JUP) between 1969 and 1970.

The speeches warned Pakistanis of how “Pakistan’s ideology” was coming under the attack of leftist and “atheistic forces”. Some speeches also derided the Ayub Khan regime’s “secular policies”which “undermined the ulema”, despite the fact that Ayub had resigned in early 1969 and handed over power to Gen Yahya Khan.

The speeches read quite like the ones one is hearing today from politico-religious outfits. But the intensity of the polarising narrative that was used in the late 1960s by these outfits is best captured by veteran journalist, Muhammad Ali Siddiqi, in his book, Memories of a Journalist.

As a young journalist, Mr. Siddiqi extensively covered the tumultuous political events of the late 1960s. In his book, he writes that after Ayub’s resignation and the rise of populist, leftist parties such as the PPP and NAP, JI changed tack and began to indirectly support the Yahya regime, even though the party had opposed the Ayub set-up.

In one incident, Mr Siddiqi writes, the JI used an Urdu pamphlet which claimed that “in communist countries, old people are shot (!)”; and that the same would happen to religious people in Pakistan if the PPP came to power.

Mr Siddiqi then adds that almost overnight, large business interests (that were fattened during the Ayub regime) began to ally themselves with the JI, fearing the coming into power of “socialists” such as the PPP and NAP.

A journalist who was a member of the JI told Mr Siddiqi that “the leftists are making lists against the religious people” and “planning to wipe them out.” According to Siddiqi, a senior JI leader advised party members to shift up (if they were staying on the ground floor) to “avoid a swoop at an unearthly hour by the socialists and the secularists”.

Mr Siddiqi writes that at first he thought his counterpart was cracking a joke, but realised he wasn’t when he (the journalist) too moved to the top floor of his apartment building!

Well, the dreaded ‘swoop’ never came, but left-leaning parties did sweep the 1970 election. Again, as my friend Tauqeer said, in the late 1960s, the restlessness of religious parties was due to them wanting to fully enter the mainstream political scene; the current restiveness is because of them now feeling isolated.

I wrote back to Tauqeer and also quoted to him sections from Mr Siddiqi’s book. I asked him how would the religious parties’ current malady pan out.

His reply: “Find out how many of them have moved to the top floors”.

Source: Smokers’ Corner: In a flux
Published in Dawn, Sunday Magazine, March 27th, 2016

__________________
The world is changed by your example, not by your opinion !

Polar ends: Three conversations

1.

How can you not allow us to wear clothes according to our faith in your country?

Would your country allow me to wear clothes according to our culture in your country?

But your country is a democracy!

Why isn’t yours?

We are trying to make it a democracy.

When you do, will I be able to wear my kind of clothes there?

Actually, your kind of clothes are contrary to our values and beliefs.

I can say the same about your kind of clothes. They are contrary to our values.

But you are a democracy!

But, you just said, even if your country was a democracy, I won’t be allowed to wear my kind of clothes there.

One has to respect the culture and traditions of the country they are visiting.

Exactly!

But your culture and tradition allows all kinds of things. So why not our kind of clothes?

How can you assume that we allow all kinds of things?

I have seen it myself.

So you are okay with this kind of culture here, but not in your own country?

We are not a democracy.

What when you do become one?

Our democracy will be slightly different.

What does that mean?

Our democracy will not be western.

How so?

It will be more spiritual.

Spiritual democracy?

Yes.

What does that even mean?

You won’t understand.

Try me.

Well, the state will be the soul of the nation and only pious wise men will be elected to the parliament.

What about pious wise women?

See, I told you won’t understand. You are looking at it from a Western point of view.

Just like I am looking at your clothes?

Yes.

But I am a Westerner. How else should I look at things?

Like a true Western democrat.

So you are okay with Western democracy then?

Parts of it, yes.

The part which allows you to wear your kind of clothes here?

Yes, that part too.

Yet you won’t allow that part to become a part of your country’s culture.

Our culture is very different.

Yet you came here to become part of a culture which is different from yours. Why not just embrace our culture?

My culture and values won’t allow it.

Then why come here at all?

To make a better living.

So it’s okay to make a living in a culture which is contrary to your values, traditions and beliefs?

What’s wrong with my values, traditions and beliefs?

What’s wrong with mine?

Just answer this: why have you become so against what my people choose to wear?

Such clothes are contrary to our values and culture.

But they’re just clothes!

What if I wear my kind of clothes and walk around the streets of your country?

One must respect the traditions of the country they are visiting.

But they’re just clothes!

But you’re a democracy!

Why aren’t you?

We will be.

But a spiritual democracy.

Yes.

Which won’t allow my kind of clothes.

Yes.

But our democracy should allow your kind of clothes?

Yes.

You are not making sense.

I will.

When?

When you too become a spiritual democracy.

______________________________

2.

You did not condemn that terror attack, so I will not condemn this one.

But this is more condemnable than that.

No, that one was more condemnable.

No, this one.

That one.

This.

That.

This.

That.

This one, your people did.

That one, your people instigated.

Islamofascist!

Islamophobe!

Apologist.

Racist.

This.

That.

This.

That.

Boom!

What the...?

A blast.

Where?

Here.

No, it was there.

Here.

There.

Here.

There.

Boom!

Another blast.

Where?

There.

No, here. Condemn the one here.

First you condemn the one there.

No, you first.

First you.

You.

You.

I'm bleeding.

So am I.

I'm dead.

So am I.

We are both dead.

Yes.

____________________

3.

All these suggested reforms are an obvious attack on the true ideology of our country.

These reforms are an attempt to correct the course this ideology has taken.

What’s wrong with the course of this ideology?

It has ended being used as a tool to exhibit bigotry, bullying, discrimination, violence.

Where?

Here, of course.

Where?

Here! Can’t you see it?

Where’s the proof?

It’s all around us!

What you are referring to is not due to this ideology. It’s due to our sinful ways and the fact that this ideology was never fully implemented.

So you do agree that there is violence, bigotry, bullying...?

Yes, but not due to this ideology.

But those doing it say they are doing it for this ideology.

They are misguided.

Absolutely. So what to do about them then?

Stop those demanding to reform the ideology.

But they are not the ones exhibiting bigotry and violence.

How do you know that?

How do you not know that?

Because I believe in the ideology.

So do I. But I also believe it has become a destructive tool in the hands of many people who are misusing it. Reforms are needed to change this.

It’s not the fault of the ideology.

It’s no more the ideology that the founders made this country on. It has mutated.

What do you know about the founders?

What do you?

More than you.

Then please enlighten me.

I don’t like that word.

Which word? Enlighten?

Yes. A dictator use to use it. Musharraf.

But you are okay with the words which another dictator use to use? Zia.

He was good for the ideology.

How so?

He was an honest man who defeated all of Soviet Union.

With US and Saudi money and weapons.

No, with his heart, mind and guts!

Soviet Union defeated itself. Its ideology ate itself up.

Why do you have such a problem with ideologies?

I don’t. I just think they eventually become dogmatic and a stone around the necks of nations.

So you think our ideology has become a stone around our nation’s neck?

Yes. It needs to be liberated from dogma and exploitation. It needs to become flexible — enough for it to absorb the needs of today and the echoes of the aspirations of the founders.

What founders?

Mainly Mr Jinnah.

Who?

Muhammad Ali Jinnah.

Never heard of him.

Are you serious?

Yes. And I am surprised you do not know the name of the founder of our country.

What are you talking about? It was Muhammad Ali Jinnah. An astute politician and lawyer who wanted a pluralistic Pakistan!

Our founder was a pious man who wanted to make Pakistan a bastion and fortress of our faith. And his name was not Muhammad Ali Jinnah.

Then what was his name?

Quaid-e-Azam.

Source: Polar ends: Three conversations
Published in Dawn, March 31, 2016

__________________
The world is changed by your example, not by your opinion !

Smokers’ Corner: Bad projections

Terrorists killing children. This article should end right here. But the killings go on. When an ogre detonated his suicide vest in Lahore’s Moon Market some years ago, dozens of children lost their lives. Four years later, over 140 students were ruthlessly slaughtered at a school in Peshawar. And last Sunday many children were killed in a blast at a children’s park in Lahore. Dozens were mere babies.

But life goes on. There is always a tomorrow in which to live, as if a brutal yesterday did not happen. Repress, repress and repress that terrible memory. So many ways to do it. Become a deflector: ‘The extremists are foreign agents.’ Even if they are, exactly how does it make the meaningless, heartless attacks on crowds of women and children any less painful?

I really don’t care what country or faith the ogres belong to. They were all born human who mutated into becoming monsters. Agents, maybe, but many of them were born here. Right here. And they believe and claim to be better Muslims than you and I. And certainly better people than the country’s so-called ‘minorities’.

So many ways of being in denial about terrorist attacks
So repress, repress and repress this terrible dilemma. So many ways to do it. Become an apologist: ‘Poverty and injustice are driving them to do it’. Driving them to do what? Kill children? Slaughter women? Massacre men? And if poverty and injustice are the real culprits, then the ‘agents’ are in the right?

Make up your minds, already. Either the ogres are enemy agents or victims of poverty and injustice. You can’t. Because you are quite clearly confused. Or worse, you simply replace agent with victim (and then vice versa), according to whatever suits your knee-jerk argument.

But thank you for trying to soften the unimaginable distress and pain suffered by mothers who lost their children and the children who lost their mothers in terror attacks. Thank you for making them feel a lot better by telling them that the killers were agents. I am sure they have overcome their grief.

One can snicker at their foolhardy mutterings, but know this: The ogres can also be described as alter-egos of the apologists. It can be a TV anchor, a confused middle-class lad, a politician in the assembly, or even a rich aunt who has recently rediscovered piety. Truth is, the ogres may as well be anarchic projections of what lies inside the apologists; but is repressed. The enemy is quite literally within.
So, repress, repress and repress the terrible realisation that the ogres might just be from among us. So many ways to repress this awkward feeling. Become a radical ‘expert’. After all, Israeli military killing Palestinian children makes it alright for our poverty-stricken brothers here to kill Pakistani children. Or are they agents? Stupid question.

It’s all connected: 9/11, 7/7, Paris, Brussels, Lahore, Karachi, Peshawar, Baghdad, Istanbul … all done by a powerful, all-encompassing, sinister lobby out to discredit our faith. Ah, so the ogres are employed by this lobby? Stupid question.

They are poverty-stricken and have faced great injustice from the state of Pakistan. Ah, so they are not serving the sinister lobby? They are, but they do not know this. Or they do know this, but poverty and injustice have made them vulnerable to exploitation by sinister lobbies. So they are brother-agents then?

What about those who were living pretty decent lives and came from relatively well-to-do backgrounds but decided to become terrorists?

It’s simple. They feel the pain of their brothers stricken by poverty and injustice. So they are not agents but brothers and sisters with deep feelings who too have become agents because they have deep feelings for their faith and the fate of their brothers (and some sisters).

There you go. That’s it. Perfectly okay then for agent-brothers to slaughter women and children. And anyone ever calling you confused, or just plain dumb, is, of course, an enemy agent serving the lobby out to destroy our faith. So, shouldn’t this make them brother-agents as well? Stupid question. Move on.

This article has deteriorated into becoming a cyclic farce. Quite like the arguments and rationales of apologists. How else are they to be understood? They have become unintentional self-parodies.

One can snicker at their foolhardy mutterings, but know this: the ogres can also be described as alter egos of the apologists. It can be a TV anchor, a confused middle-class lad, a politician in the assembly, or even a rich aunt who has recently rediscovered piety.

Truth is, the ogres may as well be anarchic projections of what lies inside the apologists; but is repressed. The enemy is quite literally within.

And notice this: colleagues across the nation’s offices will readily discuss a cricket match or a funny viral video. But most simply keep quiet about a terror attack. So what is it? Shame or just plain apathy?

Source: Smokers’ Corner: Bad projections
Published in Dawn, Sunday Magazine, April 3rd, 2016

__________________
The world is changed by your example, not by your opinion !

The state of Pakistan, especially one of its sturdiest institutions, the military, is trying to rapidly alter its ideological make-up.

The move (mainly orchestrated by the military high command under Gen Raheel Sharif), is seeking a gradual departure from the mindset which drove and defined the country’s military establishment for over three decades.

Ever since the late 1970s, a concentrated effort was made by the dictatorship of Gen Zia (1977-88), to change the supposed ‘Anglicised’ nature of the armed forces and transform it into becoming an ‘Islamic’ one.

And even though religious symbolism in times of war was often used by the institution in the past, under Gen Zia, such symbolism became a mainstay, along with the state-backed proliferation of devout ritualism within the forces, achieved through allowing the wholesale entry of both political as well as apolitical evangelical outfits inside the barracks.

Studying Gen Ayub’s regime might have some tips for the military establishment as it attempts to revamp the country’s ideological narrative
This was a pragmatic move as much as it was an ideological one. Soviet forces had entered Afghanistan, and Pakistan had become the launch pad for a number of Afghan guerrilla groups, aided by the US and Saudi Arabia, and facilitated by the Zia regime.

According to a reclusive Brigadier-General, S.K. Malik, who became a spectral ideologue behind much of what emerged within the armed forces during the Zia regime, ‘every citizen in an Islamic republic should think like a holy warrior,’ and that ‘war inspired by faith should be turned into a national policy’.

Malik wrote this in Religious Concept of War, a book he authored in 1979. It became a necessary read for officers.

The military’s character was successfully transformed, and it was this transformation which was perceived to have made the institution stronger and more influential in the region. This largely misappropriated perception encouraged its continuation, despite the fact that it clearly began to struggle in finding relevance in a world where the Cold War had ended, and the Soviet Union had collapsed.

Its relevance then completely eroded in the post-9/11 world. What’s more, the aforementioned perception had created a collective ego which soon began to challenge its own architects. The architects settled for holding the perception as is, but the ego now wanted it to evolve further. This ego’s desire to do so now meant a war not only against the ‘infidels’, but against the state and society as well.

So what the Pakistan military establishment under Gen Raheel is now attempting to do is to construct a brand new narrative which could replace the one that has failed to find relevance in the post-9/11 scenario, and has, in fact, become a major thorn in the side of the Pakistani state and polity.

This again is a pragmatic move, and it should be. But it will require some ideology as well, especially in a country whose polity has been heavily indoctrinated in understanding Pakistan as an ‘ideological state’.

Part of the answer to this may lie in an interesting period of Pakistan’s history. That period constitutes the Ayub Khan regime (1958-69). Much can be learned from it about what to do and what not to, in the context of what the military is now attempting to achieve.

Ayub Khan imposed Pakistan’s first Martial Law in 1958 with the backing of an all-powerful president, Iskandar Mirza. Mirza and Ayub blamed rising corruption, a spiraling economy, and political chaos as reasons for the Martial Law. Both then went on to describe the 1956 Constitution as ‘the selling of religion for political gains’.

The Constitution had renamed the country, ‘Islamic Republic of Pakistan’. Mirza and Ayub changed it to just Pakistan. Both were of the view that Pakistan was created as a modern Muslim-majority state by Mohammad Ali Jinnah and not a theological one.

Mirza was ousted by Ayub just 20 days after the coup, and Ayub became the president in 1959. Ayub’s coup was a popular one. This gave him the leeway to aggressively deflect (through policy) all he thought could be detrimental to a young country.

He was allergic to leftists (who he believed were anarchic and disruptive expressions of progressive thought); and religious outfits repulsed him (who he accused of being ill-informed about Islam, backward and archaic).

In a 1960 speech, he claimed: ‘Pakistan was not achieved to create a priest-ridden culture but it was created to evolve an enlightened society …’

He then continued: ‘In fact, it is a great injustice to both life and religion to impose on 20th century man the condition that he must go back several centuries in order to prove his credentials as a true Muslim …’

In Political & Social Transformation, Dr Anita M. Weiss writes that Ayub believed in a synthesis of modernist and traditionalist interpretations of Islam in order to make it compatible with changing modes of time.

In a 1985 essay, renowned Islamic researcher and scholar, late Dr Fazal Rehman Malik, wrote that during the first phase of the Ayub regime (1958-65), there was an important development as the era ‘pushed the confused and ambiguous attitudes of the earlier official Modernists towards a clarity making Islamic Modernism different from the fundamentalist conservatives (sic) …’

Ayub’s policies based on his understanding of ‘Islamic Modernism’ were seen as secular and Westernised by the religious parties, especially when he banned polygamy and the 1962 Constitution renamed the country, ‘Republic of Pakistan’. In 1964, he banned the Jamaat-i-Islami (JI).

But Ayub’s popularity was such that he remained unmoved, even though, eventually he had to alter his radical family planning policies; again redefine the country as an Islamic Republic; and when the Supreme Court overturned the ban on JI.

In his essay on the Ayub era, Dr S.H. Ansari, states that from 1965 onward, Ayub’s regime began to change complexion. This undermined his project of Muslim modernity which, had it continued, might just have moulded a somewhat different future for the country.

Ansari gives three reasons for the project’s rollback. First, to get re-elected as president in 1965, Ayub allowed his information ministry to co-opt certain ulema who asked to negatively highlight the gender of his opponent, Fatima Jinnah. Secondly, after the 1965 war with India ended in a stalemate, it negatively impacted the country’s economy. Ayub began to lose popularity and increasingly began to use religious rhetoric.

Muslim modernists began to abandon him, while the country’s polity, now suffering from a stressed economy, began moving left (PPP, National Awami Party, Awami League); or right towards religious outfits.

Thirdly, by the time he resigned in early 1969, many of Ayub’s desperate ministers had begun mending fences with religious outfits (to negate leftist opponents).

But all this could not save Ayub’s fall. A floundering economy and an attempt to repackage and repaint his stumbling regime with more ‘pious’ colours only ended up providing his erstwhile opponents the space to make a re-entry into mainstream politics.

This is also the same ploy Z.A. Bhutto would attempt during the tail end of his populist regime in 1977, only to also fall and set the stage for the likes of Zia and whatever followed his regime and legacy.

Source: Smokers’ Corner: Ayub’s republic
Published in Dawn, Sunday Magazine, April 10th, 2016

__________________
The world is changed by your example, not by your opinion !

Smokers’ Corner: Ayub’s republic

The state of Pakistan, especially one of its sturdiest institutions, the military, is trying to rapidly alter its ideological make-up.

The move (mainly orchestrated by the military high command under Gen Raheel Sharif), is seeking a gradual departure from the mindset which drove and defined the country’s military establishment for over three decades.

Ever since the late 1970s, a concentrated effort was made by the dictatorship of Gen Zia (1977-88), to change the supposed ‘Anglicised’ nature of the armed forces and transform it into becoming an ‘Islamic’ one.

And even though religious symbolism in times of war was often used by the institution in the past, under Gen Zia, such symbolism became a mainstay, along with the state-backed proliferation of devout ritualism within the forces, achieved through allowing the wholesale entry of both political as well as apolitical evangelical outfits inside the barracks.

Studying Gen Ayub’s regime might have some tips for the military establishment as it attempts to revamp the country’s ideological narrative
This was a pragmatic move as much as it was an ideological one. Soviet forces had entered Afghanistan, and Pakistan had become the launch pad for a number of Afghan guerrilla groups, aided by the US and Saudi Arabia, and facilitated by the Zia regime.

According to a reclusive Brigadier-General, S.K. Malik, who became a spectral ideologue behind much of what emerged within the armed forces during the Zia regime, ‘every citizen in an Islamic republic should think like a holy warrior,’ and that ‘war inspired by faith should be turned into a national policy’.

Malik wrote this in Religious Concept of War, a book he authored in 1979. It became a necessary read for officers.

The military’s character was successfully transformed, and it was this transformation which was perceived to have made the institution stronger and more influential in the region. This largely misappropriated perception encouraged its continuation, despite the fact that it clearly began to struggle in finding relevance in a world where the Cold War had ended, and the Soviet Union had collapsed.

Its relevance then completely eroded in the post-9/11 world. What’s more, the aforementioned perception had created a collective ego which soon began to challenge its own architects. The architects settled for holding the perception as is, but the ego now wanted it to evolve further. This ego’s desire to do so now meant a war not only against the ‘infidels’, but against the state and society as well.

So what the Pakistan military establishment under Gen Raheel is now attempting to do is to construct a brand new narrative which could replace the one that has failed to find relevance in the post-9/11 scenario, and has, in fact, become a major thorn in the side of the Pakistani state and polity.

This again is a pragmatic move, and it should be. But it will require some ideology as well, especially in a country whose polity has been heavily indoctrinated in understanding Pakistan as an ‘ideological state’.

Part of the answer to this may lie in an interesting period of Pakistan’s history. That period constitutes the Ayub Khan regime (1958-69). Much can be learned from it about what to do and what not to, in the context of what the military is now attempting to achieve.

Ayub Khan imposed Pakistan’s first Martial Law in 1958 with the backing of an all-powerful president, Iskandar Mirza. Mirza and Ayub blamed rising corruption, a spiraling economy, and political chaos as reasons for the Martial Law. Both then went on to describe the 1956 Constitution as ‘the selling of religion for political gains’.

The Constitution had renamed the country, ‘Islamic Republic of Pakistan’. Mirza and Ayub changed it to just Pakistan. Both were of the view that Pakistan was created as a modern Muslim-majority state by Mohammad Ali Jinnah and not a theological one.

Mirza was ousted by Ayub just 20 days after the coup, and Ayub became the president in 1959. Ayub’s coup was a popular one. This gave him the leeway to aggressively deflect (through policy) all he thought could be detrimental to a young country.

He was allergic to leftists (who he believed were anarchic and disruptive expressions of progressive thought); and religious outfits repulsed him (who he accused of being ill-informed about Islam, backward and archaic).

In a 1960 speech, he claimed: ‘Pakistan was not achieved to create a priest-ridden culture but it was created to evolve an enlightened society …’

He then continued: ‘In fact, it is a great injustice to both life and religion to impose on 20th century man the condition that he must go back several centuries in order to prove his credentials as a true Muslim …’

In Political & Social Transformation, Dr Anita M. Weiss writes that Ayub believed in a synthesis of modernist and traditionalist interpretations of Islam in order to make it compatible with changing modes of time.

In a 1985 essay, renowned Islamic researcher and scholar, late Dr Fazal Rehman Malik, wrote that during the first phase of the Ayub regime (1958-65), there was an important development as the era ‘pushed the confused and ambiguous attitudes of the earlier official Modernists towards a clarity making Islamic Modernism different from the fundamentalist conservatives (sic) …’

Ayub’s policies based on his understanding of ‘Islamic Modernism’ were seen as secular and Westernised by the religious parties, especially when he banned polygamy and the 1962 Constitution renamed the country, ‘Republic of Pakistan’. In 1964, he banned the Jamaat-i-Islami (JI).

But Ayub’s popularity was such that he remained unmoved, even though, eventually he had to alter his radical family planning policies; again redefine the country as an Islamic Republic; and when the Supreme Court overturned the ban on JI.

In his essay on the Ayub era, Dr S.H. Ansari, states that from 1965 onward, Ayub’s regime began to change complexion. This undermined his project of Muslim modernity which, had it continued, might just have moulded a somewhat different future for the country.

Ansari gives three reasons for the project’s rollback. First, to get re-elected as president in 1965, Ayub allowed his information ministry to co-opt certain ulema who asked to negatively highlight the gender of his opponent, Fatima Jinnah. Secondly, after the 1965 war with India ended in a stalemate, it negatively impacted the country’s economy. Ayub began to lose popularity and increasingly began to use religious rhetoric.

Muslim modernists began to abandon him, while the country’s polity, now suffering from a stressed economy, began moving left (PPP, National Awami Party, Awami League); or right towards religious outfits.

Thirdly, by the time he resigned in early 1969, many of Ayub’s desperate ministers had begun mending fences with religious outfits (to negate leftist opponents).

But all this could not save Ayub’s fall. A floundering economy and an attempt to repackage and repaint his stumbling regime with more ‘pious’ colours only ended up providing his erstwhile opponents the space to make a re-entry into mainstream politics.

This is also the same ploy Z.A. Bhutto would attempt during the tail end of his populist regime in 1977, only to also fall and set the stage for the likes of Zia and whatever followed his regime and legacy.

Source: Smokers’ Corner: Ayub’s republic
Published in Dawn, Sunday Magazine, April 10th, 2016

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