The recent general elections were a near-perfect imitation of the real thing. We put on a great show. Almost everybody in attendance played a role. The government, the rangers, the army, the police, the politicians and the public all took part enthusiastically. ‘Election Specials’ dominated the channels. Analysts who were hired and paid handsomely to vent their views did so with gusto. But then arranging a spectacle, staging a drama, and acting a character is always fun.
No one really cares that substance should take precedence over external aspects, because here the show is all that matters – appearance is predominant. So it was hardly surprising that although the elections have ended in a welter of controversy, showed monumental inefficiency on the part of some and caused widespread disgust, the secretary of the Election Commission was so impressed by the spectacle that he pronounced it a resounding success and hogged the credit.
To my mind, the elections were a near disaster. They weren’t a complete disaster only because no one really wants to treat them as one. We had much rather adapt readily to the worst and keep mum rather than, I suppose, go through the tiresome process all over again. We lost the struggle long ago between hypocrisy and sincerity and make-believe and reality. When it comes to blurring the difference between good and bad few are better at it than us Pakistanis. We can live all our lives wrapped in consoling illusions. And I must confess I too was getting ready to do that, till the mea culpas started emerging and friends insisted that because I write a column I must convey their outrage to readers.
First, a PML-N party worker who subsequently sent an email to a popular blog from the safe distance of Toronto, whence he had fled (or returned), describing in detail how the election laws had been breached and to what avail by fellow party riggers.
Next, an MQM man in a fit of contrition blurted out just how polling staff were told not to surface for work at the appointed time; how voters of other parties were waylaid en route to the polling stations and told to forget about voting; how fake thumb prints and stamps were furiously worked, in some cases by the polling officers themselves, etc, etc.
A third belonging to the PPP spoke of how he had witnessed a ‘caretaker’ (surely by now an ‘undertaker’ of democracy) minister telephone a PPP notable to request him to let him know whether the police posted in his constituency were sufficiently well-disposed towards the party candidate because there was still time to appoint more pliable individuals.
Then there was the fury of the young who initially, because they were less able to understand what was going on, suddenly discovered the real Pakistan with shock and then exploded with anger.
And finally the plight of a retired ambassador’s humiliation at having to explain to foreigners how elected representatives of the people broke the very election laws they themselves had drafted, debated and put on the statute books and why the culture of legalised illegality is allowed to flourish because no one ever gets punished.
With my ears ringing with complaints, I broached the subject with fellow panellists on a talk show to see whether they shared my sense of hurt and concern. Obviously, irregularities had occurred and given the scale on which they had, in all four provinces, they could not simply be ignored. Moreover, all the major parties had said so and some had taken to the streets in protest while others were in a sit down mode. Clearly, I said, the elections had been deeply flawed and “it was our duty to say it, as we saw and heard it”.
My statement evoked no response or rather it did – a loud yawn, as if to say, ‘so what’s new’? “What’s new”, I remonstrated, “was that on this occasion Pakistanis seemed more determined than ever before not to tolerate it. This country has changed”, I insisted, “and if you don’t recognise that and act accordingly what you are actually saying is that we are incapable of change which is a negation of democratic logic”.
By now the sense of exasperation in my small audience was visible. “What else did you expect?”, said one. “Look”, said another, obviously irritated, “it would have made no difference to the eventual outcome, so let’s just leave it at that and move on”. “That’s not the point”, I replied. “It won’t make any difference to your lifestyle however much money I steal from you – considering what you are being paid – but will you let me get away with it, because that’s how I feel about my vote being stolen.
I continued, “As for making no difference to the eventual outcome, nobody ever doubted that Bhutto would have won the 1977 elections even if they had not been rigged. At best his large majority would have been reduced by a dozen or so seats. Nevertheless, the demonstrations continued on a point of principle, till the army intervened on the side of the demonstrators and the rest is history. Can’t you see it does make a world of difference how you come to power? In other words, whether the process is legal or not. And if that does not really matter why put Musharraf on trial? Is not what he did also, as you would say, ‘typically third worldish and, hence, only to be expected?’”
By this time, I had clearly exhausted their patience and when the show resumed the irate anchor ensured I did not get a word in.
It’s interesting to follow the thought processes of our folk. Our reaction to any accusation of wrongdoing or call for an investigation is mostly a weary shrug, as if to say it’s pointless. It’s not because we believe the person being accused is innocent it’s just that everyone else is just as guilty. Hence, pointing out rigging and other imperfections is considered a waste of time because the other parties are all equally imperfect.
But as the argument proceeds, especially if the individual is becoming tiresome, there is a tendency to accuse the person making the allegations of harbouring a grudge against one particular party forgetting that in reality everyone and all other parties are really up to the same thing. The idea is to portray the accuser and the accused of being as bad as each other; the result is exponential criticism in which the only infringement truly considered criminal is the singling out of someone or only one party or event for investigation.
Viewed thus, the accuser stands accused of either naïveté (of not knowing how Pakistan works) or prejudiced betrayal (of knowing how Pakistan works but pointing out only those he dislikes) so the accuser is actually a more pernicious person than the accused.
And that’s precisely how I found myself being viewed by co-panellists on two talk shows till on the last one I finally blew my top and, according to my wife, made a fool of myself.
Perhaps we should remember at all times two things about elections in Pakistan: First, elections are a game without rules and the one who wins is the one who is best in inventing new ways to outwit and paralyse his opponents. Second, results are not decided on the basis of law, abstract considerations of justice or the relative merit of the contestants but by a pure confrontation of power.
No harm will come to the person who remembers these two ‘rules’ for the next elections. No harm but, of course, nothing really good either. As for us, the electorate, the next time it won’t end in mere sit-ins, be sure of that.
Email: charles123it@hotmail.com

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