Once upon a time, not that very long ago; in a land so familiar it could be right here, yet so far away that it is not even a real place; too many troubled souls were having a sleepless night. Stewing in their own personal bouts of angst and anguish, they tossed and turned, staring out of their very different windows at the same very starless night. Hoping that tomorrow might be better than today. Knowing that it would not.

The shopkeeper was not sure whether he should be angry with himself or with the young engineer from the electric power company. He did not like stealing electricity. He liked having to pay someone to help him steal electricity even less. He was, after all, a good man. A righteous man. People respected him. Not just because of the mark of years of prostrations on his forehead. He genuinely wanted to do good. To be good.

But what could he do? There was just not enough electricity to buy. And where everyone steals, only fools do not. Good as he was, he was not a fool.

The young engineer was not a fool either. There was no mark of prostration on his forehead but he considered himself more patriotic than most. How he wished he did not have to be in the kunda business. If only people were given a living wage, he would not have to do what he did. At least not as much, or as often.

Not too long ago he had been a starry-eyed progressive zealot in search of social justice for all. He was still searching for social justice. Now, mostly for himself. But, extracting a gratuity from that self-righteous, tax-cheating, over-charging shopkeeper was not even on his mind. What was keeping him awake tonight was what he knew he had to do tomorrow.

Tomorrow he had to pay a bribe to a small-time bureaucrat to prove that his dead father was indeed dead. As if the cold dry dirt on his father’s grave was not proof. As if his mother’s still wet eyes did not matter. As if that same bureaucrat had himself not been at the funeral. Tomorrow he had to go and give money to this ‘friend of the family’ and thank him for taking the bribe! All this, for the privilege of receiving an official paper stating the undeniable: that his dead father was really dead. “What a mockery of life, life has become”, said the young man to himself, as he tried, again, to go to sleep.

The night was not kind on the clerk either. He was still seething over the humiliating meeting from earlier today. It had started with him approaching his former boss about helping to get his daughter a job. His boss had been a big guy in government. Long retired, he was now even bigger; pulling strings seen and unseen. It had been nice of him to speak to someone who had worked on his staff years ago. He had congratulated the bureaucrat for having given education to his daughters, handed him a visiting card, and told him to go and see his (the boss’s) son. The prodigal son – after having studied at big-name foreign universities and working in big-name global banks – had returned to set up a large industrial plant.

Off trotted our bureaucrat to meet the prodigal son. He did not mind having to wait. He did mind being lectured on the merit of merit. On corruption, sifarish and nepotism. He remembered how the prodigal son had merited a government scholarship when he first travelled abroad. He knew how he had merited the permits, land, clearances and more that had made this plant possible. He knew all about merit.

So, he kept smiling even as he grovelled. Thanked the prodigal son for his noble thoughts. Came back home and festered in his own anger. “Why are people so full of themselves? Why are they not more helpful? As I always am. As I will be tomorrow to my late neighbour’s son, the young engineer.”

The prodigal son had not slept well for a long time. This night was no exception. “This place does not deserve me”, he thought to himself. “Why does nothing work as it should? Why is everyone so devoid of principle? Hypocrites, all. Here I am trying to give back, and all I get is jeers. People are so ungrateful.” Like that TV talk-show anchor who went on and on about his family’s newfound wealth and tax record.

“Why do they never see the hard work we put in?” he asked himself. “I don’t pay taxes because I conscientiously object. The money will be squandered. Misused. When everyone else pays their taxes, I will too. Meanwhile, I give to the right causes. Things that make a difference. My conscience is clear.” He resolved never to watch that wretched talk show again.

Elsewhere, the ‘wretched’ talk show anchor was equally restless. Her thoughts were not much different. “This place does not deserve me. Why does nothing work as it should? Why is everyone so devoid of principle? Hypocrites, all. Here I am trying to give back, and all I get is jeers. People are so ungrateful.”

It had been a good show today. She had succeeded, again, in getting under the skin of the politicians. They had reacted exactly as she knew they would. Brandishing accusations. Shouting. Making fools of themselves. What more can a TV anchor ask for?

She did want more. So much more. She was tremendously bright. Highly educated. Deeply knowledgeable. Once, not all that long ago, she had been a real journalist. Now she felt like a circus ringmaster. “Tamasha nation; Tamashbeen society. Circus nation; spectator society.” She wanted to be a real journalist again. Ask real questions. “How to actually do something about extremism? How to bring terrorists to justice? How to move beyond simple condemnation, to real action?” But no one, she thought to herself, was thinking about these questions. “No one ever does. Why should I?”

She was wrong. In a much-guarded enclave in another part of town, the general was thinking of exactly the same questions. He usually slept early. And slept well. But, not today.

He knew he had to meet the prime minister tomorrow. Although some still did not believe him, the general had surprised all by announcing that he would buck tradition, trend and tendency by simply walking away from the top job. The meeting with the prime minister was to determine his successor. But the general was no longer interested in this. He was tossing and turning thinking about the same questions that the TV anchor had been toying with.

He had thought about those questions many times. The answer always was, “Yes, we should take action; but action will be costly.” Things would go from real bad to even worse. Today, the general was in an even more pensive mood than usual. Suicide attacks in every major city of the country had once again confirmed what everyone already knew: things were no longer just ‘real bad’, they were already ‘even worse’.

It was this sobering realisation that triggered a mischievous thought in the general’s mind. “Maybe I should suggest to the prime minister tomorrow that now is the time to be bold; time for decisive action. If things go right, the next general will have to grapple with slightly less terrible baggage than I had to; if they don’t, they can blame it on me.” The general had spent a lifetime disciplining himself against mischievous thoughts. But he did indulge in a faint smile at this thought. Immediately he shook his head violently. Shooed away all mischievous thoughts. And willed himself to sleep.

The prime minister was also up, but his mind was fixated on the energy crisis. He found himself suppressing a yawn during a late night briefing from his energy advisor: “Sir, the real problem is theft. Too many people willing to steal energy. And they don’t even think they are doing anything wrong.”

The prime minister nodded his head knowingly and called the meeting to a close. It was already too late and he needed to go to bed. As he did so, he was reminded of a constituent saying to him, “Where everyone steals, only fools do not.” Dealing with theft, he knew, would not work. His people were no fools.

And that is why Absurdistan is what it is. Everyone knows what the right thing to do is, but is waiting for someone else to do it.

The writer has taught international relations and diplomacy at Boston University and at the Fletcher School of Law and Diplomacy and was the vice chancellor of LUMS.
Twitter: @adilnajam

http://e.thenews.com.pk/10-19-2013/page7.asp