Khaleej Times Junta versus Janata
BY SHEKHAR GUPTA 9 January 2008 PAKISTANIS surely coin more colorful political slogan than us. They are also less subtle. So, the next time you see visuals of a PPP protest rally on your TV screens following Benazir's assassination, strain your ears a bit to catch a most telling slogan: Amreeka ne kutta paala, vardi waala, vardi waala.
It would lose much flavor in transliteration, but the meaning would not be lost on even a non-Hindi speaker. Now when was the last time you had the army called a dog, and that too an American poodle, on Pakistan's streets? And this is a Pakistan under an almighty (lately, former) general who has the power to declare and suspend emergency in televised speeches, the power to make 36 (or thereabouts) amendments in his "constitution" at a Press conference, and whose ability to take the biggest decisions on the spot is the envy, often, of the Indian politician, and has been a cause for admiration among India's chattering classes.
How many times, since he came on his first visit for the Agra summit, have we heard fellow Indians, including serious, knowledgeable people, talk of him with a sense of awe? See, how confident he looks, how well he speaks, the swagger, so impressive, knows his mind, is so fit and energetic, so much in control, so macho, can-do and so on. The sub-text was, view this is total contrast with our own political class: overweight, badly dressed, clumsy, evasive in their answers, indecisive, inarticulate and, horror of horrors, not even able to speak any English.
And then came Shaukat Aziz, on secondment from Citibank. So smart, articulate, in his smartly cut suits, blah, blah and blah. And what kind of people did we have holding the same job in India? Gowda, who slept in Parliament. Vajpayee, who never seems to answer any question. Gujral who only uttered diplomatic platitudes that meant nothing. And Narasimha Rao, who mostly pretended he had not even heard the question.
Now let me tell you a few stories. Not necessarily connected either by timing or context, but yielding an interesting conclusion, nevertheless. One of the great untold stories of the Agra summit is how challenging it was for both Vajpayee and Musharraf to deal with each other. One thought he had the answer even before a question had been asked. The other would think for ever, and often tire out his interlocutor. Apparently at one of the mid-day review sessions Musharraf shared his exasperation with his aides. He said something like, I know you guys told me he takes time responding to anything, but how do I deal with somebody who takes so long and then says nothing? A bit like John McEnroe tossing his racket in exasperation while playing Ramesh Krishnan and screaming: How do I play this guy? He serves at five miles per hour! One of his aides tried to suggest that Vajpayee takes so long because he is processing Musharraf's question in his wise, old head. Musharraf was still irritated and somebody senior in his inner council said, with humor laced with disdain: to unka processor Pentium nahin, 286 hoga (then his processor must be a 286, not a Pentium).
Now listen to the story from the other end. What exasperated Vajpayee most of all was Musharraf's cocky "decisiveness" . "You are the prime minister, I am the president, if we agree on something, let's sign," he would say, while at the same time making changes on the draft of a likely agreement and asking Vajpayee to okay it. He simply wouldn't buy Vajpayee's argument that he had a cabinet to go back to. "Par aap prime minister hain. Aap faisla keejiye (but you are the prime minister, you decide)," Musharraf would say. So when Vajpayee briefed his aides and fellow members of the Cabinet Committee on Security (who, barring George Fernandes, were in Agra), he said about his counterpart pretty much the opposite of what he said of him: "He is in such a hurry. Kuchch sochne ko taiyyar nahin hain. Sub kuch faisala abhi chahte hain, kaise samjhaoon bhai." Or words to that effect.
In the main lounge of the Congress Centre at Davos, Switzerland, where all kinds from heads of state to global corporate leaders to rock stars to ordinary journalists congregate and rub shoulders during the World Economic Forum January meeting, I found my old friend, Pakistani journalist, part-time politician, now a full-time exile, Boston University professor and also an Indian Express columnist, Husain Haqqani. As we exchanged gossip, Shaukat Aziz walked past, accompanied by a couple of minders, perfectly cut suit, pompous, smug smile and all. Just that morning he had lectured many of us senior editors over breakfast, laying down the law for India: nothing would move, the gas pipeline, even the permission to Indian private airlines to fly to Pakistan unless the "core" issue was addressed. Again there was some admiration for his confidence and clarity even among the Indian contingent as he was "so unlike our bumbling politicians" .
Haqqani's eyes were now lit up with mischief. He pointed his finger directly at Aziz and said: "You know what they say, Davos is the Disneyland of the mind. If that be so, there goes its Mickey Mouse."
How have the relative fortunes of the two competing kinds of leaderships and nations under their charge evolved over these seven years? Musharraf now looks bumbling and unconvincing, an international joke, a pitiable, forlorn figure, hated by his countrymen, distrusted by the world and mentioned dismissively even by Barack Obama . Shaukat Aziz has disappeared from the scene, even losing out to an ordinary mortal - coincidentally from India - for the top job in his alma mater, Citi. Their country is a mess, their own army, for the first time, is seeing its credibility, power, its pre-eminent position in Pakistan's society and power structure questioned. Its political class is decimated, its institutions fatally wounded. How do people as proud as the Pakistanis feel when their dictator offers to salvage his credibility by summoning the Scotland Yard to investigate the assassination of their most prominent political leader? Nobody believes their election commission's intentions, motives or judgment in postponing their election.
Vajpayee, on the other hand, sits at home, having lost power in an election, not in the pink of health, but satisfied at the way his country is moving. His successor, from the opposite side of the political fence, even comes to wish him on his birthday. His country has meanwhile had many more state elections and another general election within a year or so will give his successors in his own party another crack at power. Now, think, who finally won. The indecisive, inarticulate, ineffective slob who did not seem to have an answer to anything, or the macho, confident, smart, decisive, modern smartie who seemed to have an answer to everything?
There are many interesting, and important conclusions to be drawn from this complex argument. But the most significant is this: a modern nation needs democracy and so it needs its politicians, however clumsy, corrupt, effete and power-crazed they may be. Because a military dictator can also be all of these things. The difference is, the political leader draws his power from the democratic process, so he has a stake in preserving that system, howsoever cynical he may be.
The general draws his power by throttling the democratic system and its institutions and you can see the results of that in Pakistan. So, in a democracy, howsoever powerful a Lalu or Mayawati, they have to shut up and listen when the Supreme Court speaks. The election commission can publicly upbraid both Sonia Gandhi and Narendra Modi. We, the media, can question and curse who we want. It happens because the political class has the biggest stake in the democratic process, howsoever much it may wish to manipulate it. In contrast, a military dictator owes his power to the absence of institutions, of checks and balances. That is exactly what Musharraf has done to his judiciary, the election commission and even the media. That is why he has to summon the Scotland Yard to investigate Benazir's assassination.
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