Institutions versus Individuals

Every key institution in Pakistan has legitimacy that is afforded to it, structurally by the constitution, laws and customs, as well as circumstantially by events and how they are shaped. No matter how poisonous and destructive, the illegitimacy of individuals or groups does not negate the structural legitimacy of institutions, even if it can sometimes erode circumstantial legitimacy.

The legislature, executive, judiciary, and military all represent key institutions. Too often, because of the tradition of reverential patronage that dominates Pakistani culture, we tend to allow individuals or groups that represent institutions, to pretend to BE the institution themselves. This cycle of megalomaniacal elite capture of institutions is at the heart of why things don’t work the way they should in Pakistan. Keeping Pakistanis wrapped up in a misplaced perpetual witch-hunt is one of the great games played by the Pakistani elite to sustain and deepen their control of the national narrative and the resources that narrative gives them access to.

What should be clear to everyone involved in the last week’s political kathak performance by the PPP, the PML-N and the judiciary is that this is, yet again, an expertly choreographed performance that appeals to a menu of important principles—democracy for the PPP, accountable governance for the PML N, and rule of law for the judiciary. Who can argue the merits of the need to sustain democracy in Pakistan? Or the need for corruption-free governance? Or the need for a rule of law narrative?

These ruses, dripping with integrity, and principles, and with latent appeal, of course fool only those already intoxicated by one or the other brand of righteousness. Jiyalas claim a monopoly over being wronged, even as they enjoy almost opposition-free rule over the country for over two years. Noon League activists talk about integrity in office as if their party and its leadership has enjoyed the pristine reputation of an Edhi or Mother Teresa. Lawyers and judicial activists, including members of civil society, defend the Chaudhry Supreme Court, as if the entire bench was imported to Pakistan in an ahistoric, apolitical time capsule from a bygone era of righteousness.

In truth, the ruses on this menu of important principles are fronts for the defense and glory of individuals and groups. Very, very little of what we hear from Babar Awan, or Saad Rafique Khawaja, or the numerous proxies for the supreme court in the media and the bar associations is designed to benefit Pakistani institutions or the Pakistani people. Those words, fiery and passionate at times, cold and calculated at others are part of the offensive and defensive arsenal of the personalities that dominate Pakistani institutions.

One of the regular instruments deployed in Pakistan to deal with this problem, when it becomes too obvious and when everyone has seen so much of it, that it becomes nauseating is to “fix” the individuals and groups. A national roar of “We will fix them!” emerges.

Sixty-three years of these dramas however should have taught us that “fixing” people, does not fix institutions. In fact, the only thing that fixing individuals achieves, is that it makes enduring heroes of them. It helps sustain their political enterprises far, far beyond their expiry dates. Pakistanis are a forgiving people who crave justice. Every attempt to “fix” individuals has been seen as an unjust act, and has created a monster larger than the one preceding the problem.

Papa Bhutto’s PPP was a spent force in 1977. Instead of letting it peter out at whatever half-life the toxic political brand had left, the military and opposition wanted to “fix” Papa Bhutto. The acquiescent judiciary and international community were all too eager to help. Fixing Bhutto helped secure a political legacy that still breathes fire, even if it is in a dislocated, accented Sindhi, direct from Oxford, via the Emirates.

Zia’s Islamicization over-reach had exhausted most Pakistanis by 1988. Someone thought however that blowing up a plane was a simpler solution to the Zia problem than dealing with it through civil institutions. The resulting tsunami of right-of-center victimhood continues to sustain, at least partially, the Choudhries of Gujrat, and at least the early 1990s version of the Sharif family power in the Punjab, and across parts of the rest of the country.

Every occasion in the 1990s was used by those out of power to victimize those in power, under the banner of corruption and governance, the same claptrap we hear today. It didn’t really help clean up politics. Instead, it helped sustain the competing narratives of the PPP’s Sindhi and Seraiki victimhood, the MQM’s Muhajir victimhood, the PML’s Punjabi and Hazarewal victimhood, the ANP Pukhtoon victimhood, the BNP’s Baluch victimhood and the religious parties’ cumulative Muslim victimhood.

Meanwhile, the real victims of this sick game starved, died, got raped, and killed. Poverty is unchecked. Too many Pakistani women are treated like garbage. Ahmedis, Christians and any one else with the wrong qibla, die at the hands of vigilantes too frequently—indeed once is too many times. Most wickedly, the mai baap of Pakistani national security—both inside the military and outside it—made hay while the sun didn’t shine, financing freedom fighters and terrorists routinely—in Afghanistan, in East Punjab and in Kashmir.

When Mohtarma Benazir Bhutto embraced shahadat, her memory helped mobilize a grieving country’s anger and sympathy into a reasonably compelling election performance by the PPP. Those that sought to “fix” her, had once again, been instrumental in sustaining the political capital she bequeathed to a teenaged son, and a widower with no leadership experience. Of course, President Zardari didn’t have to be president, he could have chosen to be a Sonia Gandhi-like figure. Of course, President Zardari didn’t have to choose his team on the basis of who did or did not ask about him while he was jailed. Of course, President Zaradri, even today, doesn’t have to parade unelectable verbal scud missiles like Babar Awan, as his primary instruments of defense. However, just because the PPP chooses to be a toxic political brand, doesn’t alter its structural legitimacy as the party in power, or its circumstantial legitimacy as a party with enduring mass appeal across the country.

In all this, Pakistani military leaders, whose job is to defend the country from physical threat, have served as the nuclear reactors that power the appetite to “fix” things. Yet everytime a general fixes anything, it ends up creating new heroes, new individuals to capture entire institutions, and compete with it for legitimacy. The recoil on the military’s political gunshots is greater than the thrust of the gunshots themselves.

We have a right to retain and express any opinion we please about individuals. However we must take great care to not confuse between the illegitimate acts of individuals with the legitimate space afforded to institutions. We don’t have to like who sits in parliament, we don’t have to like the Chaudhry Supreme Court, we don’t have to like the lawyers that populate the courts, we don’t have to like the Bhuttos, or the Sharifs, and we don’t have to like the generals that run the Pakistani military. Without the legislature, the executive, the judiciary, civil society and the military however, we are doomed.

We must afford institutions the space and time to operate within their legitimate domain. All the while, we must remember that individuals will always partly speak for the institution, and mostly speak for themselves. Institutions are wilting, asphyxiated by all the drama. Fixing individuals will not fix the institutions. Fixing the institutions is not on the agenda of these individuals. Pakistanis have a choice. Do we want to keep watching TV? Or do we want to fix the institutions?

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