The dazzling brilliance of deception

These are strange times.
From the vicious circle of bright lights,
Emanates the menacing hiss,
Of the python of darkness.
– Ajay Krishna in “Aakash Ganga”

Yahya Khan signs over power to Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, 20 December 1971

Pre-empting any court hearing of a petition seeking the disqualification of General Pervez Musharraf, the Election Commission of Pakistan recently decreed that the country’s chief executive was exempt from the supreme law of the land. Pakistan’s Constitution debars government employees from seeking elective office until two years after retirement from active service. Once the rules of the game were changed to suit his designs, Gen Musharraf lost no time in declaring that he would resign as army chief as soon as he was re-elected. His pre-poll rigging complete, the general has predictably assumed that his electoral victory is now just a matter of routine.

With the benefit of hindsight, it seems that the drama of Mian Nawaz Sharif’s arrival from the UK, and his quick subsequent deportation to Saudi Arabia, was probably part of the power pact between Gen Musharraf and Benazir Bhutto. In the first gesture of good faith, the generalissimo demonstrated that he was determined to let the Daughter of the East shine in mainstream politics in solitary splendour. B B is perhaps expected to reciprocate the goodwill by facilitating the political rehabilitation of the military usurper. If nothing disrupts the deal – and that is a big if, in the volatile world of Pakistani politics – there will be a replay of the 1970s duo of General Yahya Khan-Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, which prepared the ground for the independence of Bangladesh and the fanatic politics of General Mohammad Zia ul-Haq.

For all his commando courage, Mohajir resourcefulness and modernist pretensions, Gen Musharraf is essentially an arriviste. The Delhi-born general would rather cooperate with the Sindhi aristocrat Bhutto than make peace with the Punjabi merchant Sharif. At the end of the day, a uniformed person has less hesitation in bowing to the high-born than in bending in front of social equals. Bhutto’s show of righteous indignation at Gen Musharraf’s antics
appears to be a put-on.

Charles de Gaulle has an enduring appeal in societies that put a premium on the efficiency of a political system. The yearning for a strong leader at the helm is fulfilled by an executive president; the necessity of having a consultative façade is met by a premier engaging constantly with the legislature. Pakistan has tried to work with this model several times over its turbulent history. But there is little reason to believe that such a combination is any better than a supposedly failed parliamentary democracy.

Self-selected governance
The governance experiment in Bangladesh is even weirder. For nearly the entirety of this year, the country has remained under the command of chief of army staff General Moeen U Ahmed, who discharges his duty through Chief Adviser Fakhruddin Ahmed. An election is scheduled to be held in December 2008, but there is currently a complete ban on public meetings (though a ban was recently lifted on so-called ‘indoor’ politics). Two former prime ministers, Khaleda Zia and Sheikh Hasina, are now cooling their heels in police custody. The government has given itself so much power that almost anybody can be picked up from anywhere at any time on the vague charges of violating emergency rules.

Nepal, meanwhile, is still passing through the testing times of a prolonged transition. In theory, the country has an interim constitution, a parliament, an executive and a judiciary. But in practice, none of these institutions are functioning properly. A section of the civil society has already begun to make noises about the necessity of having a non-political and technocratic government in place of the coalition of various political parties. Once again, the assumption behind such an assertion is that there are some self-selected people in society who know what is best for the rest of the country.

In Sri Lanka, President Mahinda Rajapakse recently frankly admitted that he was constrained by his Sinhalese constituency from addressing Tamil grievances. Echoing the voice of the Colombo glitterati, he proclaimed, “Federalism is a negative word in Sri Lanka because people think it is synonymous with dividing the country. Also, I prefer the phrase power-sharing to devolution.” With that kind of a mindset, informed more by Sinhalese blogs than street-talk, it is difficult to see how the island of serendipity expects to extricate itself from the vicious circle of government inflexibility, insurgents’ intransigence and separatist violence. The power elite on both sides are adamant that only they know how the festering sore of communal confrontation can be resolved.

Behind his democratic mask, Manmohan Singh is also essentially a technocratic dewan, appointed by the dowager maharajkumari of Congress (I) to run the realm on her behalf. If the controversy over the civilian nuclear ‘123’ agreement stretches any further, the possibility of snap polls cannot be ruled out. The idea behind calling midterm elections, rather than addressing the concerns of dissenters, is based on yet another example of self-righteous logic: We know what is good for the country, and those who don’t understand it deserve to be rejected by the people.

Allure of technocracy
Technocracy is associated with competence, neutrality and sincerity. Perhaps that is the reason the bourgeoisie respects academicians, admires professionals, adores soldiers and worships successful bankers. There is nothing wrong with this proclivity, per se. But when combined with an undisguised contempt for the political class, the habit of holding technocrats in unsuspecting esteem becomes positively dangerous. It gives birth to an authoritarian mindset that seeks patronage, protection and possessions rather than presence, participation and principles.

There are several factors that hinder the growth of democratic culture in Southasia. Entrenched patriarchy, rampant poverty, widespread illiteracy, endemic social hierarchy and absence of assertive individualism have all been variously blamed for the slow progress of democratisation in the region. Proponents of the ‘development-first’ ideology proclaim that the ‘wretched of the earth’ need to be lifted up from their misery before they can be trusted with democracy. Meanwhile, the technocracy must be mobilised in order to manage the explosive situation in unequal societies. Right on cue, the ambitious technocratic elite regularly steps forward to carry on the divine mission of liberating the poor from their wretchedness.

The problem arises from the fact that the technocratic elite of Southasia are highly promiscuous. The general, glittering with brass in Islamabad, may have an in-law on Wall Street, a cousin at Oxford and a school chum in Dubai who deals in oil and armaments. Similar may be the case with an ex-banker in Dhaka, a retired professor in New Delhi, a pricey NGO head in Kathmandu or a former fixer in Colombo. They have more in common with each other than with their next-door neighbours. There is also one more trait shared most of them: their unwavering belief that Uncle Sam knows best where the rest of the world is concerned.

There is more to India’s US Ambassador Ronen Sen’s recent labelling of critics of the India-US nuclear agreement as “headless chickens” than his contempt for Indian parliamentarians. What is even more frightening is the way the New Delhi literati lined up in defence of their man in Washington. When Prime Minister Shaukat Aziz or Foreign Minister Khurshid M Kasuri bow and scrape in the presence of minor US functionaries, the meaning of their physical supplication is impossible to miss: the constituency that our movers and shakers truly value lies overseas.

Mainstream politicians in Southasia may be uncouth, inept, corrupt and insufferable according to the wine-and-cheese societies of our capital cities, but they are nonetheless one of us. Cultured babalog-storming politics will find it much easier to deal with gleaming generals, glittering financiers, scintillating socialites and scheming fixers. They will emasculate democracy with the promise of ushering in development, and disappear quietly when the time comes to face the consequences of their technocratic follies. This is exactly what has already taken place in Africa and South America, and it can now happen in Southasia. The region’s only antidote is keeping its maddeningly boisterous politics alive. In governance, all that glitters is mostly military brass and urban silver. Gold smells of sweat and tears.