Disclaimer: This article is not anti-Pakistan. It is anti-Pakistani. There is a difference. Also, the writer may have fabricated evevnts to suit his narrative and the reader is warned not to quote this article as a reliable source for information of any kind.
For the last few centuries, the people of the subcontinent have been ruled by an interesting bunch of people. After the sun set on the Mughal empire, the Dutch, British and Portuguese staked their claims in various parts at various times. But in the end, there could be only one, and the British were it. That was when it all started to come apart. You see, the weird thing about the British as a colonial power was their ability to rule not only the land they occupied, but also the lives of the people of that land. This strange power was wielded through an intricate system of government and communications, or as The White Man referred to it, civilization. A good pretext that, seeing as all they were doing was turning the worlds second most populous region at the time into one big gold mine.
Having weaved an intricate web of newfangled technology by introducing animals such as the steam locomotive and the telegraph pole into the Indian ecosystem, the colonial masters began to exercise a considerable amount of influence on the average persons routine. The railway track only led to and from the points of interest in terms of trade and resources, and hence the flow of peoples was funneled through the newly-laid railway track. A neat little trick indeed.
Through the introduction of Western standardized education, they prepared a class of babus, natives in the flesh but completely Western of mind. Thoroughbred native bureaucrats were produced at stables of excellence, some of which still exist today. Here were cultivated men (and some women) who were fit to rule other natives, but obedient enough to do the White Masters bidding. This, they realized, was best achieved by giving them izzat, or status. What the British understood about the Brown mans psyche was the fact that he was a very conscientious creature when it came to social stature. Elevate him in society, place him a step above the rest and hell do whatever you want, for as long as you want, as often as you want, ad infinitum, ad nauseum.
Fast-forward a couple of centuries, long after the atom and the subcontinent have been split. It is the swinging 60s, a time when General Ignorance and his ilk rule the land known as Pakistan. Herr Furher needs a cunning plan to bail him out of his current leadership crisis. He frets and sweats and heaves and scratches and tickles and squeezes and tugs, and yet, nothing. Then he, accidentally while polishing his 1921 Enfield, has a brainwave. Do what the goras did, he thinks to himself.
This was the year basic democracies were introduced in Pakistan. This was also the year Cluedo was first played in Somerset, England. But this is not relevant.
What is relevant is what General Ignorance did next. He held elections on a non-party basis, the winners of which in turn constituted the assemblies which would be empowered only to cement the general as the Sun-King of Pakistan for ever until Kingdom Come. This was a dangerous precedent, the mutation of democracy by a military dictator to cement his own place as the head honcho of Banana Republic Inc. So dangerous, in fact, that it was replicated in one form or the other by every successive military dic. Yahya held elections, Zia had his referendum, and Musharraf did both. Each move was merely a means to cement their authority. But you already know all this.
What is important to remember is that history has a bad habit of repeating itself, especially in a backwater such as ours. Today, the proud tradition of General Ignorance is being carried into the 21st century, either by accident or by design. The stables of excellence are producing still babus, who leave the country upon graduation and return only when they must be sworn in as a member of the federal cabinet. The izzat race in our bureaucracy has degenerated into some sort of pissing contest, where the one with the most kickbacks wins. The political system is so convoluted by now and the constitution so amended that whatever little democracy it had to begin with has been carefully squeezed out by trolls and goblins.
Meanwhile, back in Somerset, the first game of Cluedo is still underway. It is the penultimate move and its Mr Mustards turn. He rolls and picks up a card, and is about to reveal who committed the crime of the century when, with a flabbergasted expression, turns to the others and says There must be a bloody misprint. The card reads, Various generals, in the presidency, with the constitution.
The writer is a broadcast journalist.
