The puff and tough Mr Zaafir

The Jang Group correspondent Saleh Zaafir – whose name is usually taken in ‘Pindi/Islamabad journalism circles in the same breath as that of Jang Islamabad resident editor Hanif Khalid – is a colourful personality, to say the least.

Now the entire body of work of this Presidential Pride of Performance (Musharraf, ‘07) is quite stellar, but, alas, the Media Watch column isn’t book length; one has to limit oneself to only the recent examples of intrepid reportage by this shining beacon of our noble profession.

Peruse, dear readers, through the recent report the special correspondent has filed in Jang. An apology beforehand: though I’m sure it would be an affront if the taste of this well-cooked steak is sullied by common ketchup, but I’m afraid I have to give a running commentary while you read it.

The report starts by saying that the prime minister recently astonished (though the word mabhoot is really more powerful than that, isn’t it?) the doctor who had treated his mother’s hearing problem by paying out of his own pocket and signing the cheque with his own hands. Did you read that? With his very hands. Those beautiful Kashmiri hands!

To elaborate on the story, as a segue, Zaafir says “iss laaeq-e-ta’reef ajmaal ki tafseel youn hai ke…”

….so the prime minister’s mother apparently had a hearing problem and a specialist working at a public sector hospital was engaged, who treated her competently. After the passage of three weeks, the prime minister’s mother – whom the prime minister loves dearly and without whose blessings he does not leave the house, Mr Zaafir informs us – reported that the problem was gone.

So the premier asked Dr Irfan what the compensation for his services were, to which the latter replied that he hadn’t treated her for the money. (An aside: this reminds me of the PTV joke where a doctor who didn’t charge anyone any money was asked how he managed to make ends meet; my wife’s a smuggler, he answered.)

Well, the premier still persisted. He asked with iltifaat about what the usual fee for such a treatment is. That’s the word for love; iltifaat from ulfat. An esoteric word, you say? Well, Zaafir doesn’t write for philistines; up your game before you read his work.

The doctor said it was around forty-five thousand rupees. Well, the prime minister immediately ordered for his chequebook and signed off for the amount with his very hands. And out of his own pocket, even though the rules allowed for the government to pay up.

But Mr Zaafir doesn’t stop there. He also gives a context. He says that during the days of exile, when the premier used to offer his five-times-a-day prayers in the Ka’aba and Masjid-ul-Nabawi, he used to push his father’s wheel-chair around and didn’t let anyone else do it. This act, Mr Zaafir informs us, was famous all over Saudi Arabia. All over.

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The Information Service has always been at a disadvantage as media managers. Why? Because these men and women thought that since they were CSS officers, they shouldn’t be kow-towing to mere journalists. On the other hand, lateral entries into the PR departments had no such qualms and did the whole business of talking sweetly to the journalist community with aplomb.

But another problem that the officers have – one that is even more pronounced in the lavishly funded ISPR – is that they look at this whole exercise as filework. As if they were seeing a project through, from PC-1 all the way to PC-5; as if a micro-hydel plant was being built.

PR requires dealing with intangibles. And it requires subtlety. Saying things without saying them. Lay it on too thick, and it will most definitely have negative returns.

The prime minister’s daughter, who is said to be looking at matters of the media, isn’t an officer who has to send a report file upstairs. No such constraints with her. She should know better. The “news” of the report was most definitely leaked, unless Mr Zaafir lurks behind the curtains at the prime minister’s secretariat. It shouldn’t have been leaked.

And if paying out of one’s own pocket was really something that needed to get out, then get someone more gifted at it to do it.

Puff!