A flower in the crevice of the wall

A flower in the crevice of the wall

I cannot tell if it is chamomile or orchid

maybe it is a faqqua iris

I cannot tell because the sky is grey

The wind is shaking 

The earth is trembling

It is a day of dust

Or maybe a night of broken light

It may be the siren screams of a child 

Maybe my brother

Maybe my sister

Maybe it is just a cat, I hope

I cannot tell if it is a flower 

in the crevice of the wall

Or a window into a neighbour’s home

It appears red, like a rose

Maybe it is a drop of blood

Maybe my brother’s blood

Maybe my sister’s blood

Maybe my blood

Or, maybe the sky is grey

The wind is shaking

The earth is trembling 

It is a day of dust

It could be chamomile, orchid or faqqua iris

Or maybe a rose

Not a drop of blood, I hope

I cannot see from here 

Under the rubble of my home

In a night of broken light

The Mapmaker (Urdu translation):نقشہ ساز

نظم: ارسلان خان

ترجمہ: تنویرانجم

نقشہ ساز

یہ نقشہ کتنا خوبصورت ہے۔ اس کی سرخ اور کالی دھاریاں اور سنہری نقطے، اس کے زاویے اور خم دار لکیریں، پہاڑ جو ابھرے نظر آتے ہیں اور وادیاں جو سمندر کی سطح کی طرح غوطے کھاتی ہوئی لگتی ہیں۔ اگر میرے پاس کوئی ملک ہوتا، تو میں اس جیسے ایک نقشے کے لیے اس کا سودا کر لیتا، مگراسے ہونا چاہیے تھا اس سے بڑا، ایک ارب گنا بڑا، اور سفید چینی ریشم سے بنا، اس قسم کا کہ جسے کسی ناگوار سلوٹ یا ٹوٹ پھوٹ کے خوف کے بغیر سو دفعہ تہہ کیا جا سکتا۔ اور پھر میں اس نقشے کو اپنی پچھلی جیب میں رکھ سکتا اور دور دراز سرزمینوں کا سفر کر سکتا، اور غیر ملکی زبانوں میں جنہیں مجھے بولنے کی ضرورت نہیں تھی، میں انہیں اس زمین کی شکل، اس کے خطوط اور زاویے، نشیب و فراز اور اس کی سرخ اور سیاہ دھاریوں اور سنہری نقطوں کی تاریخ سمجھاتا۔ لیکن یہ میں تھوڑا تھوڑا کر کے کرتا، ٹکڑے ٹکڑے کر کے، ایک ایک دھاری لےکر، ایک ایک نقطہ لےکر، کسی کو مغلوب کرنے یا چونکانے کے لیے نہیں۔ میں اسی نفیس انداز میں وضاحت کرتا جس کے لیے میرا ملک، وہی جس کے عوض میں نے نقشہ حاصل کیا تھا، مشہور ہے، اور میں ہر تہہ کو چینی ریشم بُننے والے کی قطعی درستگی کے ساتھ بیان کرتا، اور اگر ایسا ہوگیا تو اس کے دامن کی ہر تہہ کے ساتھ ایک مرد اوراس کی عورتیں اس کے جادو کی زد میں آئیں گے اور دھاریوں اور نقطوں، خطوط اور زاویوں، نشیب اور فراز کے خواب دیکھیں گے۔ اور، لازمی طور پر، ان میں سے ایک، ملک کا سب سے طاقتور شخص، اپنی دہشت انگیز زبان میں مجھ سے فوری طور پر پورا نقشہ دکھانے کے لیے کہے گا، اور میں اپنی بلند آہنگ آواز میں، شائستگی کے ساتھ انکار کر دوں گا اور اسے اپنے علم کی گہرائیوں کے بارے میں حیران چھوڑ آئوں گا اور ایک دن، جب میں بہت سے طاقتور آدمیوں کو حیرت میں ڈال چکا ہوں گا، میں اپنی جیب سے ایک ریشمی نقشہ نکالوں گا اور کسی سلوٹ یا ٹوٹ پھوٹ کے خوف سے آزاد، اسے ایک ایسا جھٹکا دوں گا جس سے زمین جھنجھنا اٹھے گی۔ پھر میں آہستہ سے نقشے کو زمین پر ہموارطریقے سے بچھا دوں گا دور دراز ترین چھوٹے بڑے سب سمندروں کوگھیرے میں لیتے ہوئے۔ اس خیرہ کن لمحے میں، میں حکم دوں گا کہ ہماری سرزمین کے لیے فوجیں کھڑی کی جائیں۔ جولاہوں کی فوج اسے سینے کے لیے اگر یہ پھٹ جائے! سرخ اور سیاہ اور سنہرے رنگوں کو ہمیشہ چمکدار رکھنے کے لیے رنگریزوں کی فوج! مصوروں کی فوج جوخطوط کو زاویہ بننے سے اور زاویوں کو خطوط بننے سے روک سکے! اور، جہاں تک بلندیوں اور پستیوں کا تعلق ہے، میں ان کے لیے سپاہیوں کی ایک فوج تیار کروں گا، جس میں صرف صحتمند ترین آدمیوں کو منتخب کیا جائے گا، جو اس کے ہر انچ پر گشت کریں گے اور اس بات کو یقینی بنائیں گے کہ تمام باشندے اس پر واجب احترام کے ساتھ چلیں۔ پھیلے ہوئے نقشے اور کھڑی ہوئی فوجوں کے ساتھ، ہم اپنی نئی اختراع شدہ زبان میں مل کرایک توصیفی گیت گائیں گے۔ ایک نظم سرخ، کالی اور سنہری سیاہی سے لکھی جائے گی۔ بچے ایک رقص ایجاد کریں گے، ان کے جسم ایک دوسرے سے مکمل ہم آہنگ خم کھائیں گے اور مڑیں گے، اٹھیں گے اور جھکیں گے۔ یقینا ہم میں سے کچھ لوگوں کے آنسو نکل آئیں گے۔ اس دن کے بعد سے، ہم اس طرح قدم بڑھائیں گے جیسے کہ تمام زمین نازک چینی ریشم ہے۔

Karachi, 1992 (کراچی ۱۹۹۲ Urdu translation)

ارسلان خالد خان

ترجمہ: تنویر انجم

کراچی ۱۹۹۲

چپس والا کے پاس سے گزرتے ہوئے

عصر کی نماز کے بعد مصالحہ چپس

تیل سے لتھڑے ہاتھ

چلتے چلیں

ایک پیپسی، شاید؟ سات سے تیرہ روپے کی

پھر عبداللہ بھائی کی بیکری

شاید ایک جلا ہوا کیک رسک، مفت میں

نہیں، آج نہیں۔ صرف جمعے کو

پھر گوشت والے

کیڑے لگے درختوں کے نیچے

درختوں سے گرتی بکروں کی آنتوں پر

بلیوں اور کووں کے جھپٹتے ہوئے ہجوم

آگے دکان پر سائن بورڈ

“Matric boks and suplies"

پھر پرنٹنگ پریس اور گیراج

مکینک کاروں اور موٹر سائیکلوں کی مرمت میں مصروف

اور پھر پتلی گلی آرکیڈ کو تقسیم کرتی ہوئی

جہاں بچے ’’اسٹریٹ فائٹر‘‘ کے مقابلے کرتے ہوئے

ڈر کے مارے مڑمڑ کر پیچھے دیکھتے رہتے ہیں

“بابر بھائی سے ہوشیار رہنا۔ وہ صحیح آدمی نہیں ہے”

وہیں ڈبو کی میز مردوں کے لیے

اس کے اطراف نوعمر لڑکے

سگریٹ پینا سیکھتے ہیں

عبدل کی پان کی دکان پر

جہاں امریکہ کی بنی مارلبورو لائٹس بکتی ہیں

انہیں یہودیوں نے بنایا ہے”

مسلمانوں کو نامرد بنانے کے لیے

یہ آبادی کے اعداد و شمار کی جنگ ہے

عبدل ایک جاسوس ہے۔ ‘‘

ایک ردی پیپر والا اپنی موجودگی کا اعلان کرتا ہے

“ایک کلو کے چار آنے”

ماسٹر بیکری پر سموسے، جلیبیاں اور کیک رسک ہیں

ایک مہینے سے پکتے تیل میں بنے

خرم یہاں سے پکوڑے خریدتا ہے

مگر سموسے کبھی نہیں

اسے مرگی کا مرض ہے، تیل اس کی وجہ ہوسکتا ہے۔

گولے گنڈے کے اوپر گاڑھا دودھ مزیدار ہوتا ہے

لیکن اس کا ایک روپیہ زیادہ ہوتا ہے۔

“گولے گنڈے والے، تم ایک چور ہو۔”

وہ کہتا ہے“آٹے کی قیمت اس ہفتے چار روپے بڑھ گئی ہے”

ایک روپے کی ان دنوں کوئی قدر نہیں رہ گئی۔

گلیوں میں خاموشی ہے

رات کی نماز کا وقت ہو گیا ہے

شیعوں کی اذان بھی ہو چکی ہے

الاقصیٰ مسجد میں مولانا فضل کا گلا خراب ہے

ان کی جگہ ریکارڈ کا استعمال کیا گیا۔

لوگوں میں غصہ پھیلا ہوا ہے

“آج رات آخری آواز کس کی ہوگی۔”

آگے ہے الفاروق میدان

جس میں کبھی گھاس کی پتلی تہہ بچھی ہوئی تھی

اب یہ بجری سے ڈھکا ہے

رات میں اس پر ریبی زدہ دونسلی کتوں کا قبضہ ہوتا ہے۔

یہاں ایک پولیس مقابلہ ہوا تھا

پولیس نے ایک دہشت گرد کو گولی ماری

اورایک لڑکے کو ہلاک کردیا

جو گیارہ سال کا ہونے ہی والا تھا

’’ایک بلے باز، میانداد جیسا‘‘ وہ کہہ رہے تھے

لیکن مجھے شک ہے۔ مردہ لوگوں کو سب ایسے ہی یاد کرتے ہیں۔

شاید میں بھی اتنا خوش قسمت ہوں

کہ اپنی گراہم گوچ یونیفارم میں مروں

مگر مجھے ڈر ہے

کہ جو لڑکےانگلش یونیفارم میں مرتے ہیں

وہ جنت میں نہیں جاتے۔

سڑک کےاس پار آغا جوس ہائوس ہے

کلین شیو کیے نوجوان لڑکے وہاں

سرسید گرلز کالج کی لڑکیوں کا انتظار کرتے ہیں

پچھلی گلی کا سہیل وہیں بیٹھتا ہے

کبھی وہ اپنی جماعتی داڑھی شان سے لہراتا تھا

اب وہ کلین شیو ہے اور محبت میں مبتلا

مین روڈ پرایک سبز اور سفید بس خراب پڑی ہے

اس پر آراستہ ایک لڑاکا جیٹ کی تصویر

ایک مسجد کے اوپر اڑتا ہوا

اس کے نیچے الفاظ ’’اللہ حافظ ہو‘‘

فضا دھوئیں سے بوجھل ہے

شدید گرمی میں گاڑیوں کے ہارن چیخ رہے ہیں

ایک نرم خوشگوار جھونکا مجھے چھو کر گزرتا ہے

شاید ایک دن میں سمندر کے کنارے گھر بنا لوں۔

How the Legal Establishment is Undermining Judicial Independence

How the Legal Establishment is Undermining Judicial Independence

By Arsalan Khan

 

 

When lawyers took to the streets in defiance of a brutal and illegal military regime in 2007, they became the champions of our deep and long held desire for democracy and a fair judicial system. It is then tragic that some of the very people that symbolized our democratic spirit and our commitment to the rule of law only a few years ago are now exhibiting that same dictatorial mentality that has undermined our political institutions for so long. This time it is being done in the name of “judicial independence,” a concept that our legal establishment—the courts and bar associations—do not seem to understand very well. 

 

For them, judicial independence has come to mean a Judiciary that is entirely autonomous from other branches of government. Towards this goal, they are demanding that Article 175-A of the 18^th Amendment, which establishes parliamentary oversight in the appointment of Supreme Court justices, be struck down. They’d like to see a return to the pre-Musharraf era when the legal establishment proposed nominees for the Supreme Court and Parliament was expected to simply accept their proposals.  By granting a parliamentary committee the authority to vet and approve Supreme Court nominees proposed by a judicial commission, Article 175-A has gone a long way towards empowering Parliament. But, the legal establishment sees this as a threat to judicial independence and the health of our legal system, and they seem determined to declare it unconstitutional. Theirs is a horribly flawed argument. To have a strong and independent Judiciary, we need to link it to the democratic process and specifically to the organ of government to which the people have a direct channel of communication—the Parliament. 

 

There are two reasons why the legal establishment’s position would compromise judicial independence and the health of our legal system. First, if the legal establishment selects its own, decision making would quickly become concentrated in the hands of a few people at the top of their institutional hierarchies, especially the Chief Justice. These powerful few are likely to select jurists who share their ideals and/or have demonstrated personal loyalty to them. This would incentivize ideological conformity as jurists try to gain favor with their seniors in the legal establishment. Our judiciary would surely become a fiefdom style institution controlled by a few men. This would jeopardize, rather than promote, judicial independence because, as we all know, individuals are easier to manipulate than internally diverse and dynamic institutions. This has been the problem throughout our history. Our Judiciary has consistently endorsed unconstitutional military regimes and excused their criminal undertakings, and this is in no small part due to the concentration of power at the top of the Judiciary. The Judiciary can only have the wherewithal to resist the encroachments of the military if it is internally diverse and comprised of jurists with cross-cutting political loyalties.

 

The second problem follows logically from the first. People in Pakistan generally feel that the law is a tool in the hands of the few, not a possession of all Pakistani citizens. It is not surprising then that so many of our citizens see the law as something that should be ignored, circumvented or resisted. This understanding of the law is the product of years of abuse at the hands of our elite political classes, both democratic and military, who fail to enforce the law or change it at will, or outright exempt themselves from the law altogether. This is precisely what we must try to change. If the judiciary is allowed to select its own, then power will become concentrated at the top, and this will lend further credence to the view that the law is an instrument of the few rather than a force that reflects collective morality and sentiment. People will come to see the Judiciary as just another political faction vying for power, which will further undermine people’s belief that the law represents the common good. 

 

Parliamentary oversight in the nomination and appointment process would strengthen our legal system by introducing diversity into the Supreme Court and lending much needed moral authority to the law. It goes without saying that Parliament is the most diverse of our political institutions in terms of language, ethnicity, and ideology, and as long as we have free and fair elections, this will always be the case.  Parliamentary oversight would ensure diverse membership within the Supreme Court as political factions compete and compromise over appointments. This bartering and trading will necessarily result in a more diverse Supreme Court, and a more diverse Supreme Court is a more independent one. Moreover, regardless of where one stands on the current government, Parliament is the only representative organ of government. If people are going to see the law as their own, as something that reflects their ideals and interests, then it is necessary that they can and do contribute to its making. Parliament is the only institution capable of forging a link between citizens and the law, and its involvement will force the issue into the public arena. In the long term, a public discussion can help restore faith in the law, which is something we in Pakistan desperately need. 

 

If there is a criticism to be made of Article 175-A, it is that it grants too much power to judges and lawyers in the nomination process and too little to elected representatives. It forces Parliamentarians to select judges from a smaller pool of candidates than should be the case. Nevertheless, it is a step in the right direction. Yes, it is possible, even probable, that our politicians will use Article 175-A for their own personal gains. But, the failures of our democratically elected representatives should lead us to hold them accountable and strengthen our democratic institutions and processes, not discard them for a system of one-man-rule, be it a dictator or a Chief Justice.

 

 

 

Karachi, A Poem

Karachi, A Poem

walking past the chips wala

masala chips after maghrib prayers

oily hands, walking

a Pepsi, maybe? from seven to thirteen rupees

past abdullah bhai's bakery

maybe a burned cake rusk for free

not today, Fridays only

passed the gosht walas

under the infested trees

swooping around the congregation

of cats and crows, goat intestines fall

from trees

passing the sign, "matric boks and suplies"

towards the printing press and garage

mechanics that fix cars and bicycles

Into the thin street

dividing the arcade

where children watch their backs playing streetfighter

"Beware of Babar Bhai, he is not the right kind of man!”

and the dabbu table for men

around which young boys learn to smoke

at Abdul’s pan shop where you can buy

Marlboro lights from America

“made by Jews to make Muslims impotent

It is a war of demographics; Abdul is a spy!”

A tin paper box wala announces his presence

"four annas for a kilo"

Samosas, Jalebis, and Cake rusk

at the Master Bakery, but here the oil is a month old

Khurram buys Pakoras from here, but never samosas

He has epilepsy, it might be the oil

Condensed milk is good with ice candy

but it costs one rupee extra

"gole gande wala, you are a thief!"

"Wheat has gone up four rupees this week," he says

A rupee is not worth much these days

The streets are quiet

It is time for evening prayers

Shias have called for prayers already

At the al-Aqsa mosque, Maulana Fazal has a sore throat

A Siren is used in his place.

There is resentment: “Tonight they will have the last word"

Towards the Al-Farook ground which once had a coat of thinning grass

Now it is covered in gravel.

rabid mongrels occupy it at night

There was an encounter here

police shot a militant and killed a boy of almost-eleven

“A batsmen, like MIANDAD!,” they said.

But I suspect the dead are always remembered like that

Maybe I will be lucky enough to die

in my Graham Gooch uniform

But I fear that boys who die in English uniforms do not go to heaven

Across the street is Agha's Juice House

Clean shaven young men wait there for girls

From Sir Syed Girls College

Sohail from down the street sits there

He once sported a jamaati beard

Now he is clean shaven and in love

On the main road

a green and white bus is broken down

Emblazoned on it, a fighter jet streaming above a mosque

Under it the words "Allah will protect"

The air is thick with smoke

The horns blaze against the summer heat

A gentle breeze brushes against me

Maybe one day I will move to the ocean.

The Poetic Life of Afzal Ahmed Syed

My stepfather, poet Afzal Ahmed Syed, loved Dhaka. But his beloved city now only appears to him in nightmares.

---

Arsalan Khan December 16, 2011 

My stepfather, Afzal Ahmed Syed, is a generally quiet and inward man who occasionally breaks from his reticence with humorous insights about the world. He does this not through fanciful and elaborate explanations, but in pithy quotes or by reciting a shaer.

As many thoughtful commentators on his life and poetry have suggested, much of my father’s poetic vision has been shaped by his experience as a witness to immense political tragedies like East Pakistan’s violent rebirth as Bangladesh in 1971, the Lebanese Civil War, and the ethnic and sectarian violence that overwhelmed Karachi in the 1990s.

Musharraf Farooqi, my father’s friend and translator, has suggested that his poetry reflects a long “inner migration” commonly found amongst writers and thinkers who have witnessed the enormity of war and suffering. This is undeniable. But, there is a little more to the story than that. It is important to remember that experiencing great trauma does not necessarily generate the kind of humanitarian ethos that I believe is central to my father’s life and work. In fact, if our modern day experience demonstrates anything, it is that political tragedies are just as likely, if not more likely, to deepen the ethos of brutality and violence as they are to create an ethic of self-reflection and compassion.

Perpetrators of violence often believe themselves to be victims of some kind. They always imagine that they are merely defending themselves against the machinations of others. It is no surprise then that the arc of history takes the shape of a recurring tragedy as one generation of victims becomes the next generation of perpetrators. Not surprisingly, violence and suffering are recurring themes in his poetry:

We need a whole lot of flowers

for one half of them will succumb to their wounds

We need a forest of nocturnal flowers

for those who could not sleep for the report of gunfire

we need a whole lot of flowers

for a whole lot of rueful people

we need anonymous flowers

to cloak the stripped girl

(from "We Need a Whole Lot of Flowers")

My father’s humanistic ethic is built around a realisation that the lines between victims and perpetrators of violence are often quite blurry. This too comes from experience, especially his experience in Dhaka, Bangladesh during the Bangladesh war of Independence. My father frequently says, and with no small measure of pride, that the first and only vote that he has ever cast in his life was for the Awami League Party in the 1971 elections.

For those of you who are not familiar with Pakistani-Bangladeshi history, this election was won convincingly by Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, the Bangladeshi leader and champion of Bengali political autonomy and civil rights, but was later abrogated by the West-Pakistani establishment backed by the powerful Pakistani military. This event thrust the country into a cataclysmic Civil War that led to the deaths of millions and culminated in the emergence of Bangladesh as an independent nation-state. Although himself an Urdu-speaking West Pakistani, he was a firm supporter of the Bengali movement. This commitment was informed by his unbounded love for Dhaka, a city that he had made his own. He says that every night, around dusk, he would renew his love for the city by taking a stroll through its narrow streets and newly erected parks.

He was a staunch supporter the Bengali movement because he understood that a people, especially a people with such monumental intellectual and literary achievements, could only be subjugated so long before they revolted. Yet, despite his support of the Bengali movement, my father became a victim of the war. On December 14, 1971, Bengali soldiers forcefully removed him from his home in Purbali, a suburb on the outskirts of Dhaka, and interned him in Mirpur, a quarter of Dhaka where other Urdu-speaking minorities lived. He could no longer walk through his city and as a result his love, naturally, dissipated. In 1972, he was arrested as a Pakistani sympathizer and a collaborator with the Pakistani military. This was during a time when many such “internal enemies” were being executed. He was later deemed a “peaceful citizen” and released, possibly at the request of an influential member in the Bangladeshi militia forces. A year later, he along with his mother and six younger siblings managed to escape Dhaka, never to return, making their way through India and Nepal to Karachi where he now lives.

If my voice is not reaching you,

add to it the echo —

echo of ancient epics

And to that —

a princess

And to the princess—your beauty

And to your beauty —

a lover’s heart

And in the lover’s heart

a dagger

(from "If My Voice is Not Reaching You")

My father rarely speaks of Dhaka, but when he does it is with a tremendous sense of betrayal and sadness. His beloved city, he says, now only appears to him in nightmares. It was in Dhaka that he first began to think about the destructive potential of language, its capacity to strip people of their humanity and open them up to violent retribution. The War my father experienced was very much fought in language well before it was fought on the streets of Dhaka. West Pakistanis had long dehumanised their fellow citizens in East Pakistan, attacking them for being backwards and unsophisticated.

This was also very much a war about language because West Pakistanis had imagined their Bengali counterparts to have a degraded and inferior tongue. Later, when everyone had abandoned speech for war, the Bengalis turned on their Urdu speaking minority with the same vitriol to which they had themselves been subjected. Now, it was Urdu-speakers who were imagined to be conspiring, by virtue of their language, against Bangladeshi liberation. Much of my father’s interest in poetry emerged in a context where everyday language had become deeply compromised on all sides. His poetic vision springs from the knowledge that our modern day political tragedies are rooted in everyday speech and language. Maybe this is why he remains to this day a conspicuously “quiet” and “inward” man and maybe this is why when he does speak, he prefers to speak in the language of poetry.

Maybe poetry in his world carries a unique potential to transcend the violence of our modern world, a violence woven deeply into the tapestry of our everyday lives.

Poetry translations have been done by Musharraf Ali Farooqi.

This post was originally published here.

Why the Insaafian Dream is not the Solution

Why the Insaafian Dream is not the Solution

Published in The News, September 25, 2014. 

Let me begin by admitting that I agree with Imran Khan. Our political establishment, by which I mean our major political parties, is full of people who have no respect for the rule of law, who treat government office as their own private business and use the police like their own personal armies. These are mostly people who, absent media cameras, would scoff at the suggestion that they are “servants” of the people. This must change. But, none of this justifies the politics of that urban, middle to upper class segment of PTI’s base that we have come to call Insaafians.

The politics of Insaafians is based on a very simple premise: Pakistan’s problems can all be traced to the fact that corrupt, morally bankrupt politicians are in control of government. Their lack of moral character is mostly attributed to their “feudal” and “uneducated” backgrounds. By contrast, Imran Khan is an incorruptible leader with a morally unassailable character. If such a person were to lead Pakistan, they argue, Pakistan would be transformed, politics would be purified of corruption, rule of law would rein supreme, and Pakistan would be on its way to becoming a leader in the world of nations, as it rightly should be.

Let’s suspend disbelief for a minute and accept that Imran Khan is in fact as unimpeachable as Insaafians say.  The question still remains, how will one man’s moral character lead to the kind of “revolution” that they envision? Obviously, a functioning government requires more than one moral person or even a few. It requires a whole cadre of ministers and a diverse array of bureaucrats and functionaries. How will PTI get these individuals to act so morally? Insaafians largely respond in two ways. First, they say that Khan would dismiss people who do not meet his high moral standards. Second, they say that the great leader will become an example for all other politicians and will inspire them to act in accordance with the highest of moral standards. This combination of top down party discipline and trickle-down morality will purify politics of corruption and vice.

PTI’s rhetoric of “revolution” belies the profoundly conservative nature of this perspective. What we have here is the vision of a top-heavy and centrally controlled administrative apparatus tasked with moral uplift and reform. This vision of a paternal state ushering the country into modernity is hardly new. It has been the primary justification for army rule in Pakistan since our founding. Whatever the ideological differences between the regimes of Ayub Khan , Zia-ul-Haq, and Parvez Musharraf, they all converged on the idea that civilian politicians could not be trusted to govern Pakistan because they lacked the appropriate moral character, especially discipline and honor, and that Pakistan’s progress depended on standing above the corruption of civilian politics. Similarly, Insaafians insist that our politicians are incorrigible and politics itself must be transcended.

When PTI leaders claim that they have inspired a whole generation of youth to participate in the political process, people who otherwise see politics as a filthy vocation, they mask the fact that what they have actually inspired is a kind of anti-politics that treats all political negotiation, dealing and bargaining as a sign of corruption and immorality.  When one begins with such an absolutist and purist vision of what politics ought to be, the solution can only be a centralized and authoritarian state. Insaafians dream of a state governed by “educated” urban professionals—a technocracy—who, unlike “feudals,” are not only more efficient but also morally upright. The argument goes that these technocrats, untainted by politics, will faithfully serve the people and usher in a “naya” Pakistan.

This discourse about the moral vice of our politicians elides the real problem of governance in Pakistan, which is not that our politicians lack moral character (why should they be less moral than politicians elsewhere?) but that the majority of Pakistanis lack the capacity to hold them accountable. This lack of accountability springs from the vast inequalities of wealth and power that structure the relationship between Pakistan’s elites (business, landed, and military) and the rest of the population, including the middle class.  Insofar as PTI’s leadership draws from the same pool of privileged and powerful people (and it does!), there is no reason to believe PTI will be any more accountable than any other party.

The passion that drives Insaafians is certainly real. The problems that Insaafians identify in the political establishment are real enough, too. But the Insaafian vision of a moral state, purified of politics and politicians, is not the solution. Certainly, one can argue that PTI will govern better than PML-N or PPP, but this is a far more humble claim than “revolution.” It need not come with the sanctimony we have come to expect from Insaafians.

But, there is still promise here. If the Insaafians can channel their passion into the difficult work of organizing people and building up local institutions and, more specifically, organizing cross-class alliances (lower to middle class) that can stand as a challenge to elite power and privilege, then we might still find ourselves on the road to accountability and a more substantive democracy. For this to happen, however, Insaafians must abandon the framework in which the problem of politics in Pakistan is reducible to the corrupt moral character of our politicians and instead focus on the structures of power and inequality that allow elites, all elites, to evade accountability. This requires first that we awaken from the dream of the great savior, but maybe this is like asking for a naya PTI.