winner in the game

The elephant is already in the room and surely by invitation this time. A panic-stricken civilian administration has handed over the security of the nation’s capital to the army at its own peril.
The Triple One Brigade, whom we hear about mostly in times of military coups, is now deployed around key government installations. All this is happening as Imran Khan and Tahirul Qadri threaten, separately, to force the government out through a ‘revolution march’, providing enough fuel to keep alive our ever-active rumour mill. The development is ominous nonetheless.
One does not expect anything like the storming of the Bastille on Aug 14. Neither Khan’s young brigade, nor Qadri’s few thousand fanatical followers are the vanguard of revolution. But the government’s own ineptness and paralysis is proving to be its unravelling. An absentee prime minister, a sulking interior minister and some, other irrelevant members of the cabinet do not evoke much public faith in a crumbling power structure.

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An absentee prime minister and a sulking interior minister do not evoke much public faith

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True to his self, Nawaz Sharif plans to counter the Pakistan Tehreek-i-Insaf’s (PTI) long march with unprecedented pomp and show on Independence Day starting with a military parade and the hoisting of supposedly the biggest-ever national flag. Curiously, this military drill is not a routine part of Independence Day celebrations; it is taking place as the civilian administration has abdicated the responsibility of security of the capital, leaving it to the army to handle reported terrorist threats.
This lends some credence to the opposition allegation that it is a deliberate move by the government to involve the military in the political conflict — with dangerous consequences. For sure, Article 245 has routinely been used in conflict zones in order give legal cover to security forces fighting insurgencies. But this provision has rarely been invoked in urban areas in times of peace.
It was in 1977 that the army was summoned by Zulfikar Ali Bhutto at the height of the Pakistan National Alliance movement in Lahore and Karachi under Article 245. And that ‘mini martial law’ was perhaps the beginning of the end of the Bhutto government. Article 245 was later also invoked by Nawaz Sharif in Karachi in 1998.
Surely one cannot draw a parallel between the situation then and now, but the outcome may not be very different. What is worse this time is that the army has been called in even though there has not been any serious incident of violence or a law and order situation that cannot be handled by civil law-enforcement agencies.
One wonders whether it is pure naivety on the part of the prime minister or whether he actually believes the army will come to his rescue in a time of crisis. Sharif needs to take a lesson from history for his own sake. It is a great plunge to take from the politics of confrontation to the politics of survival.
One oft-repeated argument offered by the government is that the invocation of Article 245 was linked with the operation in North Waziristan meant to give legal cover to the troops dealing with any militant backlash. But why has this only been exercised in Islamabad? Why not Peshawar, Lahore or Karachi? Interestingly, the provision has been invoked more than six weeks after the start of the operation. Is there any explanation for why now? Particularly since there has been virtually no major terrorist incident in the city during that period that it would require extraordinary measures?
It is now open season with Khan and Qadri having clearly pronounced their intention of bringing down the Sharif government. They may not be following a prepared script, but it is apparent that they cannot achieve their goal in a constitutional way.
There is no way Imran Khan can force early elections with his party’s relatively small presence in parliament. He certainly would not have the support of any other political party for his demand. Early elections would only be possible if Sharif agreed to dissolve the National Assembly. But why would he do that with no serious challenge emanating from within the house?
The only option left to Imran Khan is to increase public pressure through violent street protests. It is a big gamble that may have worked in a cricket match but surely not in the complex game of politics.
Let us assume that the PTI is somehow able to mobilise hundreds and thousands of people for a prolonged sit-in and completely paralyse the capital. A protracted stalemate with the government unable to use the coercive power of the state would inevitably lead to complete chaos and anarchy. This scenario would only strengthen the military’s position as the sole arbiter of power.
Much before this stand-off, the military had already started reasserting its authority through rising tension with the Sharif administration on Musharraf’s treason trial and a host of other policy issues. The public profile of the military leadership has further risen with the North Waziristan operation.
The well-publicised picture of army chief Gen Raheel Sharif spending Eid with his soldiers on the frontline and with the IDPs in Bannu came as a sharp contrast to the prime minister missing from the scene and spending time between his two favourite destinations — Saudi Arabia and Murree. Sharif’s lacklustre attitude has increasingly raised questions about his leadership capability.
All that was certainly in Imran Khan’s calculations when he decided to up the ante, declaring war on the Sharif government. However, it is not going to be that simple. The PTI leader seems to be in a hurry to grasp power, but he may not be the winner in the endgame.
Army intervention, which he may well be aware of, would not put him on the throne. There is no probability of early elections even if Imran Khan is able to create a situation for Sharif’s exit. It will not be the politicians, but the generals who would then decide the future course. It is yet another episode of the Pakistani political soap opera, a tragi-comedy.

The problems of mini Pakistan

Ten years ago when I decided to downshift and move into an apartment from an independent house, I was warned by a friend that I should think twice about the change. She said every apartment dweller she knew was constantly complaining of the difficulties caused by the non-cooperation of residents.
I didn’t heed her advice as I thought Karachi living had its problems, whether one’s abode was a mansion, a townhouse, or a flat in a complex. One had to figure out how to cope.
In retrospect, I feel apartment-living was the microcosm of life in Pakistan — and full of pitfalls. When I moved in, I was in a state of bliss. Having experienced two armed robberies in my home — when living in an independent house — I felt secure after a long time. The flat was bright and airy and had a view of the sea.
Admittedly, there were disadvantages too but one could manage with some adjustments. The builder was an affable gentleman who lived on the premises and managed the resident’s association with the help of a supervisor working on a voluntary basis. No one bothered to ask why this favour. As was only to be expected, the supervisor didn’t observe regular office hours and whenever we inquired for him we were told he had gone to the bank. That seemed to be his preferred activity. Only later I learnt that he was overseeing the construction of the builder’s new project.

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The problems of apartment life are rooted in apathy.

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We had to pay monthly maintenance dues — rather high compared to what residents of other buildings paid. The accounts were not audited or displayed. At my insistence, the supervisor would present me a sheet every month giving rough calculations of income and expenditure. Most intriguing was that the accounts were always in the red, with the backlog deficit amounting to hundreds of thousands of rupees. Most of this amount, I was informed, was the outstanding bill of water suppliers.
Over the years the quality of services began to depreciate. The guards began to look shabby as their uniforms were not replaced. Security deteriorated and strangers entered the building unchecked. Lifts no longer functioned as efficiently as before. One went permanently out of order but its maintenance charges continued to appear regularly in the accounts. Water, though brackish, had been supplied round the clock by bowsers. But eventually a time came when taps would frequently run dry and the generator couldn’t be operated as there was no money for fuel. Common spaces began to be encroached upon and decisions were taken unilaterally by those who felt strong enough to impose their likes and dislikes on others.
What was conspicuously absent was good governance, exacerbated by the indifference of residents to the basics of community life. The KBCA ostensibly regulates the construction and transfer of apartments in the city, home to about 5pc of Karachiites. But it doesn’t have a say in their running. Unsurprisingly, residential complexes have become islands of autonomy combined with degrees of anarchy all over the city. Residents associations are not mandatory under the law and are generally non-existent or not officially registered. People with clout seize control and use their powers illegally for personal advantage.
In our association, a police official was designated as the secretary. He operated as is the wont of his profession in Pakistan. He once had a chowkidar thrown into the lock-up to tame him.
The majority of the residents remained stoically silent before those wielding power — grumbling when they could — because they had abdicated their moral authority to demand accountability by defaulting on their dues. Few showed up for the rare meetings that were called. Nearly 17pc units were permanently locked as their non-paying owners were settled abroad. Others cheated in lesser ways.
Then came a stage when the builder quietly sold his apartment and left with his supervisor in tow without informing anyone. Before the administration could collapse, a few of us decided to mobilise the residents and take corrective measures. It was not easy. People who spent lakhs on the interiors of their flats had become used to neglecting common spaces. They had no sense of ownership for what was a joint possession. Hence few volunteered to take any responsibility.
But a group of us persisted and managed to get a substantial number round to agree to a regularised arrangement underpinned by registered bylaws. There was hope. Corruption had to be eliminated to balance the budget. We dismissed one chowkidar who was suspected of being in league with the water mafia. He was known to be in the good books of the secretary. That proved to be the last straw. There was a showdown and the reformers withdrew as there was no protection for them. The complex was back to square one when I called it a day. Matters, I hear, are worse than before but there is a deafening silence.