AN unmitigated and thoughtless drive for centralisation and persistent rejection of the East Pakistani political elite’s aspiration for provincial autonomy eventually brought on a horrible civil war in 1971 and the country’s dismemberment in December of that year. In the moaning and groaning that ensued vows of “never again” were heard, and those who used to advocate a “strong centre” as the only way of keeping the country whole now asked why Sheikh Mujibur Rehman’s “six points”, which envisaged nothing more than a loose confederation between Pakistan’s two wings, had not been accepted.

Given this state of mind, one should have assumed that the National Assembly, charged with framing a constitution for the “new” Pakistan, would limit the central government to a few specifically enumerated powers and functions and leave the rest to the provinces. But it did no such thing. Unless one credits the late Zulfikar Ali Bhutto with a magician’s sleight of hand, it is hard to understand how the veteran spokesmen for regional “nationalities” (Abdul Wali Khan, Ghous Bakhsh Bizenjo, Ataullah Mengal, and Khair Bakhsh Marri among others) put their signatures to a document that would create a central government as expansive and powerful as the one that the constitution of 1956 had put in place. Let us take a quick look at some of the provisions in this highly venerated Constitution of 1973.

This Constitution, unlike that of 1956, contains no provincial legislative list. It provides a federal list in two parts, and a concurrent list of functions with respect to which both the federal and provincial governments may legislate with the understanding that in cases of discrepancy federal law prevails. Part I of the federal list consists of no less than 59 items, including not only vital matters such as defence and foreign relations but also paltry concerns such as state lotteries.

Noteworthy in Part II are the railways, water, oil and gas, electricity, and industrial development in certain sectors. The concurrent list consists of 47 items including matters, which had traditionally belonged in the provincial domain, such as the maintenance of public order, enforcement of criminal law, police forces and education. It is not at all clear why some of the functions in this list could not have been assigned exclusively to the provinces: for instance, marriage and divorce, custody of infants and minors, adoption, wills, arbitration, property transfers, registration of deeds and documents, arms and ammunition, boilers, self-propelled vehicles, printing presses, exhibition of films, tourism. The framers may have wanted to establish uniformity of practice in these matters throughout the country, but that is simply another name for centralisation.

It does not really matter that the Constitution places the residuary powers and functions with the provinces, for there is hardly anything that the afore-mentioned lists have left out.

There is more in the Constitution that makes for centralisation. Article 149 authorises the federal government to intervene in a province to protect it from internal disturbance and to ensure that its government is carried on in accordance with the Constitution. It also authorises the federal government to direct a province to act as asked to facilitate the exercise of its executive authority, implement federal laws relating to matters in the concurrent list, construct and maintain designated means of communication, prevent any “grave menace to the peace or tranquillity or economic life” of the country or any of its parts.

Article 240 defined “All Pakistan Services” (e.g. Civil Service of Pakistan, Police Service of Pakistan) as ones that were common to the federation and the provinces. Members of these services may be appointed to the higher-ranking positions in the provinces. But since their careers (postings, promotions, emoluments, perquisites, etc.) are managed by the central government’s Establishment Division, they can be counted upon to ensure that provincial policies and operations conform to the former’s preferences. Thus, they become still another agency for maintaining a high level of centralisation.

It is clear that the 1973 Constitution, even as it first emerged from the hands of its framers, had made little concession to the autonomists. Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, the chief inspirer of this design, may have accomplished this feat by offering them an institution, the Council of Common Interests, which would presumably act as a counter to the forces of centralisation. But its limitations, plainly stated in the text, would appear to have escaped them.

The Council of Common Interests, consisting of the four provincial chief ministers and an equal number of federal ministers nominated by the prime minister, is to formulate and “regulate” policies in relation to matters specified in Part II of the federal legislative list (water, oil, gas, railways, industrial development), and electricity (in the concurrent list). It is to supervise and control the related institutions (e.g., Wapda, PIDC).

If the interests of a province or a federally administered area in water from any natural source of supply have been or are likely to be adversely affected by any executive or legislative act, the government concerned may file a complaint with the Council, which it will consider and decide. Alternatively, it may request the president to appoint a commission of experts to consider the matter and report to the Council, which may then make its decision.

It shall be the duty of the federal and the provincial governments to give effect to the Council’s decision. Judicial intervention is excluded from all matters, which have been or are liable to be placed before the Council.

Considering that the matters placed in the Council’s jurisdiction have been subjects of constant discord between the provinces, it could possibly act as a splendid harmonising force in the country’s politics. But one cannot be certain that the authors of the 1973 Constitution did, indeed, intend such a role for it.

The Council’s determinations are to be made by majority vote. If the ruling party at the centre controls even one provincial government, it will have a majority in the Council, whose considerations will then proceed according to its lights or wishes. This was the case when the Constitution went into effect in 1973, and it is the case now.

Unlike some of the other constitutionally mandated institutions such as the Supreme Court, the Council is made “responsible” to parliament. It is not clear what this means. The prime minister and his cabinet are responsible to parliament, which means that it can dismiss them. Nothing in the Constitution (Articles 153-155) suggests that parliament may dismiss the Council. But it can apparently bend the Council to its will.

Meeting in joint session, parliament may issue directions to the Council “generally or in a particular matter” to take action as parliament may deem just and proper, and such directions shall be binding on the Council. If the central or a provincial government is dissatisfied with a decision of the Council, it may refer the matter to parliament “in a joint sitting whose decision in this behalf shall be final.”

Granted that the constraints mentioned above can only be imposed by a joint sitting of parliament. But that does not really make the government’s intervention in the Council’s workings all that improbable, if we may assume that the government is likely to have a majority in both Houses of parliament. Even if it is short of a majority in the Senate but has a good majority in the National Assembly, it will likely have a majority in a joint session of the two Houses. The likelihood, then, is that the Council will do the ruling party’s will in cases where it has a strong preference one way or the other. It means also that the Council is not well situated to act as an effective restraint upon the central government or to curb its expansionist inclinations. Shall we then conclude that the Council is a superfluous organ, much ado about nothing?

Not necessarily. But let me emphasise that the possibilities that come to mind are just that, possibilities, which may or may not materialise.

The Council is a forum where each one of the provinces can speak as a distinct body politic. This can be taken for granted if its spokesman belongs to a party other than the one that rules at the centre. There is some possibility that he may voice his province’s interests and opinions freely even if he belongs to the same party, unless we assume that the party in question is so tightly organised and disciplined as to be a monolith (as the PPP was during the first year or two of Zulfikar Ali Bhutto’s tenure as prime minister).

In this connection, it may be useful to recall that the PML-Q ministers, belonging to Sindh, both in the central and provincial governments were most reluctant to endorse the Kalabagh Dam, which General Musharraf so energetically advocated. Recall also that the provincial affiliation of each of the federal ministers recently appointed to the Council has been highlighted. Presumably, to create the impression that he will speak for his province.

The parliament in joint session may direct or overrule the Council, but this option is not likely to be exercised lightly or routinely. It may be assumed that the Council will be able to do its work (if it is called to life and kept alive) without a whole lot of parliamentary intervention.

The Council was revived and called to session after a lapse of nine years, basically to reaffirm its earlier decision (1997) in favour of privatising the Pakistan Steel Mill. Having done the needful in 70 minutes, it adjourned, apparently without scheduling another meeting. The Council is required to supervise and direct the organisations created to manage its major concerns (water, oil, gas, electricity, industrial development).

This means that it will have plenty to do even after the currently vexing inter-provincial disputes with regard to these subjects have been settled. But it means also that the Council must be an ongoing institution that meets regularly (let us say, for a couple of days each month), and that it is supported by a permanent secretariat of its own.

Email: anwarsyed@cox.net

OF late, politics in Pakistan have taken a bizarre turn, losing both principles and principled men on the way. Now, in a turn more tragic than bizarre, politics and the country have lost their most maverick, and in many ways fascinating, character — Nawab Akbar Bugti.

The first illustration of how new attitudes have come to rule Pakistan’s politics is to be found in the death of the defiant nawab. Must a man who had, at different times, been minister, governor, and chief minister, have to die in a mountain cave? He may have tyrannised over his people but he also protected them from the greater tyranny of the officials. The tribal chiefs will fade away once the government proves it can be a just and benign master. They don’t have to be hunted down.

The MQM, a key partner of the ruling party, claims to have opposed the military operation against the Bugtis that led to the death of the sardar. It grieves for him — yet remains an ally of the government. The central feature of a parliamentary system is that either you are with the government or opposed to it.

A person or party cannot find fault with a government’s policies and, at the same time support it in power. According to true parliamentary tradition, the MQM should have signified its dissent not by issuing press statements but by quitting the government. By remaining a part of the government it may have to answer one day to the charge of murder in a court of law (which the heirs of the deceased sardar are said to be contemplating) and, inescapably, in the court of public opinion.

The same can be said of the JUI, a partner in Balochistan’s ruling coalition. The reasons for the JUI to quit are, in fact, more pressing because law and order is a provincial responsibility. If the Bugti insurrection and sabotage by the nawab’s men were spinning out of the province’s control, the ruling coalition could have called upon the armed forces to assist. Maulana Fazlur Rahman, however, says that the provincial government or at least his party ministers in government were never taken into confidence about the Bugti operation. Yet, his party remained in government and, surprisingly, is reluctant to leave it even now.

Our political leaders grumble in private — some protest loudly — that the parliamentary system is not being allowed to work by the army and the bureaucracy (both often derisively described as “the establishment”). The fault, however, lies with the leaders themselves. Neither individually nor as a party do they adhere to established parliamentary traditions. Disagreeing with government policies and yet supporting the rulers is wholly repugnant to such traditions.

Trading ministership for principles comes at a price which at one time the parties and their leaders were prepared to pay. This is no longer the case. The JUI’s Mufti Mahmud paid it by leaving the NWFP government in the 1970s and the MQM in more recent times by quitting the PPP-led government in Sindh. The grievance on both occasions was the centre’s interference in provincial affairs. The interference now is more frequent and serious and the democratic credentials of the federal set-up are also being called into question. But the coalition governments at the centre and in Balochistan remain intact and merrily go on.

Even those parties which are dissatisfied with the working of the government at the centre, or feel it has lost the people’s confidence, insist on the parliament completing its term. Their members relish the power they have to topple the government, or extract a price if they don’t, but dread the prospect of facing the electorate before five years.

Fair and free elections, (though Pakistan has hardly ever had any fitting this description) are not by themselves enough to sustain a parliamentary system. Elections must be called whenever a major policy shift is contemplated or party leadership changes or general disaffection is sensed in the air. That is how parliamentary democracy has dug deep roots in India despite corruption and regional insurgencies which are, perhaps, more serious and widespread there than in Pakistan.

The prevailing conditions in the country call for early elections. But for Chaudhry Shujaat Hussain, the country’s chief political strategist, even October 2007 is too early. He doesn’t ever miss an opportunity to threaten the renegades that the elections might be postponed. Since the elections can be put off but not for more than a year and that too only in a national emergency, Chaudhry Shujaat Hussain must be having a plan in mind to create conditions that enable the president to proclaim an emergency ahead of elections.

Whether the elections are held on schedule, early or later, the indications are that the Muslim League (General Musharraf’s party in all but name) backed by the president’s religious cohorts is likely to win — and without rigging. Ironically, this is being made possible not by the Q League or the ISI but by the mainstream parties (Benazir Bhutto’s PPP and Nawaz’s Muslim League) and by the nationalists themselves who all stand for civil supremacy and provincial rights.

It is also bizarre that while Benazir Bhutto has been urging President Musharraf to do more to contain the influence of the religious parties and their allied militant outfits, her party at home refuses to lend support even to Musharraf’s half-hearted effort to amend the Hudood laws. The PPP and PML-N’s opposition and indifference to the Hudood amendments have provided Chaudhry Shujaat with the opportunity that he was looking for — to negotiate a deal with his old “natural allies”, the MMA.

By whipping up public sentiments on the tearing to bits of the amending bill on the floor of the parliament, the MQM has tried to capture the turf that belongs to the religious groups. Z.A. Bhutto made a similar bid in 1977 only to hand the country over to the extremists through the militarists. Both then colluded to send him to the gallows. The MQM’s protest will benefit only the reactionary elements who have been using the blasphemy and desecration laws to persecute the unwary and innocent, and particularly targeting minority groups.

The nationalists, by their sullen silence and desperate defiance, and the liberals and secularists, by abandoning their creed for doubtful political gain, have once again shot themselves in the foot leaving the field open to the generals and clerics.

Two lessons must be drawn from the Balochistan operation and the events that have followed Nawab Bugti’s death. First, provincial aspirations cannot be suppressed by the force of arms; and second but more basic, the question of whether one is a Pakistani first or a Muslim, or Baloch, Punjabi, Pathan or Sindhi should never be raised. No one, not even the legislature and courts, can arrogate to itself the right to decide who is or is not a good Pakistani or Muslim.

To end, an advice, unsolicited as always, to Gen Musharraf: Since the army has denied responsibility for Nawab Bugti’s death, the president and the prime minister accompanied by Chaudhry Shujaat and Mushahid Hussain should call on the bereaved family to condole. This gesture alone may assuage their widely-shared grief and mark the beginning of a rapprochement.