IT is an old subcontinental proverb that an elephant costs no less than a 100,000 but a dead one costs even more. The same applies to President Musharraf. He is more important today than he was when he was combining all powers in one person — as president, chief of army staff, chief executive and the sole undisputed decision maker in Pakistan.

He was then so important that his enemies aimed thrice at his life but failed.

Today, when President Musharraf has given away most of his powers save the authority under Article 58-2 (b), which he says he has no intention of using, he appears to be even more important for the country — so important that Pakistan’s international development partners and strategic allies want to make sure that the elected government works in tandem with the president in order to complete the unfinished business of rooting out terrorism and eradicating poverty through sound economic policies and sustained political stability.

But the real reason why President Musharraf is important today is because he is the sun around which Pakistan’s small universe revolves. In an ironic way, he is the apple of the eye for the judiciary, political parties, civil society and even the Islamists. The moment President Musharraf decides to throw in the towel, the grand shows that are being staged in different parts of the country, the speeches, the street marches, numerous press briefings and last minute revelations on television screens will come to a halt.

The continuing excitement in Pakistan’s politics which is providing a smokescreen to hide the grim reality of world economic recession, rising commodity prices and a bleak investment outlook for the foreseeable future will disappear quickly like vine withering away in a rainless hot summer.

It is important to understand why President Musharraf is good for the country even if he is being called names and held responsible for every thing that went wrong in the last eight years. After all, in a dictatorship there is no such thing as a team. For as long as the King rules, there is no shortage of courtiers praising his every move and taking advantage of his favours. Once the King is deposed, all those courtiers, save a few foolish loyalists, jump the ship and join the side of the rising Regent. No wonder then that a number of retired generals who benefited under Musharraf with positions and extensions in their service are today eager to spill the beans in the name of a clear conscience.

There are also numerous well looked after politicians who are eager to leave the King’s party and join the rising powers in parliament. In this grand march of shifting opportunity, all prominent professions are on parade — politicians, military chiefs, former diplomats, lawyers, bankers, media and civil society leaders. This is the way of the world and President Musharraf should have known when he was in total control that this is how power falls.

A famous Urdu poet and writer, Ibn-e-Insha in his book Urdu ki Akhri Kitab (the Last Book of Urdu) narrates the story of an old man whose sons were very unruly and spent most of the time fighting over petty matters. He counselled them many times on the advantages of being a united family but they never reformed. When on his deathbed, the old man asked his sons to fulfil his last wish. They started quarrelling with each other on whether their father should be allowed to make a wish. What if he asked for something impossible!

After exhaustive discussions, they agreed. The dying father asked them to bring him some wooden sticks that he wanted tied together with a rope. This led to a near riot. Finally, the eldest son said to his siblings: our father is dying; let us do it for him one last time. At last better sense prevailed and they tied the sticks together with a rope. When the old man, who was by then too close to death, asked them to break this bundle the sons unanimously declared their father insane. There was no argument this time. They all said to their father; forget it sir; we have unanimously agreed to ignore your last wish. The old man was contented and died happily in the knowledge that he had finally succeeded in uniting his sons even if the price was his own humiliation at the consensus on his insanity.

If Ibn-i-Insha were alive today, he would agree that President Musharraf is like that old father who is on his way out, yet he is making every effort to keep all the disparate groups, political parties, civil society, media and people of various dispensation in Pakistan — whether they were his supporters or critics — united over their dislike for him. Some of them want to see him resign as president immediately.

Others are united in the belief that he must be held accountable for overthrowing a democratically elected government and undermining an important institution of state. Still some more want him to be accountable for the hard strategic decisions that were taken during the last eight plus years, costing precious lives in Kargil, Balochistan, North Waziristan and Lal Masjid operations. Whatever their gripe, they are united in their hatred for Musharraf. As long as he is in office as president, the nation stands united — even archrival political parties whose leaders suffered so much at each others’ hands have decided to ignore their half healed wounds. They have become brothers just to take on Musharraf.

This is a great achievement for a man who said in 1999 that the army intervened in the political process because the politicians did not play their cards right. Musharraf said the political institutions were underperforming, inefficient and corrupt; political parties were at each others’ throats; the opposition pleaded with the army chief in every government to overthrow a working prime minister. By keeping them united and not making any mistakes this time, Musharraf’s presence has acted as a catalyst for respect, tolerance and liberal traditions among the political parties in order to reinforce democracy and political ascendancy over the institutions of state. But will this survive his exit whenever it takes place?

The writer is a former special adviser for political affairs in the Commonwealth Secretariat, London.

THESE are strangely exciting times. Democracy is in, dictatorship is out. Black coats are in, khakis are out.

No wonder yesterday’s praetorian generals and brigadiers have become principled democrats overnight. They want Gen (retd) Pervez Musharraf to vacate the army house. They want him to resign. They are not wrong. For almost nine years, Musharraf had his way and must be made to pay. But that is a no-brainer. The problem is that Musharraf never operated alone in any of the stellar acts for which his former colleagues are holding him almost solely responsible: the Kargil War, the Oct 12, 1999 coup, the decision to side with the US in the war on terror and the Nov 3, 2007 ‘emergency’. Musharraf could pull them off because he was then the army chief. Not because he was Musharraf.

By targeting Musharraf, these ex-soldiers seem to be conveniently washing their hands of their own culpability in his actions. Of course, they would like us to believe that they were always conscientious objectors against his disastrous policies. It is just that as serving soldiers their hands were tied. They had to stand united with their chief, no matter what. The best they could do was to express their differences on policy matters and when overruled by their chief, their only option was to obey. Put simply, they were just doing their job. And we just did not know about it because of soldiers’ honour.

But it is not easy to ignore an inconvenient truth: consent can be as incriminating as direct involvement. There are no higher crimes than following unlawful commands to subvert the public will by rigging elections or by hatching criminal conspiracies against elected governments for which our generals are universally notorious. Need they be reminded that they all took an oath of service affirming their loyalty to the country and the constitution, not the chief of army staff?

Of course, the disclosure of truth by public officials on matters of national importance is not inherently a bad thing. Neither is their public support for the sanctity of the constitution. Curiously though, next to none of these soldiers found it in them to stick their necks out when it mattered. In Pakistan’s sixty-year history, how many generals and brigadiers have refused to partake in the anti-democratic actions of their superiors?

For instance, on Oct 12, 1999, when the army high command was committing ‘high treason’ by overthrowing the elected government of the then Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif, how many army officers openly supported his rightful decision to sack Musharraf and appoint an army chief of his choice? None that we know of.

The generals obviously do not stand alone in the hall of shame. Civil servants have been their willing partners in crime. Many have been proud accomplices to a variety of dictators, actively conspired against democratic governments and faithfully executed the unlawful commands of unlawful regimes. They are now in a sulk about the sad state of Pakistan. Yet they conveniently fail to acknowledge that the country went down the tube on their watch.

And surprise, surprise, their defence is usually nauseatingly identical to that given by the soldiers: they were just doing their job. One would like to believe that these armed and unarmed former bureaucrats are well-meaning individuals. That their writing an article here, issuing a statement there is more than just a cathartic purging of the guilt they might have accumulated over their career spans. But claiming the moral high ground after the fact obviously raises legitimate questions about motive, even if we suspend disbelief and take their word for it.

While we are at it, let’s not forget the politicians. They too have to varying degrees aided and abetted military authoritarianism in the not-so-distant past. It is rather ironic that the Jamaat-i-Islami, legitimator in chief to dictators Zia and Musharraf, is marching alongside the lawyers for the restoration of the judiciary. While the PPP, the quintessential left of centre pro-democratic party, has painted itself into a corner by privileging political expediency over its public commitment on the issue.

Of course, the main catalysts for our drastically changed political environment are the judges. It is they who have probably shamed many civil and military bureaucrats into belated action. Of course, the higher judiciary has committed more than its fair share of heinous errors. It has legitimated virtually every coup d’etat by invoking the notorious law of necessity. Moreover, its ‘judicial murder’ of Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, the country’s first democratically elected prime minister, has left an indelible stain on the cause of justice in Pakistan. But that was then, this is now.

The judges have finally vindicated their institution. Whether he intended it or not but when Chief Justice Iftikhar Chaudhry openly defied the generals on March 9, 2007, he radically altered the course of state-society relations in Pakistan. He and the other judges who refused to take oath under Musharraf’s second PCO of Nov 3, 2007 had to pay a heavy personal and professional price for upholding the constitution in the face of brute coercion. But then history is rarely made by men (or women) stalled in their professional adolescence by a perpetual obsequiousness toward authority legal or not. Here is a lesson we can all take to heart.

The writer, a doctoral candidate in political science at Columbia University, is conducting doctoral research in Pakistan.
as2552@columbia.edu

FAYEZ Annan turns the silver key to start the power, pushes the green button on the standard industrial jog-run-stop switch on the dashboard, and eases the white Peugeot 205 into the main east-west shopping street in Gaza City.

With traffic abnormally sparse, thanks to the acute fuel shortages caused by the Israeli blockade, he soon reaches the distinctly un-urban and pedestrian-scattering speed of 37 miles per hour (60kph).

But then Mr Annan is proudly trying to make a point that, while it might be electric, this Peugeot is no milkfloat. “It can do 100kph (62mph),” he says with a grin, as our knuckles whiten in the passenger seats. Whether or not Mr Annan’s friend Hesham Abu Sido, an electrical consultant, is justified in describing the electric vehicle as a “genius idea” which is “the most fantastic thing that has happened in Gaza”, it is certainly a case of turning adversity into opportunity.

It also proves that Gaza’s famous entrepreneurial spirit has not yet been snuffed out by the draconian economic blockade imposed by Israel after the Palestinian militant group Hamas seized full control of the Strip by force a year ago.

Since then, Gaza has seen continuing conflict, ever-deepening poverty, shortages, unemployment and despair. Against that background, the white Peugeot has become a symbol of Gaza’s suppressed potential. The electric Peugeot is the brainchild of Mr Annan, 42, whose family owns a white goods business, and his friend Wasseem Al Khazendar, 48, who runs the largest company in Gaza, which sells electrical motors and switchgear to industry.

With desperately scarce petrol costing about (pounds sterling) 1 per litre, a six or seven-hour charge provides enough power to cover 110 miles at a cost of just over 90p. And all you need to charge the batteries is a simple mains plug.

But, explains Mr Khazendar, it was the current situation that spurred him to action. The blockade paradoxically provided a double incentive. Growing fuel shortages sharpened interest in alternative forms of transport.

Both he and Mr Annan, who had been Gaza head of Palestine TV, the pro-PLO broadcaster shut down by Hamas after it seized power, had time on their hands. It took them just three months to crack the technical problems. He is conscious that, having surged above $130 a barrel, the high price of oil could still help to make his proposition a commercial one, if and when fuel flows normally into Gaza again.

The electric car is ideal for the Gaza Strip, a flat coastal territory which is about 45 kilometres long and eight kilometres wide. Not surprisingly, there has been brisk demand from Gazans — about 400 so far — seeking similar conversions at an average estimated cost of $2,500, depending on the size of vehicle. The two friends are confident they can make similar conversions of lorries and buses. They say that an Italian non-governmental organisation which provides school transport in Gaza has already registered interest in having its buses electrified.

For now, however, most of their would-be customers will have to wait. To turn the conversions into a business proposition, they will first have to apply to the Hamas-controlled transport ministry for a licence, which they hope will not be too difficult. But then they need new electrical motors — instead of the used industrial one they have put into their prototype — and higher powered, lighter batteries which place less strain on a car’s axles.

But that will be impossible as long the economic blockade lasts. For Mr Annan, this demonstrates how people in Gaza “have the brains and capability but don’t have the materials”.

Over coffee in Mr Khazendar’s store, the men only talk politics when prompted. As a prominent Gaza businessman who often travelled in Israel before the intifada, Mr Khazendar is the gloomiest. But while Mr Annan is also highly critical of Israel, he does not acquit Hamas, whose regime (and frequent rocket attacks from Gaza ) Israel has blamed for the closure of Gaza’s borders. But all three men, including Hesham Abu Sido, who largely shares Mr Annan’s analysis, and certainly his desire for peace with Israel, want to see Hamas and Fatah working together rather than against each other.

For Eyad Sarraj, the Gaza psychiatrist prominent in the campaign against the economic siege, and a fierce opponent of all forms of violence from both sides, the electric Peugeot is no surprise. “There is a lot of talent here,” he says, “so much desire and yearning to build in this place. Look what happened between 1994 and 2000 when there was so much development. Give people the right [political] environment and you will have the right people.”

Explaining the motives behind his project, Mr Khazendar says: “The pressure and hard times make you think all the time about how to exit out of this problem, politically and economically.” Does he see the electric Peugeot not only as a way of rising to the challenge of a year-long blockade but also as a kind of resistance? “Let’s not call it that,” he replies. “Let’s calling it ‘finding solutions’.”

—©The Independent