Many were first-time voters, nervous about negotiating queues, thumb prints and white-and-green forms, and yet eager to participate. The message preached by political parties and amplified by the media had resonated: voters were the true winners of the elections; the ones who stayed home, the only losers. The vote itself was pitched as the key to change — the ballot an alternative to the bullet, the surest way yet to defeat terrorism.

Even before polling started on Saturday morning, it seemed the rousing call to vote for Pakistan had worked. About 50pc of all registered voters had used the Election Commission’s SMS service to verify their polling location and, according to a British Council poll, 62pc of Pakistanis under the age of 30 were readying to vote — both good omens for high voter turnout.

They may not have been able to articulate it as such, but those who heeded the call to vote for Pakistan were casting ballots in favour of democracy itself. Rising above political, ethnic, linguistic and sectarian differences, many — especially the young, the urban, the middle-class, the first-timers — were voting for the continuity of civilian rule in a country plagued by military dictatorships, and for a chance to renegotiate the elite political bargain in a way to make the public genuine stakeholders.

It is unfortunate that pre-election sloganeering did not directly celebrate democracy since, in one of those strange contradictions typical of Pakistan, enthusiasm for the political process continues to be accompanied by scepticism of the democratic system. Rather than a basic democratic right, voting was framed as a hard-won prize awarded at the end of a long fight, the ultimate privilege in an evolving Pakistan.

Nothing underscored this idea more than Imran Khan’s iconic speech from his hospital bed, an emotional plea for Pakistanis to vote. “Whatever I could have done for Pakistan, I have done,” he said. “Now it is up to you.” His sentiments were echoed on the eve of the election by Chief Election Commissioner Fakhruddin Ebrahim, who declared that 60pc voter turnout on Saturday could forever change Pakistan.

The excitement about enfranchisement is a game changer in a country where the public has not only tolerated, but often welcomed, military rule for years on end. But old habits die hard. Pakistan on Saturday voted for saviours, not for systemic change.

One of the most disappointing aspects of the election campaigns — aside from the mudslinging and bigotry — was that all the political parties asked of the public was to come out and vote. Voting was rightly held up as crucial, but it was also portrayed as the extent of the public’s responsibility to the country. Wallowing in their post-ballot euphoria, how many voters are now willing to recognise that their part has only just begun?

Saturday’s election was no doubt a milestone, but many challenges lie ahead. Pakistan this year will see the entry of a new chief justice and chief of army staff, important shake-ups in institutions that in the past five years have sought to undermine or encroach upon the government’s mandate. Institutional clashes are likely to persist in the months ahead, and it is up to the electorate to stand firm in its commitment to the civilian administration.

This will entail demanding that each arm of government (and the military) functions within its constitutional remit and, more importantly, staving off the temptation to be wooed by other would-be saviours, whether attired in robes or uniform.

A more urgent challenge, one that requires significant public buy-in, is mending Pakistan’s broken economy. Whatever the outcome of the election, the new government will have to prioritise fiscal management and economic growth. However, it is likely to find international finance organisations less indulgent than before. Handouts are sure to come laced with demands for greater austerity, higher taxation, fewer subsidies and more.

What was missing in the run-up to the election was a reminder to the public of all the sacrifices it will have to make going forward. As of now, many Pakistanis have voted for change without understanding what the change might be, or what is needed to bring it about. Most of the big campaign promises — decreased dependence on foreign aid, greater spending on education, measures to address the energy shortfall — will require the government to raise revenues. That means more taxes and other serious economic and policy reforms that will affect ordinary citizens in multiple ways.

Having failed to remind Pakistan that its sacrifices and commitment to democracy will be required well beyond polling day, the new government risks disillusioning the electorate. This is particularly true of young first-timers, comprising up to 34pc of all registered voters. This youth demographic has been led to believe that casting a vote was its end of the new bargain; it was told little of systemic change or the pain of policy implementation, and is therefore likelier to become disgruntled with the next political dispensation no matter how much more effective it is than the last.

Pakistanis, especially the newly politicised urban middle-class, may prove quite willing to endure the hardships needed to bring about a change. But they will not tackle the country’s multiple challenges unless they see each effort as part of a coherent national vision of which they are an integral component.

The writer is a freelance journalist.

huma.yusuf@gmail.com

But the carnage that is unfolding ahead of polls in Karachi, Quetta and Khyber Pakhtunkhwa is far worse than anyone could have prepared for. ANP, MQM and PPP candidates are being mercilessly targeted by the Tehreek-i-Taliban Pakistan (TTP). Many have therefore rightly questioned whether an election contested under such uneven circumstances can be considered free and fair.

Pakistani democracy, still wobbly on its feet, cannot withstand such a bludgeoning. Violence that continues until polling day could undermine the credibility of election results. And in the event that the most-targeted parties do not form the next government, the next ruling coalition could be open to charges of illegitimacy and even complicity (through silence) with terrorists. Beyond these short-term consequences, recent events suggest the TTP will have a lasting impact on Pakistan’s electoral process by changing the language of the country’s politics.

The TTP’s definition of certain parties as ‘secular’ seems to have stuck. The descriptive is being widely used in the mainstream media and political rhetoric to refer to the ANP, MQM and the PPP. Coming on the heels of the Pakistani Taliban’s offer to talk peace with the Pakistani state, the ‘secular’ parties are being set up in opposition to the PML-N, the Jamiat-i-Ulema-i-Islam-Fazl and the Jamaat-i-Islami right-wing and religious parties that were deemed acceptable interlocutors by the TTP. By the TTP’s framework, secularity is a negative attribute while religiosity is positive and permissible.

This distinction is deeply problematic because it recasts the political landscape through a religious frame, which perpetuates a specific form of moralising. Ejaz Haider has already written about how the TTP’s political meddling seeks to “play on the fissures within Pakistan’s state and society” and place the onus of continued terrorist violence on the secularity of democratic political parties (Express Tribune, Feb 12). It is, ironically, the ‘good’ and ‘bad’ Taliban rhetoric reversed and redeployed across Pakistan’s political landscape. And it is an equally meaningless construct: the TTP is not speaking of ideological and political values, but merely parties’ varying levels of tolerance for religious extremism and militancy. Dressed up in the moralising rhetoric of secularity and religiosity, the TTP’s political language in fact pressures parties to be soft on extremist violence for fear of being targeted.

Sadly, the TTP’s plan is working. Parties that have not been targeted have been the least willing to strongly condemn the attacks against the ANP, MQM and PPP candidates. They also remain open to talks with the Taliban (despite escalating levels of violence and the fact that talks have repeatedly failed to broker peace in the past). In their pre-election rallies, these parties continue to blame the TTP’s brutal violence on the US’s presence in Afghanistan and drone strikes.

Moreover, those not in the TTP’s firing line are feeling the burden of living up to their ‘non-secular’ credentials. Just last week, the Pakistan Tehreek-i-Insaf (PTI) publicly denied appealing to the Ahmadi community for support in the upcoming elections. While details of the party’s engagement with members of the Ahmadi community in London remain disputed, the fact that PTI had to issue the denial at all is indictment enough of the current political environment in Pakistan.

The TTP’s religio-moral framework for the election has also had an impact beyond political party cadres. Responding to Taliban injunctions against voting, the Pakistan Ulema Council last week issued a fatwa declaring voting a religious responsibility. The long-term precedent of this decree is problematic since resorting to religious validation for democratic processes undermines the functioning of the system.

Already, exclusionary principles are being debated — although the clerics agree on women’s right to vote, they disagree about whether women can participate in political campaigns or vote in the same booths as men. If a religious framework becomes the norm of Pakistan’s electoral system, one can expect future debates about whether religious minorities or members of particular sects can vote, and under what circumstances.

Focusing on a secular-religious binary also distracts from the complexity of grassroots politics in Pakistan and stymies critical discussions on problematic electoral trends.

For example, the PPP, one of the so-called secular parties, is making seat adjustments with the Ahle Sunnat Wal Jamaat in the upcoming elections. Other parties including the PML-N have previously sought its support to secure votes — hardly a secular move.

Adopting labels such as ‘secular’ and ‘religious’ for parties washes out the ethnic, linguistic, sectarian and commercial dynamics that fuel all Pakistan’s political parties and dumbs down political rhetoric in the public sphere. Unfortunately, simplistic and moralising discourse often leads voters to make ill-informed choices.

It does not help that the situation is currently ripe for TTP’s political rhetoric of secularity versus religiosity to become the new benchmark of Pakistani politicking. Already Article 62 of the Constitution led to political aspirants’ religious credentials being prioritised over their political track record and capacity for governance during the vetting process. And this in a context of rising religiosity: according to a recent British Council survey, 38pc of voters between the ages of 18 and 29 think Sharia is the best political system for Pakistan.

It’s essential that the TTP’s new language of politics does not become entrenched. The only way to stem this is by reorienting election discourse towards governance issues. Forget secularism and religion. Let’s find out more about where parties really stand on education, environment, energy, healthcare, taxation, and more.

The writer is a freelance journalist.

huma.yusuf@gmail.com

Not surprisingly, most parties hopeful of seizing power after the elections have promised to eliminate corruption. Imran Khan has backed up his vow to eradicate corruption within 90 days of coming to power by littering the PTI manifesto with accountability mechanisms, including plans to pursue past mega-scandals, asset recovery and an independent and prosecutorial arm for NAB. The PML-N manifesto, too, calls for an autonomous accountability commission to stem corruption. MQM has championed the fact that there are no corruption cases pending against any of its ministers.

But as polling day approaches, parties would do well to cool off on the anti-corruption rhetoric. This is because, irrespective of which coalition comes to power on May 11, corruption levels in Pakistan are likely to soar in coming years. Any government that wins votes on an anti-corruption mandate will thus find itself – and the democratic set-up as a whole – thoroughly discredited in the public eye.

There are many reasons to expect short-term increases in corruption. First off, the process of political devolution, which is not yet functionally complete, will lead to misappropriations at the provincial level as poorly trained bureaucrats start to get their hands on big chunks of change. Thanks to decentralisation, the public will feel the impact of such corruption more urgently, as they will witness their local MPAs get even richer as roads and sewers remain unbuilt.

Other causes for soaring corruption in young democracies were well outlined by Milan Vaishnav in a recent article about India. He argues that apparent increases in corruption across the border are the product of “positive developments: increased transparency and rapid economic growth.” This argument is equally, if not more true, for Pakistan.

In recent years, Pakistan’s media has become emboldened, and hesitates less before exposing scandals. This is because of improved journalistic capacity and the greater independence of media outlets as well as their increased politicisation. It has become de rigueur for politicians and clashing institutions to undermine their rivals by leaking incriminating evidence – often corruption-related – to the media. As media houses proliferate and become more partisan, such practices are likely to escalate, amplifying the perception that corruption is on the rise.

Moreover, the empowered judiciary (which did not hesitate this week to release a list of journalists who received payouts from the government’s ‘secret fund’) coupled with bodies such as the Public Accounts Committee and NAB will continue to bring more corruption cases to light. Some of these will be genuine, others politically motivated. But that’s besides the point, which is simply that the Pakistani public should brace to be assailed by stories of venality like never before.

This will especially be the case if Pakistan’s next government genuinely seizes the task of revamping the country’s economy. Economic growth is driven by big energy projects, privatisation of state enterprises, foreign investment deals, public procurement, and the granting of licenses for mining, natural resource exploration and other extractive industries. In other words, economic growth hinges on deals that lend themselves to profiteering and kickbacks – exactly the kind of deals that our government bureaucracy is not transparent nor institutionalised enough to handle without significant increases in corrupt practices. As in India, Pakistan is likely to see a new era of government collusion with big industry (and resulting corruption) in the name of economic growth.

Moreover, a new government with new ideas on how to counter extremism or tackle Pakistan’s education emergency may see new windfalls in the form of donor funds. These too will be increasingly vulnerable to misappropriation as they trickle through new hands at the provincial and district levels.

Ironically, for all its disdain for venal politicians, the electorate will also be complicit in the short-term spike in corruption. Vaishnav cites research that suggests that Indian voters support politicians with a reputation for corruption because “criminality is often viewed as a signal of a politician’s ability to get things done, especially for his or her parochial community.” It seems likely that this is true of Pakistan as well, particularly as news reports flow in of voters lining up to support those politicians who secured the most development funds for their constituency or those who can be counted on to take care of their biradari (with few asking whether the resources were obtained through fair means or foul).

Speaking to Dawn, PML-N’s Ahsan Iqbal recently pointed to this reality when he explained that in the evolving context of rural politics, “no one person, not even two, three or five people sometimes can deliver a UC. Everyone wants direct access to their representative. There is awareness.” That ‘awareness’ is code for: I want my share too. As historic as the 2013 elections will be, they will be contested on old rules of patronage politics. Having won votes on the basis of dharras and biradaris, politicians will be forced to deliver using the familiar tricks of corruption and cronyism.

For a country as new to democratic practice as Pakistan is, it is unfair to expect voters to adopt long-term thinking in favour of institution-building rather than revel in the immediate gratification of backing winning candidates and enjoying short-term service delivery. As such, Pakistan’s corruption conundrum – the fact that democratic consolidation will inevitably lead to more frequent incidences of graft – should be seen as an opportunity, and the start of a process.

But by making these upcoming polls about quick fixes to root out corruption, Pakistan’s politicians risk leaving the electorate disillusioned. After all, the average Pakistani is sick of corruption in every sphere of life (hence the thousands who braved freezing temperatures and rainfall in January to support Tahirul Qadri’s anti-corruption rants). Promise to eradicate corruption, and then fail to do so, will have many voters likely to start questioning the merits of a system that cannot deliver.

The point here is not to normalise or excuse corruption. But without acknowledging the reality that it must increase before it decreases, our political parties are gearing to disappoint voter expectations – a dangerous strategy in a country where too many actors are waiting in the wings, eager to see democratic parties undone once again.

Huma Yusuf is a columnist for Dawn, and was the 2010-11 Pakistan Scholar at the Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars in Washington D.C.

The views expressed by this blogger and in the following reader comments do not necessarily reflect the views and policies of the Dawn Media Group.

Revisiting the events surrounding Raymond Davis’ trial and release, the piece highlighted the dysfunctional nature of the US-Pakistan relationship, particularly the fact that it is dominated on both sides by intelligence agencies with diverging — indeed, directly contradictory — agendas. But the article also implicitly highlighted problems with Pakistan’s independent media.

Those who remember media coverage of the Davis saga will recall hysteria and a barrage of accusations against all and sundry.

Before our authorities or the US government had confirmed Davis’s connection with the CIA, sections of the media had denounced him as a spy and started railing against the civilian government, particularly then US ambassador Husain Haqqani, for issuing visas that, they said, had unleashed an army of Blackwater agents throughout Pakistan (never mind other outlandish theories, about Davis being a double agent working for both the CIA and the Pakistani Taliban or allegations that he was sharing documents about US fissile nuclear material with Al Qaeda to spark another world war).

During Davis’s incarceration, some talk show hosts and columnists bayed for blood, calling for him to be tried and hanged according to Pakistani law. They also denounced the Zardari government for maintaining relations with the US, claiming politicians were selling out Pakistani blood in exchange for civilian aid under the Kerry-Lugar-Berman Act.

Similar vitriol against the civilian administration continued once Davis was released following payment of ‘blood money’ to the family members of those he had shot.

Mazzetti’s piece confirms US efforts to increase CIA presence in Pakistan in order to monitor Lashkar-i-Taiba activity as well as locate former Al Qaeda chief Osama bin Laden. But it also shows how US-Pakistan relations and the handling of the Davis incident, including his release, were strictly in the domain of the security establishment.

The pressures media professionals face in terms of reporting on foreign policy or national security issues, and the fact that truth comes at the expense of media licences or journalists’ lives, are well-known.

But it is worth asking why our free media — as the media in some other countries — is so easily taken with promoting a particular nationalist narrative, irrespective of facts. It is one thing to self-censor in the face of coercion; it is another to actively participate in spreading misinformation and reactionary rhetoric, particularly when that rhetoric is in support of an ideological cause or political agenda, and that too in service of a single institution against others.

As diverse and feisty as they are, Pakistan’s independent outlets have not cast off the historic role of broadcast media in the country: to perpetuate a narrative that serves national interest as defined by the security establishment. As such, sections of our so-called free media remain a tool, one that was used to great effect during the Davis saga, following the 2008 Mumbai attacks and after the 2011 Abbottabad raid.

Ironically, media proliferation — which should boost truth-telling, debate and critical questioning — has instead distracted from back-end shenanigans.

The media amplifies nationalist narratives that cloak the security establishment’s contradictory policies, particularly vis-à-vis the US: while the security establishment courts Washington, the media whips up public sentiment and places the blame, as it were, for Pakistan’s flawed engagement with the US on civilian actors.

Gen Pervez Musharraf’s admission last week that the Pakistan Army approved certain drone strikes, for which the coalition government has since taken much flak, further highlights this double speak.

This strategy served our authorities well in earlier negotiations with the US, particularly as resultant anti-American public sentiment consolidated Pakistan’s bargaining position in Washington. Former US diplomats Teresita Schaffer and Howard Schaffer have described how the media is used as a pawn of foreign relations: officials cite stories from the media to argue that Pakistan cannot do something Washington wants, or to pressure US officials to adopt a particular course of action. But the strategy has also discredited too many civilian actors in the public’s opinion, a factor that matters at election time.

To the media’s credit, the situation is improving. Journalists have taken a strong stance on several issues, including security force conduct in Balochistan, albeit taking a cue from the judiciary. And the army chief’s February 2013 briefing with journalists, aimed at discrediting civilian politics in the run-up to elections, received a measured response in print, if not on the airwaves.

With historic polls ahead, the era of uncritical narrative-making should be declared over. The media must stick to the facts and ask difficult questions if it is to play a role in this democratic transition. And it should use its plurality to its advantage: multiple media outlets can present a united front on sensitive issues given that across-the-board censorship is almost impossible in the present context. Outlets can also play off each other to introduce alternative narratives.

It would be a shame if the media continues to be a distracting screen, keeping the real dealings of the powers that be out of view, while misleading the public.

The writer is a freelance journalist.

huma.yusuf@gmail.com

Such a democratic transition should bolster political stability and, at a time when the country is plagued by myriad problems, particularly violent extremism, offer a glimmer of hope.

But this is Pakistan we’re talking about, where respite rarely lingers for long.

Conducting free and fair elections in May will be an immense challenge, especially in the face of threats against ‘secular’ politicians by the Taliban and the appalling law and order situation in Karachi, Balochistan and parts of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa and Fata.

Assuming the Election Commission of Pakistan manages to navigate the challenge, the year ahead holds further hurdles for Pakistani democracy: the formation of a coalition government, the appointments of both a new chief of army staff and chief justice of the Supreme Court, involvement in the Afghanistan endgame, and the further institutionalisation of democratic systems at the provincial level.

These developments will occur in the toxic environment of institutional tussles and media saturation that has characterised politics in the past few years. That means each process is likely to be plagued by politicking, rumour, conspiracy and a sense of imminent crisis à la “memogate”, “Arsalangate”, Tahirul Qadri’s ‘long march’, and the many other dramas that kept Pakistanis glued to their television screens these past five years.

The effects of these developments and their hysterical surround are also likely to be felt more acutely under the new government than they have been under President Asif Zardari’s savvy leadership.

With most mainstream parties suffering incumbency at either the federal or provincial level, the elections will yield no clear mandate, and the next coalition is predicted to be shakier than the past one. Moreover, if the government is led by the PML-N, as many expect it will be, the deep suspicions between Pakistan’s mainstream parties — which were clearly on display during the process of selecting a caretaker prime minister — will undermine stability as long as the PPP dominates the Senate and uses its veto powers to stymie policymaking efforts by its rival.

Historical animosity between the civilian government and military is also likely to flare when the institutions attempt to strong-arm each other while tackling two daunting problems: the escalating threat posed by homegrown militancy and the fallout of US troop withdrawal from Afghanistan in 2014.

For years, political analysts have argued that the process of democratisation in Pakistan will be slow and arduous, beset by growing pains, demanding the public and international community’s patience. That patience will now be repeatedly tested with every political challenge that arises, and the real durability of our democratic transition will become apparent.

Politicians — and their amplifiers in the media — should be careful about how much they try the Pakistani public’s patience. Think of last week’s shenanigans surrounding the selection of a caretaker prime minister: there were new candidate lists each day, political wrangling, rumours of backchannel deals, displays of single-minded obstinacy, ultimatums issued and press conferences, and forecasting of events by high-level politicians that undermined aspects of the constitutional process.

If each development henceforth is accompanied by such bedlam, public disillusionment and impatience with democratic practices will settle in quickly, and that too at a time when deeper commitment to the system should be the order of the day.

The power of this disillusionment should not be underestimated, especially since there are already signs of it creeping upon our polity. Owners of news channels have complained of falling ratings in recent months, specifically, a reduction in viewership for political talk shows, which used to be mainstays.

Introspective media professionals concede that entertainment programming is increasingly winning out over political commentary because viewers are exhausted by manufactured crises that reach a crescendo then dissipate or, worse, turn out to never have been crises in the first place. Shrill political rhetoric and faux frothing at the mouth have become more frustrating than engaging.

For some, the mounting frustration with political antics simply manifests as a change of channel and a growing predilection for soap operas from Turkey and India. For others, it takes a very dangerous turn. After all, diatribes against the corruption and venality of Pakistan’s ruling elite are among the main battle cries of extremist groups calling for justice and Islamic rule.

As Amil Khan reports in a recent paper about narratives of extremism in Pakistan, Al Qaeda and its affiliates depict the country as a “victim of greedy rulers who betray Islam and Pakistan”. Growing disillusionment with the democratic system could therefore fuel militant recruitment.

Part of the reason we find ourselves at this juncture with a historic election to anticipate is because, in recent years, most frustrations with the country’s democratic progress have been expressed through the system itself: youth galvanising around Imran Khan’s Pakistan Tehreek-i-Insaf; peaceful protesters from small cities across the Punjab braving rain and dipping temperatures to support Qadri’s call for electoral reform.

This trend has been facilitated by the army’s reluctance to interfere overtly in the political sphere as well as post-Musharraf disgruntlement with army rule among the public.

But in parts of the country — primarily pockets controlled by militant groups — people have abdicated from the democratic set-up and are instead participating in parallel systems. The chances of such abdication becoming widespread are very slim. But few would be willing to risk finding out what happens if Pakistanis run out of patience with democracy.

The writer is a freelance journalist.

huma.yusuf@gmail.com
Twitter: @humayusuf

The failure to muster the two-thirds strength needed to pass the minority affairs bill highlights the callousness of our lawmakers at a time of soaring intolerance and persecution of religious minorities, the latest incarnation of which involved a mob attacking a Christian community in Lahore this weekend. But it is an even greater indictment of the Pakistani electorate.

The deferral of the bill is disappointing because increased representation for minorities is the necessary first step of a holistic plan to stem discrimination. More representation means greater access to government funds for community development as well as a louder voice in parliament.

And with that voice, minority representatives could ask for drastic measures — better law-enforcement, curriculum reform, tough hate speech laws, repeal of discriminatory legislation — needed to make Pakistan honour its founding commitment to religious minorities and return that white strip in the flag to its pristine state.

But in the last days of this government’s tenure, this important bill took a backseat because minorities do not comprise an important constituency. The bill that did pass — the National Counter Terrorism Authority Bill, which establishes an authority to coordinate the national response to extremism and terrorism — is the type to appeal to most voters. This is simple politics: in the weeks before an election, politicians will do anything to appease potential voters.

But what does the deferment of the minorities’ representation bill say about the electorate? While minorities themselves do not constitute a major voting bloc, the number of people who endorse adequate political representation, security and human rights guarantees for religious minorities should be overwhelming. That it isn’t says more about Pakistani society than parliament. Rushing into an election, it is easy to blame politicians for their many wrongs. But as Pakistan matures as a democracy, the electorate too must take responsibility for the actions of its representatives. Clearly, the public does not see minority rights or freedom of religion as important enough issues to sway politics.

This explains the soaring popularity of the PML-N in recent opinion polls, despite the party’s affiliation with extremist groups that target Shias and religious minorities.
The PML-N has been held responsible by its political rivals for recent sectarian violence in Quetta and Karachi because it has allowed the consolidation of groups like the Lashkar-i-Jhangvi (LJ) on its turf.

Apparently, the PML-N retains its tacit support of the LJ and other extremist groups because it feels it has much to gain in the form of political backing in southern Punjab, where these groups influence or intimidate voters. But what if this backing came at the expense of the majority of other voters in central and northern Punjab and other parts of the country? If those voters chose to punish the PML-N at the polling booth on the basis that it enables violent extremists, the political response would suddenly shift.

Sadly, such a scenario remains highly unlikely. We have a long way to go before voters prioritise minority rights over basic service delivery. At present, the PML-N’s popularity is predicated on anti-incumbency and the perception that Punjab has experienced better governance (albeit more corruption) than other provinces.

The parallel with Bharatiya Janata Party leader Narendra Modi across the border is stark: Modi has to a large extent left behind his entanglement with communal violence in 2002 by selling Gujarat’s promise of development to the rest of the country — even Muslims and other lower castes who are yet to benefit from the state’s economic growth have supported Modi in the hopes of better times to come.

The real question, then, is what will make ordinary Pakistani voters (still hankering for good governance) think twice before supporting candidates who do not appear to champion minority rights? In a country as fragile and ideologically driven as ours, the rhetoric of human rights has little power — how can it work in the face of religious extremist rhetoric that simply dehumanises communities through labels such as “infidel”, “heretic” and “blasphemer”? In the absence of universal principles, how to temper the tyranny of the majority?

Around the world, discrimination and violence against religious and ethnic minorities and other disenfranchised groups has usually ended when the majority — the backbone of the electorate that can spur political action with the force of its opinion — feels that it is in its interest (specifically its economic interest) to do so.

In a globalised economy, Pakistan is suffering from poor market access, strict visa regimes, and the lack of foreign investment owing to its dismal security situation and the international perception that the only thing the country can export is terrorism. High levels of violence — much of which is directed against Shias and religious minorities — has led the country to miss out on business, education and cultural exchange opportunities that other countries in the region are exploiting. This is the message that Pakistanis need to hear in order for them to start rejecting extremist viewpoints and privileging security for all.

Politicians and civil society organisations must summon the courage and vision to make this “everyone benefits” argument to the public. Without it, there is little hope for the country’s religious minorities, and by extension, the rest of the population as well.

The writer is a freelance journalist.

huma.yusuf@gmail.com

But with this agreement have come renewed threats of sanctions from the US, which opposes an injection of foreign exchange into the Iranian economy at a time when the West is squeezing Iran to choke its nuclear weapons programme.

In a perfect world, Pakistan would forge ahead with this pipeline. The country’s devastating energy shortages cause an annual loss of three to four per cent of GDP and, by some estimates, have increased unemployment by 10 per cent. The pipeline could help address Pakistan’s 5,000 megawatts per day energy shortfall by supporting about 4,000MW of daily power generation. Moreover, the construction and running of the pipeline could boost employment opportunities in Balochistan and in the long run help generate more revenues for the chronically underdeveloped province.

The pipeline would also help Pakistan pursue an independent foreign policy, rather than base all decisions around the contours of its relationships with China and the US. The ability to prioritise domestic concerns is a strong sign of political maturity and stability.

For all its flaws, the IP pipeline project is also more feasible than the proposed Tapi pipeline, which the US is pushing as the preferred alternative despite the poor security situation in Afghanistan. And like Tapi, the IP pipeline has the potential to boost regional integration via energy sharing at some future point.

India withdrew from the project in 2008 following an agreement with the US aimed at keeping Iran out of Asia’s energy markets. But if the US ends its programme of sanctions against Iran, Delhi may yet agree to the construction of another leg of the pipeline from Multan to the Indian capital.

Given that Western opinion is turning against sanctioning rogue nations — the argument is that sanctions induce paranoia and anti-West sentiment within populations, thereby reinforcing commitments to obtain weapons of mass destruction — such a shift is not inconceivable. At a time of soaring sectarian strife within the country, Pakistan should also maintain good diplomatic and trade ties with Iran. Islamabad cannot let the country become a proxy battleground in the sectarian showdown across the Muslim world.

Pakistan needs a multi-pronged strategy to stem sectarian violence, which includes strengthening secular education, cutting off funds from the Middle East for Sunni extremist groups and welfare organisations, dismantling militant groups, and launching a communications strategy to promote tolerance. But one prong of that strategy is maintaining close relations with Iran so that there is no danger of Pakistan being seen as taking sides in the sectarian power tussle. Islamabad will also have to work with Tehran to prevent the radicalisation of Pakistan’s Shia population in the face of increasing persecution and violence.

Lastly, in this perfect world, US sanctions against Pakistan for constructing the pipeline would not be too severe. The Foreign Office claims the pipeline would not violate UN sanctions against Iran. Islamabad is also gambling that the US won’t come down too hard on Pakistan because of its growing cooperation in the Afghanistan endgame.
And seeing as China and India continue to purchase Iranian oil, Pakistan could wiggle through the same loopholes.

But this is not a perfect world. Many believe the pipeline will never actually come into existence: it is simply part of a pre-election stunt that allows the PPP government to seem as if it’s being proactive in terms of addressing the energy crisis, on which its record thus far has been appalling. The deal with Iran also allows the PPP to seem defiant in the face of US heavy-handedness, a clever move given the rabidly anti-American sentiments of the electorate, and especially after five years of the party being accused of pandering to Washington’s whims.

The problem with pre-election stunts is that they are often shelved the moment elections are successfully contested. And that is especially true in this case since Pakistan can’t afford to build the pipeline. Sadly, this counterproductive stunt will distract from more viable domestic measures to address the energy crisis, including reducing energy theft, improving infrastructure to prevent inefficiencies and developing Pakistan’s local gas fields.

In light of the worsening security situation in Balochistan, the IP pipeline seems unfeasible for the same reasons as Tapi. Sunni extremist groups have become entrenched in the province, which analysts suggest is emerging as the main Iran-Saudi battleground within Pakistan. If that’s true, Sunni militant groups might seek to undermine a project that would emerge as the mainstay of bilateral relations between Iran and Pakistan by targeting anyone involved (this would be in addition to Baloch separatist groups that target state infrastructure, including energy installations).

The state’s response to the targeting of Hazaras has demonstrated what little writ the government still has in Balochistan and highlighted the levels of incompetence or fear within the intelligence agencies and security forces tasked with maintaining security in the province. Such an environment is not conducive to a major construction project, and that too one with geopolitical and sectarian dimensions.

Finally, Pakistan can’t be sure that the US won’t impose tough sanctions, which could lead to a reorientation of US-Pakistan relations from engagement to isolation, with Washington simultaneously taking a zero-tolerance stance against Pakistani militancy.

In response, Pakistan would likely take on a spoiler role in Afghanistan. Such policy shifts would undermine regional stability and forever snuff out the possibility of Islamabad and Washington having anything more than a transactional relationship. In this context, the pipeline is likely to remain a pipe dream.

The writer is a freelance journalist.

huma.yusuf@gmail.com

But Pakistani youth are highly unlikely to vote as a bloc — ethnicity, geography (urban vs rural), and familial pressure to vote for the same parties one’s forefathers voted for are all likely to trump demographic considerations at the ballot box. This is especially true because despite constructing ‘the youth voter’ as a new and integral phenomena of the 2013 elections, parties have done little to cater to this type of voter. In the absence of a last-minute rethink, the youth vote will be far less transformative than we have been led to believe.

Until now, various factors have made the youth the darlings of the Pakistani electorate. First, there are the statistics: 59 per cent of Pakistanis are below the age of 24, and a whopping 67 per cent are under 30. Civil society organisations and donor agencies have repeatedly argued that Pakistan’s youth bulge is its greatest opportunity (or challenge, depending on how it is managed). Political parties may not have internalised that message, but they could hardly ignore the impressive numbers.

Second, there’s the economy: the number of people in the 15-49 age group, which comprises the country’s labour force, is projected to nearly double by 2050. In order to be a demographic dividend rather than a disaster, this kind of growth requires a robust strategy for employment generation. None of our political parties have demonstrated the vision or courage to implement such a strategy, but by embracing Pakistani youth they hope to seem economically well-attuned — an important trait at a time when growth has slowed to about three per cent per year.

Third, there’s bureaucracy: the Ministry of Youth Affairs came into being in November 2005, and the first National Youth Policy was approved in 2009. Following the 18th Amendment, the youth ministry was devolved and provincial-level youth ministries have been struggling to formulate and implement unique policies over the past year or so. Forcing bureaucrats to ponder youth issues was bound to have a ripple effect, and ‘youth’ as a political concept seems to have caught on.

Finally, there’s globalisation. Between the Arab Spring and United States President Barack Obama’s election-winning army of young volunteers, youth have emerged as a political force to be reckoned with. In this context, Pakistani politicians’ recent embrace of youth voters is likely motivated by a mixture of fear and foreboding.

Of course, our newfound excitement about the youth voter betrays a typical disregard for history. Youth, after all, have been important players in Pakistani politics well before Imran Khan learnt how to use social media to mobilise them, before endless martial law neutered student politics. Consider just a few examples: the Islami Jamiat Tulaba, the student wing of the Jamaat-i-Islami, spurred its parent party’s successes in the 1950s and 1960s; student organisations bolstered opposition to Ayub Khan’s dictatorship in the 1960s; the genesis of the Muttahida Qaumi Movement in the 1970s was as a student organisation.

As such, the emergence of a youth voter in Pakistan is not as much a historical development as a rhetorical shift; whereas previously youngsters formed the student wings of political parties, today’s youth voter is seen as apolitical, defined by demography rather than ideology, with the fact of being young the greatest driver of needs, aspirations and a political agenda.

This construct of the youth voter is a direct consequence of the depoliticisation of the middle class during the Zia years.

It is also an incomplete construct. For demography to be the defining factor of the youth vote, two things need to happen: the youth demographic needs to recognise itself as a vote bloc and political parties need to tailor policies to cater to the demands of that bloc. None of these currently occur.

Youth voters are galvanised by broader political issues — political corruption, drone attacks, judicial independence — and have yet to organise around youth issues. One hears few calls for education reform, life-skills training, microfinance, job creation and vaccination and other healthcare needs when talking to politically engaged youngsters. Compare this to the activism of the Democratic Students’ Federation in the 1950s, which sought to address systemic education problems.

Youth-oriented policymaking is similarly watered down. While waxing eloquent about the youth vote, the PML-N in Punjab has done little more than distribute millions of rupees worth of laptops, solar lamps and cash prizes to top-position holders in matriculation and intermediate exams — more political bribe than policy. The Pakistan Tehrik-i-Insaf has made more concrete promises — party tickets for youth candidates, five per cent of gross domestic product for education, and job creation — but has not intimated how these will be implemented.

Provincial governments, meanwhile, have resorted to vague language about character and skills development rather than clear strategies for youth policies. Provincial youth ministries are still struggling to distinguish the youth demographic’s policy needs from the political needs of the hour. For example, discussions last year about the youth policy in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa revolved around the youth demand for security. No doubt, security is a prerequisite for all effective service delivery, but it’s a need across society, not for the youth alone.

Caught between demography and genuine political concerns, youth voters may find themselves celebrated — but not catered to — in the upcoming elections.

The writer is a freelance journalist.

huma.yusuf@gmail.com

Twitter: @humayusuf

The Tehrik-i-Taliban Pakistan (TTP) claimed responsibility for the attack, but MQM leaders have pointed fingers at Lashkar-i-Jhangvi (LJ), highlighting the sectarian dimension of the murder. Imam himself was Sunni, but anti-terrorism police report that Imam was on an LJ hit list. Many details of the killing remain unclear.

By emphasising the sectarian angle, the MQM is highlighting that it is one of the only political parties to have spoken consistently and vehemently against the killing of Shias: Altaf Hussain backed the recent Hazara sit-in and has repeatedly condemned sectarian violence. Previously, in 2010, MQM MPA Raza Haider also fell victim to a sectarian attack. But the MQM is not the only party being targeted on sectarian grounds: members of the Hazara Democratic Party have been targeted since 2009, starting with their chairman.

The conflation of sectarian violence and politics sets a dangerous precedent in the Pakistani context, threatening the current default mode of sanitising matters of religious difference in the political sphere. Events that emphasise the sectarian affiliations or sympathies of politicians will make it increasingly difficult to maintain some semblance of secularity in the political realm.

While it is absolutely essential that political leaders speak out against sectarian (and other types of) violence, they should do so from a standpoint of fundamental human rights, law and order, and societal tolerance. As it stands, we avoid acknowledging the sectarian affiliations of our politicians. For all the growing schisms at the societal level, the media, parliament, armchair analysts etc gloss over these matters, confining speculations about the sectarian identity of public figures to online chat rooms.

Nothing exemplifies this trend more than the media’s reluctance to mention the sect of the country’s founder for fear of fuelling difference. Instead, the public sphere seeks to promote a national identity that is consonant with Muslim inclusiveness.

Sectarian blindness in the political realm is not only the conscious product of national identity formation, but also the inadvertent consequence of history. Traditionally, Pakistanis have identified first and foremost with their kinship group, clan, and by extension, ethno-linguistic group and have sought political representation (and patronage distribution) along these lines.

Sectarian differences are relative newcomers in terms of political identity formation (with some exceptions such as anti-Ahmadi mobilisation, which kicked off in the 1950s), imposed on Pakistan by Gen Zia’s policies and the coercive tactics of militant groups that have flourished in the past three decades. The ingrained affiliation to ethno-linguistic groups helps explain why religious parties have street power, but little electoral clout.

This is not to say that sectarian issues don’t impact politics in present-day Pakistan. Many politicians are sajjada nasheens who use their ties to Sufi shrines to woo constituencies. In central and southern Punjab, LJ’s parent organisation the banned Sipah-i-Sahaba Pakistan is an electoral force to be reckoned with and all major political parties in the province rely on SSP’s backing to win parliamentary seats.

In places like Gilgit-Baltistan where sectarian differences are pronounced owing to demographics and a history of sectarian clashes, politicians dole out patronage along sectarian lines: under the Gilgit-Baltistan Empowerment and Local Governance Ordinance (2009), local governments are more autonomous, and Sunnis complain that Shia leaders tend to channel development funds, job opportunities and key government posts to their Shia constituencies.

These examples demonstrate that sectarian affiliations matter at the political grassroots, but also highlight by way of contrast that the mainstream political sphere is largely free of sectarianism, owing both to the precedence of ethno-linguistic identities and efforts to engender an ‘imagined community’ of a religiously homogenous Pakistan.

Attacks such as the one against Imam, and Haider before him, could start putting politicians’ sectarian identities in the limelight. This over time might reorganise the Pakistani electorate along sectarian lines — rather than kinship, ethnicity, linguistics, or geography — especially if certain affiliations are seen to be vulnerable to attack and thus demanding of solidarity.

If this were to happen, there will be no chance of maintaining the partial separation of church and state in Pakistani politics that has struggled to endure in the wake of the Objectives Resolution.

Moreover, political organisation along sectarian lines would facilitate social cleavages and, in a worst case scenario, enable the political mainstreaming of groups such as SSP/ASWJ — an eventuality that Pakistan’s already ravaged social fabric probably could not survive.

In a Pakistani context, the problem with sectarian differences in the political realm is that they are violence-justifying. Sectarian groups peddle interpretations of religious texts that offer divine justification for violence against heretics (that is, members of other sects). This is already happening on the streets of Pakistan, in Karachi, Lahore, Quetta, Parachinar, Gilgit, and Dera Ismail Khan. Imagine what it would be like if the same proclamations were to come out of parliament.

Moreover, an expanded role for sectarianism in the political sphere risks making government a centre for theological debate rather than a platform for effective — and equitable — service delivery. Poll after poll suggests that ordinary Pakistanis care about inflation, power shortages, employment opportunities and water supply. The gradually shifting focus of Pakistani politics away from local issues towards ideological distinctions may be the greatest letdown yet.

The writer is a freelance journalist.

huma.yusuf@gmail.com

Twitter: @humayusuf

Joseph’s critique implies that cities are the setting for all that is democratic, progressive, inclusive and grounded in universal rights, while villages are sites of hierarchy, communalism, exploitation and regressive thought. His piece echoes the language that dominated Indian media and civil society protests against the girl’s rape and government apathy towards violence against women: the phrase ‘feudal structure’ was repeatedly used to describe a village mentality that sanctions rape as a way to dominate and control women.

This Indian discourse is not unlike the conversation that erupted in Pakistan following the murder of Shahzeb Khan by the scions of feudal families. The crime has sparked unprecedented civil society outrage (in a way that the daily, excessive murder of middle- and working-class Karachiites of each other has not). “For Sindh’s feudals, Karachi lives come cheap”: this one news headline, pitting the provincial ‘interior‘ against the big city, sums up the public sentiment that feudal practices are out of sync with Pakistan’s urban zeitgeist, and therefore demand more urgent justice.

Given these widespread, anti-feudal (that is, anti-rural) views, it comes as no surprise that Pakistan’s latest saviour and would-be revolutionary has deployed familiar binaries in his rhetoric: middle-class vs feudal; city vs village; modern vs anachronistic.

Tahirul Qadri, the chief of the Tehrik-i-Minhajul Quran, has stated repeatedly that his agenda targets Pakistan’s “feudal and exploitative forces” and that he seeks to establish a “middle-class order” and eliminate feudalism and dynastic politics. The support of the MQM — Pakistan’s largest, urban, middle-class party — is a much-needed fillip for Qadri’s mission. Using Joseph’s framework, it is easy to see this pairing, and the proposed Jan 14 march, as a revolt of the city against the village.

But such binaries should always be approached with scepticism. The idea that the village (or in the case of Pakistan, which is urbanising at the fastest clip in South Asia, the small town or peri-urban area) is the root of all evil while cities are founts of progressivism does not hold true for Pakistan. This is because Pakistani cities have incubated unique conservative ideologies in addition to importing traditional values from the village.

It has long been acknowledged that Pakistan’s urban middle class is caught between conservatism and modernity, desiring a pious, Islamic society but a globalised, capitalistic economy. In recent years, the desire for piety has manifest itself as something more extreme — right-wing ideologies that uncannily resonate with the agendas of extremist groups and militant organisations.

For example, reports of the Tehrik-i-Taliban Pakistan and Lashkar-i-Jhangvi recruiting on university campuses in Karachi, Lahore and other cities are increasingly frequent. Al Huda’s popularity among young women is an urban, middle- and upper-class phenomenon.

Mumtaz Qadri, Salmaan Taseer’s assassin, was feted on Facebook by young, urban, net-connected Pakistanis. Zaid Hamid — with his calls for a modern caliphate, Islamic justice, and the subjugation of India — amassed a significant following among university students and Facebookers in large cities and enjoyed the support of pop stars and fashion designers (notably, Hamid faced greatest resistance at Peshawar’s Islamia College University, where students from across Khyber Pakhtunkhwa condemned his attempts to promote terrorism).

The right-wing tendencies of Pakistan’s urban middle class are also echoed in politics: Shahbaz Sharif’s refusal to accept US aid and Imran Khan’s muddled messages — a rejection of the established (feudal) political order combined with a worrying sympathy for Fata-based militants and an appetite for isolationist policies.Pakistan’s largely urban legal fraternity is also complicit: consider the Lahore Bar Association’s decision to boycott products produced by Ahmadi-owned companies, or the judiciary’s recent crusade against ‘obscenity’ in the media. Pakistani urbanites also continue to donate generously to mosques and charitable organisations with known links to militant groups as well as directly to sectarian outfits.

While Pakistan’s urban middle class has remained ambivalent about the threat posed by extremist organisations, small-town dwellers and villagers have raised laskhars against the TTP, turned informants against various militant groups.

Compare the courage exhibited by Malala and Ziauddin Yousafzai and the students of the Khushal School in Mingora with the defensive actions of the management of a prestigious school in Lahore, which ran front-page ads in newspapers disowning one of its teachers who had been accused of blasphemy.

My goal here is not to romanticise Pakistan’s villages, which remain entrenched in class, caste and gender hierarchies and are the sites of forced conversions, ‘honour’ killings, bonded labour, unfounded blasphemy accusations and rampant militant recruitment. The point is simply to demonstrate that the ills of the village cannot be highlighted through comparison with the progressivism of the urban middle class.

To ensure true progress, Pakistanis will have to move beyond labels for classes, social groups, and political movements, which are often simplistic and misleading. Let’s not talk about middle-class revolutions, feudal mentalities and the urban-rural ideological divide.

Let’s instead talk about specifics: the equal application of the law, free speech, gender sensitisation, state action against vigilantism, criminal justice system reform. In their precision, such principles and policies demand greater allegiance and action, and apply across demographics and ideological divisions.

The writer is a freelance journalist.

huma.yusuf@gmail.com