THE other day, there was no electricity in parts of our neighbourhood in Karachi for eight hours. Other areas have suffered far longer. It goes without saying that all the KESC complaint lines were busy. It won’t be long before we recall the days when the power company was under state control as the good old days.

There has been no coherent explanation from either the new KESC management or the government for these interminable power cuts. Even when electricity is restored, its voltage fluctuates wildly, damaging and destroying electrical appliances. So apart from the government getting some money from the sale of the family silver, how have the consumers benefited?

Last summer, when we were undergoing a similar ordeal, the old KESC management made a presentation before President Musharaf in which the ramshackle nature of the infrastructure was highlighted. An amount of Rs 18 billion rupees was approved for upgrading equipment and power distribution systems. The management had spent four billion before an Arab group bought the corporation, and appointed a German multinational company to run it.

This company has been manufacturing and supplying electrical equipment for a century, but has little experience in actually running a power generation and distribution service. Instead of retaining some of the old managers, they brought in their own team, and halted the modernisation programme initiated by their predecessors. Now, in the midst of the current power crisis, they have floated a tender for equipment worth around 50 million dollars, giving bidders ten days to quote.

According to insiders, the specifications for the equipment are suspiciously close to that manufactured by the multinational currently running the KESC. Apart from the misery this clearly malafide decision has caused consumers, there is the other question of conflict of interest: how can an agency that designs and evaluates a tender also bid for the order? Even Halliburton would have thought twice.

Surely when the Privatisation Commission was eagerly selling off the KESC, they should have seen the potential for this eventuality. After all, the German firm was very visible throughout the process. But once the commission had got its hands on the cash, they were hardly interested in our welfare. Take the money and run, seems to be their motto.

This brings us to the responsibility of the state towards its citizens. Pakistan’s assets belong to its people, but the proceeds from their sale seem to be going into sustaining the lavish lifestyle of our rulers. Recent reports of huge expenditure incurred on ministers, generals and parliamentarians would have caused a blush or two in decent people. But it appears that our lot are immune to feelings of shame and embarrassment.

After all, what are the principal requirements for a politician in Pakistan? Sharp elbows, for starters. A dormant conscience helps. But above all, a thick skin is essential. Of course, these attributes are also needed by generals who enter politics, whether they are in or out of uniform. All these qualities have been on display recently. For instance, we have just learned that the National Assembly speaker is getting a new Mercedes worth Rs 11 million. And why not? After all, his counterpart in the Senate has one too.

Across the border in India, the prime minister and other heavyweights make do with ancient Ambassador cars manufactured in their country. But I suppose it is beneath the dignity of our so-called VIPs to even consider a locally assembled Honda or Toyota. When a few months ago there was a national outcry against the purchase of 60 bullet-proof Mercedes saloons for our ministers, nobody in power was the least bit embarrassed.

But now, with the expansion of the cabinet to 62, obviously more cars will be needed. This grotesque number of ministers reflecsssts Shaukat Aziz’s lack of a constituency: he is forced to bribe various parties, factions and individuals with ministerial portfolios to get their cooperation. And yet, with a perfectly straight face, he said the other day that one of the major problems of Pakistan was the ‘VIP culture’ that had taken root here. I don’t suppose he sees the rich irony here: he himself is the second biggest symbol of this culture.

Every time he visits Karachi, the city comes to a halt, thanks to his security concerns. The other day, we read about the tragic incident of a young girl who died in the ambulance on her way to hospital because the prime minister’s motorcade had caused the traffic to be blocked. But here’s where the dormant conscience comes in handy: normal people would have suffered sleepless nights from sheer guilt.

On this page, columnist Sultan Ahmed informed us (‘Having a large cabinet’; May 4) that in the first six months of the current financial year, $705 million had been spent on junkets abroad undertaken by the president, the PM, sundry federal and provincial ministers, and all those who masquerade as our VIPs. He estimates that by the end of the year, this figure will have doubled. I can well believe it, given the shameless way these people conduct themselves abroad, together with their bloated retinues. Diplomat friends in our foreign missions have often described how these ‘dignitaries’ squabble over limousines and the best suites in luxury hotels.

Returning to Karachi, I don’t suppose either Gen Pervez Musharaf or Mr Shaukat Aziz really give a damn for the woes of ordinary citizens. Both are insulated from public accountability in the shape of genuine elections. But they can rest assured that if they were to actually go out there and ask for votes, they would know what people really think of them.

The hype about Pakistan’s vaunted growth rate, its foreign exchange balance and its macroeconomic performance leaves ordinary people cold. None of these statistics puts food on their tables, provides jobs to their children, or gives them clean drinking water. The money needed for these essentials goes to maintaining our army and our VIPs.

The hallmark of countries heading for the bottom of the heap is that the leaders are selfish, concerned only for their own bank balances and perks. The recent classification of Pakistan as ninth in the list of failed or failing states has provoked many angry comments. But for the vast majority of Pakistanis who suffer under the present system, what is there to hope for? They have no clean drinking water, no electricity or gas, no decent schools for their children, and no proper medical care when they fall ill.

So when they stare mutely at their leaders as they whiz past in their fancy cars, one can’t really blame them for their rage.