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DEEPLY embedded in our society’s ethos is a presumption that being a ‘senior’ in a particular field, measured solely in terms of the number of years spent in that field, is the real determinative of an individual’s competence. One of the domains, certainly not the only one, most afflicted with such notions is the profession of law.
Becoming a lawyer in Pakistan is quite easy. The standard of legal education is lax, with law schools often providing a fallback option to those who could not get into other relatively more demanding disciplines, such as engineering, medicine or accounting. The grant of licences to practise law is still, primarily, subject to nepotism, networking, favours and petty electoral interests. There are some, meanwhile, carrying a chip on their shoulders, boasting of their privilege of getting educated from law schools in the West. Their privilege, however, may or may not have translated into enhancement of aptitude and skills.
Seemingly, at least, there is little, then, that sets one lawyer apart from another in Pakistan. Even if there is something, it may be hard to gauge, because it is the concept of seniority that is recognised as the primary distinguishing feature: a senior lawyer, for the most part, is deemed more knowledgeable, and hence deserving of additional entitlements.
The entire profession has been arranged around this conception. Access to the superior courts is primarily determined through the number of years spent in the profession. If a lawyer, after receiving his initial licence to practise, has lived through enough days, then he is placed at a position, where for big money, big clients can be represented in the superior courts.
Old men — and men only — get the opportunity to monopolise the field of law.
Old men — and men only — therefore, get the opportunity to monopolise the field of law. Seniority entitles them to privileges, as their friends and colleagues make it to the bench, ensuring a receptive audience in court. It becomes difficult for the new entrants to survive, without some life support from a senior — a support that is necessarily discretionary. Meanwhile, the journey towards becoming a ‘senior’ is relatively tranquil for those born into a family of lawyers, or those generally affluent enough to be able to wait for the opportunities that will only emerge in the future.
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The idea of seniority, therefore, is toxic and debilitating. Not only lawyers, but civil servants can attest to this. Many civil servants remain consumed by thoughts as to which officer is senior to whom. They carry their grudges over promotion of their batchmates or juniors to the Supreme Court, and then all the way to their graves. It is a world governed by an understanding that years spent behind a desk, whether doing actual work or not, entitles one to prerogatives that the new entrants have to wait in line to receive.
Preoccupation with promotions and seniority leaves little available bandwidth to focus on getting better at the job. The whole idea of public service is a sham in Pakistan. The passage of years and ingratiating oneself with the seniors may suffice for the next promotion. It does not matter, then, who is delivering results, who is showing adeptness in understanding the predicaments faced by the people, and who is presenting original solutions to confront them.
This is not to belittle the value of experience, and especially quality experience which can be indispensable. At times, complex ideas only unravel themselves after one has had the opportunity to analyse and re-analyse an issue, an effort spanning years. And surely exposure to the system makes one understand the system better. But if the system is particularly broken, and works in an abysmally oppressive manner then there is value also in new, untainted ideas, an outside perspective, which the young, and the not yet indoctrinated, are able to bring forward. Waiting in line, however, makes functioning in the status quo bearable, and eventually the status quo becomes the only reality there should be.
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The debate around the ‘seniority principle’, whereby certain senior lawyers vociferously advocate that the senior-most justice of the high court should be the one elevated to the Supreme Court feeds into this general narrative that seniority, ipso facto, deserves reverence. It is an idea that has cultural traction, and in this context, has the additional benefit of being presented as a counter to nepotism — another scourge that has poisoned our society, including the legal profession. Additionally, seniority is said to provide certainty, and a firewall against other institutions’ influences which may have an interest in putting a particular judge on the Supreme Court.
But seniority is an inadequate basis for elevation, or anything else, even if put in place temporarily. Years can be spent doing not much, or bad work; a judge, just as much as a civil servant, can be guilty of it. And it importantly detracts focus from certain vital considerations: does a particular judge render judgements that are legally sound? Does that judge, much more often than not, reach a result warranted by law? Does the judge adequately grapple with the legal and factual issues at hand? This potentially meaningful conversation is displaced by a meaningless question: has the judge been a judge for long enough, having seen the sun rise and set enough number of times? A large number of years at the job does not necessarily result in diligence, skill or, even, reasonableness.
The normalising of discourse around seniority, therefore, has perverse ramifications. In a society where dissent is criminalised and harbouring independent opinions considered a sin instead of a virtue, the ideas churned out by the young, deviating from what have become rigidified norms, are easily dismissed. Allama Iqbal in Saqi Nama had prayed that let it be the young who break the shackles of their servitude, and act as mentors to the old.
Our young ones, however, are asked to wait in line and obsequiously serve their seniors. This is not how a nation progresses.
The writer is a litigator based in Islamabad.
Published in Dawn, December 16th, 2021
