IN the chaos of the past week, the world has turned topsy-turvy so seamlessly that I am surprised our pharmacies haven’t run short of anti-nausea pills. In events which belong in a Gabriel García Márquez novel, the PTI is a government with not enough numbers in the House, and the opposition, consisting of a range of different parties, is now united, with a sufficient number of parliamentarians to take over the treasury benches. And if this wasn’t absurd enough, it is now the PTI which is worried about turncoats, lotas and the sanctity of the vote, and the opposition which defends the right of constituency politicians to vote according to their zameer, or conscience.

It is as if, like the children following the Pied Piper, MNAs have popped up in the opposition’s camp while the government can only roar in anger or plead in desperation, as helpless as the parents of Hamelin were. Both the parents then and the government now are paying the price for unkept promises.

It is not just their approach to what is honourable in politics that has changed but also whose honour is worth saving. On Sunday, the opposition was worried about the sanctity of institutions and concerned about the attacks on them by possibly the PTI. From Bilawal Bhutto-Zardari himself to PML-N spokespersons, they were all vocal about probable attacks on ‘qaumi idaray’ (national institutions) while the PTI tried to claim similar ground. But as time passes, the PTI may be just as guilty of what it once accused the opposition of doing — claiming that its fight was not with pygmy politicians but for the larger principles on which a democracy is based. The rhetorical monotony of our debates is unchanged.

In the meantime, the government is all set to approach the Supreme Court for a detailed interpretation of Article 63 and the exact period of disqualification under it that an honourable politician may risk — because, for some reason, this period was left undefined when the clause was added to the Constitution. It is an issue being heatedly discussed in the world of commentary. And in this world, where there is great desire in one section for our political world to function on the basis of ethics and morality, and where floor-crossing is being compared to murder, would it not be better to stop the murder than punish the perpetrator later? In their enthusiasm, they want to punish the perpetrator for murder without there having been any loss of life. But it is not the fault of the commentators.

As the current crisis shows, the legal system cannot change political customs.

The problem here is our tendency to use the law to deal with political issues. The violation of party discipline is ideally a political matter punished over time by the parties themselves and even the voters. The assumption is that parties would avoid such feckless people and so would the voters. This is why, for example, there are few such legal restrictions in Western parliamentary systems.

But in our part of the world, where party ideology and discipline are quite irrelevant to the constituency politician and his chances of an electoral victory, access to patronage is what seems to matter most. Hence, politicians switch parties comfortably, gauging who will be able to come to power and deliver the favours needed to keep the voters happy. The party ticket or absence of loyalty becomes a secondary concern.

It was to curb this political reality and rein in such politicians that Article 63 was made part of the Constitution by political parties. It was an effort to use legal means to stop political practices which are rooted in the local context rather than the democratic principles we inherited through our laws. But because parties also take advantage of these politicians, Article 63 only threatens disqualification for those who have reached parliament; there are no bars on politicians moving between parties during election time.

This, however, was not the only reason. Article 63 was also added so that politicians could try and find a way to deal with their own kind, who are willing to play into the ‘other’s’ hand. The vote of no-confidence against Benazir Bhutto is, after all, a living memory.

And yet, as the current crisis shows, the legal system cannot change political customs or traditions. The dissenting politicians are willing to risk a legal penalty for the sake of political gains, partly because they know that the legal system usually tends to work in tandem with politics. When the wind is blowing in a certain direction, even decisions tend to go the same way. Nawaz Sharif’s lifetime disqualification in the Panama case is just one such example. The general perception is that his disqualification was linked to the civil-military fissure. But such measures then only go so far — his exit was forced as it was impermanent.

But what is equally intriguing is that despite being aware of this, the political class continues to take political issues into the legal domain. If PTI did manage to get Sharif senior disqualified in the Panama case, it also cost the party the disqualification of Jehangir Tareen — which was a huge loss in those good ol’ days. The PML-N used this tactic time and again during the PPP tenure only to suffer itself in the same forum when it came to power.

The PTI has already tried to use similar references to prevent what it alleged was rigging or horse-trading during the Senate election but to no avail. After all, at the end of the day, it is not just the political class which benefits from politicians who are quick to switch sides, whether inside parliament or outside (during election time).

And for this reason, chances are that these legal restrictions and bars will remain flexible and ambiguous.

However, despite their knowledge and past experiences, the political class has not stopped approaching the big white building time and again on issues that are political, revealing partly their own inability to trust the political process.

The writer is a journalist.

Published in Dawn, March 22nd, 2022