I HAVE always wanted to begin a piece with these clichéd lines and on Sunday night, I got the chance. ‘As these lines were being written’ is a phrase that is considered the domain of reporters providing a blow-by-blow account of a rapidly developing story, and not of lazy op-ed writers. But write enough op-eds and some useless desires are fulfilled.

So here it is: as these lines were being written, parliament got together to pass the 26th Amendment in a bid to control the judiciary. The government and its allies camouflaged it in flowery language about the Charter of Democracy (COD) and sovereignty, but make no mistake, it was a bid to control at the behest of those who cannot be named. While legal brains will dissect it fully, here is my half-baked understanding of the new legislation railroaded through parliament in a matter of hours! Our parliamentarians’ idea of debate is about as sophisticated as the talk shows we journalists conduct on television.

So among much else, the new law seems to have handed the power to choose a chief justice to parliament and the executive. At the same time, it allows for a new judicial commission, which will choose the judges of the Supreme Court as well as form constitutional benches. In other words, parliament, along with the judges, will be in charge of choosing the judges who will hear ‘constitutional’ cases. Who will decide what is a constitutional case and should be sent to this constitutional bench, is beyond my little brain — hopefully lawyers can explain better.

But there are two issues. One, this judicial commission will now be dealing with matters which are ideally the domain of the judiciary — who hears a case and why. To some extent, until recently, the government also believed this. Why else would the government have passed the Practice and Procedure Act, which ensured that the chief justice did not exercise these powers alone and did so after consultation with the other judges? As we witnessed, the three judges who were given these powers were able to proceed well only till the chief justice was part of the majority; once he lost this majority, the committee’s functioning was as effective as the working of this government.

A seat in parliament is apparently worth a lot more than the rights of the people of Pakistan.

So concerned was the government with the loss of speed brought upon by ‘democratic’ means, it immediately gave the powers back to the chief justice.

Second, this commission comprises five judges, the attorney general, the law minister, four parliamentarians (two from the treasury benches) and a member of a minority or a technocrat selected by the National Assembly Speaker. What this means on the surface of it is that while both the judiciary and judges will make this decision jointly, in reality, the government has an edge — it will automatically enjoy the support of five of the 13 members.

But the real edge will be enjoyed by those who hold parliament hostage. Chances are this judicial commission will also end up endorsing decisions made elsewhere rather than simply doing the government’s bidding. After all, the government and opposition have, in recent years, ended up with NAB chairmen who were ‘managed’ by others despite the COD. That four parliamentarians, the attorney general and law minister among others will prove more assertive than the people who control entire parties is a pipe dream. This is not to say the judges will prove much better because chief justices too have danced, and are seen to continue to do so, to tunes originating elsewhere.

The government and its allies are celebrating but one can only hope they are happy with the decisions they made on Sunday night when they end up as victims in front of judges and benches chosen via this new amendment.

Postscript: For the past many days, visuals of Raza Rabbani holding back his tears as he voted for the military courts in 2015 have been playing in my head. I had been left perplexed, unsure of what to make of the incident — a senator who obviously felt he was forced to vote against his conscience but didn’t feel strongly enough about it to resign. He simply did what he was told and shed a few tears, a vulnerability which women are always struggling not to show publicly.

A decade later, the memory brings a sense of gratitude. For at present, an elected member of parliament who cared strongly about the fundamental rights of the people and expressed remorse is an extinct creature. Around a month ago, had it not been for the JUI-F’s reluctance, the parliamentarians would have quietly passed a constitutional amendment allowing military courts and diluting fundamental rights. Without shedding a tear. They would have sold the people of Pakistan down the river and not lost a night’s sleep.

This may sound harsh but what else can one expect from those who have spent the past few days pretending they did not know of opposition colleagues being threatened or picked up? From Bilawal Bhutto-Zardari to others, not a single lawmaker acknowledged what happened or expressed any condemnation even as a BNP senator was dragged into parliament.

It was an odd feeling witnessing these snippets on television — and my gratitude to journalists who asked these difficult questions and compelled some of the elected people to answer. If nothing else, we will have these hear-no-evil, see-no-evil remarks available for posterity.

Right wing, or left, Urdu medium or angrezi types who never stop boasting of their liberal, human rights credentials, not a single one spoke a word of condemnation. But then, this lack of public remorse is hardly new; it was also on display during many events in the recent past, from the imprisonment of women in Lahore to the treatment of Baloch protesters, to the shooting of PTM activists.

A seat in parliament is apparently worth a lot more than the rights of the people of Pakistan. So a decade later, I would like to offer my gratitude to Raza Rabbani — at least he cared enough to show remorse publicly. Thank you.

The writer is a journalist.

Published in Dawn, October 22th, 2024