Sliding

JUNE 2003 - When was the last time someone said ‘Sorry,’ to you? When was the last time – or in this case, the first time, the person whose shrieking mobile belting out a nursery rhyme interrupted the proceedings say ‘excuse me,’ before attending to the infernal device? Or when was the last time someone gave you the right of way on any road, in any city in any part of Pakistan? When was the last time you got a smile and an apologetic glance from the oaf who literally swept you off your feet in a hurry to get to the door before you? When was the last time someone lent you a helping hand with a heavy bag you were trying to load onto a wobbly trolley at any airport in the country? And when was the last time someone turned around and said to you, ‘you are right. My mistake.’?

The answers to all these are obvious. It is not just in matters of great importance that we find ourselves sliding downhill at the speed of sound. As we slip and slide and plummet down to new depths, our rhetoric and bombast shows no sign of abating. It builds up in direct and blatant proportion to our decline. Calling the divided society that runs riot in the country a nation would be like calling a spade a bulldozer. There no longer seems to be a society at work or play here, but a growing mob of millions plunging this way and that, led by a demented leadership chasing shadows of no consequence and gathering nothing but dust and as always, money. The larger issues of living are probably well beyond our reach and there is little hope of ever catching up with them and imposing some sense of balance there. Tragically, it is in the little everyday things where we have regressed so rapidly. Poverty has nothing to do with it and neither I think has education. These are contributing factors surely but not pegs on which we can conveniently hang our dirty wash. All of us have met dozens of polite and gracious men and women, all of whom have been poor or illiterate but still managed to retain some semblance of decency and dignity. There is simply a landslide and a wide scale erosion of values that now has the country in its death throes. Those who fail to see these ominous signs or simply ignore them make rash judgments because these are sores and they have been festering for too long. Greater civilizations than ours have perished without so much as a sigh and those who insist we are the chosen ones are living in a fool’s hellhole – it would be extremely foolish to call it a paradise and ours is not even lost because we hardly ever had it.

The civilian government – and of course one stretches the word to its ultimate illogical end here, has been around for months and months but other than thumping desks sans rhythm or rhyme, have contributed a very fat, very round and very large zero to the immense problems that require attention. Of the MMA, what can one say that would make sense? This latest gift of the simplistic army-inspired solutions to problems is here to stay because in real life, problems don’t evaporate by themselves. The MMA may be some people’s idea of the perfect governing system, but a coterie of people armed with ‘dusting rags’ mounted on their shoulders and views that should place them in some Jurassic park, is the last thing this blighted country needs. Yet, they are there larger than life and one means that in every sense of the word. The NWFP suffers from problems that cry out for attention. Unlike the more robust Punjab, it is sandwiched between that large and utterly barren province about which every ruler seems to have instant amnesia and the poverty-ridden Sindh and yet the MMA has taken not even the first unsteady step in tackling the problems. It has spent all its time on non-issues and its myopic vision and righteous piety have sent shudders across the country. However, make no mistake that while this public posture will continue, behind the scenes, lucrative contracts, a lion’s share in whatever scam is going about, money-generating schemes and bending and twisting of whatever few rules remain, continues with cunning ruthlessness. They are here, like their counterparts elsewhere, to do business. The dirtier it is, the better. To complete the chaotic picture those who have manouvered them into these places of pomp and splendour are themselves busy minting fortunes. Health, education, poverty alleviation? These are national jokes except that the joke has always been one-sided and cruel.

An Indian emails from Texas and says that in 1993, 17% of Pakistanis lived (existed?) below the poverty line and in India, the number was 38%. In ten years since then, we have progressed to 34% but our neighbour has reduced it to 22%. In 3 years he says, it will be down to 15%. Indian propaganda? I fear not. When you look at the poor in this land, you might start to understand how little they manage with but across the four provinces, in the hearts and minds of those who control the policies and finances of this country, there is nothing but royal indifference to the misery others grind through. There is only banal and sickening lip service, the same platitudes and hollow promises made one instant and forgotten the next. One third of the country votes as and when the army allows some elections and neither do they dictate policy and neither do they have the power to change anything, least of all a mindset where the rich exploit the poor and the chasm – it cannot be called a gap, grows by miles. It is therefore just a shrug that the reader of a newspaper in Pakistan will make seeing the half page and seven column wide list of people who had Rs 18 billion loans written off in the last three years. Add to this list the other lists and you have the picture. Among the notables as they are usually called, are businessmen, army brass of various sizes, bureaucrats and politicians. The usual suspects as Claude Rains put it. It is a list that sends a wave of despair but even worse is the knowledge that this is neither the first nor the last and that there is no one who will ever end it. I recall a loan of Rs 45,000 that I obtained (with great difficulty I might add) from a bank in 1975. When I was in a position to return it, I met the VP of the bank who thought I had lost my marbles. He advised me that it was a very foolish step and showed me a room which contained nothing but rows of steel filing cabinets. These were the default cases the bank was chasing. This was 1975. Where do they keep the records now? In many mountains? I suppose so. The wonderful thing here is that you can get away with murder and so well greased and corrupt is the system that you will never have to face the consequences. Those who follow the rules end up like the surprised Sardar in the train.

In this culture of grab and run, loot and plunder and push and shove, we fight for some decent survival – those who still refuse to join the great rat race. Perhaps expecting good manners is asking for the moon. The poor and deprived, like the little donkeys who plod on in this unbearable heat, carrying hundreds of kilos of steel, cement and girders, simply plod on. Like the donkey, they have no choice but take one weary step after another and another and another. A great past is behind us. A great future ahead? Absolutely, but just for a very select few. For the rest, it is one step and then another.