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VIEW: Democracy for the masses
Zaair Hussain
October 15, 2010
Once upon a time, there was a country, and in that country was an elite. They had opportunity and education and the luxury of high ideals, but when it came to democracy, they always faltered. They hemmed and they hawed and their refrain was frequent and condescending: The masses are not ready for democracy.
Better, we have always thought in our heart of hearts, to have a strong iron hand to sweep away the worries of our nation.
On paper, the idea of a benevolent despot is charming. It promises quick results with none of the messy toil of democracy. It divorces us from the responsibility of our states actions. It is refreshing to hear, as indeed most Americans alive today have never heard, a man of power speak without hedging his bets or mincing his words. It can be an attractive theory. It appeals to two of the most self-hobbling traits of our class: freedom from accountability, and choosing to trust rather than sweat.
It is hard to try and create, and fail, and struggle, and finally realise, and maintain a system that, while imperfect (nothing created by humans can be otherwise), has qualities like justice and fairness and universal subsistence built into it. It is far easier to call this gritty work a folly, rendered impossible not by our hand but that of the masses, and trust in a man who can give us that most beautiful and dangerous of illusions: a quick and easy fix.
I do not speak of any particular individual who believed a uniform entitled them to rule over the rest of us. I speak of the illusion itself. Of the mythological Allfather figure who will care for our state like a father for his children: with noble intent and unquestionable authority. It is a mirage. It has only led us deeper into the desert.
People are neither perfect nor immortal, and the title of dictator (or any of a hundred fanciful monikers) does little to change this. What powers the illusion is our discontent with our perennially re-elected leaders.
Why do Pakistani voters constantly vote in the corrupt, the conniving, the PR catastrophes? We are content to think that it is because they are foolish, untutored, uneducated. Because they are woefully innocent of the grand scale of civic government, and how they themselves fit into it.
This is a ridiculous notion. They know very well the grand scale of civic government, and even better their place in it.
They will bemoan but still vote for the corrupt and nepotistic and arrogant political parties not because they are childlike and foolish, but because they believe not without reason that corruption and nepotism and arrogance are the defining characteristics of the entire upper class. The true mass of this nation votes at an almost entirely local level, because their concerns are so immediate, so close to home.
Democracy is an aggregate of the common self-interest, and the elite have never made up a large proportion. We are largely irrelevant in this equation. Because of the influence of this class and the international community, democratic forces obligingly put on a show for us. It may be a poor show, but most farces are. It is largely immaterial how poorly a politician speaks, how ill conceived his mandate, and how many times he has broken his promises.
The people vote for the man in their district who will make water flow, not the man in Islamabad who promises them liberal values or world class universities. They worry about whether the local police and landlords will make their lives unlivable, not the scarlet fields of embarrassment a president may sow on an international trip.
The people of the nation are not naive to their self-interest. They may applaud a man like Edhi or, as many do, Imran Khan, but they will vote for the corrupt old-hand political machine every time. Because the machine knows how to negotiate with policemen and landlords, and the others do not. Because people who are unsure how they will get through today will not (and should not) concern themselves with the grand promise of a bright tomorrow. If we have the luxury of sneering at their short-term focus, it is because we know where the next meal is coming from.
We believe the tragedy of the nation is that democracy cannot work for us. The true tragedy is that it is working for us, growing as best as a plant can in toxic soil.
How do we change the rules of this wretched game? As tempting as it is to believe that Pakistans worries can be massaged away from the top down, it is a lazy and impractical faith. Only a slow and steady and frustrating cultivation from the bottom up will show any results.
We must first absolve ourselves of our grand delusion that our people are beneath the demands of democracy and that we, in turn, cannot be held responsible for its failure. It is easy to see ourselves as removed from the grand bulk of the country: we may as well be living in different centuries, different worlds.
But if we are ever to form the needful alliance, we must see ourselves as partners, and not senior partners, in the true long march towards a better democracy. It is not education that will change the voting habits of the people or enlightenment or any number of beautiful phrases meaningless to an empty stomach or parched throat or quaking heart. It is a system in which the poor do not struggle to make it through the day, do not have to scrabble for what their basic humanity demands.
We must make the system less corrupt, less prone to shocks, less brutal towards those who live on the margins between subsistence and despair. We must acknowledge that every time we abuse our position, our influence, our wealth to dance around the system rather than fix it, we stamp down on the better democracy that we so achingly call out for.
Only when the poor no longer feel that every shifting wind could blow down their lives, will they have the courage to vote for sweeping changes. Until then, we should not delude ourselves: we have the democracy we deserve.
The writer is a Lahore-based freelance columnist.
Zaair Hussain
October 15, 2010
Once upon a time, there was a country, and in that country was an elite. They had opportunity and education and the luxury of high ideals, but when it came to democracy, they always faltered. They hemmed and they hawed and their refrain was frequent and condescending: The masses are not ready for democracy.
Better, we have always thought in our heart of hearts, to have a strong iron hand to sweep away the worries of our nation.
On paper, the idea of a benevolent despot is charming. It promises quick results with none of the messy toil of democracy. It divorces us from the responsibility of our states actions. It is refreshing to hear, as indeed most Americans alive today have never heard, a man of power speak without hedging his bets or mincing his words. It can be an attractive theory. It appeals to two of the most self-hobbling traits of our class: freedom from accountability, and choosing to trust rather than sweat.
It is hard to try and create, and fail, and struggle, and finally realise, and maintain a system that, while imperfect (nothing created by humans can be otherwise), has qualities like justice and fairness and universal subsistence built into it. It is far easier to call this gritty work a folly, rendered impossible not by our hand but that of the masses, and trust in a man who can give us that most beautiful and dangerous of illusions: a quick and easy fix.
I do not speak of any particular individual who believed a uniform entitled them to rule over the rest of us. I speak of the illusion itself. Of the mythological Allfather figure who will care for our state like a father for his children: with noble intent and unquestionable authority. It is a mirage. It has only led us deeper into the desert.
People are neither perfect nor immortal, and the title of dictator (or any of a hundred fanciful monikers) does little to change this. What powers the illusion is our discontent with our perennially re-elected leaders.
Why do Pakistani voters constantly vote in the corrupt, the conniving, the PR catastrophes? We are content to think that it is because they are foolish, untutored, uneducated. Because they are woefully innocent of the grand scale of civic government, and how they themselves fit into it.
This is a ridiculous notion. They know very well the grand scale of civic government, and even better their place in it.
They will bemoan but still vote for the corrupt and nepotistic and arrogant political parties not because they are childlike and foolish, but because they believe not without reason that corruption and nepotism and arrogance are the defining characteristics of the entire upper class. The true mass of this nation votes at an almost entirely local level, because their concerns are so immediate, so close to home.
Democracy is an aggregate of the common self-interest, and the elite have never made up a large proportion. We are largely irrelevant in this equation. Because of the influence of this class and the international community, democratic forces obligingly put on a show for us. It may be a poor show, but most farces are. It is largely immaterial how poorly a politician speaks, how ill conceived his mandate, and how many times he has broken his promises.
The people vote for the man in their district who will make water flow, not the man in Islamabad who promises them liberal values or world class universities. They worry about whether the local police and landlords will make their lives unlivable, not the scarlet fields of embarrassment a president may sow on an international trip.
The people of the nation are not naive to their self-interest. They may applaud a man like Edhi or, as many do, Imran Khan, but they will vote for the corrupt old-hand political machine every time. Because the machine knows how to negotiate with policemen and landlords, and the others do not. Because people who are unsure how they will get through today will not (and should not) concern themselves with the grand promise of a bright tomorrow. If we have the luxury of sneering at their short-term focus, it is because we know where the next meal is coming from.
We believe the tragedy of the nation is that democracy cannot work for us. The true tragedy is that it is working for us, growing as best as a plant can in toxic soil.
How do we change the rules of this wretched game? As tempting as it is to believe that Pakistans worries can be massaged away from the top down, it is a lazy and impractical faith. Only a slow and steady and frustrating cultivation from the bottom up will show any results.
We must first absolve ourselves of our grand delusion that our people are beneath the demands of democracy and that we, in turn, cannot be held responsible for its failure. It is easy to see ourselves as removed from the grand bulk of the country: we may as well be living in different centuries, different worlds.
But if we are ever to form the needful alliance, we must see ourselves as partners, and not senior partners, in the true long march towards a better democracy. It is not education that will change the voting habits of the people or enlightenment or any number of beautiful phrases meaningless to an empty stomach or parched throat or quaking heart. It is a system in which the poor do not struggle to make it through the day, do not have to scrabble for what their basic humanity demands.
We must make the system less corrupt, less prone to shocks, less brutal towards those who live on the margins between subsistence and despair. We must acknowledge that every time we abuse our position, our influence, our wealth to dance around the system rather than fix it, we stamp down on the better democracy that we so achingly call out for.
Only when the poor no longer feel that every shifting wind could blow down their lives, will they have the courage to vote for sweeping changes. Until then, we should not delude ourselves: we have the democracy we deserve.
The writer is a Lahore-based freelance columnist.