BY SHEKHAR GUPTA (India Interest)
9 January 2008
PAKISTANIS surely coin more colourful political slogan than us. They
are also less subtle. So, the next time you see visuals of a PPP
protest rally on your TV screens following Benazir's assassination,
strain your ears a bit to catch a most telling slogan: Amreeka ne
kutta paala, vardi waala, vardi waala.
It would lose much flavour in transliteration, but the meaning would
not be lost on even a non-Hindi speaker. Now when was the last time
you had the army called a dog, and that too an American poodle, on
Pakistan's streets? And this is a Pakistan under an almighty (lately,
former) general who has the power to declare and suspend emergency in
televised speeches, the power to make 36 (or thereabouts) amendments
in his "constitution" at a Press conference, and whose ability to take
the biggest decisions on the spot is the envy, often, of the Indian
politician, and has been a cause for admiration among India's
chattering classes.
How many times, since he came on his first visit for the Agra summit,
have we heard fellow Indians, including serious, knowledgeable people,
talk of him with a sense of awe? See, how confident he looks, how well
he speaks, the swagger, so impressive, knows his mind, is so fit and
energetic, so much in control, so macho, can-do and so on. The
sub-text was, view this is total contrast with our own political
class: overweight, badly dressed, clumsy, evasive in their answers,
indecisive, inarticulate and, horror of horrors, not even able to
speak any English.
And then came Shaukat Aziz, on secondment from Citibank. So smart,
articulate, in his smartly cut suits, blah, blah and blah. And what
kind of people did we have holding the same job in India? Gowda, who
slept in Parliament. Vajpayee, who never seems to answer any question.
Gujral who only uttered diplomatic platitudes that meant nothing. And
Narasimha Rao, who mostly pretended he had not even heard the
question.
Now let me tell you a few stories. Not necessarily connected either by
timing or context, but yielding an interesting conclusion,
nevertheless.
One of the great untold stories of the Agra summit is how challenging
it was for both Vajpayee and Musharraf to deal with each other. One
thought he had the answer even before a question had been asked. The
other would think for ever, and often tire out his interlocutor.
Apparently at one of the mid-day review sessions Musharraf shared his
exasperation with his aides. He said something like, I know you guys
told me he takes time responding to anything, but how do I deal with
somebody who takes so long and then says nothing? A bit like John
McEnroe tossing his racket in exasperation while playing Ramesh
Krishnan and screaming: How do I play this guy? He serves at five
miles per hour!
One of his aides tried to suggest that Vajpayee takes so long because
he is processing Musharraf's question in his wise, old head. Musharraf
was still irritated and somebody senior in his inner council said,
with humour laced with disdain: to unka processor Pentium nahin, 286
hoga (then his processor must be a 286, not a Pentium).
Now listen to the story from the other end. What exasperated Vajpayee
most of all was Musharraf's cocky "decisiveness". "You are the prime
minister, I am the president, if we agree on something, let's sign,"
he would say, while at the same time making changes on the draft of a
likely agreement and asking Vajpayee to okay it. He simply wouldn't
buy Vajpayee's argument that he had a cabinet to go back to. "Par aap
prime minister hain. Aap faisla keejiye (but you are the prime
minister, you decide)," Musharraf would say. So when Vajpayee briefed
his aides and fellow members of the Cabinet Committee on Security
(who, barring George Fernandes, were in Agra), he said about his
counterpart pretty much the opposite of what he said of him: "He is in
such a hurry. Kuchch sochne ko taiyyar nahin hain. Sub kuch faisala
abhi chahte hain, kaise samjhaoon bhai." Or words to that effect.
In the main lounge of the Congress Centre at Davos, Switzerland, where
all kinds from heads of state to global corporate leaders to rock
stars to ordinary journalists congregate and rub shoulders during the
World Economic Forum January meeting, I found my old friend, Pakistani
journalist, part-time politician, now a full-time exile, Boston
University professor and also an Indian Express columnist, Husain
Haqqani. As we exchanged gossip, Tariq Aziz walked past, accompanied
by a couple of minders, perfectly cut suit, pompous, smug smile and
all. Just that morning he had lectured many of us senior editors over
breakfast, laying down the law for India: nothing would move, the gas
pipeline, even the permission to Indian private airlines to fly to
Pakistan unless the "core" issue was addressed. Again there was some
admiration for his confidence and clarity even among the Indian
contingent as he was "so unlike our bumbling politicians".
Haqqani's eyes were now lit up with mischief. He pointed his finger
directly at Aziz and said: "You know what they say, Davos is the
Disneyland of the mind. If that be so, there goes its Mickey Mouse."
How have the relative fortunes of the two competing kinds of
leaderships and nations under their charge evolved over these seven
years? Musharraf now looks bumbling and unconvincing, an international
joke, a pitiable, forlorn figure, hated by his countrymen, distrusted
by the world and mentioned dismissively even by Barack Obama. Shaukat
Aziz has disappeared from the scene, even losing out to an ordinary
mortal - coincidentally from India - for the top job in his alma
mater, Citi. Their country is a mess, their own army, for the first
time, is seeing its credibility, power, its pre-eminent position in
Pakistan's society and power structure questioned. Its political class
is decimated, its institutions fatally wounded. How do people as proud
as the Pakistanis feel when their dictator offers to salvage his
credibility by summoning the Scotland Yard to investigate the
assassination of their most prominent political leader? Nobody
believes their election commission's intentions, motives or judgment
in postponing their election.
Vajpayee, on the other hand, sits at home, having lost power in an
election, not in the pink of health, but satisfied at the way his
country is moving. His successor, from the opposite side of the
political fence, even comes to wish him on his birthday. His country
has meanwhile had many more state elections and another general
election within a year or so will give his successors in his own party
another crack at power. Now, think, who finally won. The indecisive,
inarticulate, ineffective slob who did not seem to have an answer to
anything, or the macho, confident, smart, decisive, modern smartie who
seemed to have an answer to everything?
There are many interesting, and important conclusions to be drawn from
this complex argument. But the most significant is this: a modern
nation needs democracy and so it needs its politicians, however
clumsy, corrupt, effete and power-crazed they may be. Because a
military dictator can also be all of these things. The difference is,
the political leader draws his power from the democratic process, so
he has a stake in preserving that system, howsoever cynical he may be.
The general draws his power by throttling the democratic system and
its institutions and you can see the results of that in Pakistan. So,
in a democracy, howsoever powerful a Lalu or Mayawati, they have to
shut up and listen when the Supreme Court speaks. The election
commission can publicly upbraid both Sonia Gandhi and Narendra Modi.
We, the media, can question and curse who we want. It happens because
the political class has the biggest stake in the democratic process,
howsoever much it may wish to manipulate it. In contrast, a military
dictator owes his power to the absence of institutions, of checks and
balances. That is exactly what Musharraf has done to his judiciary,
the election commission and even the media. That is why he has to
summon the Scotland Yard to investigate Benazir's assassination.
Shekhar Gupta is the Editor-in-Chief of Indian Express daily
9 January 2008
PAKISTANIS surely coin more colourful political slogan than us. They
are also less subtle. So, the next time you see visuals of a PPP
protest rally on your TV screens following Benazir's assassination,
strain your ears a bit to catch a most telling slogan: Amreeka ne
kutta paala, vardi waala, vardi waala.
It would lose much flavour in transliteration, but the meaning would
not be lost on even a non-Hindi speaker. Now when was the last time
you had the army called a dog, and that too an American poodle, on
Pakistan's streets? And this is a Pakistan under an almighty (lately,
former) general who has the power to declare and suspend emergency in
televised speeches, the power to make 36 (or thereabouts) amendments
in his "constitution" at a Press conference, and whose ability to take
the biggest decisions on the spot is the envy, often, of the Indian
politician, and has been a cause for admiration among India's
chattering classes.
How many times, since he came on his first visit for the Agra summit,
have we heard fellow Indians, including serious, knowledgeable people,
talk of him with a sense of awe? See, how confident he looks, how well
he speaks, the swagger, so impressive, knows his mind, is so fit and
energetic, so much in control, so macho, can-do and so on. The
sub-text was, view this is total contrast with our own political
class: overweight, badly dressed, clumsy, evasive in their answers,
indecisive, inarticulate and, horror of horrors, not even able to
speak any English.
And then came Shaukat Aziz, on secondment from Citibank. So smart,
articulate, in his smartly cut suits, blah, blah and blah. And what
kind of people did we have holding the same job in India? Gowda, who
slept in Parliament. Vajpayee, who never seems to answer any question.
Gujral who only uttered diplomatic platitudes that meant nothing. And
Narasimha Rao, who mostly pretended he had not even heard the
question.
Now let me tell you a few stories. Not necessarily connected either by
timing or context, but yielding an interesting conclusion,
nevertheless.
One of the great untold stories of the Agra summit is how challenging
it was for both Vajpayee and Musharraf to deal with each other. One
thought he had the answer even before a question had been asked. The
other would think for ever, and often tire out his interlocutor.
Apparently at one of the mid-day review sessions Musharraf shared his
exasperation with his aides. He said something like, I know you guys
told me he takes time responding to anything, but how do I deal with
somebody who takes so long and then says nothing? A bit like John
McEnroe tossing his racket in exasperation while playing Ramesh
Krishnan and screaming: How do I play this guy? He serves at five
miles per hour!
One of his aides tried to suggest that Vajpayee takes so long because
he is processing Musharraf's question in his wise, old head. Musharraf
was still irritated and somebody senior in his inner council said,
with humour laced with disdain: to unka processor Pentium nahin, 286
hoga (then his processor must be a 286, not a Pentium).
Now listen to the story from the other end. What exasperated Vajpayee
most of all was Musharraf's cocky "decisiveness". "You are the prime
minister, I am the president, if we agree on something, let's sign,"
he would say, while at the same time making changes on the draft of a
likely agreement and asking Vajpayee to okay it. He simply wouldn't
buy Vajpayee's argument that he had a cabinet to go back to. "Par aap
prime minister hain. Aap faisla keejiye (but you are the prime
minister, you decide)," Musharraf would say. So when Vajpayee briefed
his aides and fellow members of the Cabinet Committee on Security
(who, barring George Fernandes, were in Agra), he said about his
counterpart pretty much the opposite of what he said of him: "He is in
such a hurry. Kuchch sochne ko taiyyar nahin hain. Sub kuch faisala
abhi chahte hain, kaise samjhaoon bhai." Or words to that effect.
In the main lounge of the Congress Centre at Davos, Switzerland, where
all kinds from heads of state to global corporate leaders to rock
stars to ordinary journalists congregate and rub shoulders during the
World Economic Forum January meeting, I found my old friend, Pakistani
journalist, part-time politician, now a full-time exile, Boston
University professor and also an Indian Express columnist, Husain
Haqqani. As we exchanged gossip, Tariq Aziz walked past, accompanied
by a couple of minders, perfectly cut suit, pompous, smug smile and
all. Just that morning he had lectured many of us senior editors over
breakfast, laying down the law for India: nothing would move, the gas
pipeline, even the permission to Indian private airlines to fly to
Pakistan unless the "core" issue was addressed. Again there was some
admiration for his confidence and clarity even among the Indian
contingent as he was "so unlike our bumbling politicians".
Haqqani's eyes were now lit up with mischief. He pointed his finger
directly at Aziz and said: "You know what they say, Davos is the
Disneyland of the mind. If that be so, there goes its Mickey Mouse."
How have the relative fortunes of the two competing kinds of
leaderships and nations under their charge evolved over these seven
years? Musharraf now looks bumbling and unconvincing, an international
joke, a pitiable, forlorn figure, hated by his countrymen, distrusted
by the world and mentioned dismissively even by Barack Obama. Shaukat
Aziz has disappeared from the scene, even losing out to an ordinary
mortal - coincidentally from India - for the top job in his alma
mater, Citi. Their country is a mess, their own army, for the first
time, is seeing its credibility, power, its pre-eminent position in
Pakistan's society and power structure questioned. Its political class
is decimated, its institutions fatally wounded. How do people as proud
as the Pakistanis feel when their dictator offers to salvage his
credibility by summoning the Scotland Yard to investigate the
assassination of their most prominent political leader? Nobody
believes their election commission's intentions, motives or judgment
in postponing their election.
Vajpayee, on the other hand, sits at home, having lost power in an
election, not in the pink of health, but satisfied at the way his
country is moving. His successor, from the opposite side of the
political fence, even comes to wish him on his birthday. His country
has meanwhile had many more state elections and another general
election within a year or so will give his successors in his own party
another crack at power. Now, think, who finally won. The indecisive,
inarticulate, ineffective slob who did not seem to have an answer to
anything, or the macho, confident, smart, decisive, modern smartie who
seemed to have an answer to everything?
There are many interesting, and important conclusions to be drawn from
this complex argument. But the most significant is this: a modern
nation needs democracy and so it needs its politicians, however
clumsy, corrupt, effete and power-crazed they may be. Because a
military dictator can also be all of these things. The difference is,
the political leader draws his power from the democratic process, so
he has a stake in preserving that system, howsoever cynical he may be.
The general draws his power by throttling the democratic system and
its institutions and you can see the results of that in Pakistan. So,
in a democracy, howsoever powerful a Lalu or Mayawati, they have to
shut up and listen when the Supreme Court speaks. The election
commission can publicly upbraid both Sonia Gandhi and Narendra Modi.
We, the media, can question and curse who we want. It happens because
the political class has the biggest stake in the democratic process,
howsoever much it may wish to manipulate it. In contrast, a military
dictator owes his power to the absence of institutions, of checks and
balances. That is exactly what Musharraf has done to his judiciary,
the election commission and even the media. That is why he has to
summon the Scotland Yard to investigate Benazir's assassination.
Shekhar Gupta is the Editor-in-Chief of Indian Express daily
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