I never thought I would actually be saying what I’m about to say, but here it goes….

 

Let’s bring back Bush.

 

Surely I ought to be hanged for uttering such nonsense, you must be thinking.

 

Is she on something, you might also wonder.

 

What’s her problem, all you know it alls chorus.

 

Well, my dears, I guess I have some explaining to do.

 

The reason why I’m professing endearment for George Bush has to do with Barack Obama’s new foreign policy in regards to Pakistan. To be perfectly blunt, it stinks.

 

First of all, I’m having a hard time dealing with Richard Holbrooke as Special Envoy for Pakistan and Afghanistan. Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t they two separate countries with two very different cultures and two very different histories and two very different governments? Of course I have not lost sight of the fact that Pakistan and Afghanistan are neighbors sharing one very nasty problem with Taliban militancy brewing a cauldron of violence alongside their border. In all the reactionary politics about defeating the bad guys, what no one asks is how did these guys get here in the first place?  Allow me a brief indulgence with a history lesson.

 

Many of the baddies originated in Afghanistan as leftovers of the man power that fought America’s proxy war in that country against Soviet occupation in the early to mid 1980’s. It was the height of the Cold War and America was determined to drive out the Communists from Afghanistan. It relied heavily on Pakistan’s support as a frontline state to funnel arms and money to the Mujahideen resistance forces across the border. Pakistan’s ruler at the time, General Zia ul Haq, was more than willing to cooperate and made quite name for himself as the lead project manager of the Afghan war next door. Had America behaved more responsibly in that war’s aftermath and had Pakistan been less greedy, we would have a much different outcome. Of course the policy makers in Washington probably don’t want to be reminded that their misguided policy in Afghanistan during the Soviet occupation is the root cause of the trouble we are seeing in that region today. But let us go down memory lane just for old time’s sake.

 

Once the Soviets were marched back to Siberia, the Americans declared their victory and basically abandoned war ravaged Afghanistan. It was no different than a child who makes a mess and expects the grown ups to clean it up. With a resulting power vacuum, Afghanistan erupted in a bloody civil war. This is when the Taliban emerged, allegedly to restore stability and order. The word talib is Arabic for student and the early Taliban members were recruits of the Pakistani madrassahs or seminaries that supplied these fellows to Uncle Sam.  

After 9/11, the American roosters multiplied and filtered into Pakistan where they get training in terrorist camps learning to hate the West and defending the honor that Muslims have lost. Their hare brained strategy is to wage attacks on their own people like the latest suicide bomber who killed worshippers during last Friday’s prayers in Jamrud, a town on the historic Khyber Pass functioning as a vital land route linking Pakistan and Afghanistan. So yes, there are connections between the two places, but yet, despite all that has happened, we cannot consider Pakistan and Afghanistan as one entity.

 

I really expected better from an American president who could finally pronounce Pakistan correctly. I was tickled pleased when he showed off his knowledge of the area by mentioning “FATA” short for the Federally Administered Tribal Areas of Pakistan.  But then he disappointed me when he called this region the most dangerous place in the world. Then he really went too far when he blamed Pakistan for 9/11.  Come on, Obama, what’s wrong with you? Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that you, being so hip and suave and intelligent would turn out to be my Brutus. Yes, sir, you have betrayed me.  And I won’t forgive you so easily. Allow me to elaborate why.

 

The Obama administration’s newly unveiled foreign policy lumping Pakistan with Afghanistan is a clear break with the approach favored by the Bush administration. It is different in its tone with none of that cowboy-like “we'll smoke them out of their holes" mumbo jumbo, just a simple, stern message to al-Qaeda that "we will defeat you". That’s just fine by me. What’s not so fine is the added pressure on Pakistan to do more to fight the militancy in the tribal region. I doubt very much that Asif Zardari’s hokey government can do a better job than his predecessor Musharraf who alienated himself amongst Pakistanis when he allied with team Bush in the war against terror.

 

Now, I’m no fan of dictators, but in this case, Musharraf’s military might was a stronger deterrent against extremist forces in Pakistan. Just because they weren’t completely eliminated does not mean that he did not do enough. The Bush-Musharraf alliance relied on American and as well as Pakistani man power in rooting out the militants in the tribal beltway. The Obama folks expect Pakistan to go at it all alone. A clear indication of this is the unmanned U.S. Predator drone attacks in Pakistan that have not been discontinued in the policy agenda. Another sign is increasing resources and civilian personnel to assist with development projects in Afghanistan, but not at the same level as for Pakistan.

 

Obama’s message to Pakistan boils down to this: we are trying to rebuild Afghanistan after neglecting it for years. Don’t let the violence in your country spill over and undermine our success. This is pretty unfair because much of the violence in Pakistan is related to what’s going on Afghanistan. It cannot be singled out as a Pakistani problem. Obama wants to protect Afghanistan against the radical forces having a field day across the border in Pakistan, but he needs to realize that these radicals (who may not even be Pakistanis, but more likely Chechnyans or Arabs or Afghans), did not sprout on Pakistani soil overnight as well as the bigger historical picture behind their presence.

  

As a Pakistani, I’m deeply saddened at the state of affairs sinking the country’s reputation to an all time low. As an American, I completely understand and value the need for national security. But I cannot and will not overlook America’s role in creating the very monsters that it now wants to tame. So let us revisit the history books with a more recent example. After the 9/11 atrocities, America retaliated by bombing Afghanistan code named Operation Enduring Freedom and in a stark replay of its earlier strategy during the Soviet occupation, the American powers that be relied once again on proxy forces to do their bidding.  This time it was not poor and disgruntled men trained to be warriors of Allah to drive out the infidels, but rich and powerful Afghan warlords who were instigating a climate of fear and corruption that added fuel to the Taliban insurgency and made the situation worse by planting more seeds for violence. Many of these Taliban offshoots filtered into Pakistan bringing along their gun culture and militant tactics after the U.S. had done its business in Afghanistan.

 

Condemning Pakistan for providing a safe haven for terrorists is only one half of the equation. The other half -- and this is the missing part of Obama’s new policy toward Pakistan -- is finding an equitable solution to a problem that the U.S. tacitly manufactured. Why should Pakistan be solely responsible for getting rid of these hooligans? Why is Afghanistan not held responsible for sending them across the border? And why aren’t U.S. ground forces that were so callously deployed in Iraq to bring down a madman playing a bigger role in bringing down an even greater threat that concerns the welfare of the entire world?

 

I’m not sure if the answers are all there in Obama’s new agenda. So does this mean that I really prefer Bush instead? Hell no. My argument is not about choosing sides. It’s about fairness. This young but ambitious U.S. administration needs a deeper commitment to help Pakistan in battling its evils. The relationship between the two countries has for the most part remained transactional. Many Pakistanis welcome Obama’s engaging attitude and outreach. But they find his new action plan a bit too hollow with no real change in America’s self serving interests.

 

It goes without saying that Barack Hussain Obama is a breath of fresh air after George W. Bush. He’s far more articulate, has way better manners and radiates cool confidence. But looking beyond his winning appearance into his actual foreign policy objectives vis a vis the beleaguered state of Pakistan and we find nothing to get excited about. If anything, there’s even less excitement now that Obama and his team of experts are pulling back the reigns that Bush had secured somewhat tighter.

 

Let me get this straight. I’m not an advocate for American meddlesomeness in other countries. But the fact of the matter is that Americans do like to meddle and they have meddled their way into a grand old mess as far as Pakistan is concerned. To stop meddling now or not meddling enough is simply counter productive. There is no missing the point that Obama means business. But dumping Afghanistan’s problems onto Pakistan’s shoulders is not entirely fair. We need a more level playing field where all of the guilty participants have an equal share of responsibility for resolving this conflict. Until that happens, I’m not placing my bets with Obama and his promises.

 

 

What was once a cozy alliance between Musharraf's Pakistan and Bush's America has morphed into a spiral of distrust, frustration and impatience giving way to a predictable fallout between the leader of the war on terror and the hapless frontline state. Granted that the buddy-buddy relationship was dubious from the start with both leaders engaged in a devil's pact to accommodate their own self serving agendas. But now that Musharraf is no longer at the helm and Bush is finally on his way out, what are the likely consequences? Will America manage to remain a distant friend or a foe? Will Pakistan do its part to reign in the chaos in the tribal areas along the Pakistani-Afghan border? The answer is yet to come.

What does seem more and more obvious is that the changing of administrations on both sides of the Atlantic will mean a change in styles, not necessarily for the betterment of either stakeholder. In a TV interview, Barack Obama complained that the Bush administration had 'wasted' the $10 billion it gave in aid to Pakistan. He said that aid should not have been given without strings attached, and that Islamabad was receiving American military aid to prepare for war with India. Irrespective of the absurdity of the last charge, Pakistan has to wake up to the danger to its national security if Obama makes it to the White House. His statement coincides with US press reports which quote Pentagon officials as saying that cross-border raids are not only necessary, more such raids could follow.

Clearly, we are in a foreign policy mess. Worse still, there is hardly any semblance of government to  articulate Pakistan’s position and bring about some resolution. The ongoing constitutional/political crisis is taking its toll and there is no doubt that America will chart Pakistan’s instability as justification for a more vigilant and hostile approach. Its enough to make one long for the good old days of military might and hawkish arrogance. Dear me. Times are indeed desperate when the Musharraf/Bush combo is no longer seen as such a bad deal afterall.
The future could scarcely be an improvement. Those who actually believe in Pakistan's road to democracy and America's change of heart are living an illusion.

As far as obsessions go, I've long been captivated with a date. August 14, 1947. It's no ordinary date. It's the kind of date that changes history, of nations and individuals. A fateful date, it conferred Pakistan's existence into the world and twenty four years later, determined the underpinnings of my own fractured identity.

Growing up in Karachi, I experienced an idyllic Pakistani childhood, steeped in multiculturalism, long before the term was even invented. From the first grade to the sixth, I attended a private Zorastarian school, the privileged Mama Parsi School for girls that still stands today on Karachi's Bunder Road. My friends were a cosmopolitan set of Muslims, Christians, Bahais and Parsis who vacationed in London, Dubai, Hong Kong, Kuala Lumpur, and in one odd category, Buffalo, NY. By the age of eleven, I had read the entire Quran in Arabic and memorized not only the surah fatiha and ayat al kursi, but also my favorite songs by Abba and the Beagees. And according to my mother, before I could even learn to talk, I was fond of asking questions. No doubt, I must have driven poor Ammi mad, tugging at the pleats of her neatly pressed saris and berating her with a series of whys. When I couldn't get anywhere with Ammi, I moved onto Kamila Aunty, one of the more glamorous of my mother's relatives, and as far as I was concerned, the walking definition of a Sophisticated Lady.

Kamila Aunty lived in a leafy Karachi neighborhood known by the initials KDA. She was fond of throwing fancy bridge parties where women with permed hair wore sleeveless blouses and called their husbands darling.  I was delighted when Kamila Aunty encouraged my curiosity, she even indulged it by presenting me with an encyclopediac volume known as Tell me Why. My mother was relieved when I no longer pestered her about why the sky is blue and why the moon appears to be following us when we are in the car.

As I grew older, my questions became far more personal and answering them was not as easy. 

I wanted to know, for example, why a country like Pakistan, whose foundation was ostensibly the unity of Islam, could have endured the throes of a blood bath where Muslims were killing other Muslims and cultural, not religious affiliation appeared to be the bonding factor. This was the legacy of 1971, the year I was born, as Pakistan went to war with India and eventually lost its eastern territory which emerged as the newly independent nation of Bangladesh. 

My parents still recall the dogfights between the Indian and Pakistani air force jets, the blackout sirens and the butcher paper shielding the windows of our modest Saddar house and how they used to stuff cotton balls in my ears and all three of us would hide under the dining room table during the air raids. A native of India, my mother was brand new to Pakistan at the time, having conceded her Indian citizenship when she married my father in 1970.  Ammi had promised her mother and a horde of siblings and cousins to visit every year between Karachi and Bombay, and because my Dad worked in the airline business, this back and forth shuffling between the two cities, a distance of a mere five hundred miles, was not considered so problematic.

After the 71 war, the borders were sealed and getting a visa became a bureaucratic nightmare. At one point, my father had to fly to the Swiss capital of Berne to secure my mother's visa from the Indian embassy.  Ammi arrived at Bombay's Saher airport no longer a fresh young bride, but a mother of two in 1975, carrying my baby brother and clutching my four-year old hand. Nanijaan, my maternal grandmother, with her eyes full of bittersweet tears, pinched my cheeks and taunted her daughter for lying to her. The promised annual visits had given way to a long overdue family reunion.  And as I was whisked off to the waiting car by a gang of friendly khalas and mamoos, who were my mom's sisters and brothers, I knew right there and then that though I was Pakistani by birth, I was also no stranger to India.

Even at that young age, I knew that we had stakes on both sides of the borders. I knew that you couldn't take the Pakistani out of me any more than you could sever the Indian roots of my heritage. And for the longest time, I despised borders for slicing our family in half, which is precisely what happened when my father's side moved from Madras and Bangalore in the south of India to Pakistan in the early 1950's, comprising the Mohajir migrants of Karachi, while the majority of my mother's clan chose to remain in Bombay as Indian nationals.

On an interesting side note, there are still more Muslims in India, forming the country’s largest religious minority, then in the whole of Pakistan. Yet it often surprises people that an Indian can also be a Muslim. Just as I often forget about the existence of Israeli Arabs, so too have some forgotten about the existence of Indian Muslims. It is high time to rescue this endangered species and set the record straight.  Some of the biggest Bollywood stars are Muslim. (But don’t expect the media to point this out.)  India’s profitable tourist industry has long paid homage to its Islamic Mughal past to entice visitors.  The Taj Mahal gleams on billboards, posters and magazines the world over as India’s definitive icon. The story behind the Taj is that of a Muslim couple. (But it never seems to be advertised as such.) In fact, India blooms with Muslim talent and Muslim history, so why the cultural amnesia? The answer requires a whole other digression.

Over the years, the old sky blue aerogrammes between Bombay and Karachi have switched postage between Mumbai and Seattle. And to this day, I have trouble giving a one word response to where I come from. Now that Pakistan has become a household name in my adopted homeland of America, I no longer have to spin the globe and point to a shaded strip of land, just northwest of India, as I used to do a quarter of a century ago in Mr. Rhodes seventh grade social studies class. This is Pakistan, I would chime in my best American accent acquired after watching marathon episodes of The Brady Bunch and Gilligan's Island. Pakistan, I would repeat. It means land of the pure. This is where I come from...

It did and always will feel like an incomplete sentence. I consider it a blessing and a curse. The enduring tattoo of being one of those in-betweens. My 1947 blues.

The latest plot twist in Pakistan’s ongoing political drama is the impeachment of Musharraf. It was to be expected. His popularity has been plummeting both within Pakistan and in the international community. The United States increasingly views Musharraf as less and less integral to US-Pakistani relations, despite having enlisted Musharraf’s support in the war against terror, providing the country roughly $12 billion in aid since September 11. But let’s not confuse words with action. America claims to support democracy in Pakistan when in fact, America has had a long standing practice of cozying up to Pakistan’s military dictators from Zia ul Haq to Pervez Musharraf. Turning a former ally into a liability does not mean much. So what gives? Is impeaching Musharraf the answer to Pakistan’s problems? Will it be good for America? Unfortunately, not. 

Let us forget about Musharraf for a moment and come to terms with what remains the real issue at hand, the issue that is not easy to address, the issue that never seems to go away, lingering on and on like a nasty migraine. A better analogy does not come to mind in regards to the Pakistani military. Like it or not, the military is a formidable force that can be blamed for many of Pakistan’s ills from social inequities to a governance devoid of accountability. It is a matter of deciding what role the military will play in Pakistani politics that will determine the outcome of the country’s future. Ousting leaders, no matter how badly they govern, will not make a big difference, so long as the military continues its hegemony.

The present allegations by Asif Zaradari come down hard on Musharraf for mismanaging the country’s affairs.  It may come as a surprise to Mr. Zaradari that Pakistan enjoyed a period of sustained macro economic growth with Musharraf at the helm, particularly in 2003 when the Karachi stock exchange (KSE) was booming. It also smacks of hypocrisy that Mr. Zaradari, also known as Mr. 10%, should accuse Musharraf of mismanagement when he himself bled the country dry looting from its coffers.  Of course, Musharraf was no saint. And let us remember that finger pointing is a national sport in Pakistan.  Why not make it an Olympiad event? Now let the games go on. 

As a Pakistani teenager growing up in the States, I have very few complaints about the years I spent in the American public education system, between the seventh to the twelfth grades spanning middle school and high school. There were of course some adjustments to make, mistakes to avoid, rules to learn, but on the whole, my experience was a fairly smooth ride. Like every awkward teen, I went through my share of adolescent angst and the on/off bouts of identity crisis. But what really puzzled me is why the students, not the teachers had to change classrooms. It had been the other way around at my private all girls school in Karachi where my classmates and I would stand up and say Good Morning or Good Afternoon to Mrs. so and so every time a different teacher walked into the room.

My favorite teacher was Mrs. Contractor who taught us English Composition. She had wavy hair cascading over her shoulders like a copper colored cloud and I loved her handwriting that scribbled my name on the chalkboard in great big loops around the M’s and made all the vowels stand out in equal measure to the tall and slender l and h. Once when Mrs. Contractor had accidentally misspelled my surname ‘Masood’ with one u instead of two o’s, I pointed it out to her and she replied that it looked rather nice with the u version. We agreed to stick to the o’s and she made them so symmetrical and neat snuggling each letter close to the other in perfect harmony and balance. Instead of memorizing William Blake and Wordsworth, I would practice Mrs. Contractor’s penmanship in the blank pages of my notebook, trying to write my name the way she did, but I never quite got it right. 

When I had to leave Karachi in 1982 to start a new life in America, I asked all my friends and teachers to sign a small diary that I called my “autograph book”. It was the same concept as a high school year book and I soon collected a treasure trove of messages, poems, inspirations, quotes and personal sayings to remember my years at Mama Parsi which is the name of my first school. Mrs. Contractor had inscribed her trademark signature and I still cherish the contents of that page now yellowed with age after 25 years. She had chosen a quote by Emerson who would end up becoming one of my favorite American writers. I found the same quote decades later in a grocery store card rack. Reading those words transports me not to Concord or Boston, Massachusetts but to Bunder Road in Karachi where Mama Parsi still stands.  And I think of that flame haired Zoroastrian teacher who wrote me this:

Dear Maliha,

Finish each day and be done with it. Tomorrow is a new day.

You shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense.

(Ralph Waldo Emerson)

 Tyee would be the name of my second school in the posh Bellevue, Washington school district. I figured it was an indigenous Native American name given the totem pole with the eagle carvings situated near the parking lot.  My homeroom teacher, Mr. Rhoades had none of Mrs. Contractor’s elegance. He wore fraying jeans with an old letterman jacket and allowed all sorts of liberties amongst his students. My American classmates blurted out questions without raising their hands, they also chewed gum and slouched in their chairs, all of which I found rather strange and magical. They really get away with a lot here was my conclusion. It was a new form of freedom to be able to wear whatever I wanted to school instead of the starched white uniform with the sky blue tie and polished black T-strap shoes. I bought a pair of Levis and Adidas T-shirts and a Hello Kitty lunch box. I joined the track team and took Spanish as my foreign language. My Anglicized English soon gave way to an American accent.

It was only during roll call when I was briefly reminded that I was still Maliha, a Karachi girl from Mama Parsi, turning herself into a Pacific Northwest eighth grader. All the strides I had made in cultural assimilation came to a sickening halt whenever some teacher mangled the pronunciation of my given name and I didn’t have the nerve to correct it. I remember how my heart would start beating just a little bit faster and I would start squirming my feet and longing to melt into the floor as soon as the teacher made it midway through the alphabet, slowly moving past the K’s and L’s toward the M’s. I knew just when that pause would arrive, a nondescript five seconds that seemed like five hours at the time. And then it would come, like a badly aimed slingshot, it would fly out of the teacher’s mouth, polysyllables scrunched together in odd combinations or sometimes missing vital components as in the case of Mali. The teachers usually had an easier time with Masood. Little did they (nor I), knew back then that the name Masood would become more and more familiar in the years to come as Pakistan asserted itself in the new lexicon of America’s hearts and minds.

It’s only a name some would say. Indeed so. But what illustrious company it keeps. From the Afghan legend, Ahmad Shah Massoud to the troublesome Mahsud tribe in Waziristan to one of Al-Qaeda’s masterminds, Baitul Mehsud (who may or may not have had something to do with Benazir Bhutto’s killing) it seems as though I am sharing my father’s name with some serious heavyweights. Perhaps there are some long lost cousins back home to reckon with. Puns and spellings left aside, I don’t know how to separate myself from Masood any better than I can tear off one of my limbs.  Sometimes, I wonder if I can remain a Masood and a Pakistani and an American without raising any alarms in this day and age. Perhaps it’s time to redefine a new breed of Masoods, the kind that represents who I am, not just who I should or could be. This Masood quotes freely from New England Transcendalists and the Prophet Muhammad. She reads Blake and Bradbury. Her vocabulary is littered with ancient words like Mama Parsi and Tyee.

So what’s in a name?

Come take a closer look. Come now, don’t be shy. And don’t forget your sense of humo(u)r.

Growing up in Pakistan, Mohammad Ali Jinnah’s portrait was a constant reminder of the country’s founding father. I would look up at the walls of my classroom, the neighborhood grocery store, my darzi or tailor’s little shop and there he was, a stern-faced man with gaunt cheeks and tight lips. Most of the pictures were close-up shots in black and white, revealing Jinnah’s buttoned up sherwani, a knee-length form-fitting coat, and his trademark topi, a tall paper-boat shaped cap in black wool.

I was taught to respect the man behind that image and refer to him as the Quaid-e-Azam, or Great Leader. According to my primary school textbooks, Jinnah was described as a staunch nationalist, the visionary architect of Pakistani statehood. I learned about Jinnah’s struggles on behalf of Indian Muslims that eventually led to India’s partition in 1947 and the creation of Pakistan. In Karachi where I lived, a favorite picnic spot was the garden surrounding Jinnah’s mazaar or mausoleum. The white bricked structure with its clean modern lines and bulbous onion-like roof somehow reminded me of a schizophrenic building, as though it were spatially challenged and unsure whether to belong to the future or the past. In many ways, this is the dilemma confronting Pakistan throughout history and the present crisis is not just about free and fair elections and who gets to rule the country. It’s also about realigning Pakistan with the vision of its founder.

A secular and Westernized Muslim, Jinnah was a Bombay lawyer who spoke the Queen’s English and wore stylish European suits. He deplored the communal and religious zealotry between Hindus and Muslims gathering heat in the waning days of the Raj. As resistance against colonial rule gained stature and momentum in the 1930’s and 40’s, Jinnah left the Indian National Congress party, where he had been a member for over twenty years, but not because he was no longer devoted to India’s eventual freedom from British dominion. Jinnah was worried about an issue that would face much of Asia emerging from colonization, the troubling and complex matter of defending minority rights. It became an obsession for which he was a relentless advocate.

While Mahatma Gandhi and Jawaharlal Nehru were campaigning for Indian independence, Jinnah, who was just as Indian as they were, but an Indian who was also a Muslim and therefore a minority, was equally concerned about the large swaths of minority populations in the subcontinent that needed some form of protection. He first opted for a legal solution via constitutional measures that involved electoral safeguards for Muslim minorities and guaranteed representation in state institutions. Unable to achieve these outcomes, Jinnah was left with little choice, but to champion the cause of a separate homeland for the Muslims of India. A year after Pakistan’s birth, Jinnah passed away, but his words continue to illuminate historical records and textbooks and are more relevant now than ever before.

As the first Governor-General of Pakistan and President of the constituent assembly, Jinnah spoke of an inclusive and pluralist democracy promising equal rights for all citizens regardless of religion, caste or creed.

If we want to make this great State of Pakistan happy and prosperous we should wholly and solely concentrate on the well-being of the people, and especially of the masses and the poor... you are free- you are free to go to your temples mosques or any other place of worship in this state of Pakistan.

In an address to civil, naval, military and air force officers in Karachi, Jinnah said:

We should have a State in which we could live and breathe as free men and which we could develop according to our own lights and culture and where principles of Islamic social justice could find free play.

Six decades later, Pakistan is a galaxy removed from Jinnah's vision of a secular democratic state. The legacy of Pakistani governance has been much the same regardless of who’s in charge. Whether ruled by a military general like Pervez Musharraf or a popularly elected Prime Minister as Benazir Bhutto could well have been, Pakistan as a country still needs to come to terms with the fault lines jeopardizing its stability from the very beginning. The reason why democracy has not yet worked and why Pakistan’s leaders, including Musharraf, have shown little tolerance for it is because there is still no faith in giving democracy a chance and trusting in the ideals of the man who brought Pakistan into existence.

Jinnah’s life’s work in protecting minority rights is grossly negligent in provinces like Baluchistan and the Northern Areas where the inhabitants still lack basic political and constitutional rights. His secular outlook would not have tolerated religious opposition parties who abuse Islam for their own political agendas. And he certainly would have deplored governance stripped of all integrity, where private gains take precedence over public welfare. All in all, Jinnah would be hard pressed to recognize today’s Pakistan as the state that he had once envisioned.  The world must remember his example and recognize the universality of what he stood for.

Jinnah’s Presidential Address:

http://www.pakistani.org/pakistan/legislation/constituent_address_11aug1947.html

It is commonly believed both within Pakistan and the world at large that Musharraf’s days are numbered. The results of Monday's parliamentary elections are a vote against the unpopular President.  The Pakistan People's Party (PPP) of the late former PM, Benazir Bhutto, won most of the seats, followed by the PML-N of another former PM, Nawaz Sharif. The two opposition parties are expected to begin talks on forming a coalition that could potentially control more than half the seats in parliament. Two thirds of the majority stipulates victory. If this happens, there will be a strong verdict against Pervez Musharraf. He will be forced to step down. What will this mean for the future of Pakistan? The Pakistani press thinks that a future without Musharraf will be good news.

According to the English language paper, The Nation, “the government's policies of lopsided development, its claim that it has created an economic bonanza for the general public and its decision to have recourse to the military option to eliminate the hydra-headed monster of terrorism" have all backfired. Urdu daily Jang echoes the sentiment. “We believe it is better for the leadership of both winning parties and the president to take decisions in the greater interests of the nation, as the challenges faced by the country these days can only be combated through unity." The prestigious Dawn claims, “The nation expects him to be a good loser... The voters have punished all those seen as being supportive of autocratic rule." The News says the president and his supporters in parliament have been beaten and "more or less humiliated".

As for opinions in the West, notably the United States government, a post-Musharraf Pakistan is a cause for celebration, in light of the fact that nothing has been done to root out the Taliban and the forces of evil lurking in the Tribal Areas. Despite a chummy alliance with the General, the Americans are getting tired of false promises. It’s time to put stock in new leadership with a democratic mandate. Has no one realized that democracy can be deceptive?

In the case of Pakistan, there is no such thing as effective leaders, democratic or not. Both Nawaz Sharif and Asif Zardari, the so called heroes of Pakistan’s future, are old rivals with long standing grudges. Both men have looted the country for personal gains and have a zero track record of doing anything decent for the public welfare. For them to change their tactics toward good governance, one that puts a premium on accountability and trust, will be quite a stretch. But still, there is wide spread belief that anyone will be a better option than the authoritative Musharraf.  What gives?

Let it be clear that defending dictators is not my thing. But still, but still, I want to ask, what real difference is there between Bush and Musharraf, between Musharraf and Vladimir Putin? All three leaders are obsessed with power. Their own turf is the only turf as far as they’re concerned. Maybe the Bush administration has subtler ploys in controlling the U.S. media that more or less toes the party line. Musharraf, on the other hand, is so much clumsier. The man doesn’t know the meaning of subtlety. He brandishes power like a little boy playing with all his toy soldiers and GI Joes and robots at once.

Let it be known to the American public that the Pakistani media has had a much freer reign compared to Russia in terms of freedom of speech. While GEO TV was airing a talk show featuring a transvestite taking cheap shots at Mr. Musharraf, Mr. Putin disallowed virtually any criticism on the airwaves. Russian opposition parties have engaged with riot police and several members, including intellectuals, have been arrested for challenging Putin’s presidential hegemony. Is this any different from the lawyers hunted down and put under house arrest during Musharraf’s recent crackdown? I think not.

Why is it then that Musharraf, and only Musharraf the bad guy? Putin is bringing forth the new face of Russia and Bush is containing the war against terror. Poor Mr. Musharraf is causing nothing but trouble. Pakistanis are sick and tired of the General. And they’re placing their bets elsewhere. But let’s just pause for a moment and think about the implications. If Pakistanis truly believe that self-governance, a weak power center and a curb on religious extremism will be the case in the new Pakistan, the one without Musharraf, then they are seriously deluded. Nothing is going to change. To find proof, all you need to do is consult the history books. The period between 1970-1988 will provide the bulk of the evidence.

Old wine in new bottles. That will be the likely scenario for Pakistan. It has happened before. And it will happen again. I’m not arguing in favor of Musharraf or the military. Because of all their shortcomings, Pakistan has suffered a great deal. But this country cannot possibly hope for a better outcome as long as the rulers don’t change their ways. Every politician in the world is motivated by self interest. Musharraf is no angel. Neither is Bush. Nor is Putin. Ditto for Zardari and Sharif. Regardless of free and fair elections, it is ultimately human beings who govern nations and no human being is perfect. In fact, many human beings are flawed and irrational and that especially applies to the champions of Pakistani leadership. Let that be remembered in discussions about the brave new future.

Imagine a war that you did not start and do not understand, but which you must fight. Imagine jubilant freedom fighters morphed into blood thirsty terrorists. Imagine pleasing your countrymen as well as the country that wants them dead.  Imagine a nation whose political chaos has marred from its cultural richness and physical beauty. Imagine then Pakistan as the world’s most frustrated and misunderstood hotspot.

Surely the P in Pakistan ought to stand for Paradox. Addressing Pakistani Paradoxes in a wise and astute manner is the job of politicians and policy makers. In terms of American foreign policy toward Pakistan, there are no clear answers or solutions, only careful planning and strategizing goals, which the United States, regardless of leadership, must keep in mind at all times. So what can be done?

First and foremost, do not strap aid. The gravity of the situation in Pakistan demands an increase, not a decrease in U.S. counterterrorism aid and training, including increasing intelligence and security collaboration, and the immediate delivery of much-needed equipment and hardware. 

Secondly, get off the election bandwagon. The U.S. supports elections, but is not quite ready for a Pakistan without Musharraf. That’s a tough one to negotiate. Consider the likely consequences and then decide where to place your bets. And remember, this is not Monte Carlo, but a very imperfect region of the world where logic and reason are in short supply. What you need to win is counter intuitiveness, a certain go against the grain lone ranger philosophy. And here is why.

Holding Musharraf accountable to credible elections as a way of easing political pressure and revitalizing rule of law will not wipe out the very real threat of domestic terrorism that Pakistan faces today. If anything, elections will goad local political and religious power structures into bolstering their constituents determined to replace the Pakistani nation-state with extremist, closed minded, anti-Western values.

Elections will also foment ethnic strife amongst millions of Sindhis, Baluchis, and Pashtuns, giving them license to square up grievances against the Punjabi majority dominating key positions in government and business. Many of the disenfranchised ethnic groups have found refuge in separatist militant organizations. Opposition members posing as viable alternatives to Musharraf have no track record of success, other than a constant plea toward free and fair elections, which are serving a dubious purpose in the case of Pakistan.

The U.S. needs to look for internal gain over external props. Letting go of the election issue is a step in the right direction. It does not mean that democracy cannot flourish in Pakistan. It simply means that democracy in Pakistan will not bring about the desired results that occur in other parts of the world. The United States’ security objectives will be best achieved in a politically stable Pakistan and the only way to make that happen for now is with continued military support. For Pakistanis and bleeding heart liberals to brush that aside as anti-democratic is to be living in a dreamland. And we all know that dreams are not quite the stuff of reality.

Twenty-five years ago, I left the city of Karachi, where I was born and raised as a child, and came to America with my family. We had no solid reasons to transition our lives halfway across the globe as do most immigrants. Whenever I asked my father why we were leaving, he would bring up all the finer points of Seattle, WA where we would often visit my aunt and cousins during my school holidays. The Emerald City beckoned us with its clean fresh air, greenery so green that it sometimes hurt the eyes to look at color that rich. We were captivated by all the free tennis courts in neighborhood parks, the picnic benches and barbecue grills, and the bewitching backdrop of Mount Rainier against sunny blue skies.

It was a whole other galaxy compared to Karachi, where we had to put up with tropical weather, unbearably hot, humid and sticky summers, monsoon downpours and clogged sewers, bathrooms infested by cockroaches, kitchens swarming with flies, mosquito nets and mouse traps and the routine power cuts and load shedding that prevented me from doing my homework under bright lights. I was tired of using a candle to do my arithmetic time tables and my father was fed up with trying to get a phone line connected to our house, a relatively simple procedure for which you had to wait months or else resort to bribing the corrupt officials. We would be through with all these nuisances if we simply packed our bags and moved on to a better place. This was more or less my father’s rationale when he applied for our immigration visas at the US consulate on Abdullah Haroun Road. Upon finalizing all the paperwork, we were given the green light. It was time to go.

The year was 1982 and Pakistan was being ruled by yet another military man, General Zia ul Haq, who had imposed martial law. I was unaware of what this implied as I went about my daily routine, going to school in a chauffeured car, listening to 70’s disco music on weekend parties and building sand castles on the shores of the Arabian Sea. On Friday afternoons, I would study the Quran with an elderly religiously scholar with coke bottle lenses and a beard reaching down to his waist. My grandmother and I would pray outside in the garden and afterwards I would recite out loud all the kalmas I had memorized thus far. Some nights, the entire family would congregate in the old Fiat with the overheating radiator and drive down to an outdoor eatery known as Bundhu Khan to feast on shish kebabs made with lamb and ice cream known as kulfi that came in small clay pots that would be smashed to the ground when empty, a ritual that made me think that Pakistanis might be close cousins to the Greeks with a penchant of breaking dishes. Indeed, we were multicultural long before I even knew the meaning of the word.

My father’s friends were mostly Goans, many of whom were Catholics. Mine were a hodgepodge of Parsis or Zorastrians. We also knew Boris, Khojas, Ismailis, Shias, Bahais, Gujratis and Makranis. The language I spoke at home was mostly British style English, peppered with Urdu phrases. But we kept hearing rumors that the government was going to change the school curriculums from English medium back to Urdu. My father alluded to things not being so good in the country anymore. He had a good job as a station manager at Swissair airlines, working at Karachi International airport. He had been with Swissair for over twenty years and he knew that leaving Swissair, leaving Karachi would also leave him in a lurch. There was no job waiting for him in the States. No possibility of a transfer unless he had chosen a bigger city like Chicago or New York, instead of Seattle. But my father’s mind was made up. He wanted a change of scene. His friends told him that he had no future in America. It was a gold mine of opportunity if you were young and ambitious, but that was no longer the case with my dad. Still he figured there were more reasons to leave, than to stay.

I was twelve years old at the time. The realization of going away for good, from a Pakistan that was no longer desired, had not yet sunk in. It was not as if I had any say in the matter, and even if I did, it would have made no difference. Twelve year old girls don’t have had the authority to overrule parental decisions. As far as I was concerned, I was going on yet another holiday to America, only on a one way ticket. And things were getting a bit stale in Karachi, or perhaps I should say as stale as they can get when one is in the sixth grade. My classmates were rather envious of my move. Many of them had been abroad and there was always much bragging and boasting to see who among us was the best traveled. From Hong Kong to Nairobi, London, Frankfurt, Copenhagen, Geneva, Toronto and Los Angeles, names of familiar places rattled off the list.

Seattle was a bit of a mystery. It was considered to be in Canada given the extreme northwest location. And just as Easterners clueless about the West coast, my Karachiite friends, with typical urban arrogance, imagined Seattle as a wilderness of forests and grizzly bears. Nobody really understood why I was moving to such a place. Only Sabahat seemed to care. She was my best friend since kindergarten and the news of my departure saddened us deeply. We vowed to write letters to each other every month. As a farewell gift, she gave me a collection of verses by William Blake, whose poetry I used to memorize in Elocution class.

For my favorite tiger, she had written in the inscription. Go get ‘em in America! Love, Sabahat

The opening stanza is still inscribed in my head.

Tiger Tiger, burning bright, in the forests of the night,

What immortal hand or eye dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

And so we did it. From Karachi to Seattle in one clean move. In all these years, I have never really tried to justify the move or question its implications. But as I see images of Pakistan flashing across the nightly news, images of Karachi burning, of street protests and riots, of security forces and turbaned militia men, and all the grim angry faces fed up with the place and its leaders, just as my father was fed up over a quarter of a century ago, I cannot help but wonder what it means to exchange one homeland for another when you have stakes on both sides. No matter how hard you try, you can never really decide where it is that you really belong.

Even though the Pakistan of today in no shape or form resembles the Pakistan I once knew, there is still a Pakistan inside me. It is there when I get sad and angry and feel helpless at the state of this scarred nation from which I will never be completely alienated. I wish I could but I don’t know how. My father claims that the bond is no longer there. The attachment has been worn out and what is there to be attached to besides just memories? Quite so. Just memories. Indeed. My past. His past. Our past. If only it were so simple to forget. But just like remembering, forgetting is not easy. The trick may be to forget things in the same proportion to what we remember. Perhaps that is the only way to maintain a level of equilibrium, the means to getting on with our lives.

I don’t agree with my father. Unlike him, I need to be reminded of the past. Because the past is who we are. The past is our evidence, our truth that Pakistan was not always this way. If geography is destiny, then I am destined to be a daughter of fault lines. My dreams and my nightmares reside in between two hemispheres, separated by more than ten thousand miles and eleven time zones, and it is my duty, certainly a privilege as a writer to make sense of what it all means. Not to do so is to be sick with amnesia, and that would probably be the biggest tragedy of all.