An unending circus, a constant cast

The political theatre in Pakistan has always been a cauldron of intrigue, where the line between the rule of law and the influence of power is often blurred. With the return of Nawaz Sharif to Pakistan after a hiatus of four years, one cannot help but examine the pattern that represents the convenient amnesia regarding the societal, judicial, and legal consequences of reinstating individuals whose past tenures have been marred by major controversies.

The narrative is familiar: in 2018, when the establishment sought to dethrone Nawaz Sharif and replace him with the supposedly untarnished Imran Khan, there was a collective belief that Khan’s rise to power would solve Pakistan’s countless issues. The discourse that the Sharif family had ‘looted’ Pakistan paved the way for Khan’s rhetoric of change, which resonated with the politically aloof masses and the powerful circles alike. However, the moment of reckoning came right after PTI’s win.

When journalists met Imran Khan ten days after he became Prime Minister, Kashif Abbasi asked a pertinent question, “Khan Sahab, it seems like you are not ready to govern. Were you not prepared?” to which the PM immediately replied, “Yes Kashif, I was not prepared”.

It is astonishing to witness the consequential spiral of U-turns, especially when one considers the cohort Khan assembled— the cabinet that was a mix of novices and loyalists born out of nepotism, rather than seasoned politicians. His request for a grace period of non-criticism, extended from six months to a year, was underlined by a typical undertone of coercion from the powerful establishment.

One cannot overlook the chilling implications that resulted from intimidation by figures like General Bajwa who reportedly intimidated journalists with threats of adding names to a list of those to be purged. The list was later mentioned by the then Federal Minister Faisal Vawda on a programme on national television.

The irony was Usman Buzdar being pitched as one of the best performing members from the lot, and friends like Zulfi Bukhari from London being elevated in ranks for providing pick and drop service from the airport. Anyone who would criticise such actions would face the wrath of General Faiz.

The same Buzdar later became the bone of contention when Bajwa’s quarrel with Khan started, and from calling journalists to prevent them from criticising Khan’s decisions, he went straight to a situation that does not need an explanation.

Khan avoided being a member of the Public Accounts, Finance, Foreign, and Planning Division Committees that would have provided him with the core understanding of governance. One of his ministers told me that his membership in the parliamentary committees was against “his dignity and political stature”.

This blend of politics and intimidation, however, is not unique to Khan’s tenure. Whether it was Nawaz Sharif being propped up against Benazir Bhutto or the machinations that led to Sharif’s own ousting, leaders are lifted to the pedestal of power with little regard for governance capabilities, only to be cast aside when their utility wanes or their obedience falters.

General Aslam Beg favoured Mustafa Jatoi for Prime Minister in 1990, but General Hameed Gul backed Sharif, hoping to become army chief through him. After Sharif appointed General Asif Nawaz instead, Gul turned against him. This grievance also fuelled his support for Imran Khan. Nawaz Sharif’s criteria for selecting an Army Chief often extend beyond merit, considering loyalty and personal connections, leading to resentment from more senior generals overlooked for the position.

The three-time PM’s political journey has many flaws. Despite multiple stints, he showed minimal progress in understanding the nuances of governance or the importance of a robust bureaucracy. His administrations often resembled familial businesses, safeguarding personal interests over public welfare—a mirror image of Khan’s detachment from parliamentary proceedings and reliance on military counsel to run the country.

One cannot help but observe politics banking, overall, on a simple ambition entailed by the pursuit to secure the chair of a prime minister, with scant regard for the responsibilities it necessitates—whether it is Sharif’s extensive stays abroad or Khan’s parliamentary absenteeism. Such a modus operandi erodes the essence of representative democracy and makes a mockery of the promises made during electoral campaigns.

Ushering Sharif back into the fray, while circumventing due process and institutional integrity, seems to be a reiteration of the past, raising a pertinent question: can a political structure that cyclically resorts to the same means, expecting different endings, truly deliver progress?

The political resurrection of Sharif, like Khan’s before him, seems less an exercise in democracy and more a capitulation to the whims of the powerful. As the familiar drama unfolds, the overwhelming sentiment is one of déjà vu. With institutions tarnished and the rule of law sidestepped, one is left to wonder about the legitimacy of a leadership that comes into power, not through the strength of its grassroots support but through the potency of its backers from the shadows.

Nawaz Sharif’s government was run by Ishaq Dar, and Imran Khan said on multiple occasions that his government was run by General Bajwa. Now compare the loud promises made during vibrant rallies and unending television shows to ground realities and, like me, you will reach a conclusion that those who are actually given the reins after these ‘leaders’ come into power are the ones that actually enjoy all the luxuries on offer.

Pakistan, now more than ever, needs a radical departure from the politics of convenience—a move towards establishing a system where power is not merely a relay race between a select few but a position earned through merit and maintained by accountability. Until such a system materialises, the nation will continue to wade through the murky waters of political expediency, with actual democracy being a far cry.