Moharram: The grieving Moon

فوج حق کو کچل نہیں سکتی
فوج چاہے کسی یزید کی ہو
لاش اٹھتی ہے پھر عَلم بن کر
لاش چاہے کسی شہید کی ہو

 

The Temple of Justice and veneration of Capital: Supreme Court’s Decision on NRO

A Comment by Lal Khan of IMT (translated by AA from Tabqatti Jiddojehd)

The recent Supreme Court’s recent decision declaring the NRO (National Reconciliation Ordinance) null and void has emerged as latest explosion in the series of tremulous events which have been arising from the severe political, economic and social crisis plaguing Pakistani state and society.  Instead of resolving this severe crisis, this decision will actually sharpen the contradictions and deepen the crisis and the anarchic situation. In August 1970 the veteran communist theoretician Comrade Ted Grant wrote, “we see the ruling classes of Pakistan swing from one form of governance to another, from military dictatorship to democracy and than the cycle repeats it self. This on their part is an attempt to avoid and escape the principle contradictions confronting them. But whatever is their form of government, military dictatorship or a “difficult democracy” they fail to provide economic and social stability” (Unbroken Thread, Ted Grant, 1970,p 431)

The Hidden NRO

After 30 years this crisis has become far more complex and severe. Corruption is not the cause of failure of this system rather it’s the fundamental necessity and creation of this system.  In this rotten system who is not corrupt? From pillars of state and politics to journalism and vanguards of social morality every layer of authority and ruling classes is corrupt. In this state afflicted by the crisis capitalism the pillars of state have no solutions.  Just like western capitalism, the client politicians of the ruling elite and establishment do corruption like master tacticians; they leave no proof behind and no stain on their character.. Their corruption is protected and safe. Despite all this when one considers the different existential crisis affecting every aspect of society and state of so called Islamic republic, corruption really becomes a non-issue.  The judiciary which is being portrayed as holy, sacred and clean is historically one of the most corrupt institution of Pakistan . Not only this, judiciary has always given verdicts which have strengthened the strangulating grip of ruthless capitalism and establishment on the people.  This decision is just yet another addition into this long tradition of decisions given by the superior judiciary of Pakistan .  Just like Army, civil bureaucracy, parliament, corporate media the judiciary is part and pillar of the state.  Just like these the principle function of judiciary is to preserve this inherently unjust system at any cost. Some  times using brute force and violence and at other instances utilizing the farcical democracy or judicial and constitutional wizardry the rotten social values and institutions of this system of ruthless capitalist plunder are given new life. The bitter reality is that this state and its institutions and all the political parties affiliated with it are slave of international monetary capitalism. If the capital cannot be generated by fair means utilizing unfair means become a necessity in this system where capital is god venerated in temples of state.  In a system where every relationship, value and emotion has become a commodity, justice too is on sale at judicial market.  In this hideous play of the ruling elite, the imperialism is strengthening its grip and is continuously looting and plundering the national wealth and assets without any resistance.  Pakistan Peoples Party was product of a revolution (1968-69 revolution) but it could never transform itself into a Leninist revolutionary party.  This contradiction resulted in its adoption by the working classes and downtrodden people of Pakistan as their revolutionary tradition and at the same time, its real character being “populist” instead of “Leninist-revolutionary” makes it vulnerable to be used by the ruling elite and enemy classes for furthering their agenda and easing their difficulties. Despite having the ample opportunities to completely dislodge the capitalist system in 1968-69 and in 1971-72, the failure to do so and decision to operate within the constraints of this system, the party leadership is on a continuous swing of deviating from Party’s original and fundamental programme of Socialism.  With this the slow infiltration of enemy classes in the party started and their grip on party has been increasing ever since. It is not to be denied that the present leadership of feudal, industrialists and petty bourgeois up starters have indulged in corruption but the question is which party and institution of Pakistan has not? Karl Marx once wrote those who don’t learn from history are condemned to repeat it.
In every crisis, the working classes and downtrodden masses of Pakistan have given their sweat, blood and tears to save this party. But the establishment and ruling classes have always used this party to control the crisis of state and to diffuse the revolutionary insurrections of masses and working classes standing behind this party. On return of Benazir Bhutto the monumental popular uprising completely exposed and discredited the so called “Lawyers Movement” and sharpened the class struggle. The sheer volume of popular uprising bewildered the establishment and ruling classes which were shaken to their roots. The epicenter of this movement Benazir Bhutto was assassinated and by a fraudulent election , a setup was imposed on the people in which government was given to the peoples party but the real power  was vested with some one else under tutelage of Washington.  The credit of removing General Pervez Mushraff was granted to the Lawyers Movement by the national and international corporate media instead of the glorious sacrifices and class struggle of people of Pakistan . The petty bourgeois and elitist leaders of Pakistan Peoples Party, blinded by the lust for power and wealth were under the deceptive illusion that they have the power in the state structure. The governance of this system moved them to impose ruthless capitalist policies like the criminally deceptive concept of “Public-Private Partnership, privatization and de-regulation resulting in unprecedented rise in poverty, hunger, unemployment and load shedding alienating the masses which form the very base of this party. With this economic terrorism people were attacked and the movement started to diffuse depriving people’s party of its “use value” by the state and establishment. As the leadership of Pakistan Peoples Party tried to strengthen its hold on Power structure , the holders of real power and the real rulers of this country h used yet another of their institution, the Judiciary instead  of the traditional bully the Pak Army to show the Peoples Party’s government their real worth.  In reaching this situation, the people’s party government by its sheer incompetence and pursuit of anti people economic policies has weakened it self and paved the way for the right wing assault. The irony is that even if Peoples Party government is kicked out the problems and crisis will not be resolved. Rather the situation will deteriorate manifolds, barbarism will plunder the society. The brutal assassination of Benazir Bhutto created a sympathy wave but the people burning in the hell of poverty, hunger and terrorism can’t wait for ever spell bound by an illusion. Even if they don’t rise in a revolutionary movement, holding on to the dwindling hope provided by their traditional party, in presence of such levels of poverty, humiliation, hunger and crisis any hope of stability is not tangible.

The crisis of society itself manifests in forms of contradictions within ruling elite, the state institutions creating an internal conflict within the state and ruling elite.  Every system of governance created by the bosses from ruthless military dictatorships to controlled democracy of General Musharraf and the capitalist parliamentary democracy has failed miserably. Every party and every institution stands exposed in front of the people. In this situation, it will be very difficult for the present leadership of Pakistan Peoples Party to use its traditional sympathy card. No doubt that the people and working class will be saddened by the dismissal of the government of their traditional party but they will only come out to actively support and defend the government, if the party returns to its original programme of socialism as rallying cry for a revolutionary movement.  This scenario in the present situation is very difficult keeping in mind the present leadership of the party. This on the other hand will create an ideological turbulence in the base of the party. Many expressions of this will be in form of personal and opportunistic dissent but an ideological conflict within the party is inevitable. The phenomenal question will surface in the party that which class this party represents and which class’s interests it pursues instead. The last writing and testament of Chairman Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto will re emerge and new avenues will open for the revolutionary tendency within the party. The traditional party slogan of “Socialism or death” will once again echo in this party.. The victory of revolutionary socialists in Peoples Party will pave the way for the socialist transformation of the society with the permanent solution of poverty, hunger  Islamic fascism and unemployment and this will become a reality.

 

The Last encounter : Breaking the silence

The problem in front of the great Italian Marxist Antonio Gramsci in the fascist prison was the “problem of sustenance of capitalism” in Europe despite its great logical contradiction. Why the Revolution was not coming when all the conditions were right? In his famous “prison notebooks”, he takes the question into the realm of ideology. This was the start of analysis of “ways of thinking”. He gave the concept of “cultural Hegemony”. Capitalism Gramsci suggested, maintained control not just through violence and political and economic coercion , but also ideologically , through a “hegemonic culture” in which the values of the bourgeoisie became the ‘common sense‘ values of all. Thus a consensus culture developed in which people in the Working-class identified their own good with the good of the bourgeoisie, and helped to maintain the status quo rather than revolting.

He also made a distinction between the “Political society” (the police, the army, legal system, etc.) which dominates directly and coercively, and civil society (the family, the education system, trade unions, etc.) where leadership is constituted through ideology or by means of consent. Its this “civil society” whose “thoughts” are being “controlled” to suit the masters [If only Pakistanis understood]. In order to understand these thing the “discourse analysis” was developed. “Discourse” is nothing but all “written and verbal communication”. In line of Gramsci and later Foucault we have to understand “discourse” as “institutionalized” way of thinking, or in words of Judith Butler “limits of acceptable” speech. Its these limits which must be subverted in order to reach a true libertarian discourse. The discourse is controlled by means of “exclusion”, no other opinion simply exists. Foucault writes:

“I am supposing that is every society the production of discourse is at once controlled, selected, organised and redistributed according to a certain number of procedures, whose role is to avert its powers and its dangers, to cope with chance events, to evade its ponderous, awesome materiality. In a society such as our own we all know the rules of exclusion. The most obvious and familiar of these concerns what is prohibited

“Of the three great systems of exclusion governing discourse — prohibited words, the division of madness and the will to truth ———”

“I believe we must resolve ourselves to accept three decisions which our current thinking rather tends to resist, and which belong to the three groups of function I have just mentioned: to question our will to truth; to restore to discourse its character as an event; to abolish the sovereignty of the signifier…. One can straight away distinguish some of the methodological demands they imply. A principle of reversal, first of all…. Next, then, the principle of discontinuity ….”

I am planning to do all this , i am trying to bring forward the “prohibited voices”, those which have been totally eclipsed in the society by the dominant discourse. This is not “endorsing” one and rejecting “others”, rather, its simply a act of breathing , an act of subversion ,of saying what is not pleasant to hear, Its simply an act of living in the rotten stagnant conformity. “The Bengali Genocide” is one such “absent voice” in Pakistan. We only hear “India -America-Jews divided Pakistan”, the act of liberation and resistance against one of the most brutal fascist militarism is “dismissed” as “sakoot”. The Last encounter is a short story by Kazi Fazalur Rehman , its taken from the anthology of stories from 71 by the name of “Fault lines”

The Last Encounter

By Kazi Fazlur Rahman

Another push by the soldier propelled Rashed into the room. He stumbled. The Pakistani officer standing in front of the table caught hold of him. He ordered the soldier out and untied Rashed’s hands. Then he moved behind the table and sat in the chair facing Rashed.

‘Sit down.’

Rashed blinked. Even the pale light of the winter afternoon was too harsh for his eyes after the long hours being blindfolded.

He rubbed his eyes without seeming to have heard the officer.

The enemy officer was of his age or perhaps a little older. He was fair-complexioned and of rather slight build. Under the broad forehead, his eyes had a hint of blue. And those eyes, Rashed could not help noticing, did not have the taunting look of the captor for the captive. The eyes were tired, and the face heavy with fatigue.

After being asked a second time, Rashed slowly sat down. He touched his right temple, which was covered with congealed blood. With his left hand, he tried to feel if any of his ribs were broken.

‘What’s your name?’
Rashed’s hands froze. But he kept quiet.

‘Are you a student? How many other miscreants were there with you?’

Rashed did not respond. He felt sure that these were the preliminaries before the torture began. This was the moment he had been dreading since regaining consciousness. He knew only too well what there was in store for him. He had seen too many, both dead and dying, who had been tortured by the Pakistanis. Instinctively, he clenched his fists.

‘It won’t be very difficult to make you talk,’ the officer, smiled faintly. ‘Even if I can’t do it myself, I can ask some of my soldiers and razakars to come and help. You surely know how experienced they are in this business and how much they enjoy it.’

‘We may have to spend some time together,’ the officer added after some moments of silence. ‘We should at least get acquainted. My name is Azam — Captain Azam.’

‘I am Rashed,’ Rashed said after a moment of hesitation.

Captain Azam pushed the packet of cigarettes across the table, ‘Have a cigarette. Whether you or I want it or not, we are both fated to be on the same stage for the time being. Once the war is over, each of us will be back in his own world — provided we survive till then. I really wanted to meet a proper mukti — a so-called freedom fighter. Almost all we manage to catch alive seem to be illiterate farm-hands, young schoolboys or old men. You, I think, belong to the right category — if ‘right’ is the proper word!’

He pressed the bell. ‘First, let me get some tea for us. Meanwhile, you may like to have a wash. There’s the bathroom.’

Kadamtali, a rather small river port, had an oil storage depot and lay right on the river routes of oil tankers plying between Chittagong and Dhaka. The guerrillas desperately wanted to disrupt the oil supply. They had damaged a couple of passing tankers and also made an unsuccessful attempt to blow up the depot. The Pakistanis reacted by increasing the size of the army contingent guarding the depot. Fortified bunkers were constructed within the depot perimeters.

A few days earlier, Rashed had received reports that Pakistani soldiers had stopped coming out in the open after sunset. Now was the time, he had decided, to blow up the storage tanks. The plan was simplicity in itself. With grenades in a waterproof plastic bag, he would swim over to the depot landing. The usual heavy December fog would provide adequate cover. From riverbank to the depot it was only about 30 feet or so. He would toss the grenades, run back to the water and jump into it. Balai and Jalal would open fire from safe distances to distract the Pakistanis.

But things had not worked out as planned. The fog had suddenly cleared just as Rashed was getting ready. Nevertheless, he had decided to go ahead. He would have perhaps changed his mind had he only known that on that very day the army contingent had been reinforced by a large group of razakars. They were put on patrol duty outside the depot. After all, their Pakistani masters could not care less if they got killed. These wretches were expendable.

Rashed, after crawling up to the depot fence, had already lobbed the grenades when, the razakars started shooting. Even with their wild marksmanship, the hail of bullets was thick enough to cut off his escape. Meanwhile, the grenades set off a chain reaction of explosions among the oil drums. As he lay prone on the ground, a large metal fragment, possibly a piece of a bursting drum, hit him on the head.

He regained his senses only to gasp from the savage kicks to his head, face and chest. Soon he sank into oblivion again. When he woke up again he found himself blindfolded. His hands and feet had been tied. He was quite surprised that he was still alive. He did not know that only the captain’s intervention had saved him from a slow and extremely painful death.

‘I don’t know how well-informed you are,’ Captain Azam took a sip of tea, ‘but it’s almost all over with the war. It won’t make any difference whether you or I live or die. The Indian army has won this round.’

‘Not the Indian army alone,’ Rashed’s voice rose in protest. ‘It’s the combined allied forces of both India and Bangladesh.’

‘Rubbish! It is the Indian superiority in the numbers of planes, tanks, artillery and soldiers. You Bangalis simply act as their porters,’

‘You lie! Is it because of the Indian army that you dared not come out of the bunkers? How many of your officers and men of the so-called best army in the world, equipped with the latest American and Chinese weapons, died in the last nine months? How many in Dhaka alone? Who killed them? Surely not the Indians!’

‘You can’t win a war by a few stray murders or by throwing a bomb here, planting a mine there. Without the Indian army your ‘Joi Bangla’ would have remained just an empty slogan.’

‘Again, you are wrong. Our victory was inevitable. We would have driven you out on our own. Sure, that would have taken much more time. The process would have been far more painful and the price paid for freedom still higher. Yet, perhaps that would have been better for my country’s future.’

Captain Azam crushed his cigarette in the ashtray. ‘Enough of that. Now tell me how you got involved with this ragtag band of muktis. You don’t look like a miscreant.’

Rashed’s eyes flashed. ‘What would you have done if your brother had been made to dig a grave and then was buried alive in the grave he had dug? Or your sister had been ravaged and mutilated; by a gang of savage beasts in the shape of men?’

‘Yes, I know there have been some excesses. A few such unfortunate things are bound to happen if an army is called upon to suppress a rebellion.’

---

My days in East Pakistan have convinced me that I should have resisted my father’s wishes. I’m not cut out to be an officer of the Pakistani army.

---

‘No. This was planned and cool-headed savagery Yahya the drunk, Tikka Khan the butcher and Bhutto the smoothtalking charlatan ordered you to perpetrate all these bestialities in the name of defending Islam and Pakistan. They felt sure that killing and brutality on this massive scale would frighten the Bangalis into silence. But they made a mistake. Yes, brutality within a certain limit may temporarily terrorise a people into inaction. But beyond this limit, it is counterproductive. There are many in our ranks who never bothered about politics or their identities as Bangalis. Your senseless yet systematic brutality made them take up arms.’

‘You see, I don’t really know much about all these things.’ Captain Azam was somewhat apologetic. ‘It’s been only four months since I came from West Pakistan. Anyway, even if the things you allege did really happen, they were under the orders of superior authorities. The ordinary officer or soldier in the field can’t be held responsible for carrying out orders.’

‘Hitler’s generals and soldiers took the same plea. The civilised world refused to accept it. They were found guilty and hanged. Even now those war criminals are being hunted down and brought to justice. And you’re also going to be tried and punished.’

‘You delude yourself. We aren’t going to be tried. Your leaders will forget all about it in their scramble for pomp and power. And if you really want to try anyone, you’ll have to look for the guilty amidst you — the razakars and al-Badars who joined us in the killings, and the Peace Committee members who pointed out to us the villages to be burnt down, the persons to be tortured and murdered. They are the ones who captured the young girls trying to escape and delivered them to our camps.’

‘Yes, I know. Every people fighting a war of liberation has to contend with some quislings. We also have ours. Certainly they’re going to pay dearly for their crimes.’

‘Again you err. Perhaps some small fries will be caught. But the really big ones will manage to have their protectors. They may temporarily disappear only to surface again when the time is ripe. They will be as useful to the new rulers as they were to us.’

The telephone rang before Rashed could speak again. Captain Azam picked up the receiver, listened in silence for a couple of minutes. Then he said, ‘Yes, I understand,’ and put the receiver down.

‘The war is over. General Niazi has just signed the surrender document.’ Captain Azam looked both shocked and relieved.

‘Really? Joi Bangla!’ Rashed jumped up from his chair.
‘Yes, but that doesn’t mean that I am surrendering to you. My orders are to surrender with my men only to the Indian army.’

Rashed made a move towards the door.

‘No. You can’t go. My soldiers and the razakars outside won’t know that the war has ended and they can no longer have the fun of killing a captured mukti. You’re still my prisoner.’

Rashed stopped in this tracks.

‘In a manner, I am also your captive. Still, I carry a weapon. If I shoot you, no one will bother to find out if you were killed before or after the surrender. You better take your seat again.’

Rashed thought for a moment or two and then returned to his chair.

The silence was broken by Captain Azam. ‘The war is over. We don’t have to keep up pretences. Let’s rather talk about ourselves. Are you a student?’

‘Yes. I was.’
‘What were you studying?’
‘English Literature, at Dhaka University.’

‘Strange coincidence! I was also a student of English at Lahore Government College. But I had to join the army before I could get my degree. Mine is a family of soldiers. My grandfather was a non-commissioned officer; my father retired as colonel. And he wanted his only son to become a general. I am afraid he is going to be disappointed. My days in East Pakistan have convinced me that I should have resisted my father’s wishes. I’m not cut out to be an officer of the Pakistani army.’

‘Why?’ Rashed could not help asking.

‘My first posting was in a big outpost near Comilla. Our orders were to go out on daily sorties to raid villages reported to be harbouring guerrillas, Awamis or Hindus.

There was a competition among the officers. Each had to keep a tally of how many houses his men had burnt down, how many persons he had personally killed.

Each evening in the mess, with a glass of whisky in hand, each had to announce the numbers. The one with the highest score would be declared the champion of the day, and glasses would be raised to toast his feat. Some even announced the number of Bangalee women they had raped, not, as they would take pains to explain, to satisfy their carnal desires, but in discharge of their patriotic duty of ensuring a better breed of Pakistanis in this part of the country. Yes, men under me also burnt, killed, and raped. But my personal score was nil on all these counts during the fortnight I was there. And that made me an outcast. I was forced to seek a transfer to a place where I would not have to compete with others to prove my prowess. That’s how I am in Kadamtali.’

There was again a long moment of silence. Then Captain Azam said, ‘But you aren’t saying anything about yourself!’

‘It should be really a quite common story now. I am the eldest of four children in my family. My brother is missing, presumed dead, after the army raided his hostel on the night of March 25. My father, a college teacher, was shot dead for sheltering a wounded pupil. Our home was burnt down. My mother managed to escape with my two sisters. I can only hope that they succeeded in crossing the borders and are in some refugee camp, or that they are dead.’

‘What are you going to do now that the war is over?’
‘I really don’t know. What I know is that I won’t be able to go back to the life of a student.’

‘And I can’t go on being a soldier. But whatever happens, I look forward, to visiting your Bangladesh one day, perhaps years later. I would like to find out what sort of a country it is going to be — a country for which so much blood has been shed.’

A shadow passed over Rashed’s face.

‘I also wish I knew what the future holds in store for my Bangladesh. Sometimes I have more anxieties than hopes. You’ve not only maimed, tortured, and killed. In the process you’ve brutalised our people, both as victims and avengers of brutalities. We have also learnt to kill. Shall we now be killing each other? And we were such a gentle, peace-loving people!’

‘Perhaps you have good reasons to be anxious,’ Captain Azam smiled sadly. ‘However, our officers and soldiers also have learnt to kill unarmed civilians, women and children. They won’t be able to forget the taste of blood. When they go back, they will look for opportunities to kill and inflict pain on their own people. They may not spare even those who let them lose here. And that will be your revenge.’

Slowly, the darkness of the winter night gathered round them.
‘Have you ever read Wilfred Owen’s war poems? ‘Strange Meeting’?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you remember the last lines ‘Let us sleep now…’?’
‘Yes, that’s what the dead soldier tells his killer when they meet in the afterlife.’
They sat still and silent as the room turned darker.
Captain Azam stood up and switched on the light. ‘Perhaps they would. But will you and I be able to sleep?’