No small matter By Hajrah Mumtaz

MOST people would, at least initially, tend to shrug the matter away. Concerns about people’s ability to question the great and the good in government?

People’s ‘right’ to gain access to information about what public entities and departments are doing? Dream on, they’d say.

Let’s start with the right to food, water and a generally decent life; let’s start with some human rights.

Thought about just a little more deeply, though, the fallaciousness of this line of reasoning becomes clear. Why don’t a lot of people have access to food or potable water, for example? In general terms, because of mismanagement, the lack of planning and — here one can hear lots of voices piping up — that scourge of Pakistan, corruption. Most will get this far and start calling
for accountability. Fewer, though, will pause and think about what accountability means.

In the very first instance, someone who does something for which they ought to be held accountable later is a person who does not expect to be found out. In other words, certain knowledge that information can be withheld can allow dishonesty of purpose. Veils of secrecy make shady deals and wheels within wheels, or just plain inefficiency or even laziness, much more likely. The ability to keep information from getting out is the first box to tick on the list of any potential fraudster; the first crutch of those guilty of the dereliction of duty.

‘Knowledge is power’ is just about the oldest aphorism in the book. And a people with access to knowledge about those that rule over their lives and country — knowledge about how that task is accomplished — are very powerful indeed. So it is that access to information has always been at the heart of the tussle between bureaucracies the world over and the people: the latter want it, the former doesn’t want to cough it up because unsavoury secrets may come to light; accountability may occur.

Realising the role that access to information plays in fostering improved and more honest governance, many countries have enacted legislation making public access to certain sorts of information mandatory — the ‘transparency’, in short, that every Pakistani craves.

Technically, Pakistanis too have the right to freely access information. In fact, we were the first South Asian country to come up with a law in this regard, the Freedom of Information Ordinance 1997 which was later fine-tuned by the Musharraf government into the Freedom of Information Ordinance 2002.

However, many have argued that although this did, at least technically, give Pakistanis the legal tool to demand information from governmental bodies, it remains merely that: a technicality. In practice, the legislation is riddled with clauses that allow secrets to remains under wraps.

Its detractors — and there are a great many of them (the few proponents seemingly comprising stakeholders in secrecy in the bureaucracy itself) — say that exemptions and procedures given to governmental departments under the 2002 ordinance
are such that they render it virtually and practically ineffective.

There are other points of criticism as well, such as that it deals with only federal ministries and divisions (although two provinces subsequently passed their own legislation, i.e. the Balochistan Freedom of Information Act 2005 and the Sindh Freedom of Information Act 2006). Other criticisms are that the 2002 ordinance’s implementing mechanisms — means through which reluctant bureaucracies can be prodded into actually producing the information demanded — are such that they invite evasiveness, and that there is no protection for whistleblowers.

The civil bureaucracy wields considerable power anywhere in the world; it is a machine that runs under its own weight and is notoriously averse to letting any information out. Political circles everywhere seek to control it; as permanent secretary Sir Humphrey Appleby smirked during an episode of Yes, Minister, “ministers come and go, but I go on forever”. Transparency, one route to which is the right to information, is important in this regard. Pakistan has not been lacking in those demanding better legislation on people’s right to information, though one could wish there were a few more voices. Amongst them are a number of activists and reformers, some of whom have argued for this cause on these pages.

Amongst politicians, a staunch proponent has been former information and broadcasting minister Sherry Rehman. Last week, she submitted a draft of her Right to Information Bill before the National Assembly, a project she initiated in 2004 with the submission of an initial draft that called for deep-reaching amendments to the 2002 ordinance. Updated versions of the bill were also submitted for review in 2006 and 2008.

The 2011 Right to Information Bill seeks a repeal of the 2002 legislation and tries to close some of the gaps. There are more stringent implementing mechanism clauses, whistleblower-protection clauses and most interestingly, a clause that seeks to bring large private companies within the ambit of the law if and when it is approved.

If the new proposals do become law, they are likely to have at least some positive effect. Sporadic articles published in various newspapers over the years have documented individuals’ (failed) efforts, under the 2002 ordinance, to obtain information from various departments. In most cases, these people cited the loopholes in the legislation itself that allowed bureaucracies to retain their secrets.

On March 29, 2008 — soon after receiving a unanimous vote of confidence in parliament, Prime Minister Yousuf Raza Gilani set out his administration’s 100-day priorities.

Amongst those that remain unfulfilled well past the 100-day deadline is a new freedom of information law. And the 18th Amendment inserted Article 19(A) into the constitution, which explicitly recognises that every citizen shall have the right to have access to information in all matters of public importance (subject to regulation and reasonable restrictions imposed by law).

It’s about time these promises were fulfilled.

Source: http://www.dawn.com/2011/10/17/no-small-matter.html

Can Sindh change? By Meer M. Parihar

THE article ‘Will Sindh change?’, written by Zubeida Mustafa and published in this space several weeks ago, raises the question of changing the power structure in Sindh.

Her assumptions are based on her interaction with some social activists working in rural Sindh’s education sector. In her article, she concludes that “change is inevitable because the process of awakening cannot be reversed”. I wonder, though, whether the average citizen of Sindh is up to it.

Education plays a pivotal role in creating awareness. Are the province’s ruling elites committed to educating the masses? A report recently published by this paper said that though there are over 40,000 primary schools in the province, only 10,000 are operative. Teachers are posted to almost all the schools but classes seldom take place. The status of girls’ education is poor, even more so in the rural areas: more than 90 per cent of female teachers are from the towns, and most of them visit rural schools occasionally, merely to update the attendance registers. The situation in secondary schools and higher-
education institutions is equally shocking.

The poor state of the education sector should be considered against the backdrop of the movement in the late 1960s concerning Sindh’s provincial status, led by the educated middle class. The awakening of the province’s middle class was perceived as posing a threat to the status quo. Reactionary forces colluded with the province’s feudal class to crush the rise of leadership from the middle class. Since then, active workers of student organisations and middle-class political groups have been targeted and there are reports of torture, disappearances and extra-judicial killings. Sindh’s ruling elites have not just kept the people deprived of education, they have also failed to take concrete measures towards human-resource development that could help people find work in sectors other than agriculture that is already saturated and can no longer withstand the
pressure of unchecked population growth. Many consider government jobs as a source of livelihood but although thousands
of people are appointed in these posts every year, most appointments are made without taking merit into consideration.

Indeed, many argue that most of these posts are not actually required but are created to afford opportunities to the ruling elites to strengthen and expand their vote banks.

This is the only province where direct recruitment to lucrative posts, bypassing rules introduced in the early 1970s, has not stopped. From time to time, the Sindh Public Service Commission (SPSC) is assigned this task but is reported to manipulate examination results to declare candidates that have failed as having passed. (An inquiry into such fraud is pending with the Sindh anti-corruption establishment.)

The process of erosion of the civil bureaucracy’s authority which started in the 1970s has reached such a pass that in the Sarfraz Shah murder case, the acting chief secretary admitted the administration’s failure before the Supreme Court. The administration of districts — the basic unit of governance in the province — is being handled by the ruling elites through a handpicked bureaucracy. Nothing moves without a nod from the local feudal lord. The helplessness of local government functionaries was witnessed in the aftermath of last year’s floods. There were even allegations that powerful landlords diverted the waters to save their own holdings, at the cost of the safety of millions of other people. Meanwhile, their role in the denial of water to small and tail-ender farmers is an old story.

Sindh’s rural economy is controlled by these elites. The majority of the farmers pledge their crops to obtain fertiliser, seeds, pesticides etc at exorbitant prices: the interest rates range between five to 15 per cent a month. The real beneficiaries of the boom in agriculture are not the tillers but the middlemen and their backers.

A province that has fertile soil and is rich in fuel and mineral deposits has a rural poverty graph that continues to rise. It has become a safe haven for the sale of spurious medicines and pesticides, and adulterated farm inputs and food items. The use of narcotics is growing, and the people are stalked by disease and despair.

A World Bank report states that “The deepest and most pervasive poverty in the country is in rural areas, and it is worse in the areas that have been considered ‘feudal’ such as Sindh”. In this province the landholdings of the feudal families have multiplied instead of having decreased. The conditions that prevail in lower Sindh’s rural areas are such that, as has been said before, it seems the clock stopped ticking here centuries ago.

Given this situation, is it possible that change will come? The educated middle class has either joined the elite in robbing the people or become disillusioned. The urban middle class, which historically spurs on the struggle for change, has mainly chosen to share power with the feudal elite. The masses, meanwhile, are caught in a vicious cycle of poverty. This has been so methodically engineered that rural society has reverted to tribalism, where the killing of women under the pretext of karo kari is justified as a tribal custom.

In order to perpetuate its own authority, the ruling elites have systematically undermined institutions, propped up status quo-friendly individuals and selected groups, institutionalised corruption and tacitly engaged the communities in ethnic tribal warfare.

According to social activist Tasneem Siddiqui, the fundamental elements for change are “effective social organisation, passion for change and the perseverance of ordinary people”. All these are lacking in Sindh. Can one still hope for change?

The writer is a social activist.

Source: http://www.dawn.com/2011/10/11/can-sindh-change.html

Pemra protects the sacred cows by Irfan Hussain

Irfan Husain

ACCORDING to a news report in the Guardian covering the recently concluded annual Conservative Party conference in Manchester, Prime Minister David Cameron bumped into the newspaper’s political cartoonist, Steve Bell. At this chance encounter, the British PM asked: “Steve, when are you taking the condom off my head?”

This seemingly bizarre query was in reference to Bell’s re-invention of the Tory leader as an inflated condom in his hilariously rude cartoon strip. Taken aback, Bell is reported to have spluttered: “It’s too late!” Day in and day out, Guardian readers are regaled by the sight of the shiny, pink prime minister with a nipple above his head, and often in the company of the Chancellor, George Osborne (depicted as a pig), discussing the issues of the day.

Despite the grossly offensive nature of the cartoons, Ofcom, the British media regulator, has never issued a notice to the Guardian, demanding that its cartoonist should be reined in. This tolerance of political satire is a sign of the maturity of the democratic tradition here.

In contrast, Pemra, Pakistan’s electronic media regulator, has recently “taken serious notice of satirical programmes”.

According to Pemra, they indulged in “character assassination, humiliation and defamation of dignitaries”. A Pemra spokesman announced that ads would soon be issued “to direct the channels to stop airing funny portrayals of dignitaries”.

Actually, most of our so-called dignitaries need to be deflated at regular intervals. In a recent BBC programme hosted by David Frost, the veteran broadcaster spoke about “pricking the pomposity of politicians”. This is a much-needed exercise that demands the talent and constant attention of our satirists. Our prominent figures, ranging from politicians to generals to bureaucrats, take themselves much too seriously, and deserve a regular toasting under bright studio lights.

The Pemra spokesman warned that if action is mot taken by TV channels, such satirical shows may “invite public wrath against the regulator”. Actually, what should invite public wrath is Pemra’s total failure in preventing the rubbish our TV chat show hosts regularly inflict on viewers. They and their guests toss around the most libellous accusations against politicians without let or hindrance. I have heard guests mention figures of bribes allegedly taken by one leader or another as though they were witnesses to the transactions. Facts are twisted, threats are hurled, poison is spewed, but Pemra is unmoved. In the regulator’s view, laughter is not allowed, but lies and distortions are.

In one of the most flagrant displays of dereliction of regulatory duty, a prominent anchor with a permanent smirk encouraged a guest to declare that Ahmadis were ‘wajib-ul qatal’, or deserving of death. Within days, two Ahmadis were murdered. Pemra was silent on the matter, as was the management of the large TV network.

Political satire has a long and honourable tradition in literature. From Jonathan Swift to Manto, writers have aimed wickedly effective attacks on authority and hypocritical social norms. With the advent of radio and TV (and more recently, the Internet), satirists have taken their sharp wit to larger audiences. So when the Pakistan government tried to introduce legislation aimed at protecting the political leadership from jokes posted on the Internet or sent by SMS, there were gales of laughter around the world.

The point Pemra should remember is that laughter is a healthy reaction to the stupidity of the ruling classes. Censorship has never been able to prevent us from circulating jokes about the pompous figures who strut about on the national stage. Even in Zia’s dark days, when censorship was absolute and the electronic media was tightly controlled, savage satire about the dictator did the rounds by word of mouth, or between the lines in the press. Indeed, dictatorships across the world are targeted, and often, humorous stories skip across borders, with only the names of the despots being changed.

Who can forget Tina Fey’s depiction of Sarah Palin on a TV show in which she caught the vacuous charm of the Alaskan candidate for vice-presidency? In a few short minutes of well-aimed satire, Fay has probably made Palin unelectable. In fact, after that TV programme, Palin no longer gives interviews for fear of being exposed in all her glorious ignorance.

Often, satire is intended as deadly serious comment and criticism, but sugar-coated in humour to make it palatable. The best satirists tend to portray their subjects accurately enough to recognise, while exaggerating some key feature. Thus, Steve Bell caricatures the Labour leader, Ed Milliband, as a panda-eyed, slightly demented man. Although George Bush was always depicted as a chimpanzee by Bell, the US president was instantly recognisable.

In Britain, nobody from the Queen downwards is immune from lampooning. In the US, stand-up comics regularly skewer the holy cows of the day. Private Eye, Britian’s iconic satirical magazine, has been sued numerous times for slander. It combines witty writing with investigative reporting that has embarrassed politicians and governments. France’s Le Canard Enchaine (The Chained Duck) has uncovered many scams and scandals in high places, and is required reading for the political class.

And while western politicians, like everybody else, don’t like being laughed at, they know they must put up with the barbs tossed their way by the media. In our part of the world, however, macho leaders can’t tolerate much criticism, especially when it comes wrapped in waspish humour.

I can understand Pemra’s predicament: every time some stuffed shirt in government is pilloried on TV, he gets humiliated and picks up the phone. The more senior the person in the spotlight, the greater the heat Pemra gets. In the good old days when PTV was the only show in town, keeping producers and writers in check was not a problem: anybody stepping out of line would soon be out of work.

But as TV channels have proliferated and competition for viewers and advertising has become fiercer, more controversial programming has become the norm. Sadly, much of this consists of hysterical chat shows. But every once in a while, satirical programmes like the one built around the marvellous Begum Nawazish light up our TV screens. These should be relished as long as they last.

Source: http://www.dawn.com/2011/10/10/pemra-protects-the-sacred-cows.html