CITIES change. They grow, decay, stagnate, thrive.

Rivers alter
their course. Plagues lay waste to populations. Conquerors ravage
the countryside, cutting off food supplies.

But as humanity expands relentlessly, more and more people migrate from the
hinterland into growing urban areas. Here, life is less harsh, and there are
more possibilities. Even after they discover that the streets aren’t paved with
gold, the newcomers know they are making this sacrifice for the next
generation.

Old residents often grumble at the influx of what they consider to be uncouth
outsiders, but forget that much of modern Karachi has been built by Pakhtun
labourers. In fact, the MQM, the city’s nemesis, came into being partly due to
tensions in the city between the Mohajir and the Pakhtun communities in the
1980s.

A little over a decade earlier, the Mohajirs and Sindhis had engaged in deadly
clashes over Bhutto’s language reforms that made Sindhi the official language
in the province. Urdu-speaking people saw this move as directed against their
community as it placed them at a disadvantage in government service.

Much of Karachi’s planning was handed over to corrupt

elements.
At Partition, the city had a population of around 400,000. This exploded when
waves of Indian Muslims migrated to the capital of the freshly baked state of
Pakistan. Most of them arrived with just the clothes they were wearing. Today,
Karachi has a population of anywhere between 17 million and 20m, depending
on who’s counting.

Our family was more fortunate than most as my father was a civil servant, and
we had housing allotted for us when we reached Karachi on Aug 14, 1947. I
was only three then, and have no memory of those events. I was told by my
mother that our train had been attacked by a group of armed Sikhs. As luck
would have it, soldiers had been sent to escort us, and they beat back the
attack.

The Karachi I grew up in was small, clean, and well-run. School was less than
a mile away, and we often walked there and back. My father would walk with
colleagues to the Federal Secretariat, a bit over a mile from home. There was
little traffic, and certainly no danger of kidnapping.
Although there was a steady increase in the city’s population, I don’t recall the
kind of concrete jungle it has become today. I think it was the oil boom that
triggered the helter-skelter rush towards Pakistan’s only port city. When Arab
countries unleashed their ban on exports to Western countries following
Israel’s victory in the 1973 war, oil prices shot up and desert countries found
themselves knee-deep in petro-dollars.

That was when Bhutto negotiated deals with them to export our labour to
build huge construction projects. In Pakistan, he ordered that passports
should be issued without the usual red tape, thus making it easy for unlettered
workers to fly to Arab countries for jobs.

But as flights only operated from Karachi in those days, camps started
popping up along the periphery. Many Pakhtuns found work in the city, and
sent home for other villagers to come and join them. Biharis from the
erstwhile East Pakistan joined the immigrant workforce, and Bengali and
Burmese fishermen completed this eclectic mix.

While mostly these communities got on, political pressures pushed the
Mohajirs apart. Many thought that as they had been instrumental in creating
Pakistan, they would be running the show. But gradually, they were pushed
aside: Karachi had only two per cent of civil service seats available through the
Central Civil Service exam.

So when the MQM appeared on the scene — with establishment support to cut
into the PPP support base — thousands of Mohajirs were ready to help with
their votes and cash.

However, from being a popular ethnic political party, the MQM soon morphed
into a mafia that terrorised the city. Murder, mayhem and the unceasing
demand for protection money scared off investors who moved their businesses
to Punjab.

Under Zia, much of the city’s planning was handed over to corrupt elements of
the Karachi Development Authority. Public land and amenity plots were
ruthlessly sold, and permission to build granted to high-rise projects close to
dried streams and drains. To this day, concrete from these unchecked building
projects is being dredged from these drains.

Today, there are several agencies, federal, provincial and local that are
supposed to be running various areas of the megacity. So lots of players for the
ongoing blame game.
In the 1980s, when Ghulam Ishaq Khan effectively ran the show under Zia, the
Sindh representative at a meeting requested more funds to cater to the needs
of the migrants from across the country whose numbers had become a huge
challenge for the province. He was told that Sindh would have to meet the
extra expense itself. That’s what happens to orphans.

A REALLY independent state should strive, first and foremost, to

build up the state’s institutions and promote the welfare of its
people. It must not allow itself to be trapped in disputes with the
neighbours. If they do arise, it should strive to settle them, not
aggravate them. To do so otherwise would be to stoke tensions and
create unnecessary rivalries.

But the experience in South Asia in this respect has been saddening. Some
disputes are inescapable. But instead of trying resolutely to resolve them, they
are used for political mobilisation to buttress the party in power by all parties
concerned.

In this exercise, maps come in handy, both in confrontation with the foreign
adversary and in domestic politics. This is a sham pursuit.

In law, maps are worthless as proof of title to territory. They are not
documents of title at all.

The observations and rulings of the International Court of Justice are helpful,
and this writer has quoted them earlier in other publications as well. The case
of the 11th-century Preah Vihear Temple, as well as that of frontiers in Africa,
bear repeating. The temple is at the centre of a dispute between Cambodia and
Thailand, and competing territorial claims and nationalist sentiments have
seen clashes between the two countries, even after the ICJ ruling in the 1960s.
Cambodia won its case on the Preah Vihear Temple because Thailand had, “by
its conduct, accepted a crucial map though in its inception and at the moment
of its production, it [the map] had no binding character”.

In the 1980s, the ICJ ruled on the case of the border dispute between Burkina
Faso and Mali. It stated: “Whether in frontier delimitations or in international
territorial conflicts, maps merely constitute information which varies in
accuracy from case to case; of themselves, and by virtue solely of their
existence, they cannot constitute a territorial title, that is, a document
endowed by international law with intrinsic legal force for the purpose of
establishing territorial rights.

The expression ‘cartographic aggression’ is puerile.

“Of course, in some cases, maps may acquire such legal force, but where this is
so, the legal force does not arise solely from their intrinsic merits; it is because
such maps fall into the category of physical expressions of the will of the State
or States concerned.

“This is the case, for example, when maps are annexed to an official text of
which they form an integral part. Except in this clearly defined case, maps are
only the extrinsic evidence of varying reliability or unreliability which may be
used, along with other evidence of a circumstantial kind, to establish or
reconstitute the real facts.”

Crucially, it noted that “... except when maps are in the category of a physical
expression of the will of the state, they cannot in themselves alone be treated
as evidence of a frontier since, in that event they would form an irrebuttable
presumption, tantamount, in fact to legal title”.

Indian Customs routinely stamp these words on maps in foreign journals:

“The external boundaries of India as depicted are neither accurate nor
authentic.” The Economist of London has regularly put this comic device to
ridicule. It provides the key words to the full exposure of the map on the
internet. India has enacted two statutes to ensure legal bans on maps that do
not toe the official line.

According to India’s Criminal Law (Amendment)) Act, 1961, the state can
imprison anyone who “questions” the territorial integrity of India whether by
“words,” spoken or written, or by visual representation” or “by signs”. The
Criminal Law (Amending) Act, 1990 states: “Whoever publishes a map of
India, which is not in conformity with maps of India as published by the
Survey of India, shall be punishable with imprisonment which may extend to
six months, or with fine, or with both.”

The 1961 law requires proof that the map’s publication is “likely to be
prejudicial to the interests of the safety and security of India”. The 1990 act
dispenses with such niceties.

It is hard to see how any map, or for that matter any writing, can upset a
country’s sovereignty. That surely depends on the facts of history and the
country’s military strength. The effect of the government’s stance is to stifle
free speech on sensitive issues such as Kashmir and the boundary question.

Citizens have the right to say that Kashmir is a disputed region and that the
northern boundary is wrongly depicted in official maps. Laws that do not
uphold this right are unconstitutional.
The expression ‘cartographic aggression’ is puerile. Maps have some
evidentiary value only if published before the dispute arose.

After its statutory rape of Kashmir on Aug 5, 2019, India published a new map
on Nov 3, 2019, depicting the result of that statutory crime. Both acts violate
the Shimla Pact which says, “Neither side shall unilaterally alter the situation.”

TODAY could be meaningful.

Prime Minister Imran Khan arrives in Karachi laden with bags of money. Lots
of it. This money is piggybacking on a plan to fix things deemed unfixable.
This plan is a manifestation of a thought process that aims to untangle deep
political webs and straighten them out into actionable solutions. The quest for
these solutions is a project in motion.

Good intentions and all, right? Much ado about something — anything. Our
state’s capacity to say what needs saying has traditionally outweighed its
capacity to do what needs doing. Karachi is a case in point. Decades of decay
amid decomposed governance has taken a toll. It was bound to. It was only
when water reached neck high, literally, that the authorities moved. Or will
move after today’s prime ministerial announcements. Then things may
improve, or not; political entanglements may get disentangled, or not; and
rivals may team up, or not. And yet, whatever happens in Karachi will give us a
glimpse of what may be in store for the next few years.

It starts with a basic premise: every problem has a solution. If we cannot find
this solution, we either lack ability or we lack intent. Our governments have
been self-sufficient in both. The result is visible to all — a wide matrix of core,
outer-core and peripheral problems that have festered into gaping governance
wounds. How long can one keep rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic?

How long can one keep rearranging the deck chairs on

the Titanic?
Karachi will tell us if we are in fact prioritising solutions or staying insistent on
the justification of problems. Karachi will show us if visceral disagreements
can in fact be bulldozed into agreements. If so, lessons will be learnt and
precedents set. Karachi will show us if projects can in fact be chiselled out of
policy planning. If so, lessons will be learnt and precedents set. And Karachi
will inform us if governance mayhem can in fact be forcefully channelled into
focused service delivery. If so, lessons will be learnt and precedents set.
The initiative in Karachi is fuelled by the potency of disillusionment. Years of
anger, frustration, despondency and hopelessness have now bubbled over into
the watery streets of the urban metropolis. It is the anger of being taken for
granted by governments; it is the frustration of seeing things getting worse by
the year; it is the despondency of knowing the rulers are unwilling and
incapable of improving the lives of citizens; and it is the hopelessness of
expecting nothing will change.

But this is not how countries are run.

Change starts with asking the right question. It is not why we cannot fix
Karachi’s problems but why we have chosen not to fix them; it is not why we
cannot educate every Pakistani child but why we have chosen not to; it is not
why we cannot reform our criminal justice system, or our police, or the
creaking healthcare system, but why we have chosen not to.

Now the federal and provincial governments say they have chosen to fix
Karachi. Let us believe them for now. Can this choice, this re-prioritisation,
this renewed focus translate into prudent planning that in turn translates into
efficient implementation? The Pakistani state’s capability is about to be tested.
Project Karachi will show to us if the state has the wherewithal to put its
money where its mouth is by delivering quantifiable and identifiable
governance outcomes on a timelined spectrum.

What will this entail?

Someone will need to even out the odds. The provincial government led by
Chief Minister Murad Ali Shah will lead the initiative but he will need to
manage a decision-making matrix that will include federal people of various
persuasions. We may be looking at a framework that optimises coordination
between competing interests within the umbrella of provincial autonomy. A
tough call. With billions of rupees, millions of issues, thousands of problems
and hundreds of interests — the task at hand promises to be an arduous one.

Success — even a relative one — will have far-reaching consequences for the
rest of the country. Politics as a byproduct of governance — instead of the
other way round as has been the norm — will be emulated in other areas. A
model will emerge. Citizens will demand governance at their doorstep. The
state will learn to figure out how to morph politics into deliverables. Fixing
things will be an exercisable option.

The future of governance is hazy. What is clear is that the present cannot
continue. A broken system must self-heal and evolve. Education, health,
justice and security of life and property are problems that need to be overcome
before we can envision a future that is less hazy and more promising. If the
state cannot fix Karachi, it cannot fix the strategic issues of citizens’
empowerment.

The target for the state should be clear: build Karachi and then build on
Karachi. Every stakeholder may want to digest the enormity of the challenge
and the scale of its consequences. When every key person is on board, there is
little reason why the plan should not work. Money in hand and the state
apparatus at hand, the federal and provincial leadership has everything it
needs to get going. There is a whiff of hope in the air. Perhaps this time we
have hit rock bottom and there is no place to go other than up; perhaps
enough is actually enough and it is time to change the way this country has
been governed; and perhaps the governments have realised time is upon them
to deliver on their promises.

A whiff is all we have but for now, even that is sufficient. PTI, PPP, MQM and
all other stakeholders in Karachi are in the spotlight. They will need to
subjugate their petty political interests, their electoral manipulations, their
personal objectives and their gravy train of patronage under the mainframe of
reforming this urban decay.

Karachi is watching. Pakistan is watching.

THE recent nine-page judgement of the Islamabad High Court

regarding the alleged illegal exercise of executive powers by an
adviser to the prime minister has clarified many legal questions,
removed a number of ambiguities, and at the same time, raised
some new questions about the role and functions of the unelected
advisers and special assistants to the prime minister (SAPMs).

The judgement has come at a time when there is an increasing tendency in the
government to appoint unelected cabinet-level public officials, some of whom
are apparently performing executive functions. Before the recent resignations
by two SAPMs, the number of SAPMs had hit the highest ever figure of 15 in
Pakistan’s 73-year history. Four of the current SAPMs hold the status of
federal minister while the other four enjoy the status of minister of state.
These SAPMs are in addition to five advisers, all of whom are assigned the
status of federal minister.

Although the main plea of the petitioner to remove Adviser to the Prime
Minister Shahzad Akbar as chairman of the Assets Recovery Unit was not
granted by the court, partly because a similar objection was raised before the
Supreme Court which has yet to deliver its “detailed verdict”, Chief Justice
Athar Minallah of the Islamabad High Court, in his judgement, made some
extremely important points.

One of them was that “Appointing an Adviser with the status of a Minister
does not empower him/her to act or function as a Minister or to perform
functions under the Rules of 1973 …”. He delved deeper into the federal
government’s Rules of Business, 1973, and stated that the minister’s definition
given in the Rules “neither includes an ‘Adviser’ nor a ‘Special Assistant’”. He
went on to add: “The Special Assistant or Special Assistants in a Division or
Ministry are not one of its officials.”

The judgement has also clarified that an adviser is not

part of the federal cabinet.
The honourable chief justice of the Islamabad High Court also discussed in the
judgement the question of decision-making and formulation of policies in the
government, and stated that policy formulation and related decision-making
fell “exclusively within the domain of the Prime Minister and the Minister
holding the portfolio”. He went on to candidly pronounce that “An Adviser has
no role either in policy matters of a Division or Ministry nor its execution and
running the business of the Federal Government.…”

Negating a widespread perception, the judgement has also clarified that an

adviser is not part of the federal cabinet nor entitled to attend its meetings
except where the prime minister requires his/her attendance and, that too, by
special invitation as has been provided in Rule 20 (1A) of the Rules of
Business, 1973.

The same rule, however, authorises the prime minister to extend a special
invitation to ministers of state, advisers, special assistants and other
dignitaries to attend any or all meetings of the cabinet by special invitation.
Had the specific reference to “all meetings of the cabinet” not been made in
the rules, it could be inferred that the spirit of the rule was to allow these
categories of persons to attend one or a few odd meetings, but the rule seems
to clearly extend the scope of attending by special invitation to all cabinet
meetings.

Some of the advisers and special assistants have been frequently addressing
press conferences and proclaiming government policies in the mass media.
The judgement seems to have disapproved or at least discouraged such a
practice by stating that Rule 55 (4) would be breached if an adviser or an
authority not specified in the rules were authorised to act as an official
spokesperson.

But a question arises here because of Article 93 (2) of the Constitution which
gives the right to an adviser to the prime minister to speak in either house of
parliament and participate in committee proceedings. Doesn’t this
constitutional right make the adviser an official spokesperson even if it is
within the precincts of parliament? Moreover, if advisers are entitled to act as
spokespersons within the august houses of parliament, how can they be
denied this right outside?

One of the most important parts of the judgement deals with the question of
whether any part of the executive authority can be exercised by the advisers
and SAPMs. According to the judgement, an adviser cannot interfere in or in
any manner influence the executive authority, working or functioning of a
division/ministry nor its policy matters. The judgement has based this part of
the verdict on the fundamental principle of the Constitution that the “State
shall exercise its powers and authority through the chosen representatives of
the people”.

The judgement further reinforces this verdict by stating that any act of an
adviser in breach of the constitutional provisions and the Rules of 1973 will be
void, without lawful authority and jurisdiction. Not only this, the judgement
further cautions the heads of the divisions/ministries by stating that “it is the
duty of every Secretary to ensure that business is conducted and functions
performed strictly in accordance with the scheme of the Rules of 1973 and that
no one is allowed to interfere in breach thereof”.

With these clear stipulations, the role of advisers and, by extension, special
assistants, has been clearly defined, unless, of course, the Supreme Court takes
a different position in the days to come. One may also infer that advisers and
SAPMs can literally only advise and assist the prime minister while dealing
with him and his immediate staff and that the advisers and SAPMs do not
have a reporting relationship with the officials and staff of the ministries or
divisions.

One may, therefore, conclude from the judgement that the practice of
assigning ministries and divisions to advisers and special assistants as de facto
ministers or ministers of state will no more be possible or at least easy.

The writer is president of the Pakistan Institute of Legislative Development

And Transparency. Published in Dawn, September 5th, 2020