A volcano erupted in both Houses of Parliament. Maulana Fazlur Rehman let loose and Khawaja Asif and Mohsin Naqvi were hardly going to remain silent. In the midst of this exchange, Kamran Murtaza came up with such colourful language that even the most hardened listener might have blushed. Whether inside Parliament or outside it, politics often produces scenes suggesting that friendships have finally fallen apart. A couplet comes to mind, though I cannot recall its author: “The heart’s mirror has cracked, like the wall of a fragile house collapsing.”
Our journalism has a peculiar habit: it rushes to conclusions. Some prominent journalists saw this falling-out between old friends and confidently predicted that all their ties had been severed. Their paths had parted; the game was over. But if politics were so simple, everyone would be a politician—or, failing that, a political analyst. What value does such analyses have in the face of Rana Sanaullah’s statement that Mian Nawaz Sharif holds Maulana Fazlur Rehman in great respect? His words demolished the impression of hostility that had seemed so obvious.
Only days earlier, Mohsin Naqvi had caused a stir by declaring that the system had become obsolete. Commentators rushed to interpret this as a cabinet member’s vote of no confidence in his own boss, the Prime Minister. Yet a little attention to the context would have shown that this was a son speaking about his father—not by blood, but through an affectionate bond. The point became clear in the discussion about provincial and local governments. But an inability to see the other side of the picture produces precisely this kind of journalistic comedy.
When Maulana spoke, commentators declared that his unbreakable bond with Mian Nawaz Sharif had ended and that history would now be rewritten. Soon, however, they abandoned that prediction and turned their argument around by 180 degrees. They now claimed that the real rift was between the ruling coalition and the establishment, because neither the PML-N nor the PPP stood behind Mohsin Naqvi when he responded to Maulana. There is a saying: a liar has a poor memory. I would not accuse fellow journalists of lying. Judging appearances without probing beneath the surface leads to such conclusions.
Having criticised this analysis, one may ask: what, then, is the truth? It is right there in the open. Maulana Fazlur Rehman himself has said that his people have been among the principal targets of the Taliban. He stated that prominent scholars affiliated with his party and 250 to 300 workers had been martyred in the wave of terrorism. Had our headline-hunters looked beyond their obsession with dramatic confrontations, they would have noticed this crucial point. Maulana also made clear that he opposes terrorism. At the same time, he signalled that if another military operation takes place, his party will not be part of it.
Everyone speaks of Maulana’s political acumen, but few understand his subtlety. Instead of appreciating his dexterity, they have made him a target of criticism. If journalism keeps sliding deeper into an abyss, there must be a reason. Journalists might have recognised the obvious: such things happen in politics. Those who appear to be bitter enemies can, when circumstances demand, embrace one another as though no disagreement ever existed.
Najam Sethi has tried to make this point: there is no need for so much kite-flying. It is entirely possible that Mohsin Naqvi may embrace Maulana over the proposed 28th Amendment, while Maulana, with customary warmth, welcomes him in return. As the poet puts it: “Today’s separation may give way to tomorrow’s reunion; one night apart is no great matter.”
This does not mean Maulana has no grievances. His complaints about the elections remain clear as daylight and he has voiced them whenever an opportunity arose. In making a particularly sharp remark, he may have overstepped the mark, but he received an immediate response. That is the political story behind this episode. Yet something else has happened and its damage may prove impossible to repair.
Whether someone used the expression “thoo” or questioned another’s conduct, communication theory tells us that making such remarks—and having the media transmit them verbatim—is a double-edged sword. Those who make them lose credibility in the eyes of ordinary people. In time, this weakens the constitutional and legal order. This is visible to us all. There is another reality: the very channels that carry such statements to the public also become discredited. That, too, is evident.
The state of journalism today is cause for grief, but those who mourn its decline must also look at this side of the picture. Mr. Sethi was right to say that journalism cannot sustain itself as a business without lighting a few fires. Perhaps so. But fire is cruel: its flames affect both the person who sets it alight and the one meant to be burned. That is the fire consuming our own livelihood. If only we could understand this.
—This writer is former advisor to President, author & mass media theorist.
(farooq.adilbhuta@gmail,com)
