In fairness to the ISI

WHATEVER the merits of the move to change the address of the Inter Services Intelligence Directorate, the genius behind it earned extra marks for ham-handedness.

But the storm in the media that followed indicated that the government did not have a monopoly on naivety.

The main ground of attack on the government was that the agency was being targeted only to please the US and the country’s security had been undermined. It was also said that the PPP wanted to use the agency to hound its opponents. The demonstration of solidarity with the agency was truly amazing. After a few flashes from ‘hailers’ (those who welcome everything the government does without necessarily knowing what is there to be welcomed) the scene was dominated by ‘wailers’ (those who lament without necessarily knowing where they have been hit). Leaving the hailers and wailers aside, it is possible to discuss the matter — and in fairness to the ISI.

The government certainly deserved a spanking for behaving like an urchin who runs away from school after planting a safety pin on his teacher’s seat. It could not have been unaware of the need for explaining its portentous move. Everybody put on the cryptic notice the interpretation that suited him or her. The fact is a debate on the role of the ISI has been pending for decades.

One does not know whether the present controller of the interior ministry was around when soon after becoming premier in 1988 the late Benazir Bhutto appointed a committee, headed by Air Chief Marshal (retd) Zulfiqar Ali Khan, to review the working of security and intelligence agencies. The committee did submit its report. This report was never made public and nothing is known about any decisions taken on it.

There was nothing unusual about the decision to set up the review committee. Every government has a duty to ensure that the country’s security needs are adequately met. Those were the days of glasnost and its converts at home were led by the then army chief, Gen Aslam Beg. But openness was an extremely brief diversion and Zulfiqar Khan was left to wonder in his ambassadorial room in Washington whether anybody had had time to read his report.

However, public interest in the ISI never waned. It often received kudos while the ‘mujahideen’ advanced on Kabul. After some time Air Marshal Asghar Khan took his complaint of the ISI’s interference in national elections to the Supreme Court and the country was shocked to learn of a former agency chief’s confession. Bringing credit neither to the country’s apex court nor its invisible government, the case has not been disposed of despite repeated requests for resumption of hearing.

Meanwhile, the agency continued to attract uncomplimentary notices at home and abroad. What probably proved to be the last straw was the government statement in the Sindh High Court in 2006, in regard to a case of disappearance, that the ISI was not under its operational control. From that point onward the argument for a fresh review of the functioning of the ISI has been unexceptionable.

While raising the matter in public one should bear in mind that the other party is not free to discard its robes of secrecy and cannot answer its critics. Also nobody can be foolish enough to suggest that intelligence agencies should be disbanded. Until humankind attains the level of maturity, responsibility and transparency where cloak-and-dagger games become redundant, no state can do without intelligence services.

The only issue is that since all intelligence agencies work in the name of the state there should be some way of ensuring that they do not step outside their mandate and do not, by accident or by design, cause any harm to the national interest. These guarantees should be discussed, subject of course to the requirements of discreetness and circumspection.

The lack of knowledge about the laws and rules under which the ISI operates has caused much confusion and unhappiness. The common view that the ISI has become a state within the state can be repelled if the people can be sure that it is bound by a functional code as to what it can do and what it cannot. Any newspaper reader knows that situations do arise when states are obliged to enlarge or curtail the responsibilities of intelligence agencies. In some countries this necessitates reference to the law-makers. How are such calls answered in Pakistan?

The announcement about the ISI’s new address, that is c/o the Ministry of Interior, did not explain what was wrong with the previous address or what the previous address was. If the idea was that the ISI should not meddle in domestic politics, a demand manifestly backed by a national consensus, the interior ministry should be the last portal to serve as the agency’s host. The relegation of the agency to the interior ministry has been contested with the claim that the ISI is only concerned with external threats to the state. That raises the question whether the Foreign Office has anything to do with intelligence — how it is gathered and processed and used.

Some confusion has also been created by lack of information about the ISI structure. Judging by the agency’s designation one presumes that it draws upon the cadres of, or serves the needs of, all three defence services. But is the practice of its being headed invariably by an army officer something mandated by law?

Then statements to the effect that the ISI reports to the president or the prime minister are meaningless. Although Pakistan’s claim to be a parliamentary democracy has no basis in fact, one may venture to point out the principle that the head of state must not be directly accessible to any state service and that all official information to him should come through the cabinet. And what is meant by reporting to the prime minister? Does it mean anything more than informing the PM of the agency’s accomplishments? The essential questions are: Who sanctions the agency’s operations? Who allocates it financial resources and what is the system of audit, administrative as well as financial?

It is not impossible that the new government wishes to streamline the ISI’s decision-making procedures with a view to making the agency more efficient and less vulnerable to the charge of freedom from any discipline. If that is the idea there is no harm in taking the people into confidence about collective decision-making proposals. The creation of a special cell comprising responsible representatives of both civil and military wings of authority could well be considered. After all, management of intelligence matters should not be incompatible with institutionalised governance. Or is it otherwise?

What is your origin?

A FEW weeks ago I was chatting with a cousin who was born and brought up in Britain. He had just returned from an informal meeting at his office and appeared visibly annoyed.

On inquiring he let out a tirade of emotions because a couple of people at this meeting had asked him what his origin was. When he replied by naming the English town he was born in, they seemed dissatisfied with the answer and prodded further in a civilised manner, until they finally asked about the origin of his parents.

He appeared truly shocked at their questions and behaviour. He claimed that they had never accepted him as a native and would be reluctant to call him British. It was difficult for me to clearly understand the reasons behind his cathartic outburst. Surely it is not that bad asking about someone’s origin; we do that all the time in Pakistan!

Unesco describes culture as a “set of distinctive spiritual, material, intellectual and emotional features of society or a social group. It encompasses, in addition to art and literature, lifestyles, ways of living together, values systems, traditions and beliefs. Respecting and safeguarding culture is a matter of Human Rights [sic].” It also goes on to report that around 175 million persons are residing away from the country of their birth and one in every 10 persons in the developed regions is a migrant.

Different things can at times signify your roots. Some people can easily be identified by their names; others can be grouped together because of the similarities in their physical appearance. You can also correlate between groups of people by just noticing their cultural practices.

Our society in Pakistan is extremely heterogeneous but unfortunately we still have not come to terms with the concept of multiple identities. To be proud of your ethnicity is considered to be unpatriotic. How can persons whose ancestors have been Sindhis or Pakhtuns for hundreds of years suddenly give up being what they are and adopt just one identity which is just over 60 years old? Race or ethnicity exists at multiple levels; it varies from your genetic make-up to how you practice your culture. A completely independent subject of research is dedicated to this area known as anthropology. But unfortunately only culture has come to take the burden of race in our country.

If we start from the basics and believe that all humans are not the same and accept diversity as a fact rather than a burden, then we won’t go astray. Why is it wrong for a person to retain their cultural or genetic identity and at the same time adopt a new one? What is wrong in being a Pakistani of Sindhi or Seraiki origin or Baloch or Kashmiri origin?

A recent example can be taken from the issue of renaming the NWFP. Why are we so afraid in giving the people what rightfully belongs to them? When Chaudhry Rahmat Ali came up with the acronym of Pakistan, the second letter (A) in this name actually stood for Afghania. The people of the NWFP have actually made a compromise in agreeing to name their province Pakhtunkhwa.

The usual rhetorical argument given against renaming the province is that it will increase the sense of separatism there and it is not just Pakhtuns who live in the province. The interesting part is that we conveniently forget other provinces with similar dilemmas. Punjab still retains its name even though there is a large Seraiki population there. What about Balochistan which has both Pakhtun and Brahvi people living there in substantial numbers and how can we forget Sindh which has a large population of Pakistanis of North Indian origin (a term recently coined by Ayesha Siddiqa for mohajirs or the Urdu-speaking community).

These problems are not specific to Pakistan. In most of the developing world one group of the population is trying to suppress another on the basis of ethnic, cultural or religious differences. Even in our neighbouring country to the east, there is a great deal of ethnic tension between the north and the south. But we need to introspect first before we are even eligible to comment on others.

We cannot have a dialogue if we all think the same. So difference is necessary. And we all know that the smaller the differences, the more fiery the dialogue may become. This can be avoided by having a clear ideology and an agenda which caters to the needs of everyone. But for this to happen we need to have sincere politicians and genuine political will, a very rare entity to come across in Pakistan.

We should be celebrating our ethno-cultural diversity rather than suppressing it. This diversity should be our collective strength rather than weakness. By accepting we are different at many levels we can become more tolerant of each other. The more rights we give to different ethnic groups the more they will participate in being true stakeholders in the country. We should be studying different ethnic groups at an academic level and should encourage research students to do PhDs in this area so that it gives us more insight into different ways of life and hence into our society. We really need to create a truly pluralistic society otherwise we shall disintegrate into the realm of history without a trace.The road ahead of us is not an easy one. We are facing grave difficulties in the form of economic instability, deep-rooted terrorism and morally corrupt politicians. If we sincerely want our children to live in a country of civilised people we really need to do something now. We can start by accepting our friends and neighbours with an open heart and respect their right to love, live and propagate their culture and religion.

The writer is speciality registrar in forensic psychiatry at the Sheffield Care NHS Trust, UK.

dryiabbasi@yahoo.com

Zero-waste community

IT was not that long ago that life in Kamikatsu revolved around the state of the rice crop and the number of tourists arriving to soak in the restorative waters of the local hot spring. Now the tiny village, in the densely wooded mountains of Shikoku island in south-west Japan, has a new obsession: rubbish.

Since 2003 Kamikatsu’s 2,000 residents have been part of a so far unheralded ecological experiment that, if successful, could force bin men across the country to look for new jobs.

Urban Japanese householders, who balk at having to divide rubbish into flammable and inflammable items, bottles and cans, should spare a thought for their counterparts in Kamikatsu.

Here, household waste must be separated into no fewer than 34 categories before being taken to a recycling centre where volunteers administer firm, but polite, reprimands to anyone who forgets to remove the lid from a plastic bottle or rinse out an empty beer can.

At stake is Kamikatsu’s quest to end its dependence on incineration and landfill by 2020 and claim the title of Japan’s first zero waste community.

An hour’s drive from the nearest city and 590km from Tokyo, the village was forced to change the way it managed its waste in 2000, when strict new regulations on dioxin emissions forced it to shut down its two incinerators.

“We were no longer able to burn our rubbish, so we thought the best policy was not to produce any in the first place,” said Sonoe Fujii of the village’s Zero Waste Academy, a non-profit organisation that oversees the scheme.

Despite initial opposition, the zero waste declaration, passed by the village assembly in 2003, has spawned an unlikely army of ecowarriors.

When Kikue Nii is not tending her impressive allotment or catching fish from the river at the bottom of her garden, she is up to her elbows in garbage.

“At first it was very hard work,” said the 65-year-old, as she emptied another bowl of vegetable peelings into the electric garbage disposal unit next to her back door. In the corner of her garden, more kitchen waste sat in a conventional composter, waiting to help nurture a new supply of tomatoes and spring onions.

That Nii and her neighbours struggled in the early days of the zero waste campaign is understandable, given the daunting myriad of rules.

Glass bottles must be relieved of their caps and sorted by colour. Plastic bottles for soy sauce and cooking oil must be kept separate from Pet (polyethylene teraphthalate]) bottles that once contained mineral water and green tea.

All bottles, cans and even plastic food wrappers must be washed thoroughly; newspapers and magazines have to be piled into neat bundles tied with a twine made from recycled milk cartons.

Any waste that is not composted is taken to the village’s zero waste centre. Early one recent morning a trickle of cars turned into a deluge as residents arrived at the centre to drop off their rubbish on the way to work. The site can accommodate a dizzying array of items, from bottles, cans and newspapers to crockery, batteries, nappies, cigarette lighters, ballpoint pens and an improbably large number of broken mirrors.

Anything in good enough condition to be reused ends up at the Kuru Kuru recycling store, where residents are free to drop off or take home free of charge whatever they like, mostly clothes, crockery and ornaments.

All but a few categories of rubbish are recycled. Wooden chopsticks are pulped and made into paper, and cooking oil reappears in fertiliser.

But for other items, such as shoes, futons and carpets, the only option remains incineration. Glass and ceramic ware and light bulbs are buried in landfills, while batteries have to be shipped hundreds of miles to a recycling plant on the northern island of Hokkaido.

Critics point out that some of the composters use electricity and that most residents of Kamikatsu, spread out over an area that ranges from 100 metres to 800 metres above sea level, have no choice but to take their rubbish to the zero waste centre by car.

“We’re still some way from reaching our zero waste goal, but the difference is amazing compared with a few years ago,” said Yasuo Goto, a 75-year-old retired farmer who works part-time as a caretaker at the centre.

His optimism is supported by data showing that Kamikatsu’s recycling rate has soared from 55 per cent a decade ago to around 80 per cent today.

—The Guardian, London