The birth of a new relationship

This past decade saw a deterioration in ties between India and Australia for various reasons, not necessarily political in nature. But the visit to India by Prime Minister Julia Gillard has changed all of that. New Delhi and Canberra are set on a fresh, cheerful course

As the deep drone of the didgeridoo permeated through the autumnal cool of the Purana Quila, it was impossible not to be swept away by the enchanting power of that moment. Somehow, the long trumpet-like musical instrument created by Australian Aborigines some 1,500 years ago had found its place within the high stone walls of one of India’s oldest fortresses, supposedly built even before the Mahabharat was written.

It was the opening night of the Oz Fest — a cultural festival aimed at promoting Australian traditions in India — and visiting Australian Prime Minister Julia Gillard among other dignitaries was in attendance. The concert that brought together the musical bests of both India and Australia was expected to mark the beginning of a new era in bilateral ties between the two countries. Yet, it was really the manner in which the great civilisational histories of both countries came together on that Tuesday evening, against the gorgeous backdrop of the Sher Mandal Observatory brought to life with mesmerising 3D light projections, that the foundation of a new friendship was really cemented.

Indeed, even as the Australian Prime Minister’s landmark three-day visit comes to a close, there is a definite sense of positivity that the new momentum that now enervates the India-Australia relationship will ride both countries towards a shared vision of the future — that of an Asian Century. To what extent that the optimism will actually flesh itself out in the form of political, social, economic and diplomatic ties is of course yet to be seen.

This past decade had in fact seen a deterioration of ties between the two countries. Bilateral relations had actually taken a turn for the worse after a series of unsavoury incidents during which Indian students came under attack in Australia, Australian cricketers accused their Indian counterpart of racial abuse, the Indian doctor Mohamed Haneef was held on terror charges in Australia, and New Delhi and Canberra sparred over Commonwealth Games contracts. To be sure, the nasty aftertaste of that period which many commentators refer to as the ‘lost decade’ still linger right below the surface. This has perhaps been most evident in the manner in which sections of the Australian media have slammed Prime Minister Gillard’s decision to confer upon Sachin Tendulkar the Member of the Order of Australia award. Clearly, not many in that country have put behind them the infamous ‘monkeygate’ scandal that saw Tendulkar stand by his team mate Harbhajan Singh.

Still, it seems unlikely that the relationship will go back to those days. There is definitely no doubt that a solid new beginning has been made. Ms Gillard’s personal initiative to end Australia’s prejudice towards India with respect to uranium exports has inarguably brought her tremendous goodwill within the country. After years of refusing to sell the yellow cake to India because New Delhi is not a signatory to the Treaty to the Non-Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons, which New Delhi considers to be discriminatory in nature, Ms Gillard’s Government overhauled Australian policy in this matter and lifted that pointless ban last November. It was not an easy move given that neither Australian public opinion nor the political opposition in that country was really in favour of such a policy reversal.

Nevertheless, India’s own stellar non-proliferation record, its reputation as a peaceful and stable democracy, alongside a waiver from the Nuclear Suppliers Group allowing New Delhi to engage in global nuclear commerce, strengthened its case significantly. Interestingly, Australia, as a NSG member, had supported the group’s decision in favour of India back in 2008 but had still continued with its national ban. In this context, it is important to bring in Australia’s own need to tap new markets to sell uranium coupled with India’s growing energy demands to see how these new developments offer a win-win situation for both countries.

That uranium has been the buzzword defining Ms Gillard’s first trip to the country as Prime Minister is perfectly understandable, and so is the excitement surrounding her announcement of nuclear cooperation talks between the two countries. But having said that, it is also imperative to add a cautionary note in this regard and ensure that high-pitched rhetoric does not overshadow pragmatism and practicality. As Ms Gillard has said, it might be years before Australia actually starts selling uranium to India. A nuclear safeguards agreement — similar to the India-US nuclear deal — will have to be put in place first, and given the technical, legal and even diplomatic complexities that will be involved, make no mistake, a long road lies ahead.

This is of course not to say that unless the nuclear deal comes through, bilateral relations between the two countries will be stuck in a limbo. In fact, much to the contrary, both New Delhi and Canberra will do well to take advantage of this new momentum in bilateral ties to strengthen ties in other areas as well. Primary among these should be increasing cooperation in the India-Pacific region — the emergence of which as a ‘security construct’ is now more or less taken for granted by a majority of regional observers.

Generally speaking, the Indian and the Pacific Ocean regions have been considered to be separate geo-political entities that almost never overlap, especially within the Asian security discourse. However, East Asia’s high growth rate, particularly China’s feverish construction of maritime infrastructure in the region — think of the oil pipelines that are being built to connect the Indian Ocean to western China — has forced a re-think of that earlier paradigm.

Add to that India’s growing economic relations with East Asia with a definite naval aspect (best encapsulated in New Delhi’s refurbished ‘Look East’ policy) and the argument for a more integrated and composite view of the region automatically gains traction. Now, as the new regional powers add flavour to this geo-political stew, garnish it with just a little bit of the traditional Great Power garam masala — and bingo! You have  a perfect dish that even the culinary star-critics ofMasterchef will have to approve.

At an earlier time, America’s military supremacy in the region would have been one of the main ingredients, but with the relative decline of the US, that has now somewhat changed. Of course, there should be no doubt about the fact the US will remain a major political and military force in the Asia-Pacific region for a long time — the Obama Administration’s ‘pivot to Asia’ strategy ensures just that. But there will now be a change in the manner in which the US functions as the primary security provider there with an increased dependence on American allies — both old like Australia and Japan and new like India — to share some of that responsibility. A situation such as this fits perfectly into New Delhi’s own changing maritime policies and priorities.

The exact contours of the Indo-Pacific region are still being debated. But, generally speaking, it is accepted as “an emerging Asian strategic system that encompasses both the Indian and the Pacific oceans, defined in part by the geographically expanding interests and reach of China and India, and the continued strategic role and presence of the United States in both”.

Indeed, it is this last definition — put forth by Rory Medcalf and others in their research paper, “Crisis and Confidence: Major Powers and Maritime Security in Indo-Pacific Asia” — that goes beyond the geographic to include the political and the strategic which has the most relevance for policy-makers both in India and Australia as they come together to keep the sea lanes in the India-Pacific region safe and open for business.

(This article was published in the Op-ed section of The Pioneer on October 18, 2012.)

Muslim rage is not about Islam

The outrage and the violent protests organised by Islamists across the world have nothing to do with the supposed desecration of religion. Instead, these incidents are calibrated attempts by so-called religious leaders to firm up their politics, even at the cost of people’s lives

Even before the crowd from the previous protest had returned home, a new mob had gathered on the streets. It had been gaining strength throughout the day as hundreds arrived loaded in trucks and buses, and more people from the outside kept pouring in. Over the next couple of hours, the crowd swelled in numbers and a few local leaders gradually took their position at the helm — soon, they were whipping up outrage against some vaguely defined but provocatively conveyed threat to their religion, their Prophet or their holy book. Timing was the key, so one waited cautiously for the crowd to be sufficiently riled and then, just when the passions peaked, it was let loose like a pack of blood thirsty wolves. What followed was hours, even days, of looting, raiding, pillaging, plundering and killing. Until finally, the security forces showed up and brought the situation somewhat under control.

This is a fairly accurate description of the events as they unfolded in the little Upazila of Ramu, located in the coastal Cox’s Bazar district in Bangladesh’s southern division of Chittagong on September 29 and 30, when Islamists went on the rampage in the area and attacked Buddhist temples and homes, after they discovered a picture of a burnt Quran on Facebook that was alleged ‘tagged’ to a local Buddhist boy.

According to the latest reports available, at least 12 temples were desecrated and nearly 50 Buddhist homes systematically destroyed. But the moot point here lies not in the details of this heinous incident that has deeply scarred Bangladesh’s socio-religious fabric but in the fact that the description applies to almost any ‘Muslim protest’ that has erupted in recent times in response to a supposed act of religious outrage.

Indeed, instead of Ramu Upazila, the narrative can just as easily be placed in Masuri village in Uttar Pradesh here in India, where a similar crowd went berserk and brutally attacked the local police station after someone found pages torn out of the Quran by the railway tracks last month. The narrative also fits well in many other places — from Mumbai’s Azad Maidan where a crowd protesting atrocities against Muslims in Burma and elsewhere went on a rampage to the US Embassy compound in Benghazi where an armed mob protesting a shoddily-made, obscure anti-Islamic film killed the American Ambassador to Libya.

Look closely and a clear pattern of pre-meditated violence that emerges through each of these cases is unmistakable. The cause of the violence and the outrage here is inconsequential. It can be anything — a book that nobody has heard of, a movie that nobody has seen because it was never publicly released, a photograph that is quite possibly doctored, a quote that remains unattributed, a conspiracy theory or even a cartoon. It doesn’t matter.  What matters is how, and of course with what result, that singular instance of outrage (real or imagined) is perverted so as to make it look like it is a universal insult to Islam and its 1.7 billion followers around the world.

First, the Islamists go all out to introduce that supposed object of religious insult — almost always an obscure one — to their local audience. Then, they systemically manufacture outrage against that same object. The campaign is almost always framed within the narrative of a victim-community; a community that has been and continues to be wronged by the world. Ridiculous as it may sound, the idea of being at the receiving end of a global conspiracy is particularly tempting and as we know from past experience, hugely effective. Finally, what serves as an icing on the cake is the fact that Islamists, almost everywhere in the world, are an especially well-organised group. This automatically allows them mobilise large sections of the population and mount an effective campaign.

In other words, the bottomline here is that the protests may be hinged around an Islamic (or more specifically, anti-Islamic) subject, but in reality they have little to do with religion. Instead, the issue is of politics and power-play. Religion is merely an excuse used by the Islamists to whip up passion and mobilise social groups so that they can ultimately implement the latter’s agenda. Indeed, this is an argument that even Muslims political observers themselves have made. For instance, Mr Husain Haqqani, Pakistan’s former Ambassador to the US, in his recently published article on ‘Muslim rage’ minces no words when he says, “The phenomenon of outrage over insults to Islam and its final Prophet is a function of modern-era politics. It started during Western colonial rule, with Muslim politicians seeking issues to mobilize their constituents… and Islamists emerged to claim that Islam is not merely a religion but also a political ideology.”

Indeed, Mr Haqqani traces back an early prototype of this kind of mass mobilisation within the Muslim world to a book published in British India back in 1927. Titled Rangeela Rasool (Playboy Prophet), it was a “salacious version of Muhammad’s life”, says Mr Haqqani, but “hardly a bestseller”. In fact, much the like anti-Islamic film that today is all the rage, so to say, this book too went largely unnoticed until two years after its publication when some Muslim politicians raised a hue and cry over it. The British Government of the day even arrested and tried the publisher but he was acquitted — only to be later stabbed to death by one Ilmuddin, an illiterate carpenter known only by his first name, in Lahore. Ilmuddin soon became a local hero of sorts. Islamist groups nicknamed him Ghazi (warrior) and he was defended in court by a man no less than Mohamed Ali Jinnnah (although on purely technical grounds, as Mr Haqqani points out in his essay). The book continued to be a polarising point between the Hindus and Muslims of undivided India and exacted its price in blood during Partition as well.

It is interesting to note that it was after this case of Ilmuddin that the British amended the Indian Penal Code to include punishment for blasphemy and incitement of religious hatred. It is equally ironical that a little less than a century later, another young man would once again share Ilmuddin’s fate and how! In January 2011, Mumtaz Qadri would also be celebrated as a national hero for killing Salman Taseer, the powerful Pakistani Governor of Punjab would had dared to opposed his country’s draconian blasphemy laws.

The lessons to be learnt from the past and the present are clear. These protests, wherever they may erupt, are not just a product of politics disguised as religion, but that they must be exposed as such. 

The moment the state begins to legitimise such violence as being a genuine case of religious grievance; it loses the plot and half the battle. The Bangladeshi Government realises this, which is why the whole deal about the Facebook picture was underplayed. The Pakistani Government on the other hand doesn’t get it at all and so, it had the Ishq-e-Rasool day, during which several persons where killed. India must learn its lessons from all this and stop pampering hardliners.

(This article was published in the op-ed section of The Pioneer on October 4, 2012.)

Democracy too has side-effects

Neither does an elected system automatically ensure truly ‘free’ polls nor is a supposedly democratic rule the answer to the many socio-political ills of the day, such as terrorism. Under certain conditions, such a system of governance can be harmful

When pro-democracy movements swept across Arabia last year, the world was caught largely unaware. In response, the international media — itself still trying to grasp the enormity of the situation — spun this narrative: After centuries of oppression, the people of Arabia had finally awakened; a peaceful revolution was underway; and democracy was around the corner. Across the world, everywhere the unrest in Arabia was romanticised as a popular uprising and lovingly tagged the ‘Arab Spring’.

Well, everywhere except  in the tiny Jewish state of Israel where the events were viewed and continue to be viewed with fear and anxiety. For a country surrounded by regimes whose official state policies call for its complete annihilation, additional instability in the neighbourhood is the last thing Israel needed. Hence, it comes as no surprise that in Israeli official discourse the popular protests are commonly referred to as the ‘Arab unrest’ or the ‘Arab upheaval’. A handful of those with a fondness for seasonal metaphors like to call it the ‘Islamist winter’ in response to the rise of Islamist regimes in the region that have replaced the secular and largely stable dictatorships of the past.

Egypt is a case in point. Here the autocratic, but still secular, regime of former President Hosni Mubarak has since been replaced by that of Mohamed Morsi. A mid-level functionary of the Muslim Brotherhood that was banned under the previous Government but now holds a majority in Parliament, Mr Morsi has nevertheless been appointed to that high office only after he won the first free and fair, multi-party election held in Egypt.

For Israel, this is problematic on many levels. First, the victory of the Muslim Brotherhood in itself is viewed as an existential threat — and perhaps, rightly so. Not only is the Brotherhood the same organisation that has nurtured top terrorists including present Al Qaeda chief Ayman al-Zawahiri, it is also directly related to the terrorist group, Hamas, that governs the Gaza Strip and whose charter calls for the obliteration of Israel. It does not take a stretch of imagination to see why Israel fears that under the Muslim Brotherhood, its crucial peace treaty with Egypt will come under threat.

Additionally, there are also concerns regarding the increasingly lawless Sinai Peninsula. There are several reports that groups such as the Al Qaeda, are trying to ‘take over’ the region and create a terror haven of sorts. The crux of their strategy is to provoke Israel into launching retaliatory fire and eventually force the dismantling of the Egypt-Israel peace treaty. It’s a no win situation for both Israel and Egypt.

Of course, there is some hope that the international community will work to prevent such a disaster and that Egypt’s own security imperatives will hopefully persuade the new regime to maintain the status quo. But there are no guarantees yet. While some believe that these new Arab regimes might eventually adopt the Turkish model of pragmatism towards Israel, others insist that the former might initially appear to be reconciliatory in nature but will eventually return to their hardline positions as they continue to consolidate power. Overall, there is no denying that security and counter-terrorism experts still have ample reason to be deeply concerned not just about Israel’s security situation but also about peace in West Asia in general.

To be sure, only time will tell how exactly things will unravel in Egypt but for now the situation provides for an interesting study in democracy, what it means to be one and whether or not it should be considered to be the magic potion for all the world’s political maladies. The first question that must be asked in this regard is does the conduct of free and fair elections alone constitute democracy? Or, should the conduct of such elections be viewed as a political means to achieve social goals such as inclusive, pluralistic society built on the universal values of justice, freedom and equality?

Take Mr Morsi’s appointment to the office of the Egyptian President as an example. That the election that brought him to power was free and fair is commonly acknowledged around the world. But is it as much a given that Egypt under his rule will be an open, just and free society for all its citizens including women and minorities? Or for that matter it will respect its peace obligations with neighbours including Israel? Unfortunately, the answer is a resounding no.

If anything, the situation in Egypt today looks eerily similar to that in the Gaza Strip in 2006. At that time, Hamas was elected to power after similarly free and fair elections following Israel’s pull out from the area in 2005. From the Israeli perspective, this provides for an understandably discomfiting situation not only because it must deal with a terrorist organisation on its borders but also because as a country that prides itself on being the only democracy in the region, it cannot look away from the fact that not just Hamas but now also the regime in Cairo indeed represent the popular will of their people.

For the international community, particularly in the West, such a situation presents what can only be described as the dilemma of defending democracy. It forces the world to also deal with the uncomfortable reality that elections alone don’t constitute democracy — there were elections during Mr Mubarak’s reign as well.  More importantly, it raises the issue of the abuse of democratic freedoms. It must serve as an impetus to the key question: What does the world do about regimes that grab power through democratic means only to eventually dismantle the democratic machinery of the state? 

There are no easy answers here but a good place to at least start the discussion in this regard is with the dispensation of the myths surrounding democracy. For instance, it is imperative to acknowledge that neither does democracy constitute ‘free elections’ nor is a supposedly democratic rule the answer to the many socio-political ills of the day, such as terrorism. In fact, if anything, it is crucial to realise that democracy under certain conditions can actually be bad.

(This article was published in the Op-ed section of The Pioneer on September 10, 2012.)

China must learn to be rational

Prime Minister of the Tibetan Government-in-Exile Lobsang Sangay believes the faith and determination of Tibetans who are fighting  for their rights in the face of Beijing’s might, will eventually triumph. India, he adds, can do more for his people’s cause

Filling in the shoes, or well sandals, of the Dalai Lama without first having returned from the dead is no easy task. But India-bred, Harvard-educated law professor Lobsang Sangay has managed to do exactly that in this past one year that he has been the Kalon Tripa or Prime Minister of the Tibetan Government-in-Exile. In an exclusive interview to The Pioneer, the political successor of the Dalai Lama, speaks of his gruelling first year governing a country he has never visited. He talks of his own journey from a refugee camp in Darjeeling through the hallowed corridors of Harvard Law School to the monastery in Dharamsala; the trials and tribulations of being an elected representative, the democratic implications of separating the office of the political leader from that of the spiritual leader and much more. Excerpts:

You have just completed your first year as the Kalon Tripa. What were the challenges you faced and what would you list as your main achievements?

After 16 years in the US, where I was an academic at Harvard Law School, moving here and adjusting in Dharamsala was a challenging job in itself.  Domestically, the cases of self-immolation in these past months have been painful and I have strived to keep the Tibetan spirit and sense of solidarity alive. Then there is, of course, the Chinese Government that everybody is trying to understand and analyse. Administratively also there have been challenges. Even though I have a small administration of just about a 1000-plus members, still, when a new guy comes in, it requires some re-adjusting.

When His Holiness the Dalai Lama devolved all his political powers last year, there was a lot of anxiety among the people. Who is this guy coming from nowhere? But in this one year’s time, that anxiousness has lessened considerably. 

Now, that the Dalai Lama is no longer actively involved in Tibetan politics and diplomacy, how has that affected the Tibetan movement?

Earlier, His Holiness was both spiritual and political leader, and given his stature, prominence, popularity and acceptance, he performed both roles admirably well. But after that the question was, ‘Who am I trying to fill in his shoes?’ Who knows me? No one. So, I had to create my own space and raise the profile of my office. But because of His Holiness’s goodwill, friends of Tibet have welcomed us with open arms.

Within the Tibetan community, earlier decisions were a lot easier to implement because they had the Dalai Lama’s endorsement. There was little criticism. Now, I don’t have that shield. So, there is more scrutiny but overall there has been more acceptance as well.

Has the separation of the offices of the political and spiritual leaders led to greater democratisation of the Tibetan movement?

Democracy was always part of His Holiness the Dalai Lama’s vision. He often told us that when he attended the People’s National Congress in China in 1954, he saw elderly leaders dozing off even as member after member would read out long speeches. Yet, every piece of legislation was unanimously approved.

But then in 1956, when he came to India, he went to Parliament here and saw the raucous, noisy deliberations and the shouting matches, and immediately decided that, ‘Yes, this is what I like.’

So, since 1959, Tibet has had a People’s Parliament. It’s just that with the Dalai Lama being both spiritual and political leader, it was camouflaged. Still, there have been many reforms. Most importantly, in 2001, direct elections were held for the office of the Kalon Tripa, which at that time was only administrative in profile. Then on August 8, 2011, the Dalai Lama said that he was handing over political authority to the democratically elected Lobsang Sangay.

How has the transition been for you from a Tibetan refugee to a professor of law to a politician?

I grew up in a remote refugee camp on one acre of land in Darjeeling. I went to a refugee school and ate dal bhaat every day. No machli. But we always had a sense of serving the community. It was enforced at home and at school but of course I had not expected to be Kalon Tripa. Even as late as 2010, I was focussed on my programmes at Harvard Law School. I hardly ever ventured to Kennedy school where future leaders were being groomed. Only in Spring 2010, when election talk was going on, did I begin auditing classes on leadership and communication.

At the time there was valid criticism that how could this guy, who had never worked even as a bureaucrat at Dharamsala, was not even a Member of Parliament, just parachute from America and become Kalon Tripa? But I decided to give it my best shot.

I won the preliminary election and then 10 days before finals, the Dalai Lama announced that he would devolve power. I had only 10 days to decide if I wanted to become the political successor of the Dalai Lama. But I am a Tibetan. And I always had this sense that I would dedicate my life to the cause of Tibet.

You spoke of the challenge of facing self-immolation cases. How has your administration handled these tragic incidents?

You know, a leader’s position is a lonely one. As a journalist, you can report about it. As an academic, you study it. As a human being, you can sympathise about it. But as a leader, you have to do something about it. We have made repeated requests against self-immolations. We actively discourage it. In fact, we do not even encourage protests inside Tibet given the harsh consequences. But once the protest takes place or some one does self-immolate, it becomes our duty to show solidarity for their aspirations.

Also, one must ask why are they protesting like this? Because there is no space for conventional protests. Yes, they are desperate, but they are so determined to bring freedom to Tibet.

Do you think China’s growing power will make it less amenable to reform?

If China thinks irrationally, then yes. But if China thinks rationally, it should solve the problem of Tibet. The Chinese Government spends more on internal security than on external defence. Which other country does this? A major portion of that security money is spent on Tibet, on the militarisation of the long India-China border, on maintaining tight security in Lhasa where there are check points everywhere. So much to ensure a ‘harmonious society’!

Also, China spends billions of dollars to promote soft power through  Confucius Institutes and events like the Olympics. But when you handle Tibetans like this, it negates all of that effort. If China solves the Tibetan problem, not only will it save billions of dollars, it will generate soft power for itself. It is in China’s interest to resolve the problem.

Do you think growing commercial ties between India and China will force New Delhi to re-balance its equation between Beijing and Tibet?

This is a common theory but my question is: Which country has profited from doing business with China? There may be an exception like Germany, but generally it is China that profits from doing business with the world. China profits more from doing business with India than the other way round. Also, you can’t compromise on morals. If that’s the case, not only are you giving China your money, you are also selling your morals.

Do you have any expectations from New Delhi?

I grew up in India. I was educated in an Indian school subsidised by the Indian Government. I owe a lot to India which has done more for the Tibetan movement than any other country. I am hesitant to ask for more. Obviously I want to see India do more, but I will not ask for it.

(This article was published in the Op-ed section of The Pioneer on August 23, 2012.)

The myth of burger diplomacy

Thomas Friedman had once famously said that no two countries that have McDonalds have ever gone to war against each. But that was perhaps before the Kargil War. Democracy does not always translate into peace

The notion of a certain kind of Government being able to promote peace is, in the least, a very tantalising one. Little wonder then that policy makers in recent times, especially in the more deeply democratic Western world, have been particularly fascinated by the proposition that democracies do not fight one another. On the surface, this seems to provide a one-stop solution to global conflict, implying that a kind of “perpetual peace”, as described by German philosopher Immanuel Kant in his 1795 landmark essay, ‘Perpetual Peace: A Philosophical Sketch’, may prevail if there were only democracies in the world.

However, since such an idea becomes oft-abused to legitimise actions against non-democratic nations — think of the Iraq war or even the aerial campaign against Libya — it is imperative to critically analyse such a statement and acknowledge the fact that a number of qualifications need to be taken into consideration before one can celebrate the inherent virtues of democratic governance.

First on the list is the matter of definitions. What is democracy? What is peace? Is the absence of war an indication of peace? What is war? What about other forms of violence and conflict? However, there are no consistent and universal definitions of these phenomena — no, not even within academia. Mostly, both political scientists and policy-makers just devise their own set of requirements to suit their research designs or strategic compulsions.

In fact, as Ido Oren describes in his seminal work, the term ‘democracy’ is highly subjective and over the years, has changed significantly to refer essentially to other members of the ‘in-group’. In other words, for American policy makers for instance, democratic nations at any given time are those nations with whom the US has friendly relations at that time.

Similarly, there are problems with understanding the concept of peace. The democratic peace literature has a realist take on the matter — meaning, peace is the absence of war. This definition thus excludes all other forms of violence, such as economic war which can be just as destructive, military interventions, covert operations, and even civil wars. Consequently, it provides for with only half the information and a false impression. For instance, India and Pakistan may not be engaged in ‘war’ right now, but relations between the two nuclear-armed neighbours are surely not peaceful.

Also, it is interesting to note that while democracies may be relatively less prone to fighting one another, they show no such tendencies towards non-democracies (think of the war in Afghanistan or even the kind of defensive position that the US has taken against autocratic China) — although some believe that while at war, they are less severely violent. Thus it is clearly evident that the idea of monadic peace — that democracies simply by themselves are more peaceful in nature — is a myth.

Interestingly, it may also be mentioned that in some cases even autocratic dyads — a set of two autocratic nations — are more peaceful in their foreign relations than would be expected. Think of Russia and China and how the countries have not only maintained cordial relations with each other but have also teamed up on the global forum to present an intimidating force.  This further negates the assumption that there is something about democratic regimes in particular that makes them more peaceful towards each other — since it may be said that similar regime types are overall less prone to go to war with each other.

Another gaping hole in the democratic peace argument is the equally vague idea of an established democracy versus a weak democracy. Neither of these terms is well-defined and both are very fluid and can easily include or exclude a vast number of nations

A study of how the democratic peace proposition finds reflection in South Asia brings out the above point better. Unlike the West, South Asia suffers from chronic instability, extreme poverty and underdevelopment. Yet, it shares the western ideal of economic liberalisation and since the 1990s, it has been a largely democratic region wherein India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Nepal and Sri Lanka have all had some form of democratic Government, for the most part. In other words, all these countries have had more than one political party or candidate, elections have been held here in which the citizens have participated and through which, they have elected their leaders and finally, citizens have some basic political and civil rights.

However, it is also an established fact that, though elections may be held in all these countries, some, such as Pakistan and Bangladesh, do not always provide their citizens with the necessary constitutional, civil and political rights, therefore, taking away from it crucial aspects of democratic governance, as Kant would imagine.

An important assumption of the democratic peace proposition is that democracies would share their democratic norms and values with other democracies, and this in turn would be a determining factor in preventing war. In South Asia, however, this has not been the case. Neighbouring democracies have not been able to participate in sharing similar norms but have instead allowed their relations to be clouded by mistrust and suspicion which came about because of their violent and bloody historical past. Both Pakistan and Bangladesh believe that India has expansionist motives, while India is suspicious of both for brewing anti-India sentiment. Will democratic peace succeed in such an environment?

Two other factors that are believed to constrain democracies from going to war include the system of checks and balances that makes it significantly difficult for a small group of executive members to make an unpopular move, and also the fact that the Government is answerable to its people. However, what happens when the people don’t really care about foreign policy decisions — quite like in the West, foreign affairs does not figure high on the list of electoral priorities for South Asians either.

At the same time, foreign policy decisions are also increasingly made by a small group of Ministers or leaders, like members of a kitchen cabinet. Good examples of this situation are the tenures of Jawaharlal Nehru and his daughter Indira Gandhi, in India; the UNP Government in Sri Lanka as it negotiated the Indo-Sri Lankan Accords of 1987 and the complicated role of the military in Pakistani foreign and domestic affairs. Therefore, given the fact that democratic institutions do not necessarily work well in these countries, does South Asia have a chance at democratic peace?

Another area of interest with regard to the democratic peace theory is economic interdependence. Proponents of the theory argue that democracies that have economic ties with one another are less prone to fight each other since that would result in mutual trade loss.

In fact, Thomas Friedman had once famously said that no two countries that have McDonalds have ever warred against each other. But that was before the Kargil War.

(This article was published in the Op-ed section of The Pioneer on August 9, 2012.)

Wait for the endgame is long

The situation in Syria is turning from bad to worse. President Bashar al-Assad appears well and truly besieged, but he shows no signs of giving up. Will he triumph in the end or quit after leaving his country in a state of complete disrepair? No one seems to know for sure

On the morning of July 18, when a bomb went off in the same building where embattled Syrian President Bashar al-Assad was meeting with his national security council, for a brief second its deafening noise even silenced the sound of gunfire that crackled in the background. And then reality struck: Three of Mr Assad’s top security chiefs — Minister of Defence Daoud Rajiha, former military intelligence chief and his brother-in-law Assef Shawkat, and another former Defence Minister who had remained a power to reckon with across the country’s vast military establishment, Hassan Turkmani — had been killed. The President’s cousin, notorious as the chief interrogator of the state security agency, Hafez Makhlouf, had been grievously injured. The President himself had escaped unhurt, but only just. The regime had been hit. For the first time since the popular uprising began 17 months ago, the rebels had finally been able to wound the obstinate Assad Government, deeply and definitively.

The endgame was here; it was the beginning of the end, proclaimed many a newspaper editorial and security pundit. A general consensus had quickly formed that the attack — which came four days into a rebel onslaught on the Government-controlled cities of Damascus and Aleppo — had so crippled the Assad regime that it would now quickly unravel and at least some of the bloodshed would finally stop.

In fact, in one of the many “endgame-is-here” type articles that appeared since the blast, a reputed international news magazine theorised that in every revolution there comes a moment when the tide turns against the regime — Libya, it was rise of Tripoli against Colonel Muammar Gaddafi, and in Egypt, it was when protesters occupied Tahrir Square and torched the ruling party’s headquarters. In Syria, it goes on to add, that moment when the balance of power shifted away from the Assad regime could have well been on July 18.

Today, it has been exactly a week since the deadly blast ripped through the high security, military compound in Damascus, hitting the brutal Ba’athist regime closer to its heart than ever before and prompting talks of an endgame. And yet, there has been absolutely no sign of either Mr Assad getting away on a jet plane to seek refuge in some exotic foreign location or reports of a slew of high profile defections that would hollow out the regime from within or even instances of rebel surge that could finally topple the Government, as it had been predicted earlier.

If anything, it seems the bomb attack, which was definite proof of the rebels gaining more strength, seems to have convinced the regime to dig its heels in deeper. Overall, apart from the empty rhetoric, there is little proof that the ‘endgame’ has begun for the Assad regime, or for that matter the regime has any reason to back out at this moment. Sure, it has come under a lot of pressure and yes, it will eventually collapse, but the time for that has not yet come — not until a huge Pearl Harbour kind of incident totally shakes things up.

And, therefore, it should not come as any surprise that in this past week Government forces renewed their offensive and even lashed out from the skies at the people. On Tuesday, warplanes bombed Aleppo, Syria’s second largest city and the country’s commercial capital. Once an Assad stronghold, unrest has also spread to this city prompting the Government to launch a coordinated attack that included heavy artillery shelling and rockets launched from military helicopters.

The fact that the Government has now resorted to aerial bombing, along  with reports from Israel’s intelligence chief that the Syrian Army has removed all its soldiers from the Golan Heights border area and possibly redeployed them to Damascus and other cities, shows that the Assad administration is growing desperate. But it should also serve as a reminder that between the rebels and the regime, it is still the latter that is by far the more powerful player. Moreover, don’t forget that Mr Assad is yet to take out his big guns.

Let us also not forget that the Syrian President continues to have at his command one of the largest air forces in West Asia, and as he showed on Tuesday, he is yet to use it to full effect. Similarly, he is also sitting atop a huge stockpile of chemical weapons that includes sarin nerve agent, cyanide and mustard gas, and reports of them being moved out of their storage places, even if unconfirmed, remain a cause for worry. Will Mr Assad use chemical weapons against his own people and risk becoming an international pariah? There is no way one can tell for sure but given that the President has painted himself into a do-or-die situation, no options can be ruled out at this point. Besides, Mr Assad continues to enjoy the support of Russia and to a lesser extent, China. These two insulate him from international pressure and have emerged as his main source of external support.

Finally, one must also factor in the fierce loyalty of Syria’s elite security forces that belong almost entirely to the minority Alawite sect of Islam (an offshoot of the Shia faith), like Mr Assad himself. As this conflict, now officially tagged a civil war, draws out and takes on definite sectarian contours, pitting the country’s Sunni majority against the powerful Shia/Alawite minority, the President can trust upon the latter to defend him till his death and beyond. This, for instance, is in clear contrast to the case of Col Gadddafi, who had to depend largely on foreign mercenaries for his survival. But Mr Assad knows too well that, today more than ever before, the Alawites need him the most.

In the minds of the Alawite community, particularly those within the security forces and others closely associated with the Government, the fear of revenge and reprisals against them if Assad’s regime falls is a very real one — and perhaps, rightly so.

Nevertheless, the fact remains that Mr Assad’s days are numbered — and even the Alawites know it. And that is possibly why many of them are already moving out of their hometowns, mostly around Damascus and Homs, to the port cities of Tartus, Latakia, Baniyas and Jableh in the Sahel region that traditionally belong to the Alawites. It is here that the Alawites had lived throughout centuries of Mamluk and Ottoman rule, coming out to the mainland only occasionally to work as domestic labourers. After World War I, the French even created a sovereign Alawi state that extended from Latakia to Tartus in 1920. But the experiment failed due to the overwhelming Sunni desire for union with Damascus and by 1937, the coastal areas had been incorporated into present-day Syria. The Alawite community eventually entered the Syrian mainstream as well — and some like Mr Assad’s father even made it to the very top — but their integration was neither even nor ever complete. The religious fault-lines remained and this latest conflict has only served to crack them wide open.

Today, there is a huge possibility that as the battle for Syria continues between the regime and rebel forces, a de facto partition of the state will occur, with the Sunni rebels gaining control over Daraa, Deir al-Zour, the Homs-Idlib corridor and the rural areas around Damascus and Aleppo, while Government forces will shrink to the old Alawite state. But such a state will be as non-viable today as it was in 1920, and hence the Alawites can only be expected to fight until the very end for the whole of Syria.

(This article was published in the Op-ed section of The Pioneer on July 26.)

Quoting contempt, plotting coup

The ongoing power tussle in Pakistan between the judiciary and the executive is a losing battle for both sides. While neither of them is going to emerge unscathed, governance is already taking a beating

Less than a month after Pakistan’s Supreme Court in a dramatic move removed the country’s then Prime Minister Yousuf Raza Gilani after charging him with contempt of court and thereby disqualifying his membership to Parliament on June 19, the stage is now being set for a repeat performance. On July 12, Mr Gilani’s successor, Prime Minister Raja Pervez Ashraf, is scheduled to inform the Supreme Court whether or not he will follow its orders to reopen old corruption cases against President Asif Ali Zardari. In all probability, Mr Ashraf, like Mr Gilani, will choose to defy the apex court’s diktat, reiterating the Government’s argument that the President enjoys immunity from such cases for as long as he is in office.

On its part, the Supreme Court can choose to once again charge the Prime Minister with contempt of court, but it is unlikely those charges will stick. On Monday, Pakistan’s lower House of Parliament, known as the National Assembly, passed a key legislation that provides blanket protection to all Government functionaries holding high offices from contempt of charges with regard to the performance of their executive duties. The Contempt of Court Bill, 2012, is expected to be cleared by the upper house of Parliament or the Senate, and signed into law by the President before July 12.

Technically, that should provide the Prime Minister some cover from an over-zealous judiciary but the situation still remains fluid and largely unpredictable. There has been a marked escalation in the ongoing tussle between the judiciary and the executive in recent months, and this has thrown awry the delicate balance of power that lay at the crux of the relationship between these two key state institutions. Consequently, the Pakistani Parliament may pass a law but there is no guarantee that the Supreme Court will not throw it out of the window on grounds of being unconstitutional, for example. Indeed, only two days before the National Assembly passed the law protecting the executive from contempt of court charges, Chief Justice Iftikhar Chaudhry made statements expressing exactly this very sentiment.

Of course, the fact that the country’s highest court has the authority to nullify a law that it deems to be at odds with the Constitution is a basic judicial principle. However, it is the timing of Mr Chaudhry’s comments that make them highly suspect especially when viewed in conjunction with his other equally worrying statements. On Saturday, Mr Chaudhry went as far as to say that the supremacy of Parliament was indeed “out of place in the modern era”, that it was actually the Constitution that should enjoy pre-eminence. This, as an editorial in a leading Pakistani newspaper rightly pointed out, is indeed “explosive” not only because it strips the country’s democratically elected Government of its powers but more so because those powers are now reinstated with the judiciary — ultimately, an elected institution — which portrays itself as the high keeper of the Constitution.

Clearly, the judiciary is courting trouble. But if the judges want to play rough, the political class — no matter how emancipated — has proven that it can also pack a punch or two just as well. Therefore, a day after Mr Chaudhry fired his ‘Constitution is supreme’ salvo, Mr Gilani hit right back at him by stating that it was Parliament that had in effect created the Constitution. When viewed in consonance with the Contempt of Court Bill, it is wholly evident that the Government will not be taking any of this judicial bullying down. It will put up a fight, and a good one at that. Besides, given that its tenure expires in less than six month, the Government has little to lose, anyway.

For the judiciary, however, the game is far from over. Its strategy of attacking the Government head on has achieved mixed results at best, and even that has come at the very high cost of its own reputation. Between 2007, when the Mr Chaudhry became a Pakistani household hero for standing up to then President Pervez Musharraf who had illegally fired him at the time, and now, the Chief Justice’s stock has fallen greatly. Some of course still laud his campaign to cleanse Pakistani politics of widespread corruption, but most others can’t ignore the stench of personal vendetta that engulfs his actions. For instance, the Chief Justice’s June 19 decision to actually disqualify Mr Gilani as Prime Minister — earlier, he had left that decision to the Speaker of the National Assembly — came only after a real estate tycoon with close ties to the President charged Mr Chaudhry’s son of bribery. Some believe that Mr Gilani’s dismissal was indeed an act of revenge by a powerful father on behalf of his wronged son.

Either way, the larger picture is gloomy and hopeless. There is no end in sight even though this tug-of-war has been dragging on for several years now. At the core of the dispute still lies the National Reconciliation Ordinance, an amnesty law instituted in 2007 by then President Musharraf as part of a power-sharing deal with the PPP’s exiled leader Benazir Bhutto. According to the agreement, Mr Musharraf through the NRO would close the graft cases against Bhutto and her husband, Mr Zardari (as well as many other politicians) who had been accused of money laundering through Swiss bank accounts, in return for the PPP’s support for his re-election bid at the end of that year. Towards that extent, the then Chief Justice of Pakistan had even written to Swiss authorities to close the Bhutto-Zardari files and the latter had complied. But things didn’t go as planned. By 2009, Bhutto was dead, Mr Musharraf had resigned and left the country, and Mr Chaudhry was Chief Justice. He found himself an empty playing field and promptly, hit his first goal: He struck down the NRO.

Since then, he has been insisting that the Government write to Swiss authorities to disregard the earlier letter and by default reopen the graft cases. But as a Supreme Court lawyer has recently pointed out, Mr Chaudhry does not need the Prime Minister or any other Government official to write that letter. He can write it himself, and it would be just as valid. The problem for Mr Chaudhry actually lies in the fact that the Swiss, no matter what, will not reopen the graft cases against Mr Zardari while he is still President because of the immunity he enjoys under Pakistani law.

In effect then, this is a losing battle for both parties. While the judiciary has already lost much of its credibility with little to show in return, the Government also has suffered many battle scars with its own position within the establishment now significantly weakened. It is time for both to cut their losses and leave the battlefield.

(This article was published in the Op-ed section of The Pioneer on July 12.)