Cover of the Herald, January 2017
Raheel took over from a tried and tired Kayani — who went after the militants but not thoroughly; who made life hell for the civilian government, leaving it wounded, but refused to deal it one last, deadly blow; who overstayed his welcome and was resented by the troops for accepting extension as a bribe from the civilian government; whose brothers became real estate billionaires involved in shady deals with everyone’s cousin’s neighbour.
On June 15, 2014, Inter-Services Public Relations (ISPR), the army’s media wing, announced: “[The] armed forces of Pakistan have launched a comprehensive operation against foreign and local terrorists who are hiding in sanctuaries in North Waziristan Agency.” This was the start of Operation Zarb-e-Azb.
One week earlier, militants affiliated with Tehreek-e-Taliban Pakistan (TTP) had attacked Karachi airport, leaving at least 28 people dead. Six months before that attack – in January 2014 – Nawaz Sharif appeared in the National Assembly after a six-month absence to respond to a wave of similar TTP attacks. He described how his government had attempted to find a peaceful solution to Taliban’s violence and how those attempts had been sabotaged by them through continued attacks. It seemed inevitable that he would announce decisive action. The National Assembly was ready to burst into applause. After a pause, throat-clearing and shuffling of feet, Nawaz Sharif sheepishly announced: “peace will be given another chance”. He set up a committee to hold talks with militants who, a few hours ago, had killed three rangers’ soldiers in Karachi.
When ISPR announced the launching of Zarb-e-Azb, Nawaz Sharif could do nothing but endorse it. He tried to salvage a semblance of civilian supremacy by making a formal announcement about the operation in the same National Assembly where he was advocating a negotiated settlement, half a year earlier. He sounded like he was reading an ISPR press release (he probably was). General Raheel Sharif: 1, Nawaz Sharif: 0.
When Raheel Sharif visited the injured students immediately after theattack, he made the prime minister look callously indifferent.
In a matter of days, consensus in the media and mainstream political discourse changed — from being “our estranged brothers”, Taliban came to be called our worst enemies and the operation against them “the existential battle for Pakistan’s soul”.
Manufacturers of the consensus wanted no questions asked about the conduct of the operation, no awkward queries made about collateral damage therein and no probes launched as to who was being attacked. We were pushed into George W Bush’s binary world of “either with us or with them”. Questions were “unhelpful and undermining the overall national effort”.
On December 16, 2014, Pakistan suddenly became a different place — it looked, smelt and felt different. The realisation that history will now have a pre- and post- format with reference to that day’s terrorist attack on Peshawar’s Army Public School was hard to miss. Nawaz Sharif and the rest of the Pakistani leaders went into a hurriedly called meeting the very next day. Expressing his grief in a press conference after the meeting, the prime minister sounded unsure if his words convinced his audience. The only time he seemed natural was when he made a sorry attempt at a “container joke” about Imran Khan — “I would have joined him at the container if I didn’t have to go and call upon the [injured] children in the hospital.” He laughed and so did his cronies; the rest were stunned — has this man got no sense of timing?
Nawaz Sharif did not go to see the injured children on the day of the attack (he did that later). His party members say in hushed tones that he was asked by the army not to do so because of security concerns. Given the history, this is entirely plausible. but if Nawaz Sharif wanted to really, really visit, how would anybody – even the army – stop him? So, when Raheel Sharif visited the injured students immediately after the attack, he made the prime minister look callously indifferent.
The subsequent National Action Plan (NAP) to fight extremism and terrorism, formally acknowledged the military’s supremacy. It made political parties unanimously agree to the formation of summary military courts for terrorism trials. The decision was the army’s but the entire parliament stamped its seal of approval on it. The government also lifted the moratorium on death penalty, without even feebly linking it to the attack on the school. The suppression of fundamental rights was probably proposed by the army but it was Nawaz Sharif’s hand that executed it. With the formation of apex committees to monitor internal security, the army formally pulled a seat for itself on the table of all provincial and federal matters.
Pakistan Army has had a constituency in the public since the 1950s. It was cemented by Ziaul Haq in the 1980s. The major part of this constituency comprises Pakistanis of urban, middle-class, religious and Punjabi origins. Incidentally, this coincides with Nawaz Sharif’s voter base. One wonders if this was one of the principal reasons for disagreement between the two Sharifs.
In any case, the constituency expanded under Raheel Sharif. Even some from the perennially anti-army Pakistani liberals joined it in the name of fighting religious extremism and militancy.
Pakistani liberal is an amorphous term and has had varying characteristics over the past three decades. Yet, the two individual’s defining positions have remained consistent — firstly, opposition to the excessive role of religion in the affairs of the state and to the state’s patronage of radical religious groups; secondly, opposition to direct and indirect interference by the army in government.
Historically, these positions have been complementary to each other. One brief exception occurred when in 1997-1998, Nawaz Sharif sought to have himself declared Amirul Momineen (Commander of the Faithful), and perhaps in the first few months of Musharraf’s government, when he made a shabby effort to present himself as Pakistan’s Ataturk.
Raheel Shariff’s legacy, undoubtedly, is of a leader who did not haveso much as a whiff of scandal around him.
Raheel Sharif brought these two tenets into direct conflict. Cultural critic and political commentator Nadeem Farooq Paracha believes the signs of his opposition to religiously-motivated militants were visible even before his appointment as the army chief. “When he was posted at the Pakistan Military Academy in Kakul, he wrote a thesis on how the principal threat faced by Pakistan was internal and not external. That is significant,” Paracha says in an interview.
In the post-school-attack Pakistan, the narrative of militants as “strategic assets” needed to change; if not for the sake of principle then for the sake of strategy. Even if a divorce seemed unlikely, an immediate, public separation was in order. The troops had to be prepared to fully take on the TTP and its affiliates, and the nation and the media had to support the action. This required undoing three decades of “Muslims don’t fight Muslims” sloganeering that explained the Taliban phenomenon only as a reaction to American imperialism. Even before the APS attack, Kayani faced similar challenges in such security operations as Rah-e-Rast and Rah-e-Nijat. He dealt with them as he dealt with most challenges he faced — by not rising up to them. The hallmark of the Kayani doctrine was “almost, but not quite”.
Cracks between religious groups and the army had started appearing even before Raheel Sharif took over as COAS. In November 2013, only weeks prior to his appointment, Munawar Hassan, the then chief of Jamaat-e-Islami (JI), stirred a storm by saying that if American soldiers killed in battles with Taliban were not martyrs, then neither were Pakistani soldiers who were American allies. The army responded with a strongly worded statement: “The sacrifices of our Shuhada [martyrs] and their families need no endorsement from Syed Munawar Hasan.”
On the other hand, in a bizzare statement, Maulana Fazlur Rehman, chief of his own faction of Jamiat Ulema-e-Islam, said, “Anyone killed by the United States is a martyr, even if it is a dog.”
JI was the frontline political ally of Haq in his Afghan jihad; Rehman was an ally of Musharraf.
The operation to restore order in Karachi went on with even morevigour and fanfare.
This estrangement reached a climax when Sajid Mir, an Ahle Hadith cleric who is also a senator representing the ruling Pakistan Muslim League-Nawaz, mounted an unprecedented attack against the alleged religious beliefs of Raheel Sharif’s possible successor. In a video statement in November 2016, he said: “Pakistan Army is the world’s largest Islamic army and cannot be headed by a non-Muslim. There are news reports that one of the candidates for the chief’s position belongs to a family which does not believe in the Islamic principle of the finality of prophethood. This is very dangerous and the government should refrain from considering [that person] for appointment as the army chief.”
Mir apologised in another video message on the very next day, and claimed that he was misinformed. His demand, however, was breathtaking in its audacity and malice.
In his book The Eighteenth Brumaire of Louis Bonaparte, Karl Marx talked about people learning a new language. He said they habitually translate the new language back into the one they already know. The new Pakistan post-December 16, 2014 needed a new language and Raheel Sharif’s ISPR came up with one, though many people still interpreted it in the idioms they already knew. This is why both the army’s traditional constituency and those opposed to the army read – or perhaps misread – the ISPR’s media campaign of building Raheel Sharif’s image, as a superhero, a larger-than-life character, as the laying of ground for a coup.
“The crowd that says the military is our saviour and should take over power and those who say everything evil is happening in the country because of the ‘establishment’ have more in common than they think,” says Zarrar Khuhro, a journalist and talk-show host, as he explains this new ideological convergence.