Politicians have a love-hate relationship with the press. They adore it when in opposition and abhor it when in power. This hypocrisy is perfectly understandable. On the one hand, the opposition is keen to woo the press so that its allegations against the government, however outlandish, can be flogged far and wide. On the other, the government is desperate to censor the press so that its misdemeanours, however slight, can be glossed over. The press can ignore the opposition for as long as it likes but, generally speaking, it can’t afford to resist a determined and angry government for very long.
There are three basic reasons for this. One, the government controls the bread and butter of the press — newsprint imports are banned except for the press but the government retains a tight grip over the newsprint quota sanctioned to the press. Two, since the government remains one of the biggest sources of advertising in the country, the press cannot afford to shrug off its main source of revenue. Three, the government can use its vast coercive apparatus to browbeat the press or muzzle it if it remains unrepentent. In the final analysis, therefore, the press in Pakistan is free only to the extent that the government in power respects the rules of democracy or the judiciary, as the custodian of fundamental rights in the last resort, is strong enough to resist its encroachments on democracy. If the government is of an authoritarian bent of mind and the judiciary is weak or divided, the press cannot remain independent or free for long.
Viewed in this perspective, we can understand why the less dependent, or, if you like, more independent, sections of the press have been shrieking “murder” since Nawaz Sharif assaulted, divided and weakened the judiciary in 1997. With the judiciary out of the way, we reasoned, it was only a matter of time before the press would come under Mr Sharif’s heel. The worst has now come to pass. Some sections of the press have quickly sold out to the government while others are lying low, waiting to see which way the wind will blow. The irony is that the Jang group, which has always been a cautious middle-roader, has become the focus of Mr Sharif’s unmitigated wrath and been pushed to take a Herculean stand.
From the government’s point of view, of course, this makes sense. By lashing out at the largest media group, Mr Sharif wants to send a stern warning to the smaller fries: “Behave, or else I’ll sic Saifur Rahman on you!”
The siege of the Jang group is unprecedentedly vicious. Bank accounts have been frozen, newsprint godowns sealed, hawkers harassed, journalists threatened, stiff income tax notices served and sedition cases lodged. All that remains is for the group’s offices to be ransacked, its newspapers to cease publication, its owners to be arrested and its journalists to be sent packing. Whether the situation is poised to take an ugly turn for the worse or a “compromise” is in the offing, it is worth recalling for the record how the confrontation began in the first place and then spiralled uncontrollably out of hand.
Mr Sharif’s second coming has been marked by one crisis after another. All the crises have been manufactured by him. Each crisis has undermined one institution or the other. Naturally, this was grist for the media. Equally naturally, the government became increasingly prickly and resentful of criticism. Mr Sharif’s grudges against the press began to pile up — the more “influential” a newspaper, the greater his rancour. In Jang’s case, a column by Mr Irshad Haqqani, the Lahore editor, kicked up a veritable storm in July 1998. Mr Haqqani wrote advisedly about the need to revamp the government’s decision-making system and suggested that the army might have a small but positive role to play in it within the parameters of the democratic system. Islamabad reacted angrily by freezing advertisements to the Jang group. Then came the proverbial straw which broke the government’s back. In October General Jehangir Karamat suggested something like a National Security Council to tackle the country’s mounting difficulties. The Jang group immediately ordered a telephonic survey of public opinion on the issue and published its findings: an overwhelming majority of its readers were all for the proposal. Two days later, General Karamat was sacked. On the third day, Mr Sharif stood before the national assembly and made caustic remarks about “those who wanted to derail democracy” and warned them that they would never succeed. In revenge, he ordered the sky to fall on the head of the Jang group. We know the rest, thanks to the charming indiscretions of Mr Saifur Rahman. The good senator was paid back in the same coin when he was taped brandishing unmentionable threats to Mir Shakil-ur-Rehman, the owner-editor of the Jang group. Where does the press, and in particular the Jang group, go from here?
Forward. There is no choice. Here was an Urdu newspaper whose editorial comment pages were often conspicuously tilted, as a matter of policy, in favour of the government. Indeed, a number of highly paid hacks blindly loyal to Mr Sharif were put on its payrolls expressly to keep Islamabad happy. Yet it fell foul of an autocratic regime when it tried to steer a marginally less devoted path. Imagine what might happen to less timid newspapers if the Jang group were to bite the dust. Other media barons — some of whom are said to be enjoying Mir Shakil-ur-Rehman’s acute discomfort and dreaming of soaring circulations in the event of Jang’s closure — would also do well to remember one salient fact of life in Mr Sharif’s Pakistan: Today, the ITO’s noose is around Jang’s neck, tomorrow it could be around their’s. Today, Jang’s ABC returns are being questioned, tomorrow their ABC figures could be flaunted before them. Is hamam mey sab nangey hain!
Some last points must be recorded. If senator Saifur Rahman is inclined to be more loyal than the King, it is because he is politically naive and doesn’t realise that his reckless ways are hurting Mr Sharif rather than helping him. He should know that his self-righteous claims of going after tax dodgers in the press ring hollow because the biggest tax dodger in the country is his boss, followed by scores of fellow compatriots in the national assembly and cabinet, including the loan defaulters who have scooted away with hundreds of billions of public money, without as much as a scratch on their backs. But Mushahid Hussain should have known better, if only because he was once an outstanding editor, remains a decent man and is expected to know a thing or two about political damage-limitation. Two, many senior Muslim Leaguers are said to be unhappy about Islamabad’s hamhanded ways. They have advised restraint and are urging the government to back down. Three, when pushed to the wall, Mir Shakil-ur-Rehman has defied the odds to fight back.
Good, it’s about time people like him stood their ground. There is one lesson Mir Sahib should never forget — governments are fated to come and go but the press is destined to go on forever. Indeed, a free and strong press is the sine qua non of good governance and a productive civil society.