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Saturday 1 August 2015

Pakistan’s ideological project: A history


Nadeem F Paracha in The Dawn


Genesis

Pakistan came into being in August 1947 on the back of what its founders called the ‘Two Nation Theory.’

The Theory was culled from the 19th Century writings of modernist Muslim reformers in India who, after the collapse of the Muslim Empire in South Asia, began to explain the region’s Muslims as a separate political and cultural entity (especially compared to the Hindu majority of India).

This scholarly nuance, inspired by the idea of the nation-state first introduced in the region by British Colonialists, gradually evolved into becoming a pursuit to prepare a well-educated and resourceful Muslim middle-class in the region.

Eventually, with the help from sections of the Muslim landed elite in India, the emerging Muslim middle-classes turned the idea into a movement for a separate Muslim homeland in South Asia comprised of those areas where the Muslims were in a majority.

This is what we today understand to be the ‘Pakistan Movement.’

However, when the country’s founding father, Muhammad Ali Jinnah - a western-educated lawyer and head of the All India Muslim League (AIML) - navigated the Movement towards finally reaching its goal of carving out a separate Muslim homeland in South Asia, he was soon faced with an awkward fact: There were almost as many Muslims (if not more) in India than there were in the newly created Muslim-majority country of Pakistan.

Jinnah was conscious of this fact when he delivered his first major address at the new country’s Constituent Assembly on August 11, 1947.

Though during the Movement some factions of his party (especially in the Punjab and the former NWFP) had tweaked the Two Nation Theory to also mean that the Muslims of India desired an ‘Islamic State’, Jinnah was quick to see the contradiction in this claim simply because millions of Muslims had either been left behind in India or had refused to migrate to Pakistan.

Islam during the Movement was largely used as a cultural and quasi-ethnic proposition to furnish and flex the Muslims’ separate nationhood claims. It was never used as a doctrinal roadmap to construct a theocratic State in South Asia.

In his August 11 speech Jinnah clearly declared that in Pakistan the state will have nothing to do with the matters of the faith and Pakistan was supposed to become a democratic Muslim-majority nation state.

Within the Muslim community in Pakistan were various Muslim sects and sub-sects with their own understanding and interpretations of the faith. Then the country also had multiple ethnicities, cultures and languages.

Keeping all this in mind, Jinnah’s speech made good sense and exhibited a remarkable understanding of the complexities that his new country had inherited.

But many of his close colleagues were still in the Movement mode. Not only because the Pakistan Movement was a fresh memory but also because when the Muslim League became the first ruling party of the country, it had to constantly evoke faith in places like the Khyber Pukhtunkhwa (former NWFP) where the Pukhtun nationalists had refused to join Pakistan.

Also, another region, Kashmir, having a Muslim majority but an aristocratic Hindu regime, had controversially opted to stay out of the Pakistan federation.

So a number of League members thought that with his August 11 speech, Jinnah was a bit too hasty in discarding the relegious factor and opting to explain the new country as a multicultural Muslim-majority state – even though these leaders too had had very little idea exactly what would be the ideological make-up of the country.

Jinnah died in 1948 leaving behind a huge leadership vacuum in a country that had apparently appeared on the map a lot sooner than it was anticipated to by even those who had been striving hard for its creation.

The leadership of the founding party, the Muslim League, was mostly made up of Punjab’s landed gentry and Mohajir (Urdu-speaking) bourgeoisie elite. The bureaucracy was also dominated by these two communities, whereas the army had an overwhelming Punjabi majority.

Either the multi-cultural connotations of Jinnah’s speech were not entirely understood by his immediate colleagues or were simply sidelined by them.

These connotations somewhat threatened the League’s leadership because the Bengalis of East Pakistan were the majority ethnic group in the new country and the democratic recognition of multiculturalism and ethnic diversity of Pakistan would have automatically translated into Bengalis becoming the main ruling group.

After Jinnah had promptly watered down the religious aspects of the Pakistan Movement, the League’s leadership that followed his unfortunate death in 1948, decided to reintroduce these aspects to negate the multicultural tenor of Jinnah’s speech.




Jinnah addressing the Constituent Assembly (August 11, 1947).




But things in this respect get even more complicated when one is reminded of how it was actually Jinnah who triggered the first serious expression of ethnic turmoil in Pakistan.

In March 1948 Jinnah delivered two speeches in Dhaka (the largest city of the Bengali-dominated East Pakistan). The speeches were delivered in English and were made at the height of a raging debate within the ruling Muslim League on the question of the country’s national language.

Bengali leadership in the League had purposed the Bengali language on the basis that Bengalis were the largest ethnic group in Pakistan.

However, the party’s Mohajir members led by one of Jinnah’s closest colleagues, Liaquat Ali Khan (who was also Pakistan’s first Prime Minister), disagreed by claiming that Pakistan was made on the demands of a hundred million Muslims (of India) and that the language of these Muslims was Urdu.

Of course, it was conveniently forgotten that quite a large section of these millions of Urdu-speaking Muslims had been left behind in India and that at the time of Pakistan’s inception, Urdu was spoken by less than 10 percent Pakistanis.

Faced with this dilemma and aggressively pushed by the arguments of Prime Minister Liaquat Ali Khan to declare Urdu as the national language, Jinnah arrived in Dhaka and in his two speeches there insisted that indeed Urdu was to become the country’s national lingua franca.

Bengalis went on strike and held widespread demonstrations, but Urdu did become the national language.


Dhaka, East Pakistan: A large number of people gather (to protest) at the site of a road sign that was changed from Bengali to Urdu.


The Bengalis’ resentment found immediate sympathisers within other non-Punjabi and non-Mohajir ethnic communities.

Sindhi, Pukhtun (and eventually, Baloch) intelligentsia were alarmed by the way the state and government had treated the Bengalis’ demands, and foresaw the same happening to their own languages and cultures.

The government, instead of anticipating future fissures in the country on ethnic lines, became even more myopic and wallowed in its self-serving naivety about using faith as a slogan that was supposed to dissolve ethnic nationalism among the Muslim majority of the country.

Slogans underlined by faith might have worked to haphazardly pull together the Muslim minority of various ethnicities of India during the Pakistan Movement; there was no guarantee that it would be able to do the same in a country where the same Muslims had become an overwhelming majority.

Ideally a system and constitution advocating democracy should have been worked out to facilitate and streamline the political and cultural participation of all ethnicities in the nation-building process.

But this wasn’t done. After Jinnah’s demise, political and cultural expressions of ethnicity were immediately treated as being threats to the unity of the nation.

Prime Minister Liquat Ali Khan, though steeped in the modernist Muslim tradition of Sir Syed’s ‘Aligarh School of Thought,’ was, however, willing to continue to use religion selectively to maintain the cherished unity of the Muslim majority of Pakistan.

He wasn’t the ‘son of the soil.’ Meaning, unlike most Sindhis, Pukhtuns, Punjabis, Baloch and Bengalis, Liquat was born outside of what eventually became Pakistan and didn’t have a large constituency based on language and ethnicity in the new country.

So it is understandable why the notion of Islam being a unifying factor was important to him, as well as to most other Mohajirs of the country.




Liaquat Ali Khan, Pakistan’s first Prime Minister.




But the question was what kind of Islam?

This question hadn’t really mattered during the Pakistan Movement in which the Muslims of South Asia were agitating as a minority. But then, when a large part of this minority became a majority in Pakistan, the historical, political and theological divisions and crevices between this majority’s many sects and sub-sects began to seem starker than before.

The Muslim League, bred on the theories of Muslim nationalism that evolved from the scholarly works of Sir Syed Ahmed Khan, and philosopher and poet, Muhammad Iqbal, had understood all the Muslim sects and sub-sects of South Asia to be a community united by various doctrinal and political commonalities and a rich history of conquest, and scientific and cultural achievements.

After lamenting the decadent state the Muslim community had slipped into after the fall of the Muslim Empire in India, these men pointed towards a renewed and updated look at Islam. Such an exercise to them would help revive the political, social and economic vitality of the community.

To men like Liaquat Ali Khan, Pakistan was to be explained as the organic culmination and natural result of what Sir Syed and (especially) Iqbal had been contemplating and advocating.

It was to make all ethnicities and sectarian differences secondary compared to the precepts of Pakistani nationhood.

But what exactly was this nationhood about?

A good part of the answer first came from a man, who during the Pakistan Movement had actually denounced Jinnah.

Islamic scholar and founder of the Jamat-e-Islami (JI), Abul Ala Maududi, was not an Islamic cleric.

He was a well-read and prolific journalist and author. Though his commentaries in this respect were highly conservative, his was a radical conservatism because not only did he challenge the Muslim nationalism of the likes of Jinnah (claiming nationalism had no place in Islam); he even managed to offend many scholars belonging to Sunni sub-sects by accusing them of being wedged in ancient clerical traditions, and distorting the true message of Islam through unsavoury innovations.

To him the Muslims’ renewal as a political and cultural force depended not on Muslim nationalism but on an evolutionary process across all Muslim societies in which the people were to be ‘Islamised’ from below so that they could be prepared for Islamic laws (Shariah) imposed from above (the state).

So it was ironic when Liaquat and his aides, after being confronted by the grumblings of ethnic nationalists, agreed to adopt a portion of Maududi’s thesis on Political Islam while passing the 1949 Objectives Resolution in the Constituent Assembly.

The Resolution was supposed to be an outline of what the final constitution of the country should look and sound like and also what Pakistani nationhood should be about.

Just a year and a half after Jinnah had described Pakistan to be a pluralistic Muslim-majority state, the Resolution declared Pakistan to be ‘an Islamic entity’.

Maududi’s JI decided to end its boycott of conducting politics in Pakistan after the Resolution, despite the fact that the Resolution did not translate into meaning that the government would begin to legislate Shariah laws immediately (or was even willing to).

The government might have thought that it had successfully defined the finer points of Pakistani nationhood through the Resolution, but things in this context got even more complex.

In 1951, Liaquat Ali Khan was assassinated and in 1954 vicious riots erupted in Punjab against the Ahmadiyya community when JI and another party, the Majlis-e-Ahrar, demanded that the community be declared non-Muslim (for holding ‘heretical’ views).

The military had to be called in and it crushed the riots with an iron hand. It arrested a number of JI and Ahrar leaders and Maududi was sentenced to hang for inciting the riots. The judgement was later reversed.




General Azam Khan in Lahore: He planned and oversaw the crushing of the 1953 anti-Ahmadiyya riots in the Punjab.




In 1956, the Constituent Assembly (made up of indirectly elected members of the Muslim League and the Republican Party), got down to finally author the country’s first constitution.

In the constitution, the non-Punjabi and non-Mohajir ethnic nationalists were appeased with the promise of direct elections based on adult franchise, while the religious parties were given the space to define Pakistan as an ‘Islamic Republic’.

Whereas most activists and politicians on the left and ethnic nationalists weren’t entirely happy with the contents of the Constitution, Maududi readily exhibited his satisfaction by declaring it to be ‘sufficiently Islamic’.




Members of the Constituent Assembly debating the 1956 Constitution.




In 1957 most of the detractors came together in the left-wing National Awami Party (NAP) and were confident that the party was in a good position to win the most seats in the promised direct elections (that were to be held in 1958).

But in late 1958, President Iskandar Mirza, who wasn’t happy with the Constitution nor with the potential of parties like NAP to win the election, colluded with the military chief, Ayub Khan, and dismissed the assembly and imposed the country’s first Martial Law.

Mirza had described the 1956 Constitution as the ‘selling of Islam for political ends.’

But soon after the imposition of Martial Law, Mirza was dismissed by Ayub and forced to leave the country. Ayub, as Chief Martial Law Administrator, became the sole centre of power in the country.




The chiefs of the armed forces with President Iskandar Mirza after the 1958 Martial Law. Mirza was soon removed by Ayub Khan (right) and sent into exile.




Ayub wasted no time in exhibiting his disgust at what had transpired in the county’s politics after Jinnah’s death, and got down to completely scrapping whatever that had emerged as Pakistani nationhood in the preceding decade and took it upon himself to once and for all give a definitive shape to Pakistani nationalism.
Society 1947-1950


A group of people raising the Pakistani flag one day after Pakistan came into being on August 14, 1947.



Eid prayers in Karachi, 1948.





Boy Scouts in ‘Jinnah Caps’ in Karachi, 1949.







Men and women labourers working on the construction of a building in Karachi, 1951.







A British tourist trying out traditional shoes at a shop in Swat (NWFP) in 1952.







Students relax at a medical college in Lahore (1953).





A wedding ceremony in Lahore (1954).



A locust attack in Karachi (1956).





Famous Pakistan cricketer, Fazal Mahmood, signing autographs for fans in Lahore (1954.





Pakistani film actresses, Sabiha Khanam and Zeenat, doing a photo shoot in 1954.



Controversial Urdu short-story writer, Sadat Hassanh Manto in Lahore.



Pakistani sprinter, Abdul Khalique (left), on his way to winning Pakistan’s first international gold medal in athletics. He won this honour in the 1959 Commonwealth Games in the 100 meters dash.





An early fleet of planes of Pakistan International Airlines (PIA) lined up at the Karachi Airport.







A participant films a festival in Karachi (1958).



The great debate

Ayub Khan was a practicing Muslim but almost entirely secular in his political and social outlook. He claimed that he wanted to ‘liberate the spirit of religion from superstition and move forward under the forces of modern sciences and knowledge.’

Understanding that a nation-state requires powerful myths to base its justification on, Ayub became the first Pakistani head of state to overtly use the state to devise a more holistic national ideology.

He formed the Advisory Council on Islamic Ideology (ACII) and the Islamic Research Institute and populated both with liberal Islamic scholars.

Imagining himself to be a Pakistani Kamal Ataturk and a Muslim de Gaulle, Ayub posed to express Jinnah’s vision of Pakistan. To him, this vision was about a modern Muslim-majority state with a strong economy (based on heavy industry) and a sturdy military that would not only protect the country’s borders but its ideology as well.




Ayub relaxing at an arts exhibition in Karachi a month after he took power through a military coup in 1958.




Incensed by his policies and the fact that he was getting most of these sectioned by the ACII, the religious parties finally moved in to directly challenge him.

Political parties had been banned by Ayub but he lifted the ban in 1962. The parties on the left such as the National Awami Party (NAP) opposed him for his overt capitalist manoeuvres, his regime’s more-than-close relationship with the United States, and his insistence on refusing to entertain the demands of the Sindhi, Baloch, Bengali and Pusktun nationalists for decentralisation, democracy and provincial autonomy.

The religious parties, especially the Jamat-i-Islami (JI), largely focused their opposition on Ayub’s ‘modernisation’ policies.




Ayub offering a toast to Pak-Indonesia friendship with famous Indonesian leader, Sukarno.




Rather uncannily, by attempting to mould a national ideology, Ayub gave JI the idea to take the concept and turn it on its head.

The term Pakistan Ideology was nowhere in the founders’ speeches during the creation of Pakistan in 1947. And nor was the Urdu expression, Nazriya-e-Pakistan (Pakistan Ideology).

When Ayub’s 1962 Constitution highlighted his regime’s understanding of Pakistani nationhood to mean being a Muslim-majority state where a modern and reformist spirit of Islam would guide the country’s politics and society, the JI opposed it.

It was at this point that the term Nazriah-e-Pakistan emerged. It is largely believed that it was first used by the JI that suggested that the Pakistan Ideology should be squarely based on policies constructed through the dictates of Muslim holy scriptures and should strive to turn Pakistan into becoming an Islamic State because it was on the basis of religion that the country had separated from the rest of India.

Of course, very little was mentioned in this context by the JI about the fact that the party had opposed the creation of Pakistan, and had described the Muslim League as a westernised and pseudo-Muslim party.




A newspaper report (from DAWN) on the banning of the Jamat-e-Islami by the Ayub regime. The ban was, however, overturned by the Supreme Court.




The debate as to exactly what kind of a vision drove Jinnah to demand a separate Muslim country in South Asia and what should constitute Pakistani culture and nationhood hit a peak in the late 1960s.

In 1967, Zulfikar Ali Bhutto formed the socialist Pakistan Peoples Party (PPP), and the Sindhi, Baloch, Pusktun and Bengali nationalists accelerated their agitation for provincial autonomy.

To the JI the story of Pakistan began not during the Pakistan Movement, but with the invasion of Sindh by Arab commander, Muhammad bin Qasim, in the 8th Century CE who defeated the region’s Hindu ruler, Raja Dahir.

On the other hand, incensed by Ayub’s version of Pakistani nationhood and as well as by JI’s Nazriah-e-Pakistan, Sindhi scholar and nationalist leader, GM Syed, went to the extent of declaring Sindhi culture squarely at odds with the Pakistani state’s understanding of Islam and nationhood. He also insisted that to the Sindhis, Muhammad bin Qasim was the usurper and Raja Dahir the hero.


GM Syed


The PPP saw itself being pulled into the debate when, after witnessing the ascendency of leftist parties in Pakistan in the late 1960s, the JI declared that socialism was an anti-Islam ideology akin to atheism.

Prominent intellectuals in the PPP and those sympathetic to its cause, specially Hanif Ramay, Safdar Mir and poet Faiz Ahmed Faiz, retaliated (though pro-PPP magazines) by first emphasising the JI’s pre-1947 anti-Jinnah rhetoric, and then suggesting that Pakistani nationhood and culture were multi-ethnic and multicultural and best served by democracy and socialism.

The JI’s founder and Islamic scholar, Abul Ala Maududi, saw the leftist and liberal Pakistani political organisations and cultural outfits as Trojan Horses through which they had infiltrated the Pakistani society, government and polity to erode Pakistan’s ‘Islamic character.’


Abul Ala Maududi


Interestingly, as the movement by leftist political parties, trade unions and student groups against the Ayub regime gained momentum in the late 1960s, Ayub’s Information Ministry had already begun to mend fences with the JI.

By the time Ayub resigned in 1969 and handed over power to General Yahya Khan, the JI rebounded to become an ally of the regime.




A pro-Bhutto leftist student rally in Karachi in 1968. Such rallies demanded the ouster of the ‘pro-US Ayub regime’ and the imposition of Socialism.




General Yaya’s Information Ministry tried to use the JI to blunt the leftists’ unprecedented push against the military regime.

As Ayub’s idea of Pakistani nationhood dwindled, the JI made its concept ofNazriah-e-Pakistan one of the main planks of its election manifesto for the 1970 General Election (the first in Pakistan based on adult franchise).

During the 1970 election campaign the JI appealed to the voters to defeat the left and ethnic-nationalist parties because they were a threat to the ideology of Pakistan.

But in the election, the JI and most other conservative parties were routed by the PPP and NAP (in West Pakistan) and by the Bengali nationalist party, the Awami League (in East Pakistan).

Yet again the project of moulding an ideology of Pakistan acceptable to all Pakistanis had hit a dead-end. However, after the 1970 election, it seemed that the idea of Pakistani nationhood being advocated by left parties was to prevail.

It may as well have had Pakistan not gone to war with India in 1971 and then lose its Eastern Wing.

Shiekh Mujeebur Rheman’s Awami League had won the highest number of seats in the 1970 election (albeit all in East Pakistan).




Bengali nationalist leader, Shiekh Mujeeb, adressing an election rally in Dhaka (1970).




In theory his party should have been invited by Yahya to form Pakistan’s first popularly elected government.

But the military regime and Bhutto’s PPP pointed at Mujeeb’s ‘anti-Pakistan rhetoric’ and suggested that he would use the Parliament to separate East Pakistan from the rest of the country on the basis of Bengali nationalism.

A delay in the handing over of power to Awami League saw the eruption of a full-scale civil war in East Pakistan.

Thousands of Bengalis lost their lives in the conflict as the Yahya regime employed brutal tactics to stem the Bengalis’ march towards independence.

Acts of brutality were also committed by the militant wings of the Bengali nationalists, as well as against military personnel, non-Bengali residents of East Pakistan and those Bengalis who were accused of collaborating with the Pakistan Army.

Thousands of Bengalis crossed over into Indian Bengal as refugees. Though India was by now backing the militant Bengali nationalists, it was in December 1971 that it fully entered the battlefield.

East Pakistan became the independent republic of Bangladesh. In late December 1971 a group of military officers forced Yahya Khan to resign and hand over power to Z A. Bhutto.
Society 1960-70




A ‘scooter-rickshaw’ riding across a road in Karachi in 1960.







Pakistan hockey team is greeted on the runway of the Karachi Airport after winning the 1960 Olympic Hockey title in Rome.







Eid prayers at Lahore’s Badshahi Mosque (1959).







A man in Lahore prepares to leave for his office on his bike (1961).







Stewardesses of the Pakistan International Airlines (PIA) in 1961.







Children line up to receive food and medicines donated by the US in Chittagong (East Pakistan) in 1961.







A sprawling slum in Karachi (1960).







People buying snacks for Iftaar in Karachi during the 1961 Ramazan.







Tourists sunbathe at a Karachi beach in 1962.







The inside of Lahore’s famous ‘Pak Tea House’ (1963). During the 1950s and 1960s this cafĂ© was regularly frequented by famous Urdu poets, writers, journalists, political activists and intellectuals.







A Pakistani man about to board a flight to London in 1964. At the time Pakistanis got their visas on arrival in most European countries.







Workers building the Mangla Dam near Jhelum River (1963). It is still one of the biggest dams in Pakistan.







A classical dancer performs her art during the first ever television transmission in Pakistan in November 1964.







A Pepsi factory on the outskirts of Karachi (1964).





Madam Noor Jehan recording her famous national song, ‘Ay Watan Kay Shajeelay Jwanaoun’ at EMI-Pakistan’s studios in Karachi during the 1965 Pak-India war.





Children at a fishing village near the Hawks’ Bay Beach in Karachi (1966).







Scenes from the famous Urdu film, Arman (1966).





Karachi’s busy financial district in 1967.



Pakistan’s newest city, Islamabad, under construction in 1966. It was made the country’s capital in 1967.





Two girls in a village in Punjab (1967).





An article in the National Geographic magazine about a traditional Pakistani wedding (1968).





A conductor of a bus that ran from Peshawar to Kabul (and back) waits for passengers in Peshawar (1967).







Tourists and locals enjoy dinner and drinks at Karachi’s Beach Luxury Hotel during the 1969 News Year’s eve.





Famous Pakistan TV actor, Shakeel, at a Karachi restaurant in 1970.

An uneasy consensus

Bhutto’s party, the PPP, that had swept the 1970 election in former West Pakistan’s two largest provinces, Punjab and Sindh, on a socialist manifesto, and formed the government at the centre and in the mentioned provinces.

Another left-wing party, the National Awami Party (NAP) that had won a number of seats in the former NWFP and Balochistan was able to form coalition governments in these provinces.

The first phase of the Bhutto regime (1972-74) was dominated by the radical left-wing of the PPP. However, since Pakistan found itself reeling from an expensive war, a demoralised army, and fears that India may go on to fan separatist movements in the NWFP and Balochistan, his government sanctioned a project to mould an ideological narrative that would help the state redeem the floundering belief in a united Pakistan.




Bhutto speaking at a rally in Karachi’s Nishtar Park.




It is believed that the narrative was first and foremost devised to uplift the morale of the army. But by late 1972 it began to make its way into school text books as well.

In a nutshell, the narrative went something like this: West Pakistan was always the real Pakistan because it’s a cohesive and seamless region that runs from north to south along the mighty Indus River. This region’s population had predominately been Muslim (ever since the 12th Century), and though it may have a number of ethnicities, its population has largely remained aloof from the happenings in India’s ancient seat of power in Delhi, and had similar views on Islam.

This conveniently meant that the Bengali-majority East Pakistan that lay thousands of miles away from West Pakistan was an unnatural part of what had appeared on the map as Pakistan in 1947.

In 1972 the study of Pakistan Studies, a subject that exclusively dealt with the history and culture of the country, was introduced and then made compulsory for school and college students.

But in the early 1970s it was still very much a work-in-progress.

In 1973, the PPP government organised a large conference in which some of the country’s leading intellectuals, historians and scholars were invited. They were requested to debate and thrash out a nationalist narrative that could then be turned into a state ideology and imposed through legislative means and school text books.

Though the Bhutto regime was populist and posing to be socialist, in 1973 it managed to get a consensus from all the parties to unveil a new constitution that reintroduced Pakistan as an Islamic Republic.


Bhutto speaking to a guest at a state dinner after the National Assembly passed the 1973 Constitution.


The JI and other religious parties had explained the breakup of Pakistan in 1971 as a consequence of its rulers failing to turn the country into an Islamic state and thus giving leftists and ethnic nationalists enough reason and space to dictate terms and harm the unity of the country.

The second half of the Bhutto regime (1974-77) saw the slowing down of its socialist projects and the declining influence of PPP’s socialist and Marxist ideologues in the policy-making process.

The regime’s capitulation in the event of the agitation and the demands of the religious parties to declare the Ahamadiyya community as a non-Muslim minority was at least one symptom of Bhutto’s rightward shift.

By the 1977 election, the PPP had all but eliminated the word socialism from its manifesto. Its regime, elected on a relatively radical socialist program in 1970, had (within a matter of five years), become a somewhat odd mixture of nationalist populism and an equally populist expression of Political Islam.

Bhutto it seems had sensed the Islamic revival taking place across the Muslim world after the 1973 Arab-Israel War. Though the war had ended in a stalemate, oil-rich Arab monarchies enjoyed a sudden rise in profits after they slowed down oil production and greatly jacked-up petroleum prices.

The profits gave the oil-producing Arab countries power to influence Muslim regimes that did not have the fortune of owning vast oil fields.

Saudi Arabia hardly played a role in the matters of Pakistan before 1973. But after 1973, Bhutto’s Pakistan began to court the oil-rich Saudi monarchy, hoping to fatten Pakistan’s struggling economy with hearty hand-outs from its wealthy Muslim brethren (‘Petro Dollars’).



But, the money came with a condition.

The Saudi monarchy was a passionate proponent of a rather puritanical strand of Islam. It had alarmingly seen the rise of socialist regimes in Egypt, Iraq, Yemen, Algeria, Sudan, Somalia and Pakistan.

After 1973 when Saudi Arabia began to pump in huge amounts of money into Muslim countries, with the money also came allusions and nudges to undermine leftist ideologies and kick-start an intellectual and political exercise to ‘Islamise’ governments and societies according to the Saudis’ interpretation of the faith.




Fiery Marxist leader, Miraj Mohammad Khan, speaking at a PPP rally. He was ousted from the party in 1974.




Arab monarchies had struggled to stay afloat against the onslaught and rise of progressive Arab nationalism in the 1950s and 1960s. And in spite of the fact that most of them were allies of Western powers, these monarchies were also conscious of Western political ideas trickling into the minds of their citizens, especially the younger lot.

From 1973 onwards a huge amount of Petro Dollars began to be disbursed and distributed among Muslim academics, intellectuals, governments and religious leaders.

What began to emerge from this exercise was a Political Islam that was anti-socialism/communism and anti-Zionism, but (curiously) pro-West, pro-monarchy and with a healthy bank balance!


Saudi monarch, King Faisal with ZA Bhutto at the Lahore Airport (1974).


Bhutto, apart from trying to appease the religionist lobby by reintroducing certain clauses in the 1973 Constitution, and then giving revisionist narratives a run across Pakistan Studies books, then moved in to appease his new-found Saudi friends and donors.

Since by now the Pakistan Ideology had begun to place Pakistan’s historical roots in lands from where Arab horsemen had invaded India in the 8th Century, it was decided that the Arabic language too, should be adopted and taught in schools.

Bhutto felt secure in the belief that he was successfully keeping his left and liberal constituencies satisfied along with the conservative religious sections of the society and also Pakistan’s new Arab donors.

So it must have come as a rude shock to him when in December 1976 a nine-party alliance of religious and other anti-Bhutto parties united under the umbrella of the Pakistan National Alliance (PNA).

The alliance geared up to face Bhutto’s PPP in the 1977 election. And it was only when the PNA used the words ‘Nizam-e-Mustafa’ (The Prophet’s System) as its main slogan, that it became apparent that the Bhutto regime’s experiments in the still elusive territory of the Pakistan Ideology had actually ended up providing his opponents the space and idea to use religion as an effective electoral tool.

Another factor that Bhutto might have undermined was that Saudi Arabia was not only cultivating relations with the Bhutto regime, it was also on very good terms with religious parties, such as the JI.

The PPP went on the defensive because according to Bhutto’s analysis it was the Islamic revival factor that now needed to be fought for and grabbed.

The word Islam outnumbered the word socialism in the party’s new manifesto and for the first time religion became the focal point of debate and discussion during an election in Pakistan.




Cover of a March 1977 Urdu magazine with pictures of PNA leaders and rally.




The PPP trounced the PNA in the National Assembly election. The PNA cried foul and accused the Bhutto regime of rigging the polls. The truth was that the regime had rigged only a handful of seats (in the Punjab) and would have won the election anyway.

But Bhutto wanted to change the country’s parliamentary system into a Presidential one and for that he desired a big majority in the National Assembly.

The PNA refused to contest the Provincial Assembly elections and instead began a protest movement that soon turned violent.

PNA supporters - mostly made up of urban middle-class youth and supported by the industrialist and trader classes that were greatly stung by the Bhutto regime’s wayward socialist manoeuvres - poured out onto the streets.

Surprised by the tenacity of the protesters, Bhutto began emergency talks with the PNA leadership.

The ironic aspect of the movement was that when the PNA and the protesters began to use religious symbolism and slogans, these were culled from what the Bhutto regime had inducted into school text books.




A PNA protest rally in Rawalpindi being led by members of the student-wing of the Jamat-e-Islami (1977).




But since both the PNA and the PPP were going on and on about Islam without ever bothering to explain exactly how they were planning to turn a religion based on moral and social codes into a functioning political and economic system, this eyewash was addressed by another eyewash.

In April 1977 the Bhutto regime met with the main religious leaders of the PNA belonging to the JI, Jamiat Ulema Islam (JUI) and Jamiat Ulema Pakistan (JUP) and agreed to make Friday the weekly holiday instead of Sunday (as was the case in Saudi Arabia). He also agreed to ban the consumption and sale of alcoholic beverages (to Muslims) and close down all nightclubs and bars.

But this did not save him from receiving another shock. In July 1977, his own General toppled his regime in a reactionary military coup and promptly arrested him.

General Ziaul Haq was handpicked by Bhutto, in spite of having a history of being highly conservative. Bhutto was assured by the outgoing Army Chief, General Tikka Khan, that Zia was completely apolitical and subservient.

When he imposed the country’s third Martial Law, Zia took the PNA’s Nizam-e-Mustafa rhetoric and turned it into a draconian and then a legislative ideological project, giving the whole concept of the Pakistan Ideology its starkest religious aspect thus far.




Zia announcing the implosion of Martial Law (July, 1977).




Bhutto was hanged in April 1979 through a sham trial, political parties were banned, and perhaps for the first time, the Pakistan Ideology was consolidated into becoming official state policy.
Society 1971-77




Pakistani model and actress, Rakshanda Khatak, on the set of the 1971 Urdu film, ‘Operation Karachi.’







Pakistan playing against Germany in the hockey finals of the 1972 Munich Olympics.







Pakistani painter and sculptor, Sadequain, drawing a portrait of a fan during an art’s festival in Lahore (1972).







Visiting US astronauts of Apollo 17 being carried in a motorcade across the Saddar area in Karachi in 1973.







A bus for tourists in Peshawar (1973).





Two women at Karachi’s Clifton Beach (1972).





A club band in Karachi (1973).





People at a mela (local festival) in the ancient city of Sindh, Thatta (1973).



An eastern classical and folk music gathering in Lahore (1973).



Students take a smoke break at the canteen of the Punjab University in Lahore (1973).





Karate students in Karachi (1973). Popularity of Judo and Karate rose with the popularity of Bruce Lee films.





The ‘ruksati’ ceremony at a wedding in Karachi in 1973.





Hippie tourists mingle with the locals at an eatery in Ziarat, Balochistan (1974).







A young boy fills the tank of his dad’s motorbike as a girl walks towards her school in Lahore (1974).







Poster of an Iranian pop group that toured Pakistan in 1974.







Students learning English at a modern language institute in Karachi in 1974.







A Pakistani Jazz and club band shooting a scene for the 1974 Urdu film ‘Dhamaka.’ The film was scripted by famous Urdu spy novelist, Ibn-e-Safi.







Karachi’s largest working-class area Lyari in 1975.







Students outside the Arts Lobby of the Karachi University in 1974.





A screen shot of PTV’s live telecast of the Pakistan-India Hockey World Cup final in 1975.



Eid prayers in Lahore (1974).



Pakistan cricket captain, Mushtaq Mohammad and fast bowler Imran Khan celebrate Pakistan’s first Test match victory on Australian soil (1976).





Spectators watching a Pakistan-England Test match at Lahore’s Gaddafi Stadium (1977).







Special ‘Blue Planes’ introduced by PIA in 1977 for its flights to Europe. They were discontinued in the 1980s.







An old woman reciting the holy book in Lahore, 1977.







A German tourist outside a ‘legal’ hashish store in the North Waziristan area of Pakistan (1976).







Special coins that were minted in 1976 to mark the 100th birth anniversary of the founder of the nation, Mohammad Ali Jinnah.





Pop singer, Alamgir, with famous comedian, Moin Akhtar in Karachi (1977).

The grand concoction

The initial model for Zia’s so-called ‘Islamisation’ project was based on Maulana Maududi’s theories on the subject.

Zia began a project to enforce Nizam-e-Mustafa, marking a major shift from Pakistan's predominantly Anglo-Saxon laws.

Religion was the perfect kind of excuse for a dictator to flex his muscles at the time, especially in a country where the middle-classes and upstarts who had travelled to oil-rich Arab countries had confused the power of the Petro-Dollar with the power of the strands of the faith that they came into contact with there.

Maududi’s concept of the Pakistan Ideology that had been battered by the voters in 1970 and then mutated into meaning something closer to Bhutto’s equally convoluted ‘Islamic Socialism,’ fell into the hands of Zia who gave it his own twist.

But, he not only made it a part of school text books, he also began to express it through draconian laws that he described as being ‘Islamic.’

Law after law based on a particular understanding of the faith was rolled out, so much so that by the time of his death in 1988, the 1973 Constitution, that had originally been a product of pluralistic intent, became the enshrinement of certain laws and clauses that till this day give a constitutional cover to what are indeed acts of bigotry.




An anti-Zia journalist being publically flogged in Rawalpindi (1979).




After toppling the Z. A. Bhutto government in July 1977, Zia almost immediately got down to the business of radically transforming the ideological complexion of Pakistan, changing it from being a ‘democratic Muslim majority state’ (as envisioned by its founder Muhammad Ali Jinnah), into peddling it as a state that was supposedly conceived as a theocratic entity.

In 1979, Zia and his ideological partners hit a brick wall when they couldn’t endorse their revisionist narrative with any of the sayings and speeches of Jinnah.

As a first step, Zia banned the mention (in the media and school text books) of Jinnah’s famous speech that he made to the Constituent Assembly on August 11, 1947.

Zia’s information ministry spent days on end studying Jinnah’s speeches and sayings to dig out anything that could be used to endorse Zia’s version of Pakistan’s emergence.

They came up with nothing, until one fine day Zia (in 1983) enthusiastically announced the discovery of Jinnah’s personal diary.

While talking to his ministers, Zia claimed that in the newly discovered ‘personal diary of the founder’, Jinnah had spoken about having a ‘powerful Head of State (read: dictator),’ and ‘the dangers of parliamentary democracy.’ He conveniently concluded that Jinnah’s views were ‘very close to having an ‘Islamic system of government’.

The right-wing section of the Urdu press and state-owned TV and radio gave lavish coverage to the event, even publishing a page from the supposed diary.

But, alas, the euphoria around the farce was short-lived. Two of Jinnah’s close associates and direct participants of the Pakistan Movement, Mumtaz Daultana and K H. Khurshid, rubbished Zia’s claims by saying there never was such a diary.

After this, a group of senior intellectuals from the Quaid-e-Azam Academy also denied that such a diary ever existed in the Academy’s archives.




An anti-Zia procession being led by a 5-year-old kid in 1985. The kid, Faraz Wahlah, was actually arrested by the cops and held behind bars for hours!





Police attack an anti-Zia rally held by a radical women’s organisation in Lahore (1984).


What’s even curious is the fact that once his claims were trashed, not only did Zia never mention anything about the supposed diary ever again, a number of Urdu newspapers that had splashed the dramatic discovery went completely quiet.

In desperation, the regime’s information ministry simply ended up advising PTV and Radio Pakistan to only use those quotes of Jinnah that had the word Islam in them.




Zia playing golf in Islamabad, 1986.







DAWN cartoonist Zahoor mocks how (ever since the 1980s) some leaders have tried to ‘Islamise’ Jinnah.




The practice only stopped with Zia’s controversial demise in August 1988 and Jinnah was finally spared the false beard Zia kept pining on the founder’s otherwise shaven chin.

Nevertheless, no civilian government has dared alter or expunge the so-called ‘piety laws’ planted in the Constitution by the Zia regime. The fear of being declared ‘anti-Pakistan Ideology’ overrides the will to neutralise these laws.

Thus, in the last two decades, whole generations of educated, middle-class, young Pakistanis have grown up believing that a theocratic state was Jinnah’s main aim, and that the so-called Pakistan Ideology emerged from the days of the Pakistan Movement.

Of course, many have also continued to oppose these views and moves.




A supporter mourns at Zia’s funeral in 1988. Zia died in a controversial plane crash in August 1988.



Society 1978-88


One of the first waves of Afghan refugees arriving in Pakistan after Soviet forces occupied Afghanistan in 1979.





Indian ghazal singer, Jagjit Singh, performing at Lahore’s Shalimar Garden in 1979.







Young children beat the heat by taking a dip in the bogy washing area of Peshawar Railway Station in 1980.







Pakistani cricketers at a party in 1979 (From Left): Sadiq Mohammad, Abdul Qadir, Mudassar Nazar and Imran Khan. Wasim Raja is standing behind Qadir.







A scene from super hit Punjabi film, Maula Jat (1979). The film herald in the rise of Punjabi films and the collapse of Urdu cinema.





A busy street in Bahawalpur, 1980.



The LP cover of Nazia and Zoheb Hassan’s first album, ‘Disco Dewane’ (1980).





Future US President, Barak Obama, at a Pakistani friend’s house during his visit to Pakistan in 1981. Obama was a college student at the time.







A 1980 model of the VCR. This machine became immensely popular across Pakistan in the 1980s.





Pakistan hockey squad after winning the 1982 Hockey World Cup.





A street at a slum in Karachi, 1984.





A fishing boat and its owner in Karachi’s Kimari area, 1984.





A busy shopping street in Karachi, 1985.





Actors Rahat Kazmi and Marina Khan in the popular PTV serial, Tanhaiyaan (1985).





Pakistani cricketer, Mohsin Khan, with Bollywood actress Reena Roy in 1986.





Karachi’s Sahrah-e-Faisal in 1983.





A heroin addict in Karachi, 1985. Heroin sale and addiction shot up dramatically in Pakistan across the 1980s. By the mid-1980s, Pakistan had the second highest number of heroin addicts.







‘Guest’ Afghan insurgents hold a press conference in Peshawar in 1985.







Hosts of PTV’s marathon transmission during the 1988 general election.



The idea that ate itself

During his 11-year rule, Zia furthered the project of the Pakistan Ideology and turned it into a dogma that explained Pakistan as a unique emergence in the Muslim world that was conceived to become a bastion of faith driven entirely by ‘divine laws.’

What made it a dogma (that was aggressively proliferated through school textbooks and propaganda), was that it refused to recognise the multi-ethnic and multi-sectarian make-up of the country and, instead, offered a rather convoluted, rigid and artificial understanding of the faith.

This ended up promoting inelastic and entirely myopic strands of the faith, pushing them from the fringes of society into the mainstream and in the process, retarding the natural evolution of Pakistan’s multicultural ethos and polity.

It also ended up offending various Muslim sects and sub-sects, creating serious sectarian tensions. It also alienated the ‘minorities’.

But Zia’s manoeuvres in this context were a culmination of what began as an ambitious project in the 1950s. The project reached its limits during the Zia regime.

The shape that it finally took was so inflexible that it could not adapt to the rapid political changes that followed after the end of the Cold War (in 1989) and during the emergence of the severe forms of religious extremism and terrorism that engulfed the country after 9/11.

It can thus be suggested that the project is now facing a serious crises. It cannot be stretched any further. It ate itself after devouring everything that could have halted the political and social retardation that it triggered over the decades.

That’s why today, Pakistan’s ruling and military establishments and intelligentsia are now trying to replace it with a thinking that would directly challenge the doctrinal rigidity and the political and cultural isolation the so-called ideology ended up promoting and encouraging.

Pakistan’s existentialist status is in dire need of a fresh new narrative — a narrative that should have begun where Jinnah’s first speech to the Constituent Assembly had left off.
Society & Politics 1989-2015


Three times boxing heavy weight champion, Mohammad Ali, visits a college in Lahore during his 1988 trip to Pakistan.





Supporters of the PPP celebrate the party’s victory in the 1988 election in Karachi’s Lyari area. A poster of the then PPP chairperson, Benazir Bhutto, can also be seen. She became the first ever woman Prime Minister in the Muslim world.







A building in Karachi draped in a massive MQM flag during the 1988 elections. The party swept the polls in the city.







Cover of the first album by Pakistani pop band, Vital Signs (released in 1989). The success of the album kick-started a vibrant pop scene in the country that lasted well into the 1990s.





World No: 1 and 2, Jahangir Khan (right) and Jansher Khan (left) battle it out in the final of an international squash tournament in Karachi (1990).





A 1990 billboard in Lahore eulogising Mian Nawaz Sharif. He became PM in 1990.





American cyclists in Swat, 1990.





A poster of the 1991 film, ‘International Gorillay’ which portrayed controversial author Salman Rushdie, as a man out to destroy Pakistan.







Kids enjoy a round of ‘gola gunda’ (snow ice-cream) at Karachi’s low-income Orangi area in 1992.





Pakistan wins the 1992 Cricket World Cup.





Famous TV actress Atiqua Odho on the cover of the March 1993 Urdu monthly, Khawateen Digest.





Pakistan wins the 1994 Hockey World Cup.





Morgues in Karachi pile up with bodies as the conflict between MQM and the state intensifies in 1996.





A teacher and student at a government school in Lahore (1996).





Australian TV commentator, Ian Chappell, interviews Sri Lankan captain after PM Bhutto hands him the trophy of the 1996 Cricket World Cup. The final of the event took place at Lahore’s Qaddafi Stadium.







Lady Diana with Jemima Khan (former wife of Imran Khan) and Imran Khan during her trip to Lahore in 1997.





An armed man at a rally of a sectarian outfit in Lahore (1998).





Poster of Ajoka Theatre’s 1998 stage play, Bala King, that addressed the rise of sectarian and gang violence in Pakistan.







Soldiers climb the gates of the PTV headquarters in Islamabad during General Parvez Musharraf’s 1999 military coup.







A crumbling cinema in Peshawar in 2001.





A street in Rawalpindi in 2002.



An anti-US rally in Peshawar after American forces invaded Afghanistan in 2002.



The 2003 Lux Style Awards in Karachi.



A Pakistani snow leopard was gifted to New York’s Bronx Zoo in 2006.





Rubble of a an apartment block that collapsed in Islamabad during the devastation 2005 earthquake in the country’s northern areas.







Nawaz Sharif returns to Pakistan in 2007 after he was flown into exile by the Musharraf regime.







DAWN’s headline the morning after former PM and chairperson of the PPP was assassinated in Rawalpindi in December 2007.







Islamabad’s Marriot Hotel goes up in flames after it was attacked by suicide bombers belonging to extremist outfits (2008).





Women members of Islamabad’s controversial Lal Masjid (2007).





Police guard a polling station in Lahore during the 2008 elections.





Pakistan win the 2009 Cricket T20 World Cup.



Soldiers move towards the spot in Lahore where extremists attacked the visiting Sri Lankan cricket team in 2009.



Youth celebrate Pakistan’s Independence Day in Lahore (2009).



A member of the Pakistan women’s cricket team pads up in Lahore (2010).





Two kids kiss a pigeon in a working class area of Lahore (2011).







Gangsters in Karachi’s poverty-stricken Lyari area (2012).







A road in Rawalpindi lined up with posters during the 2013 election. The elections were swept by Nawaz Sharif’s PML-N.







A car bomb goes off in Karachi just before the 2013 election. Extremist outfits regularly attacked members of MQM, PPP and ANP during the election campaign.







Wreckage left behind by an extremist attack on a school in Peshawar (2014). Dozens of students lost their lives.





A rally against extremists in 2014.



An anti-extremism rally in Islamabad (2014).



Pakistan military begin clearing and securing areas infested by extremist groups after the government and the parliament gave a go-ahead to the armed forces to begin one of the largest anti-terrorism operations in the country (2015).





Pakistan military chief, General Raheel Sharif, who is the main architect of the military’s widespread operation against terrorism, meets some students of the school that was earlier attacked by militants.

Thursday 30 July 2015

Why is Germany so tough on Greece? Look back 25 years

Dirk Laabs in The Guardian


Every drama needs a great baddie, and in the latest act of the Greek crisis Wolfgang Schäuble, the 72-year-old German finance minister, has emerged as the standout villain: critics see him as a ruthless technocrat who strong-armed an entire country and now plans to strip it of its assets. One part of the bailout deal in particular has scandalised many Europeans: the proposed creation of a fund designated to cherrypick €50bn (£35bn) worth of Greek public assets and privatise them to pay the country’s debts. But the key to understanding Germany’s strategy is that for Schäuble there is nothing new about any of this.

It was 25 years ago, during the summer of 1990, that Schäuble led the West German delegation negotiating the terms of the unification with formerly communist East Germany. A doctor of law, he was West Germany’s interior minister and one of Chancellor Helmut Kohl’s closest advisers, the go-to guy whenever things got tricky.

The situation in the former GDR was not too dissimilar from that in Greece when Syriza swept to power: East Germans had just held their first free elections in history, only months after the Berlin Wall fell, and some of the delegates from East Berlin dreamed of a new political system, a “third way” between the west’s market economy and the east’s socialist system – while also having no idea how to pay the bills anymore.

The West Germans, on the other side of the table, had the momentum, the money and a plan: everything the state of East Germany owned was to be absorbed by the West German system and then quickly sold to private investors to recoup some of the money East Germany would need in the coming years. In other words: Schäuble and his team wanted collateral.

At that time almost every former communist company, shop or petrol station was owned by the Treuhand, or trust agency – an institution originally thought up by a handful of East German dissidents to stop state-run firms from being sold to West German banks and companies by corrupt communist cadres. The Treuhand’s mission: to turn all the big conglomerates, companies and tiny shops into private firms, so they could be part of a market economy.

Schäuble and his team didn’t care that the dissidents had planned to hand out shares of companies to the East Germans, issued by the Treuhand – a concept that incidentally led to the rise of the oligarchs in Russia. But they liked the idea of a trust fund because it operated outside the government: while technically overseen by the finance ministry, it was publicly perceived as an independent agency. Even before Germany merged into a single state in October 1990, the Treuhand was firmly in West German hands.

Their aim was to privatise as many companies as possible, as soon as possible – and if you were to ask most Germans about the Treuhand today they would say it achieved that objective. It didn’t do so in a way that was popular with the people of East Germany, where the Treuhand quickly became known as the ugly face of capitalism. It did a horrible job in explaining the transformation to shellshocked East Germans who felt overpowered by this strange new agency. To make matters worse, the Treuhand became a hotbed of corruption.

The agency took all the blame for the bleak situation in East Germany. Kohl and Schäuble’s party, the conservative CDU, was re-elected for years to come, while others paid the price: one of the Treuhand’s presidents, Detlev Karsten Rohwedder, was shot and killed by leftwing terrorists. (Schäuble too became the victim of an attack that left him permanently in a wheelchair, only days after German reunification – but his paranoid attacker’s motives were unrelated to the political events)

But the reality of what the Treuhand did is different from the popular perception – and that should be a warning for both Schäuble and the rest of Europe. Selling East Germany’s assets for maximum profit turned out to be more difficult than imagined. Almost all assets of real value – the banks, the energy sector – had already been snapped up by West German companies. Within days of the introduction of the West German mark, the economy in the east completely broke down. Like Greece, it required a massive bailout programme organised by Schäuble’s government, but in secret: they set aside 100bn marks (£35bn) to keep the old East German economy afloat, a figure that became public only years later.

With prices for labour and supplies going through the roof, the already stressed East Germany economy went into freefall and the Treuhand had no chance to sell many of its businesses. After a couple of months it started to close down entire companies, firing thousands of workers. In the end the Treuhand didn’t make any money for the German government at all: it took in a mere €34bn for all the companies in the east combined, losing €105bn.


Wolfgang Schäuble led the West German delegation negotiating the terms of the unification with formerly communist East Germany. Photograph: Lionel Cironneau/AP


 In reality, the Treuhand became not just a tool for privatisation but a quasi-socialist holding company. It lost billions of marks because it went on paying the wages of many workers in the east and kept some unviable factories alive – a positive aspect usually drowned out in the vilifications of the agency. Because Kohl and, during the summer of 1990, Schäuble weren’t Chicago economists keen on radical experiments but politicians who wanted to be re-elected, they pumped millions into a failing economy. This is where parallels with Greece end: there were political limits to the austerity a government could impose on its own people.

The lesson Schäuble learned – and which is likely to influence his decision-making now – is that if you act the pure-hearted neoliberal you can still get away with decisions that don’t make perfect economic sense. If Schäuble is acting tough with Greece right now, it is because his electorate wants him to act that way; it’s not just that he doesn’t care about the Greek people, he wants people to believe he doesn’t care, because he sees the political advantage in it.

But Schäuble should have learned from history that the Treuhand gamble had catastrophic psychological consequences. Even though the agency was run by Germans, who spoke German, still it was seen by many in the east as an occupying force.

Schäuble’s idea of foreign countries controlling Greek assets and moving them abroad is an even more humiliating concept for any country. Schäuble comes across as a tough and sober accountant. In fact he is just an ordinary politician repeating old mistakes.

Wednesday 29 July 2015

The West likes to think that 'civilisation' will defeat Isis, but history suggests otherwise

Robert Fisk in The Independent

Hitler set a bad example. He was evil. His regime was evil. His Reich was destroyed, the Nazis vanquished, the Fuhrer dying by his own hand in the ashes of the European nightmare. Bad guys lose. Good guys win. Morality, human rights, law, democracy – though with the latter, we should perhaps speak carefully – will always prevail over wickedness. That’s what the Second World War taught us.


We have grown up in a Western society that believes in such simple, dodgy, history lessons. The world’s major religions teach us about goodness, humility, family, love, faith. So why should we not – however liberal, agnostic, cynical – cling on to our fundamental belief that violence and torture and cruelty will never outlast the power and courage of the righteous?


Isis is evil. It massacres its opponents, slaughters civilians, beheads the innocent, rapes children and enslaves women. It is “apocalyptic”, according to the Americans, and therefore it is doomed. Better still, Ash Carter – the US Secretary of Defence who accused the Iraqis of running away from Isis – lectured the Iraqi Prime Minister last week. His message – I could hardly believe this naivety – was Hollywood-clear. “Civilisation always wins over barbarism.”

But does it? We only have to go back to the lie about the Second World War in my first sentence. Sure, Hitler lost. But our ally Stalin won. The 1917 Russian Revolution gave rise to one of the Gorgons of our age: Soviet dictatorship, the mass starvation leading the to death of millions, barbarism – on an Ash Carter scale – and evil incarnate ruled in Russia and Eastern Europe for more than 70 years, 40 of them after the Second World War.

The Romans kept “barbarism” at bay for almost a thousand years, but in the end the Goths, Ostrogoths and Visigoths – the Isis of their time – won. Unless you were opposed to Rome, in which case Roman barbarism – crucifixion, slavery, torture, massacre (the whole Isis gamut minus the videotapes) – was victorious for almost a thousand years.

Attila the Hun, the Scourge of God, destroyed almost everything between Persia and the Mediterranean. Ghengis Khan, an inevitable actor in this sordid drama, kept going until his death in 1227 – 30 years longer than Isis has so far ruled. His grandson Hulagu was invoked by General Angus Maude when he “liberated” Baghdad in 1917 and brought “civilisation” to Mesopotamia. Ash Carter should read Maude’s proclamation to the people of Baghdad: “Since the days of Hulagu, your citizens have been subject to the tyranny of strangers, your palaces have fallen into ruins, your gardens have sunken in desolation and your forefathers and yourselves have groaned in bondage.” Pretty much like Isis, in other words. But, by Maude’s count, this “tyranny” lasted for around 700 years.

Now let’s go forward to the years immediately after we brought “civilisation” – again – to Baghdad, by illegally invading Iraq in 2003. Between daily trips to the city mortuary and visits to tents of mourning, angry families would tell us that the “freedom” we brought had given them anarchy. They hated the dictator Saddam who slaughtered his opponents – and who imposed 24 years of “barbarism” on his people – but at least he gave them security. If you have children, these people would tell us, you want them to come home from school. You do not want them to be murdered. So which do we prefer, they asked us? Freedom or security? Democracy or Saddam?

Fearful of the Shia-dominated Iraqi government, whose militias slaughtered them, and the corrupt Arab dictatorships, who suppressed them, many hundreds of thousands of Sunni Muslims appear to have found security under Isis. Not the Shias, nor the Christians, nor the Yazidis. There is no “freedom”, as we would call it. But Sunni Iraqi men in Beirut, for example, regularly travel to and from the Isis Syrian capital Raqqa and report that – provided they don’t smoke or drink alcohol, their women are covered, and they do not oppose Isis – they are left alone: to do business, to visit families, to travel in safety. (Much the same applied under the Taliban in Afghanistan.)

ID cards are issued in Isis-land, the river police have newly-painted boats, taxes are raised, and yes, punishment is barbarous. But that does not mean the “Islamic Caliphate” is going to be conquered by “civilisation”.

And how can we believe that it will, when our own public-relations boss raves on about “British values” – and at the same time worships the venal, hypocritical, immensely wealthy and dangerous men who have helped to inspire Isis. I refer, of course, to those Saudis whose crazed Sunni Wahhabist cult has encouraged Isis, whose grotesque puritanism has led them to adopt a head-chopping extremism, which lies at the heart of Isis’s own “barbarism”. Sure, the Saudi state arrests Isis cells. But these same Saudis are now killing thousands of Shia Houthis in Yemen in a bombing campaign supported by our Western nations. And what does David Cameron do when the desiccated old king of this weird state dies? Money talks louder than “civilisation”. So he orders that British flags should be flown at half-mast. Now that’s what I call British values!

Poor old Dave. He loathes Isis but adores one of its elderly “facilitators”. Yet fear not. “Civilisation” may yet win over “barbarism”. My own suspicion is that Ash, Dave and the rest will try to buy up Isis, split them into factions and choose the “moderates” among them. Then we’ll have a new, liberal Isis – people we can do business with, the sort of chaps we can get along with, sins forgotten – and we can then establish relations with them as cosy as those the Americans maintained with Hitler’s murderous rocket scientists after “civilisation” conquered “barbarism” in the Second World War.

So much for “civilisation”.

Jeremy Corbyn: The Jose Mourinho of politics is playing in the Premier League at last

Simon Kelner in The Independent


When he narrows his eyes and stares into the camera, there is something of Jose Mourhino about Jeremy Corbyn. “The Special One” of Labour’s left wing may be a bit older and have less of a confident swagger, but he has the tousled grey hair, the deep-set eyes and the craggy, unshaven look of the all-conquering Chelsea manager.


There the similarity may end, because Corbyn is not a natural born winner. It is true that he has lived much of his political life on the fringes of the Labour Party, the vocal champion of special interest groups like the Palestinian Solidarity Campaign, Amnesty International and the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament.

He’s never played in the Premier League of politics, and the sense is that he rather enjoyed his position as something of a provocateur, a man who, when the occasion demanded, could act as Labour’s conscience, reminding his colleagues that this is the party that should look after the poor and the disadvantaged, not the rich and the privileged.

He’s “a romantic idiot who wants high taxes”, according to Labour peer Lord Sewel, although the opinion of a 69-year-old man wearing an orange brassiere while snorting coke off a prostitute’s bosom might be considered inadmissible.

Nevertheless, it’s true that Mr Corbyn is a romantic, and not just because the thrice-married MP seems to find it quite easy to fall in love. He’s a conviction politician, a man who has the rather old-fashioned notion that his ideals shouldn’t be compromised in the pursuit of power. And now he stands, almost accidentally, on the brink of the leadership of the Labour Party and people are suddenly asking: How the hell did that happen?

For the past few weeks, Labour stalwarts have been trying to discredit Mr Corbyn and his wild, left-wing views, like his wanting the railways to be renationalised or saying the wealthiest in society should pay higher taxes or campaigning against tuition fees. Tony Blair has warned that the election of Mr Corbyn as leader would be a gift to the Tories, while others have said that moving the party to the left would make it unelectable (they seem to have forgotten that there is recent evidence that Labour is pretty unelectable as it is).

Now, however, a new narrative is getting traction. Jeremy Corbyn is ahead in the race because he believes in something, and is consistent in those beliefs. Andy Burnham, one of his rivals, has acknowledged this by saying that Labour “has become a purveyor of retail politics, trading in the devalued currency of policy gimmicks designed to grab a quick headline”. He added: “It is in this context that we need to judge the current leadership race and ask why Jeremy Corbyn is having such an impact.”

Mr Corbyn, like Nigel Farage, is unafraid to say the unpopular, and both are brave enough to eschew middle-ground politics because it’s not where their heart is. Tony Blair gives the game away somewhat when he talks about politics in terms of winning and losing. “Personally, I prefer winning,” Blair said.

The irony is that because Jeremy Corbyn is a principled man (a legendary paltry expenses claimer) and is true to his values and beliefs, he might – in this election, at least – end up being a winner, too.

Tuesday 28 July 2015

Abolishing Annual Performance Appraisal

Lillian Cunningham in The Independent

As of September, one of the largest companies in the world will do all of its employees and managers an enormous favor: It will get rid of the annual performance review.

Accenture CEO Pierre Nanterme told The Washington Post that the professional services firm, which employs hundreds of thousands of workers in cities around the globe, has been quietly preparing for this “massive revolution” in its internal operations.

“Imagine, for a company of 330,000 people, changing the performance management process—it’s huge,” Nanterme said. “We’re going to get rid of probably 90 percent of what we did in the past.”

The firm will disband rankings and the once-a-year evaluation process starting in fiscal year 2016, which for Accenture begins this September. It will implement a more fluid system, in which employees receive timely feedback from their managers on an ongoing basis following assignments.

Accenture is joining a small but prominent list of major corporations that have had enough with the forced rankings, the time-consuming paperwork and the frustration engendered among managers and employees alike. Six percent of Fortune 500 companies have gotten rid of rankings, according to management research firm CEB.

These companies say their own research, as well as outside studies, ultimately convinced them that all the time, money and effort spent didn't ultimately accomplish their main goal — to drive better performance among employees.

In March, the consulting and accounting giant Deloitte announced that it was piloting a new program in which, like at Accenture, rankings would disappear and the evaluation process would unfold incrementally throughout the year. Deloitte is also experimenting with using only four simple questions in its reviews, two of which simply require yes or no answers.

Microsoft did away with its rankings nearly two years ago, attracting particular attention since it had long evangelized about the merits of its system that judged employees against each other. Adobe, Gap and Medtronic have also transformed their performance-review process.

“All this terminology of rankings—forcing rankings along some distribution curve or whatever—we’re done with that,” Nanterme said of Accenture's decision. “We’re going to evaluate you in your role, not vis Ă  vis someone else who might work in Washington, who might work in Bangalore. It’s irrelevant. It should be about you.”

Though many major companies still haven’t taken the leap, most are aware that their current systems are flawed. CEB found that 95 percent of managers are dissatisfied with the way their companies conduct performance reviews, and nearly 90 percent of HR leaders say the process doesn’t even yield accurate information.

“Employees that do best in performance management systems tend to be the employees that are the most narcissistic and self-promoting,” said Brian Kropp, the HR practice leader for CEB. “Those aren’t necessarily the employees you need to be the best organization going forward.”

Brain research has shown that even employees who get positive reviews experience negative effects from the process. It often triggers disengagement, and constricts our openness to creativity and growth.

CEB also found that the average manager spends more than 200 hours a year on activities related to performance reviews—things like sitting in training sessions, filling out forms and delivering evaluations to employees. When you add up those hours, plus the cost of the performance-management technology itself, CEB estimates that a company of about 10,000 employees spends roughly $35 million a year to conduct reviews.

“The process is too heavy, too costly for the outcome,” Nanterme said. “And the outcome is not great.”

Interestingly, though, the decision to roll out an updated approach usually has little to do with reining in those numbers. Kropp said companies aren’t likely to save much time or money by transitioning away from their old ratings systems to a new evaluation process. Where they stand to benefit is, instead, the return on those investments. “The smartest companies are asking, how do we get the best value out of the time and money we are spending?” Kropp said.

That’s the question Accenture posed to itself. And its answer was that performance management had to change from trying to measure the value of employees’ contribution after the fact. It needed instead to regularly support and position workers to perform better in the future.

“The art of leadership is not to spend your time measuring, evaluating,” Nanterme said. “It’s all about selecting the person. And if you believe you selected the right person, then you give that person the freedom, the authority, the delegation to innovate and to lead with some very simple measure.”

Greek debt crisis: A tale of ritual humiliation

Mark Steel in The Independent

What a relief that the Greeks have finally seen sense, and agreed to Angela Merkel’s demand that their Prime Minister Alexis Tsipras must scrub Berlin with a dishcloth, and crawl along the banks of the Rhine in a thong barking like a dog.

The week before he’d agreed to dress as a fairy and sing “The Good Ship Lollipop” while German children poked him with stinging nettles, but now that isn’t enough. So he has to accept even more measures essential to stabilising the Greek economy, such as being hosed down with kebab fat while naming the German squad that won the 1954 World Cup.

Otherwise, as EU leaders made clear, there would be no way Greece could stay inside the solar system; they’d have to orbit a different star in a faraway galaxy, which could be extremely damaging to the Greek tourist industry.

Instead of inviting further chaos by leaving Greece in the hands of the Greeks, their finances have been handed over entirely to the only people we can trust to behave responsibly at all times: the banks. Thank the Lord we’ve got at least one institution that has never behaved irresponsibly or recklessly in any way.

Perhaps the Greeks should have gone to Brussels and said they were rebranding Greece, so it’s no longer a country, but a bank. They’d have been bailed out by lunch and given a free set of steak knives as an extra gift. Instead they’ve got to sell off their entire country. By Christmas you’ll be able to buy a family ticket for 300 quid to visit the Domino’s Parthenon, where you can watch a parade of philosophers dressed as your favourite pizzas, with Pythagoras pepperoni proving a particular favourite, then scream your way down the Acropolis on a log flume.

One of the main demands in the final deal is that the Greek state must sell off €50bn-worth of its assets, which amounts to everything it has. This is part of the drive to make the economy stable and efficient. This works as long as you assume privatisation unarguably makes an industry more efficient. Obviously there are examples such as the railways in Britain, where privatisation has resulted in cheap reliable trains on which you can always get a seat, it’s easy to buy tickets across different rail networks, and customers are even offered delightful unscheduled 40-minute stops outside London Bridge station to give you the opportunity to paint the view of a gasworks in Bermondsey.

The demands placed on Greece are so extreme that even the International Monetary Fund has declared them “unsustainable”. The IMF is the body that has spent 50 years forcing countries such as Tanzania and Haiti to cut wages and sell off its possessions, in return for loans it needs so it can pay off the interest on the last lot of money it borrowed (from the IMF). So when it says the demands on Greece are too harsh, it’s like making the leader of Isis say, “Steady on, that’s a bit too Islamic”.

Still, someone has to tell the Greeks they can’t expect to carry on getting something for nothing. And the European Central Bank and national central banks – who, according to the Jubilee Debt Campaign, “stand to make between €10bn and €22bn out of Greek repayments” – are exactly the right people to deliver that stern but fair message.

Christine Lagarde, managing director of the IMF, is paid a salary of €550,000 a year, and by special arrangement pays no tax on that whatsoever. So she’s certainly the right person to lecture the Greeks, because she’s never been behind on her tax payments once. Every month she dutifully pays her nothing bang on time; she understands the importance of behaving responsibly with public money.

The most perplexing part of this story is that, a few days ago, it seemed as if Alexis Tsipras and his party, Syriza, were set to resist the orders being thrown at them, especially as they’d gone to the trouble of winning a referendum on whether to accept the EU demands. I suppose Tsipras thought that when the majority of Greeks voted against, it was because they felt those demands weren’t harsh enough, and they deserved to be punished much more severely as they’d all been very naughty.

Because Tsipras went into negotiations making it clear he was desperate to keep Greece in the eurozone, the EU could demand whatever it liked, knowing he’d accept anything rather than abandon the euro.

That sounds like going into a car showroom and saying, “I desperately need a car right now and I’ll have anything rather than leave without one”. A salesman could say, “We’ve only got this one, it’s got no engine and the windscreen’s made of wood and it pongs as a family of weasels live on the back seat and the bonnet’s on fire, it’s £10,000”, and you’d have no choice but to take it.

But maybe he did have a choice, to tell the banks they’ve made plenty out of Greece as it is and so, on balance, the elected government had decided to go along with what the Greeks voted for twice in a few months – wasting their money on schools and old people in villages, rather than do the sensible thing and hand over every coin as interest payments to institutions such as Goldman Sachs.

They’d have been kicked out of the eurozone, and probably out of Uefa and the Eurovision Song Contest, and scratched off the Inter-rail map too. But they’d have been a little beacon for everyone across Europe who feels the banks aren’t acting entirely in our interests, probably enough people to worry Angela Merkel just a bit.

Monday 27 July 2015

The greatest trick Michael Vaughan ever pulled

Rob Smyth in Wisden India
The greatest trick Michael Vaughan ever pulled was convincing England they could beat Australia. As brilliant as England’s 2005 side were, they had no real place beating one of the greatest sides of all time. Yet by convincing them they could win the Ashes, Vaughan kickstarted a series of events that enabled them to do just that. You can see why Steve Harmison called Vaughan “the best liar I’ve ever played with”.
The most important part of England’s win was not Andrew Flintoff’s cartoon superheroism, or Glenn McGrath treading on a cricket ball, or even Gary Pratt. It was one man’s relentless conviction that it was possible to challenge two intimidating opponents: Australia, and the entrenched caution of English cricket. Vaughan did not quite change the DNA of English cricket but, for a few beautiful years, he empowered the most exhilarating England side many of us will ever see. It is why he is the most important English cricketer since Sir Ian Botham.
England’s symbolic victories in the Champions Trophy semi-final of 2004 and the one-off T20 international at the start of the 2005 summer were very important, but the most significant backstory to the 2005 Ashes is the evolution of Vaughan from underachieving, defensively-minded county batsman to the world’s best attacking batsman, which in turn enabled him to become, as England captain, a kind of arrogant visionary who waged war on the received wisdom surrounding Australia.
A key moment in that development was Vaughan’s breezy 33 at Brisbane in 2002, the magical little acorn from which England’s 2005 Ashes win grew. Vaughan’s swaggering cameo in his first Ashes innings confirmed the view he had formed in the previous six months – that Australia, and particularly Glenn McGrath, not only could be attacked but had to be attacked. That attitude informed everything he did for the remainder of his Ashes mirabilis in 2002–03 and, even more importantly, what he did once he became Test captain the following summer.
England had a number of unlikely heroes who helped them win the Ashes in 2005, from Pratt to Ricky Ponting. We should probably add Darren Lehmann and Sachin Tendulkar to the list; maybe even give them MBEs. Lehmann started playing for Yorkshire in 1997 and began to broaden Vaughan’s mind. When Vaughan came into the Yorkshire dressing-room in the early 1990s, he says he found a culture in which you were slaughtered for “batting like a millionaire” if you got out playing an attacking shot. He thus grew up as a classical, defensive batsman who batted time. It was all he knew.
Lehmann was only four years older than Vaughan, yet in many ways he was his mentor: worldly, streetwise, ceaselessly positive and with the sharpest cricket brain. “Darren Lehmann really taught me how to play the game properly,” said Vaughan. “He gave me so much advice and made me into the player that I ended up being – and made me into a thoughtful, aggressive captain.”
When Vaughan returned from a promising first tour as an England player – to South Africa in 1999–2000 – Lehmann suggested he was hiding his light under a bushel. He encouraged Vaughan to play more shots and especially to always be on the look-out for quick singles – not to bat time, but to bat runs. “I loved Boof,” wrote Vaughan in Time to Declare. “He was everything an overseas player ought to be and a huge influence on me.”
That influence continued when Vaughan became England captain. He had two men “outside the England bubble”, as he put it, to whom he turned for advice on a regular basis: Lehmann and an unnamed businessman who “never played top-level cricket but always challenged me and came from a different angle”. Vaughan was always keen to pick as many brains as possible; crucially, he was extremely decisive at sifting through observations and advice from others.
He almost always listened to Lehmann’s counsel, never more importantly than when Lehmann told him to bring a one-day mindset to his batting in four- and five-day cricket. It was such a fundamental change in Vaughan’s batting philosophy that it took him a couple of years to fully retrain his brain. But his strike rate in his first four years of Test cricket, from 1999–2002, told a clear story: 27 runs per 100 balls in 1999, then 41, 42 and 64.
A series of annoying injuries – calf, finger, hand and knee – as well as Duncan Fletcher’s desire to give Graeme Hick a chance and the need to play five bowlers in India meant that Vaughan, despite a promising start to his England career, played only three out of 14 Tests between November 2000 and December 2001. At the age of 27, he could not afford much more lost time. Graham Thorpe’s personal problems allowed him back in the side in India, and then Vaughan was pushed up to open for the first time in the 1–1 draw against New Zealand in 2001–02. It did not start well; on some dicey pitches he made 131 runs in six innings. But he demonstrated his new approach. In the first Test, England were 2 for 2 when Vaughan hooked his second ball of the series for six. The death of Ben Hollioake during the second Test was “a decisive moment in my life” and made him even more determined to remember that cricket was sport and should be enjoyed.
At the start of the 2002 English summer Vaughan averaged 31.15 from 16 Tests. Before the first Test against Sri Lanka he sensed something wasn’t right against left-arm seam – of which he would be facing plenty that summer – and asked Duncan Fletcher to have a look in the nets. After four balls, Fletcher spotted that Vaughan was too open, with his shoulders and body facing towards midwicket rather than between mid-on and the bowler. “The subtle change paid instant dividends… defence and attack all clicked.” He made a century in the first Test of the summer against Sri Lanka, and then three more against India. In New Zealand his problem was getting out in the 20s and 30s; against India it was getting out in the 190s. It was life-changing stuff. Vaughan ran with the mood of that summer and kept on running until England had won the Ashes three years later.
As the summer developed, with the following winter’s Ashes in mind, Vaughan became sufficiently emboldened that he decided to attack Australia. “I was not intending to be totally gung-ho, slash and bash, but to be nothing other than positive.” It was his eureka moment.
When Vaughan returned from a promising first tour as an England player – to South Africa in 1999–2000 – Lehmann suggested he was hiding his light under a bushel. He encouraged Vaughan to play more shots and especially to always be on the look-out for quick singles – not to bat time, but to bat runs. “I loved Boof,” wrote Vaughan in Time to Declare. “He was everything an overseas player ought to be and a huge influence on me.”
If you mention Vaughan, Tendulkar and 2002 then people will think of the wonder ball with which Vaughan bowled Tendulkar at Trent Bridge. Far more important, in the long term, was the postscript to that delivery. At the end of the series, Vaughan asked Tendulkar to sign the ball and stump from that wicket. Tendulkar asked him to sit down and chat cricket, which they did for half an hour. The conversation inevitably moved on to Australia. Tendulkar told Vaughan of the Adelaide Test of 1999–2000, in which he and Dravid allowed McGrath to bowl a spell of 8-7-1-0. After that, Tendulkar decided he would never again show McGrath and Australia too much respect. “That confirmed to me what I had already been thinking about the winter to come: that I would not be holding back in taking them on,” said Vaughan. “It turned out to be one of my better resolutions in life.”
Every time Vaughan said he was going to attack McGrath, teammates looked at him as if he had said he was going to break into the Bank of England. He has having a coffee in Chelsea with his captain Nasser Hussain, who asked him what he planned to do against McGrath. “I won’t die wondering,” said Vaughan. “Oh, right,” said Hussain.
Vaughan remembers other players saying: “No chance; he just won’t give you anything to hit.” It irritated him to the point where bloody-mindedness started to kick in. “There was too much of the wrong mentality about,” he said. “The defeatism was plain to me.”
Even allowing for Vaughan’s great form in 2002, it was quite a conceit. He had never played an Ashes Test but he was going to take on McGrath, the king of individual contests, and Australia in their own manor, and in their own manner. Who the hell did he think he was?
Vaughan even went so far as to say in the press that he hoped McGrath would target him. Before he started predicting that every Ashes series would end 5–0, McGrath made a point of publicly announcing his target in the opposition team. It was pretty much a death sentence. McGrath called it “mind over batter”. He would identify his targets in an unnerving, matter-of-fact manner, with a couple of pertinent, indisputable facts and just a smidgen of smartarsery to get under his opponent’s skin. It was textbook mental disintegration.
In this case McGrath played on Vaughan’s abysmal record against Australia. He got a golden duck in his only innings against Australia, when he was bowled by Jason Gillespie in an ODI in 2001; he was also dismissed by the only delivery he had ever faced from McGrath, this time in a county match. “He’s obviously their form player if you look at the last season,” McGrath said. “I have had quite a lot of success in the past against guys I want to target. He hasn’t really got the form on the board against Australia, so we’ll see how he goes.”
Vaughan admitted that the reactions of other players to his intention of attacking Glenn McGrath irritated him to the point where bloody-mindedness started to kick in as the defeatism was plain to him. © Getty Images
Vaughan admitted that the reactions of other players to his intention of attacking Glenn McGrath irritated him to the point where bloody-mindedness started to kick in as the defeatism was plain to him. © Getty Images
Vaughan took it as a compliment. “I just thought, ‘this is a bit of all right, not bad at all. I’ve been picked out by the best in the world’… McGrath called me a grinder who could bat for long periods but who could be suspect to the short ball. It was my intention to alter this thinking.”
If you go at the king, you best not miss. “This will sound arrogant but I really quite fancied facing McGrath,” said Vaughan. “If the ball was seaming he was a bit of a nightmare, but if it was swinging I found him quite juicy.” Arrogance, like bacteria, is instinctively perceived as a bad thing but also comes in a good form. Throughout Vaughan’s career, that arrogance – and even entitlement – facilitated so much of what he and England achieved.
Before the 2002–03 tour, Vaughan didn’t so much cope with fear of failure as ignore it. He changed his mind about watching videos of the Australian bowlers as preparation because he was worried if he did that he would start playing the bowler, not the ball. His tour did not start well, however. He missed the first three matches because his knee took longer to heal than expected, though he struck 127 against Queensland in his only innings before the first Test at Brisbane. On the first day of the series he had a nightmare in the field; he let the second ball of the day through his legs, the usual depressing tone-setter, and later dropped a dolly at extra cover.
England eventually came to bat on the second afternoon after Australia posted 492. There was a hush of anticipation. “We were very interested in seeing Vaughan,” said Adam Gilchrist in Walking to Victory. “We’d heard a lot about him. He was the big name that Glenn McGrath had decided to target this summer.”
There were umpteen reasons for Vaughan to ease his way carefully into the series. He’d had a terrible time in the field. His knee was sore. There were only nine overs to tea. His fledgling record against both McGrath and Australia was awful. He averaged 27.94 in overseas Tests. Vaughan didn’t get a toss about any of it. That was then and this was now.
In many respects Vaughan was winging it. He was 28, but had only been opening for England for seven months. Yet he had the unshakeable conviction of a man who had recently had an epiphany. His state of mind was perfect. So was his state of gut; Vaughan has always been an advocate of gut instinct, and his kept telling him that, on an individual level, he could conquer Australia. His mind was fresh and uncluttered: “Keep things simple – eye on the ball, hit and look to run.”
Vaughan knew that first impressions are important in sport, which has a habit of perpetuating itself. One look at Shane Warne would have reminded him of that. Steve Waugh greeted him with six men in the cordon as well as the wicket-keeper Gilchrist. Vaughan saw the consequent gaps in front of the wicket, not the men behind him. He faced only a single ball in McGrath’s first two overs, which he pushed through mid-on for a single. During that time McGrath got into his usual groove and had Marcus Trescothick dropped in the slips. Vaughan then faced every ball of McGrath’s third over – and hammered it for 12. The second ball, fractionally short of a length, was pulled impatiently through midwicket for four. As Vaughan ran past, McGrath used the side of his mouth to scold him for his impertinence. The fifth ball was driven gorgeously through the covers for four.
He took nine more from McGrath’s next over, including a savage back cut for four, an extravagant, mis-hit pull into the open spaces for two and a back-foot drive for three. This time McGrath said nothing, just licked his lips. Even Vaughan’s leaves were aggressive, a last-minute decision to abort an attacking shot. It was the sporting equivalent of the head-turning arrival; he had the instant respect of the Australian commentators on Channel 9, who were fascinated to see somebody attack McGrath, and also the Australians on the field. “I sensed immediately that we were up against quality,” said Gilchrist. “There was something about Vaughan’s balance and composure.”
More than anything else, England won the Ashes because Michael Vaughan kept asking why. Why couldn’t Glenn McGrath be attacked? Why could Australia not mentally disintegrate like all other humans? Why couldn’t England win the Ashes with an inexperienced team? Whenever he was questioned, or had slight doubts himself, he kept returning to one simple point: that the alternative hadn’t worked for 16 years.
McGrath was taken out of the attack after that, with figures of 4-1-23-0. Vaughan said he got carried away with his attacking mood and was even more aggressive than he intended. He was playing the bowler not the ball – but in a good way. He slammed another exhilarating boundary off Andy Bichel, clouting a short ball over cover. McGrath returned to the attack after tea and got his man with a fine delivery that jagged back off the seam to take the inside edge as Vaughan shaped to pull. Vaughan had made 33 from 36 balls, within which he scored 25 off just 19 from McGrath – an unimaginable strike rate of 132. “A lot of people called it a ballsy effort to get after them,” said Vaughan. “I just called it positive.”
That, more than his eventual dismissal, was what Vaughan took from the innings – especially when Warne congratulated him after play for being the first Englishman he had seen go after McGrath. Such positive reinforcement was vital, and kept coming throughout the series. We didn’t realise at the time, but it was all crescendoing towards Vaughan creating a culture that would allow England to win the Ashes.
Vaughan got a golden duck in the second innings, with McGrath dismissing him again, but it was a poor LBW decision and he was able to rationalise it as irrelevant. “I am sure he thought he had a psychological edge on me, but he was mistaken,” said Vaughan in A Year In The Sun. “I looked at the positives. I had played well in the first innings and been unfortunate in the second.” Two weeks later Vaughan hammered 177 on the first day of the second Test at Adelaide; this time he attacked McGrath judiciously, with 50 from 87 balls. He should have been given out on 19, but the third umpire gave him the benefit of what doubt there was when Justin Langer claimed a low catch at cover. Had he failed then, maybe he would have started to have doubts or rethink his approach. Steve Davis, the third umpire, is another man who unwittingly helped England win the Ashes in 2005.
“That innings had a real impact on me,” said Gilchrist of Vaughan’s 177. “I remember thinking: ‘This is a class act.’” At the close of play, Gillespie came into the England dressing-room specifically to congratulate Vaughan. Yet more positive reinforcement. He had confirmed the promising impression of the first Test and achieved one of the most worthwhile things in cricket: the respect of the Australians. He had steel and skill or, in the parlance of our time, ticker and tekkers. This was not just another Pom to the slaughter.
When Vaughan became the captain, he transmitted the same attitude of standing up to the Australians, without which England would have had zero percent of winning the Ashes in 2005. © AFP
When Vaughan became the captain, he transmitted the same attitude of standing up to the Australians, without which England would have had zero percent of winning the Ashes in 2005. © AFP
Steve Waugh later said Vaughan was “the only guy I’ve ever seen succeed after Glenn McGrath made his annual declaration of intent upon the opposition’s key batsman”. Vaughan went on to make three huge centuries in the series, and ended it as the world’s No.1 batsman in the ICC rankings. Seven months earlier he had been 44th, behind, among others, Habibul Bashar and Mathew Sinclair. “He batted like the best player who had ever lived,” said his opening partner Trescothick. “I remember thinking they could not bowl at him, and the ‘they’ were bloody Glenn McGrath and Shane Warne.” He ended with 633 runs in five Tests; the manner of the first 33, in that first innings at Brisbane, made the other 600 possible.
“I can’t remember an opener playing McGrath, Lee and Gillespie the way Vaughan did that summer,” said Lehmann. “At times he was treating them with contempt… dare I say it, he was batting like an Aussie.” Vaughan’s geographical identity is different to most: he is a Lancashire-born Yorkshireman and an Englishman with the attitude of an Aussie. There was an infectious swagger about Vaughan which, along with the sheer beauty of his batting and the runs he scored in industrial quantities, gave England fans considerable pride despite the side suffering another 4-1 Ashes defeat. We had no idea that his performance would also inform the ultimate high in the next series.
“There was a huge amount on that trip that got stored away at the back of my mind for the purposes of tackling Australia in the future,” he said. “The basic lesson was that, if you were going to stand up to the Australians, you could not have anyone in the team who had this fear about them.”
When he later became captain, Vaughan transmitted that attitude to his team; without it, they would have had approximately 0.00 per cent chance of winning in 2005. “It’s amazing how once one player excels, his teammates find the leap from good to excellent to be not so difficult,” said Steve Waugh. “It suddenly becomes real rather than a dream.” It also made Vaughan one of the world’s leading authorities on how to play against Australia, which made the players listen to his every word.
More than anything else, England won the Ashes because Michael Vaughan kept asking why. Why couldn’t Glenn McGrath be attacked? Why could Australia not mentally disintegrate like all other humans? Why couldn’t England win the Ashes with an inexperienced team? Whenever he was questioned, or had slight doubts himself, he kept returning to one simple point: that the alternative hadn’t worked for 16 years.
Vaughan’s overall record against McGrath was not actually that good. Whose record was? In the 2002–03 series he scored 142 runs and was dismissed four times, a head-to-head average of 35.50; overall, including the 2005 Ashes, he made 205 and was dismissed six times. But in that first innings, he showed – to Australia, to himself and to all of England – that McGrath could be taken on. He had made his symbolic statement. There was a similar example during the 1997 Ashes: after his career-saving century at Edgbaston, Mark Taylor made four runs in the next four innings. But hardly anybody noticed, and those who did notice did not care. Taylor’s form was no longer an issue. So much of sport is about bluff, perception and symbolism, and Vaughan understood that better than most.
When he later became captain, Vaughan transmitted that attitude to his team; without it, they would have had approximately 0.00 per cent chance of winning in 2005. “It’s amazing how once one player excels, his teammates find the leap from good to excellent to be not so difficult,” said Steve Waugh. “It suddenly becomes real rather than a dream.” It also made Vaughan one of the world’s leading authorities on how to play against Australia, which made the players listen to his every word.
Vaughan’s approach in that 33 was a longer-term version of a tactic Steve Waugh employed in so many individual innings: take calculated risks to get to 20 or 30 as soon as possible so that you reverse the momentum and spread the field, and then you can settle in for the long haul. After taking on McGrath, he could then focus on easier targets (these things are relative) like Stuart MacGill and, in 2005, a flagging Gillespie.
Life is a complex, sprawling flow chart, in which apparently minor incidents usher us in a completely different direction, and it is fascinating – and a little terrifying – to reflect on all the little things that made Vaughan into the world’s best batsman, without which he probably would not have become an Ashes-winning captain: Lehmann joining Yorkshire, Thorpe’s personal problems, Hollioake’s death, Fletcher spotting that technical flaw, the ball to Tendulkar – and those injuries in 2001, which were so frustrating at the time but, with hindsight, were surely a blessing. Although Vaughan had started to modify his game, he was probably not quite ready to go after McGrath and the Australians that summer; a difficult series might have left him with mental scars like the other England players.
Even the timing of Vaughan’s ascent was perfect. Hussain, a man who was at his most comfortable with the feel of the wall against his back, was perfectly suited to dragging England out of the doldrums. Vaughan probably could not have done that, but between them, over a six-year period, they turned the worst team into a team who could outplay the best team in the world.
As Vaughan’s team developed in 2003 and 2004, everything he did was geared towards beating Australia. He became obsessed with mental scarring, and that Australia could only be beaten with aggression and fresh minds. It was reinforced when Lehmann, unprompted, made the same observation. When the 2005 Ashes started, England had five players making their debuts against Australia. Overall the team had made 25 Ashes appearances between them, fewer than Shane Warne on his own. In total Australia had 129.
“I wasn’t 100 per cent sure we were ready for them, wondering if perhaps they were coming a year too soon.” Not that he told anyone. He was far too good a liar for that.