Chapter VII: On Presidents

Dear Mr. President,

You may or may not recall this, but we have met before. It was right after the Pakistan Development Forum in December 2010, an event that gave our government bodies the opportunity to "seek aid" from representatives of the first world (and some of our wealthy Arab friends), and I had been fortunate enough to be selected to manage the event for the Planning Commission. This forsaken forum, as I recall, had been called off at least thrice before on account of our ... somewhat questionable security situation and the white man was simply too afraid to come out of his heavily armed/armored, nuclear-safe bunkers, commonly known as embassies in Pakistan. Now one should ask why they are here in the first place if they really are that afraid of us. I am compelled to quote one of your more devoted friends in inquiring "then why don't they leave?". It's certainly not the $5 escort ladies in Islamabad or the tikkas and pulaos at Afghani restaurants. Perhaps these ambassadors made their own political booboos and being assigned to Pakistan is their bureaucracy's version of the dunce hat.

But I digress. I recalled that wonderful seminar (for which I was paid by Minister Khar's office, at the time, a much-needed Rs. 10,000 stipend, God bless her extravagance) because at the end of the 2-day event, you graciously invited us to your averagely guarded presidential palace (strangely enough). Unfortunately, even for a middle-class citizen who, since childhood, has fantasized of being invited to a ball room party with foreign dignitaries in a James Bond setting, the event was a tremendous disappointment. For starters, contrary to popular belief, there was no throne made of gold on which you presided your presidency ever so callously and luxuriously.  In fact, in spite of a thorough search of the, once again, unguarded halls, I found no sign of a throne made of gold decorated with the skulls of conquered money-lenders! Furthermore, your staff members served us Coke and Fanta, NOT champagne. Seriously, what is up with that? Needless to say, neither I nor the others (particularly the Arab dignitaries) were thrilled by your staff's tacky choice of beverages. I would strongly recommend that for the next event, your people contact Nawab Aslam Raisani's staff for suggestions on drinks.

But alas, I digress again. In spite of the disappointing ambiance, I do remember two very important events. The first one was when your arrival was announced by a servant dressed in a glittering tunic (at least that's how I choose to remember it), and all attendees formed an oval to sequentially greet your grace. For some wonderfully odd reason, yours truly found himself being lined up between Rehman Malik and Shah Mahmood Qureshi (I kid you not, readers). I reiterate, Mr. President, that I am a disturbingly average citizen for whom just being in the presence of these important figures was like a dream inside a dream inside a movie. Don't get me wrong though, this was not like the awe of a teen who had just met Justin Beaver (or something kids are into). No sir, this was shock, the utter shock of realizing that I was surrounded by the most hated people in the country and, what’s more, stuck right in the middle of the hatred.

Eventually, our queue began to move single file to greet your highness; all of us, your multi-faced minions, somewhat loyal loyalists, dignitaries and random strangers, such as yours truly who had ended up in this mix like a black guy inadvertently finding himself in a KKK meeting. Right before the 10 million dollar handshake, yours truly was eyed up and down by two ISI guards on either side of you like death row inmates eyeing a naked woman before their execution. Irrespective, what I got out of it was a handshake with the most misunderstood man in Pakistan (if not the planet) and his mischievous (but somehow warm) smile.

The second event was a quote from a speech which you gave during the dinner (which was exquisite, btw; you need not execute the chefs but I would consider having Babar Awan talk to the guy who decided to serve us Coke and Fanta). I was too lost in the food to listen to the rest of your speech but I clearly remember you saying the following:

"Many world leaders claim to have learned from universities (irony overload!). But I, I have learned from the university of life."

I remember you smiling after that statement, probably expecting a standing ovation from the crowd, some “Jeeay Zardari!” chants and maybe a few women throwing their undies at you. Instead, you were reprieved by the mushy hum of naan being chewed in the background.

Mr. President, I believe that quote is the perfect depiction of what you are, and critics, trolls and mullahs be damned. For the most dejected man in the country to go on to become its most powerful leader and, in spite of the perpetual backlash from the entire nation, manage to maintain that power, you, sir, are a force not to be reckoned with! It takes a lot more than a few good contacts and smart stratagems to pull off the stints and stunts that you have in your political career. And rather than admiring your exceptional prowess, these low lives who call themselves citizens loathe you, despise you, wish a most gruesome death upon you. I recall that right before shaking your oddly soft hands, the only thought going through my head was my father's constant rant about you being borne of some form of a canine. It was only after your University of Life quote that I realized how obtuse and spiteful my father and, frankly, these so-called citizens really are.

So you screwed some people over, had others silenced (ostensibly), used your wife's death to your political advantage, lured a bunch of not-so-shareef brothers into the most elaborately devised political scheme in the history of politics and effectively made them run back to Punjab with their tails between their legs. How unfortunate and deplorable it is, my dear Mr. President, that if Michael Corleone resorts to such subterfuge, the so-called youth (and not-so-youth) would applaud him for it, saying they want to be just like him when they grow up. Well, pluck them, Mr. President, and pluck them hard. Because while they can only flirt with these fantasies before their nightly activities, you, sir, are the real life Corleone. You did what was needed when it was needed, all the while looking out for the best interest of your family. You certainly angered a lot of people along the way, but politics are as simple as chess; if you can foresee your victory in 3 moves, why play another move just because you are likely to upset your opponents?

I have also often wondered whether that actually bothers you, these rants and poetic expressions of rage that this nation has become so adept at directing towards you. In psychology, there is a concept on the dichotomy between self-projection and self-actualization which says that people are more likely to criticize others for their own shortcomings rather than face the challenges posed before them. Frankly, if they had used this literary creativity for more constructive outlets, this nation wouldn't be in its current deplorable condition. In fact, if these rats that you have so successfully lured into the ocean were really as capable, aware or competent as they pretend to be in their constant verbal regurgitations, they never would've allowed you to become President. How remarkable it is that just because you are an adroit politician, and excel at playing the game of thrones in a democratic paradigm, singly constitutes the reason for all this player hate. Sure, you blatantly overlooked a lot of important needs of the populace and conveniently blamed it on the previous government. But how can they expect you, just one man who is out there looking out for himself, to cater to the needs of all? I swear on your mother's life that were they in your shoes, they would’ve done exactly what you did ... actually, that's not true, they're not as tactful at politics as your grace. For a people who forget so easily that it was, in fact, "they" who brought you into office, these citizens are not too bright at all.

So my advice, Mr. President, is to ignore their ramblings. If shepherds could understand what the sheep say before being led to slaughter, would they take a moment to reflect on the banter? I would, however, like you to coach some of your other shepherd friends on learning to keep their mouths shut by not retorting with a "who is stopping them [from being led to the slaughter]?"

But I wonder, Mr. President. Indeed, who is stopping them from revolting against you? From stopping you from continuing to lead the office? They did/have done nothing but baah their hearts out, all the while continuing to march towards the slaughterhouse. The fact of the matter is that these are sheep who are so accustomed to baah-ing that the being led to the slaughter part is of no consequence to them.

Besides, this might be your last Presidency in this lifetime. I say enjoy your last months as President and find a nice getaway in the Carribean once this is all over. I hear Costa Rica is really nice, like all the time.

Sincerely,

A Mango Citizen