A tradition of pain, a sparkle of hope

“In the midst of hate, I found there was, within me, an invincible love. In the midst of tears, I found there was, within me, an invincible smile. In the midst of chaos, I found there was, within me, an invincible calm. In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer. And that makes me happy. For it says that no matter how hard the world pushes against me, there’s something stronger, something better, pushing right back” – Albert Camus

Every week when I sit down to do my piece, my head is heavy with a host of inexplicable issues, and I wonder why they are getting further complicated as we move on in time. The truth is that they don’t have to because, given the seriousness of purpose, there is no reason why a solution that would be acceptable to all relevant stakeholders could not be found to a host of problems that we face today. Yet we continue to hurtle down the precipice without as much as a concern about the inevitability of destruction that is casting its ominous shadow upon us.

But I don’t give in to despondency easily. I am determined to keep my head above the raging waters that threaten to drown us. I remain resolute that I shall keep my hope alive and try to understand the dynamics that underline the making of these problems because it is only then that one can start thinking of solutions.

And I thought of Albert Camus and the quotation that I have cited above. It is so full of hope, so full of determination, so full of promise that our mind and our body are endowed with qualities to withstand the extremes of adversities and find a way out of the most daunting of challenges. The critical aspect distinguishing victory from surrender would always be how deeply we are wedded to the cause that we espouse.

This spirit also defines the relationship between us and our country. It is Faiz who has knit it together in an aura of romance and reality. While he talks of countless sufferings that one endures along the path to redemption; he also talks of the passion that binds one irretrievably to one’s dreams. In his poem ‘We who were lost in the dark of the alleys’, he strums the notes of this relationship in the current context ever so beautifully: “Retrieving our flags from the death chambers,/ Caravans of lovers shall surge forth,/ By their consummate pursuit of the path of desire,/ Distances of pain will be shortened./ We sacrificed our life at the stake,/ To grace your love with immortality,/ We who were lost in the dark of the alleys.”

“Dark of the alleys” is not a permanent feature of mind or body. It is only a path to a higher echelon that will furnish an overview of the intricacy of human relations and how the mind works in its mostly intractable methods. But there is always an underlying order defining this diversity of thought and purpose which also keeps throwing up the prospect of affinity even among the absolute opposites.

So why is it that we refuse to come together to work for the salvation of our beleaguered land? Why is it that we forget that our country is perched on the edge because of our misdeeds. It is weak because we have usurped the power to ourselves. It is reduced to being the begging bowl of the world because we have stolen its riches to fill our coffers. It remains lawless because the ruling elite remains beyond the pale of accountability.

Its institutions have collapsed because we have criminally manipulated them to our advantage. Poverty is stalking an increasing part of the population because we have been inequitable in the distribution of state resources and unkind in our dispensations. Non-state bands are allowed to roam the country distributing their potion of indoctrination and sow the seeds of violence and intolerance. It is shorn of justice because the system serves only the cause of the ones with power and pelf. Rather than safeguarding the life and properties of the citizens, patwari and the police stations have become instruments of torture and usurpation. There is no effort to bring order because it is chaos which serves the purpose of the clan of marauders.

But we don’t care. We look the other way as if there is nothing wrong. Every morning, we offer a new bucket list for people to dream awhile, only to be engulfed in darkness which is darker than ever before. Every evening, we issue a new sermon of hope only to deprive them of whatever they may have had in the past.

For ordinary people, every day comes with a stock of woes and every night brings pain more unbearable than before. Each day, we see more beggars on the road and each day we see more hands spread seeking alms. There are women, young girls and there are infants – all buried under the weight of life becoming increasingly unbearable with time. But our conscience does not stir.

Even mass migration of people over the last one year, signifying complete loss of hope in the future, has not dented the intentions of the ones who have been anointed as the rulers and their retinue of sycophants to assist their masters in the fulfilment of their sinister plans. Each day is a sickening repeat of the previous one, only with more lucrative contrivances offered on the platter for consumption.

Despite these issues, I must write this song of hope because it is my country, and it is your country. That will not change. Even if we leave, we shall continue to belong here. Pakistan lives in our veins, in our hearts. Pakistan is in our thoughts, in our faith. If you talk to the ones who have settled abroad, they will tell you their sense of loss at being deprived of love and care that abound here.

It is the combined commitment of the people of this country to its welfare that keeps it going and it is their hope in its tomorrow that they suffer today. The fear is that this stock of affinity may weaken with time particularly now that the guns of the state are pointed in their direction and its despotic arsenal is used wantonly to suppress their dreams and aspirations.

Notwithstanding the tradition of sufferance, one hopes that this bonding between the country and its people shall persevere even under the gauntlet of the sword, and the sparkle of hope shall brighten up the horizon across the beauty of its meadows, the mystique of its deserts, and the majesty of its mountains.

The writer is the information secretary of the PTI, and a

fellow at King’s College London. He tweets/posts @RaoofHasan