Give us something

In the world of professional wrestling, Kayfabe is the careful suspension of disbelief that allows people to pretend that the two juiced-up giants in bright spandex, who are smacking each other’s bare chests, represent good’s battle against evil – and not the fulfilment of an employment contract.

It takes two to hold it aloft. Audiences must allow themselves to be swept away by the illusion, but the writers also have to do their part by crafting storylines that lend themselves to this. What an insult then, that we, today, are being expected to stab foam fingers in the air from the stands without so much as the dignity of a storyline with narrative continuity.

It began with an atlas. From Austria to Zambia, nations across the world were quoted as having seen the light and then bottled it in the form of a shiny constitutional court. Forget that most of these courts were built on the foreign soil of ‘civil law’, and that fewer still were built by demolishing the existing wing of another building that already did the same thing.

It continues, now, as some poor intern’s history project: scour the annals of the Subcontinent for any favourable reference to some kind of a constitutional court. In the tradition of non-linear storytelling, we began at the Charter of Democracy, jumped all the way back to Jinnah, and now find Bilawal Bhutto dusting off the bust of Justice Dorab Patel to add to the pantheon of its proponents.

Yet, as we find ourselves one step away from being regaled with Muhammad Bin Qasim’s visions of the promised federal constitutional court on the shores of the Arabian Sea, it’s growing rather tiresome. Add whoever you want to the list. But how many of these historical sources insisted that the prophesied court had to be created before the 26th of October, 2024?

Today, we’re supposed to pretend like this is a gently watered flower whose spring has finally come. But, only days ago, its proponents were ready to pass a phantom draft before the stroke of midnight, lest their carriage turn back into a pumpkin.

And for all the importance we may give ourselves as an audience, we weren't even really meant to be watching. It was only when dawn revealed the foul fumes of failure that We The People had to be ‘consulted’ on a draft that we hadn’t fully seen; its cheerleaders weren’t sure they fully understood; and its true authors had no intention of owning.

That much, at least, has now changed. Out of the original proponents, the PML-N has half-heartedly proposed a half-draft that plagiarises proposals from the first. And the PPP has, begrudgingly, proposed a draft of its own, which promises to be equally bad at doing what it claims it will do, but a little worse at accomplishing what it is really meant to do.

At this point, anything would be an improvement on the certified disasterpiece that was the first. In its original form, the proposed amendment promised to do magical things like make judges less political by having politicians appoint them, and to reduce delays by adding more layers of adjudication. It also concerned itself much less with the subtle art of concealing its true intentions.

It threatened wayward high court judges with punishment by passive purgatory; increased imperial impunity on the basis of good-old National Security TM; and (in its most audacious form, we are told) attempted a decisive blow at the flailing fiction of fundamental rights.

Which is all to say that the first draft had that unique distinction of being both devious and dull. The new ones, from what we can tell, are slightly better at being devious and believe a little less in their own dullness.

This, at least, makes it easier for us, as an audience, to play along. Except that there is more to Kayfabe than words in a script.

Consider what we, as an audience, are expected to do. We are to pretend that our constitution is being amended by no more than the sheer force of argument. We are to pretend that those who seek to do so have full legitimacy to be touching the constitution at all.

We have to pretend that this is all within the context of some sterilised academic debate on caseload management. We have to pretend like, even if it were, these are intelligent solutions. And we have to pretend that this is being done with our participation.

The least you can do is play the part. Give us any half-plausible reason why the 26th Amendment must pass before the 26th of October. If this isn’t about taming judges, then don’t air inside thoughts about judges not being able to tame other judges. If you’ve chosen a storyline, then stick to it.

Help us help you. Give us a half-believable performance. Give us something.

The writer is a lawyer. He tweets/posts @brainmasalaar and can be reached at: salaar.khan@columbia.edu