What stayed the execution initially was the promise of a satisfactory closure to an intriguing story. Once the king found love, there was no pressing need for a captivating narrative.
King Shahryar spared the life of Scheherazade, his new wife, each night in the hope of reaching the end of a story so that there were no loose ends. The suspense delayed her execution for 1001 nights - until she declared eventually that she had ran out of stories. By that time, the king had fallen in love with her. The unfortunate problem with the selling of stories of far-away lands and historic states like Riasat-i-Madina by the Pakistan Tehreek-i-Insaf is that they are meant to convey ideas of what could be or what should be. They can hold an audience as long as there is no counter-narrative and no reality check like price tags on commodities at Utility Stores, the ever-increasing tariffs on imports and the rising rate of unemployment. Election campaigns based on a demonisation of the political system and empty promises of livelihood without a clear vision of economic, political and social policies are hardly sustainable once the political party itself becomes part of a system whose very foundations of public support it had once aimed to crush. Unlike King Shahryar, those who elected the PTI in the hope of a Naya Pakistan don’t seem to have fallen in love with the political party. The chances of it returning to power in the next elections appear bleak. This is perhaps the biggest disappointment for the PTI government in its 1001 nights.
A telling example of this is the economic policy; or the lack of a clear policy. The fourth round casting for the cabinet in April 2021 based on the ‘performance’ of the ministers has raised alarm about on what this ‘performance’ really means. Asad Umar was removed a few months into his important role after negotiating one of the biggest loans in Pakistan’s history with the International Monetary Fund. Was this because the PTI government refused to ‘beg’ for international aid? Or was it that the government concluded that the structural adjustment policies agreed to as part and parcel of the loan were too harsh? If it was the latter, why did his two successors not try to renegotiate the terms based on their ‘impracticality’ rather than request more time to for repayment on account of Covid-19? Was Hafeez Sheikh performing well enough to be nominated to a Senate seat? Why was he then removed two days late after he lost the election? Was it his performance during those 48 hours the basis of his removal? What was the removal of Hammad Azhar, only three months into his leadership of the Finance Ministry, based on? Does the appointment of Hafeez Sheikh and now Shaukat Tareen mean that the largest party in the parliament has no elected person good enough for the job?
Journalists, opposition parties and drawing room analysts have proposed numerous theories to answer these questions based on intra-party politics, the ministers’ failure to meet specific targets and a scarcity of talent needed to deliver in line with the economic vision of the premier. But why did we need these theories? Surely a government of the people, elected by the people, and for the people could explain its actions through the numerous media briefings it holds, the constant Twitter updates from its ministers and the prime minister’s frequent addresses to the nation. The power to control the narrative lies with the government. Unfortunately for the PTI, its domestic narrative building relies more on the activities of the opposition and less on an analysis of its own performance.
It is not that our Scheherazade has lost the art of telling stories. One need only look at the India-Pakistan crisis in February 2019 to see the PTI government in action. It won the international community over through its control of the narrative surrounding peace, an extension of cordial relations through the release of Abhinandan, and the precise use of its technological infrastructure to relay pictures of damaged forestry on the site of Indian attacks. So if the government recognises the power of stories based on verifiable facts in the international arena, why has it been so reluctant to deploy the same in the domestic realm? No ministers or spokespersons have come forward to explain the cabinet reshuffles or the indicators of performances used.
The lack of persuasive stories arises out of the PTI’s choice of labelling its opponents not as political rivals, but as sources of ‘evil’ in Pakistan of which the society must be purges entirely to set the country on the path to progress. It attributes this vision to a majority of the population. It has interpreted the vote it got in 2018 to signify a holy pledge from the people that cannot sway despite the rising costs of structural adjustment policies, steep inflation rates and the rising uncertainty surrounding the Covid-19 pandemic. This explains the lack of explanations from the government offices. But history teaches us that there is no such thing as permanent public support. Public support comes from issue momentum and economic conditions and is subject to a variety of socio-religious preferences. If people can reject both the PPP and the PML-N in the 2018 elections despite their extensive political history, what guarantee does the PTI have against a similar withdrawal of support?
The people who sat in Islamabad’s D Chowk for three months, listening to these stories, and were persuaded in 2018 to vote for the PTI, are now experiencing a reality that is starkly different from what they were encouraged to expect. While the stories of corruption and accountability still hold some sway, given the media and the NAB trials of many including the Sharifs and Jehangir Tareen, this narrow issue-focused politics is unsustainable in the long run. Had Scheherazade told the same story each night or – taking the king’s benevolence for granted - refused to tell any at all, she would not have survived the 1001 nights, let alone lived happily ever after. The PTI’s failure to define a clear discourse on its economic, social and religious policies threatens to destroy the social fabric of the state and makes it clear that its stories, or the lack thereof, would be a weak points in its next election campaign.
The writer is a research associate with a master’s degree focused in public policy from University of Warwick and BSc from the London School of Economics in politics and international relations