THE 

torrential rains that have wreaked havoc across Karachi have

also exposed various political and social fault lines in the country’s
biggest city. Karachi has been hit by natural disasters before, yet
the effects of the disaster this time have been far more serious and
widespread.

It’s not only the slums and middle-class neighbourhoods that have suffered;
the more prosperous areas too have seen the same level of misery. There has
been a complete collapse of the civic infrastructure. Maybe, the scale of
disaster is much greater this time and the unprecedented spell of rain
worsened the situation, but the warning signs were there all along.

It is more than the breakdown of the already overstretched infrastructure; it is

the failure of the entire system of governance. The city of more than 20 million
people — much bigger than the population of many countries — does not have
an effective municipal body let alone an empowered city government to run it.
There are several authorities controlling different parts of the city. The
administrative chaos has become more pronounced with each spell of rain.
Predictably, the disaster has intensified the blame game and political
wrangling. Nothing could be more ridiculous than the controversy over who is
responsible for cleaning the gutter lines and addressing drainage problems in
the city. Despite the warning of urban flooding, almost nothing was done to
minimise the effect of the disaster.

Read: Now is the time to change how Karachi is governed

For some strange reason, the provincial government had taken over the
responsibility of solid waste management that is one of the most basic
municipal duties. That has also been one of the reasons for the city turning
into a big garbage dump.

It is a city that has been drenched in blood many times.

The PPP, which has been continuously ruling the province for more than 12
years, has rightly been blamed for many things that have gone wrong in the
province and particularly in Karachi. Not only did it not invest enough in
improving the city infrastructure, it also moved to curtail the powers of the
local government — a main reason behind the worsening plight of the city. The
party takes lot of credit for the passage of the 18th Amendment but it has
violated one of the latter’s most critical points, ie devolution of power to the
local government.
But it is also wrong to put the entire blame on the PPP government for the
mess. A large part of the city does not come under municipal jurisdiction.
Almost a third of it falls under the cantonment boards and the Defence
Housing Authority. Some parts also come under the federal government. All
that has contributed to the poor state of governance. Successive federal
governments have completely ignored infrastructure development in a city
which is the country’s economic lifeline.

Unsurprisingly, the PTI, which is the main opposition party in the province
and has the largest representation from the city in the National Assembly, has
upped the ante. There is also talk about the imposition of federal rule in the
city. That will certainly be a greater disaster. It is indeed a good sign that the
prime minister has offered to work with the provincial government to help
pull out the city from the crisis. It would require the cooperation of other
stakeholders too.

Surely, the restoration of economic life and infrastructure should be the top
priority, but there is also a need to see Karachi’s problems beyond the current
disaster caused by urban flooding. There is lot more to be done to make the
city more livable. Karachi’s development is also critical to the country’s
economic growth. The constant political battle between the federal
government and the province will make things more difficult.

For a long-term solution, there is a need for greater understanding of the city’s
political and social dynamics. Our political leaders need to see things beyond
the present. A major problem is the gap between perception and reality where
the city is concerned.

How would one define Karachi? The city means different things to different
people. With all its chaos and mayhem, it is the most vibrant city in the
country. Most who come here get a livelihood. People living in other parts of
Pakistan have some connection to this metropolis. It is the country’s economic
jugular and financial hub. But it’s also a city that has been drenched in blood
many times. It is a place where politics and crime mix. All kinds of mafias
operate here and in some cases they are more powerful than the state. Political
power means control over the land which is the main source of wealth.

No one knows exactly how many people live in this ever-expanding city. With
the constant inflow of economic migrants, the city’s population doubles every
15 years. It’s everyone’s city, but no one wants to take ownership. People from
different ethnic backgrounds and nationalities are settled here, yet it could not
fully become a melting pot. There are many cities within the city — socially,
and culturally different from each other.
Yet it has developed a certain character and dynamism that one does not see
in other cities. That invites both awe and fear. The population of the city is
undercounted to maintain a power balance in order to not disturb the status
quo. Karachi is the capital of Sindh, the country’s second biggest province. But
it seems to have little connection with the rest of Sindh except that it is the
seat of government in the province. The gap is widening with the influx of
population from other parts of the country.

The fast-changing demography of the city also keeps political dynamics in a

constant state of flux. Political parties as well as the security establishment
have long used the ethnic divide to serve their respective political ends. That
has to change if we really want to see the city develop its potential. These are
the fault lines that need to be dealt with.

The writer is an author and journalist.

zhussain100@yahoo.com

Twitter: @hidhussain

Published in Dawn, September 2nd, 2020

IT begins with the television anchors. As clouds gather over

Karachi they begin their strange song. The weather is going to
become ‘pleasant’, they sing in unison, their point pushed across by
stock films of flowers bending under the weight of raindrops, of
children playing in the rain. As the day progresses, they
recommend other things; everyone is ‘enjoying’ the weather, they
intone, pakoras and samosas and coffee are being eaten and drunk.
More children are playing in the rain.

This weird song of denial is sung with regularity every time rain devastates the
city; for every anchor or morning show host who sings it, a dozen more echo
the chorus, a parody of love and pakoras against the backdrop of utter
devastation. And it is utter devastation. The rain fell, and the lives of people in
the city — already precarious, already propped up by pieces of cardboard or
scrap metal — fell, and then flowed away in the toxic mix of industrial effluent,
raw sewage and rain water that has seeped into every nook and cranny.

“The months-long lockdown did not cause as much trouble and grief as this
one day of rain has caused,” complained one restaurant owner. After driving
through four to five feet of water, he finally managed to reach Nishat
Commercial Area where his restaurant was located. The basement was
flooded. In an adjoining restaurant, there was even more damage. Expensive
canning and packaging equipment was now completely soaked and sodden
and hence useless. Everywhere, shop owners were engaged in inventories of
the same sort, looking up and down flooded streets in the darkness that
enveloped the city for days.

There was no one to help, not the government in any case. In Clifton and the
Defence Housing Authority, city officials — who usually show up to examine
and question shopkeepers and business owners for even the slightest building
modification — had all disappeared. Also unseen were the police, the
municipal workers, the politicians. In sum, they had, like those citizens of
Pompeii who had advance knowledge of the impending eruption of Mount
Vesuvius, fled in a hurry. If the people left behind suffered and died, well, it
just was not their problem.

This weird song of denial is sung with regularity; a

parody of love and pakoras against the backdrop of utter
devastation.
It does seem worse than the months-long lockdown, not least because the
Covid-19 pandemic has not yet ended. The photos and videos of what the rain
wreaked on the low-lying areas (and seemingly Karachi is one massive low-
lying area) reveal people trying desperately to bail water out of their homes. In
one such video, a man was in tears trying to get a hold of a small pump that
would suck the water out of his home. Everything the family had collected for
the dowry of a daughter was damaged and destroyed.

Some citizens have tried to protest. On Monday, residents of Clifton and DHA
protested before the Cantonment Board Clifton. Days after the heavy rain,
many of them still did not have electricity in their homes. The rotting food in
refrigerators and freezers was much like the gutted city itself; one was no
longer fit for human consumption, the other no longer fit for human
habitation. Some are planning a lawsuit against the itinerant cantonment
boards and housing authorities. The effect of such a lawsuit, in my dismal
estimation, is simply that it may make the powerless feel somewhat powerful
for just a small moment. Beyond that, it will languish and rot like everything
else in this city of rain and romance.

The television anchors have moved on too. There is no apology for the lack of
warning, the fact that the crucial period before the storms could have been
spent spreading the message of citizen preparedness. Now, the terrible focus is
on a kind of disaster pornography where hapless citizens are pitted against
each other for whose personal tragedy is worse than the others. In the midst of
it all, of the gut-wrenching and heart-breaking accounts of children crouched
on tables or atop beds to get out of the rising water, are cooking oil
commercials showing feasts on a scale no one has likely ever seen. No matter
the cruel juxtaposition, no one appears to notice or care or cry.

The recovery and clean-up efforts are ever more dangerous because they are
forcing people into close proximity with each other during a pandemic that is
still ongoing. Nor is that the only risk; the vast amounts of stagnant water that
is everywhere has become an incubator of more diseases, such as dengue and
malaria, all growing in its dark depths about to start their own invasion of the
city. The good old days of one pandemic and one long lockdown are no more.
In their place is a fetid city, awash in parasite and poison and about to face
several pandemics.

It is time to let go of this myth of rain and romance. The inhabitants of a dying
and devastated city have no time for such pretensions. And since myth busting
is the call of the moment, let us also eliminate the word ‘resilient’ in any
sentence or tweet or anything else related to Karachi.

Those reading this column are unlikely to be able to help Pakistan’s largest
drowning city, but they can spare everyone living there the misery of having to
pretend that these cruelties wrought upon them must be worn as a badge of
honour. Hardship endured once or even twice produces resilience; the
relegation of one of the largest cities in the world to yearly destruction
produces only despair. If you’re looking for that, then the city has large stores
of it, awaiting distribution and disbursement to all those lucky Pakistanis who
get to eat pakoras and be romantic when water pours from the sky.

WHEN Imran Khan took over as prime minister in August 2018,

Pakistan’s economy was facing a twin-deficit crisis: the country was
haemorrhaging foreign reserves while the fiscal deficit was
burgeoning. Placing the economy into the proverbial intensive care
unit — an IMF programme — was the only option. Two years on, the
prime minister is celebrating a current account surplus of $424
million in July 2020, hailing that the “economy is on the right
track”.

In these two years, the PTI’s narrative has shifted from its opposition days.
Gone is the mantra that debts are bad for the economy, which makes sense
given that Rs11.2 trillion has been added to the debt burden in the last two
years. Today, the focus is on the current account but by doing so, the ruling
party is yet again repeating its past mistake of using one economic indicator to
bolster its economic narrative.

In simple terms, the current account represents the difference in exports of

goods and services and imports of goods and services, with transfers from
abroad, such as foreign aid and remittances, being included. A negative figure
means that the country owes money to the rest of the world that needs to be
paid back. While these payments can be made in the future by borrowing
today, eventually, the loans and interest has to be paid back (except when it
defaults, which is a different story).

Read: In truth, there is no indication that the economy is 'on the right track'

Developing countries often run current account deficits to build their

production capacity and improve productivity. This often occurs by importing
machinery from abroad, which is what Pakistan did in the last few years.
Faced with a crippling power crisis, the PML-N engaged China,
operationalised CPEC, and built large infrastructure projects, including power
plants and highways. The result: Pakistan ended up with surplus power, new
highways, increased debt, and a yawning current account deficit.

The underlying issue with the economy remains in place.

During that same period, a flawed policy of keeping an overvalued exchange
rate meant that imports were cheaper — good if you are importing machinery
— and exports became relatively more expensive — bad if you are an exporter.
The result was that while imports continued to mount, exporters found it hard
to compete. To bridge the gap, Pakistan borrowed money from international
markets. Eventually, this gap became unsustainable, just as the PTI came to
power in August 2018.

Yet another IMF programme became a necessity and the economy was put in
coma to save the patient. Interest rates were raised, the currency devalued,
inflation spiked, the economy went into a recession, and yes, the current
account deficit narrowed and is now in surplus.

But look a little closer and you will see that this decline in the deficit is largely
driven by a decline in the imports of two key items. From July-June 2018 to
July-June 2020, Pakistan’s imports of goods declined by nearly $13.5bn (24.7
per cent); $6.6bn (49pc of the total) came from machinery and petroleum
imports. The former is driven by an end to CPEC-related projects and the
latter by a decline in global energy prices. During the same period, exports of
goods declined by $1.8bn (7.4pc); $1.8bn (33pc) was due to a decline in textile
exports.

This shows that the underlying issue with Pakistan’s economy, ie the country’s
inability to export more goods and services to the rest of the world, remains in
place. With machinery imports declining, capital investments that can make
the economy more productive are being delayed. Given that Pakistan is an
energy-importing country, it continues to be exposed to the risk of a current
account shock should energy prices rebound.

Then there are other indicators worth paying attention to. As I wrote earlier,
persistently high inflation is reducing the real purchasing power of Pakistani
households. This has a two-fold effect: it softens demand in the economy as
households struggle to balance their budgets and it reduces savings. The latter
means that domestic savings fall, eroding the economy’s ability to finance
necessary investments through domestic savings and thereby increasing the
need for foreign borrowing to fund needed investments.

Private-sector credit uptake also indicates weak economic fundamentals:

despite a decline in interest rates, private-sector credit came in at negative
Rs110bn in July this year; in FY2020, banks lent Rs196bn compared to Rs
693bn in FY2019.

The uptick in remittances has helped improve the situation. But this uptick
may be short-lived as constrained growth in the GCC, EU, and the US erodes
the diaspora’s ability to continuously send money to their families.

Celebrating the current account surplus is akin to celebrating a gangrene-

ridden diabetic’s successful surgery. The economy has a long, tortuous path
ahead and without meaningful reforms, an uptick in growth and/or energy
prices will again raise the spectre of a mounting current account deficit.

THE British writer H.G Wells described it as “a quite wonderful

accumulation of white, black, brown, and yellow people, Asiatic
costumes and astonishing weapons … a great assembly in which
they swore undying hatred of capitalism and British imperialism”.

The event to which he was referring was the First Congress of the Peoples of
the East, summoned as a supplement to the second congress of the Third
International (Comintern), which had concluded its proceedings in Moscow a
few weeks earlier.
The “peoples of the east” assembled in Baku, the capital of Azerbaijan, 100
years ago this week: the congress got under way on Sept 1, 1920, a day after
ceremonial inaugural session jointly hosted by the Baku Soviet and the
Azerbaijan Trade Union Congress — punctuated rather too frequently, the
minutes suggest, by renditions of The Internationale.

Summons to the congress had been issued less than two months earlier,
directed towards “the enslaved popular masses of Persia, Armenia and
Turkey”. Those three territories, whose boundaries and fates were being
delineated in the confusing aftermath of World War I, were well-represented
in Baku, but there were also substantial delegations from Central Asian
components of the former tsarist empire, as well as small contingents from
India and China, and one from Afghanistan that included Hazaras and
Jamshedis.

A century-old congress still has some lessons for us.

In speeches and declarations, there are references to delegates from
Balochistan. The participants from India, both Hindu and Muslim, mostly
hailed from Peshawar, apparently, and included a couple of British spies. M.N.
Roy, a prominent presence at the Comintern’s second congress, had boycotted
the Baku congregation, dismissing it as “[Grigory] Zinoviev’s circus”, and had
instead travelled to Tashkent, where the foundations of the Indian communist
movement were laid.

His view was echoed by by H.G. Wells, who referred to the gathering as “an
excursion, a pageant”, and added: “As a meeting of Asiatic proletarians it was
preposterous.” Even John Reed, who attended as an American delegate — and,
according to his French counterpart Alfred Rosmer, inspired mirth at the
inaugural session by declaring: “Don’t you know how Baku is pronounced in
American? It’s pronounced oil!” — was bitter about the “demagogy and
display” he encountered and “the manner in which the native population …
had been treated”.

Intriguingly, one of the key themes that emerged at the congress related to
how “counter-revolutionary” bureaucrats ostensibly representing the
Bolsheviks were conducting themselves in the Russian east by reflecting the
racist attitudes of their tsarist predecessors and colluding with the most
reprehensible elements in society. A resolution to that effect, albeit signed by
only 21 of the around 3,000 delegates, openly critical of the activities of the
Cheka secret police, made its way to the central committee of the Communist
Party in Moscow and instigated an inquiry.
Lenin was adamant that the autonomy of nationalities and their right to
secede must mean what they implied, and was a critic of Great Russian
chauvinism. But the first Soviet commissar for nationalities, Stalin had a very
different mindset. He prevailed, and all too many of the luminaries at the
Baku congress — including Zinoviev, Karl Radek and Bela Kun — came to a
sticky end during his dictatorship.

However, despite the considerable extent to which Moscow’s foreign policy

changed under Stalin, he cannot primarily be blamed for the lack of follow-up
to the First Congress of the Peoples of the East. There was no second congress,
partly because one of the key British conditions behind a crucial trade deal the
following year between Moscow and London was that Russia must desist from
its propaganda in Britain’s colonies and regions of influence, especially India
and Afghanistan.

The idea behind the Baku congress was to guide rebellion in the British and
French colonies towards communism: it was reasonable to back national
liberation movements while recognising their bourgeois character, and never
losing sight of the fact that if power passed from the colonial power to the
national bourgeoisie, the toilers would continue to be oppressed, and the bulk
of profits would still flow to the erstwhile imperialist powers — a prescient
warning against 20th-century neocolonialism.

The Baku congress held out the prospect of a global Soviet federation, which
seemed less absurd a century ago than it does now, although it could still be
construed as a worthy ideal. Intriguingly, most of the delegates were Muslims,
including a few ulema, and the anti-imperialist struggle was frequently framed
in terms of a holy war — albeit ghazavat rather than jihad.

It may be all too easy to dismiss as a fatuous folly, but many of the debates
that raged at the congress — on topics ranging from women’s liberation in
Muslim societies to Zionism in Palestine — continue to resonate 100 years
later.