A Reading List for the Prime Minister
By Dr Adil Najam
Lahore, Pakistan
I am not sure if Prime Minister
Nawaz Sharif is much into reading
books. If not, this would be a good time
to start. I realize that the prime minister’s plate is full, but having many important things to do is never a good excuse for not reading. To the contrary, some serious reading is called for precisely because he has so much on his plate, because so much of it is of such great importance, and because books – especially time-tested ones – can speak truth to power like no political hanger-on ever will. For all these reasons and more, might one suggest that the prime minister – maybe for just an hour each night – turn off the wretched self-referential television, ignore the piled up files wrapped in red tape, and snuggle into his comfy chair with a good book and a cup of steaming Kashmiri chai. The possibilities of what to read are, of course, endless. However, here are just a few suggestions culled from across the world to start with. An obvious, but not easy, author to begin with is Saadat Hassan Manto. His centenary, celebrated last year, yielded a rich collection of books on his life and works and has made his own writings more accessible in original as well as translation. A much-belated Nishani- Imtiaz has even tried to bestow upon him what he was denied in his life: a badge of statesponsored respectability. Yes, there will still be some who will feign shock at seeing Manto on the prime minister’s bedside; they should be ignored. They will argue that Manto was obscene; they are wrong. Manto was never obscene; the realities he wrote about sometimes were. It is a pity that 65 years down the road those realities have barely changed. Nearly half a century in his grave, Manto can still explain those realities to the prime minister better than any member of his cabinet will, or can. But that is just one reason to read Manto. Another reason is foreign policy. In Bishan Singh’s final death cry in the story Toba Tek Singh, Mr Nawaz Sharif will find one of the most poignant and heartwrenching arguments for normalization of relations with India. That argument screams out in so much of what Manto has to offer. But not always in dark and tragic ways. The wit, whimsy and wisdom of his letter to Pandit Nehru and of his nine letters to Chacha Sam is even more endearing to today’s Pakistani sensibility than it was when originally written. One suspects that they will elicit more than a chuckle from the prime minister. Consider, for example, this gem addressed to Uncle Sam: “I think the only purpose of [US] military aid is to arm these mullahs. I am your Pakistani nephew and I know your moves. Everyone can now become a smart ass, thanks to your style of playing politics.” Foresight indeed! For even more foresight, a reading of the classics is not just obligatory but necessary. Machiavelli’s The Prince would be an obvious choice, but in its now clichéd form there is little that it offers that every Pakistani does not inherently know. The Arthashastra by Kautilya (Chanakya) is a masterpiece on statecraft, economic policy and military strategy from the 4th century BC Mauryan era, but that entire chapter of our own history has been so disowned by us that even suggesting it seems futile. The Muqaddimah by Ibn Khuldun could, however, be just the perfect next read for Pakistan’s prime minister. Ibn Khuldun’s principal preoccupation is how the powerful rise to – and then fall from – power. A question that Mr Nawaz Sharif can identify with. Mr Sharif will find a kindred soul in Ibn Khuldun who blends his discussions of social cohesion with economic liberalism. The merchant is revered by Khuldun, although he may not have factored what happens when merchant becomes ruler. Taxation as an instrument in the exercise of power is another central concern for Khuldun, and the prime minister might want to pass on those chapters to Mr Ishaq Dar. But most of all one suggests Ibn Khuldun to the prime minister because the Muqaddimah has a fine understanding of the realpolitik of tribalism. Khuldun has lived, practiced and tried to understand what he calls ‘the scorpions of intrigue.’ His description of the same reeks of relevance to the Pakistani reader. He is a political theorist of the best kind. One who understands political practice. Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif, meet Ibn Khuldun. Of course, if the prime minister insisted on more contemporary work I would happily recommend two of the most readable academic books I know of by two people I consider my teachers: The Strategy of Conflict (1960) by 2005 Nobel winner in economics, Thomas Schelling; and The Evolution of Cooperation (1984) by political scientist, Robert Axelrod. Both were conceived in the context of the Cold War and both would give the prime minister or his foreign minister – whenever one is actually appointed – much to think about in terms of dealing with our many scarred relationships: India, Afghanistan, Iran, US, even Saudi Arabia and China. Let me suggest, next, something of a markedly different flavor. Orhan Pamuk, Turkish novelist, winner of the 2006 Nobel Prize in Literature and author, amongst others, of My Name is Red and Snow. I suggest Pamuk not only because I recognize the affinity that Mr Nawaz Sharif and his younger brother have for all things Turkish but because Pamuk’s essential subject is a disquiet that seems to define our neighborhood: Pakistan, Turkey, Syria, Egypt, and more. I myself began reading Pamuk only recently. His landscapes are not as bloody nor as noisy as our own towns and cities have become. But the underlying tension that defines his world is not far removed from our own angst. His questions are our questions. Questions of identity. Of struggles between modernity and tradition. Of assimilation and rebellion. Of cultural clashes and confluence. Questions, ultimately, of divided societies. Pamuk can engage the Pakistani reader – maybe even the Pakistan prime minister – precisely because his landscapes are so removed yet recognizable, his ambience so much quieter but no less turbulent, his metaphor so different yet familiar. Precisely because we do not have to wade through the gory of the daily headline to unearth the underlying anguish of society, we find ourselves confronting nuances of our own plight that we had otherwise overlooked. My final suggestion is not a book at all. It is a movie. The 1957 world classic, 12 Angry Men.
Twelve jurors – debating the fate of a young man charged with murdering his father – start out leaning towards a nearly unanimous guilty verdict. But a single dissenting juror (Henry Fonda) unleashes an angry conversation on societal prejudice, decision-making, leadership, reasonable doubt, innocence and guilt, and ultimately on the meaning of justice. Why might one want the prime minister of Pakistan to watch this movie? Because there are few topics more important to the Pakistan polity and society today than the meaning of justice; and there are few intellectual tools that force one to unravel this meaning better than 12 Angry Men. In fact, might one suggest that the prime minister makes a Movie Night out of this one. Invite his whole cabinet, certainly the chief justice, and maybe even some opposition leaders. Good food would help too. So many good things could come out of such an act of bonding. Maybe a conversation on how we, in our own context, can learn to deal with difference. Maybe even some good suggestions for the prime minister for further reading. (The writer has taught international relations and diplomacy at Boston University and at the Fletcher School of Law and Diplomacy and was the vice chancellor of LUMS)
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