ISLAMABAD // Stressed to the limit by hardship and hopelessness, the community structures that for about 60 years have been the glue binding Pakistani civil society are fast unravelling. The "whys" of society's demise are well documented. Take your pick from: an inherent culture of corruption and nepotism within government; denial of political aspirations by a parade of military despots; the indiscriminate population growth of the 1970s and 1980s, and the influx of weapons, narcotics and jihad from Afghanistan. As the country continues its descent into political turmoil and subsequent economic crisis, the typical working-class Pakistani is faced with a stark choice between ruthlessness and desperation. The distant observer of this front line state can find clues in statistics and assessments regularly published by the international agencies keeping Pakistan afloat. The most representative ones include: one-third of the population lives under the poverty line and is perpetually undernourished; school enrolment is declining because food now accounts for 70 per cent of household expenditure among the poor, and the number of debt slaves (bonded labourers) has topped 10 million, out of a population of 170 million. Economic suicides are common enough to no longer warrant a place in the news headlines. What those reports do not speak of is the associated decline in moral values. Among the most alarming symptoms is a massive increase in prostitution, until the 1990s a practice confined to a handful of red-light areas in urban centres and passed from generation-to-generation by Kanjar, a clan that claims descent from the courtesans of the Mughal Court. Increasingly, adolescent girls from impoverished families are sent away to work by parents who demand they pay for their living and finance the upbringing of siblings. Society is complicit because of a prevalent state of denial, despite the publication of several groundbreaking books. Fauzia Habib, author of a 1989 book titled Taboo has earned both international accolades and domestic brickbats. Those are depressing developments, especially for foreigners associated with Pakistan long enough to realise that this heralds the disintegration of societal cultures. I was introduced to the country by a Pakistani stepfather in 1975 at the impressionable age of eight. The experience was enchanting, if often bewildering, for a child whisked from working-class south London to a desert village, 50 kilometres and three hours by jeep from the nearest paved road and electricity supplies. My first memory is of "Babaji", staff in hand at the head of a crowd of villagers, waiting to welcome his English daughter-in-law and two white grandchildren. We were all enveloped in a loving crush from absolute strangers, whose cheerful warmth could not have contrasted more with the scowls left behind in London. Curiosity sometimes got the better of the villagers: some women could not help but gawk at mem sahib and even lifted her shirt to see if the torso was as white as the face; a band of kids would stalk as I headed to the fields to converse with nature, wondering if the races shared digestive processes. But the love was unadulterated and enough of a lure for Pakistan to become my adopted home, with later-life professional assignments around the world being little more than excursions of necessity. Gladly accepting my stepfather's offer of school at Aitchison College - a luxuriant public school in Lahore built by the Raj - I learnt the language and came to understand why the residents of Chak doh-so-paanj Murad (village No 205 on Murad Canal in central Punjab province) were so cheerful, despite their obvious, abject poverty. They were the targets of an informal process of cultural indoctrination. Parents and the local maulvi sahib (community cleric) would titillate them with scary accounts of numerous omens of an impending day of divine judgment and graphic descriptions of sinners' suffering. Then schoolteachers and educated, urbanite relatives would impart a welcome sense of pride and relief that they were citizens of the world's only purpose-made Muslim state. That heady mix of religious and patriotic pride injected an optimistic sense of destiny and common patriotic purpose, and underwrote the moral writ of family and community elders, hence ensuring the stability of society as a whole. The "whys" listed above have put an end to that and the warm smiles that once graced the collective Pakistani visage have been usurped by scowls and hateful stares. In the past year, the windows of various schools in Lahore and Islamabad attended by my three children have been shattered by the shock waves from nearby suicide attacks. They have even had to clamber over back walls to escape stick-wielding madrassah students and have not seen a McDonald's Happy Meal in months because of brand-associated risk. Wrapped in cotton wool, they are sinking into depression - helped by nine hours of power cuts daily. I, too, now am faced with stark choices. But unlike my neighbours, coincidence of birth gives me the option of reaching for the chicken switch. * The National
Hope gives way to despair in Pakistan
Periodic assessment reports do not speak about decline of moral values or of young girls pushed into prostitution to help family needs.
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