The Pakistan Supreme Court did something last week that knocked the daylights out of many of PM Nawaz Sharif’s nemeses.
A special five-member bench of the apex court headed by Chief Justice Anwar Zaheer Jamali, hearing the infamous Panama Leaks scandal that has Nawaz and his progeny at its epicentre, suddenly adjourned to not meet again, perhaps ever, or at least not until early January next year. The ostensible reason given for the unexpected hiatus is the end-of-year holiday break for the overworked justices of the court.
The decision would have been palatable to Nawaz’s myriad detractors and adversaries—among them the cricket legend Imran Khan who moved the court in the first place with his petition against Nawaz family’s allegedly gross corruption and money-making—had it not come wrapped in a bombshell.The bombshell was the court’s two-pronged caveat appended to the break: one, the court may appoint a “special commission” headed by one of its own judges to look deeper into the nitty-gritty of the scandal; two, that the fresh hearing of the case, in the new year, may not be heard by the same bench as now.
The incumbent chief justice is to retire on December 30, which would be a genuine reason for a change in the bench’s complexion. But what miffs and confounds pundits is the prospect of a reshuffle among the rest of the five-member bench.
Is there really any justification for a make-over of the bench that has heard the case so far?
The pundits’ angst has been heightened by hints dropped by the Supreme Court itself, that the case may be heard afresh, by the new bench. In other words, all that has transpired in the context of the case thus far may become a forgotten episode and a fresh start may take the case back to square one.
What irks a befuddled mass of opposition politicians, jurists, legal experts et al., in particular, is the whitewash a fresh start may inflict on a lot that has so far transpired in the hearing but which are now in imminent danger of being wiped out.
In the proceedings so far, a mountain of evidence has been produced by the petitioners who have pointed the finger at Nawaz and his progeny for failing to justify the source of money which enabled the “first family” of Pakistan to buy not just one but four posh apartments in the most expensive part of London.
Neither the money trail has been established by the family nor has it spoken in one voice when asked what properties were purchased. In fact, in television interviews in London, Nawaz’s eldest son Hussain has spoken of other properties in London and elsewhere, held in the names of other clan members, including Nawaz’s better-half, Kulsoom Nawaz.
What seems beyond any reasonable doubt is that Nawaz himself and his children too, have been lying through their teeth. According to the election laws of Pakistan, a member of the parliament—any member—caught lying or concealing a truth is guilty of a culpable offence and must be disqualified from holding any office of state.
Critics, tongue-tied because of compulsive obeisance to the court, however argue that in this case, it’s the country’s prime minister who has been lying from the floor of the parliament.
Why then must the apex court still defer to him and be seen dragging its feet on what to most is an open-and-shut case?
What is least palatable to Pakistanis, layman or a well-informed intellectual junkie alike, is another commission, irrespective of who constitutes it or who heads it.
Commissions are bad legacy in the collective wisdom of Pakistanis and have left a bitter, very unsavoury taste in their mouths. It may seem an exaggeration, but Pakistanis have, well and truly, developed an allergy to commissions of any hues or stripes.
Their fear syndrome is not baseless. Starting with the early years of Pakistan, in the 1950s, an umpteen number of commissions have been formed, sometimes, literally at the drop of a hat.
However, to the abiding dismay of the people and intelligentsia alike, hardly any of the commission reports have succeeded in seeing the light of the day.
The most important and sensitive of such mystifying commissions was the one formed to probe the dismemberment of Pakistan—yet another anniversary of which is going to haunt the Pakistanis, come December 16—in 1971 with the birth of Bangladesh.
The report of that commission too was buried in the Byzantine cloisters of Pakistan. Some excerpts of it were leaked in some sections of the Indian news media years later, causing a great commotion among Pakistani pundits and embarrassment in the ruling elite.
Why the apex court is intent on dragging its feet is no mystery to the well-informed, or even the layman. Procrastination of the court, even by default, would favour Nawaz and buy him time. That’s exactly what he has been striving for from day one of the scandal going public.
Pakistanis of most persuasions may expect a lot from their top judiciary, but they are also keenly aware of top courts being swayed, more often than not by an arcane “law of necessity” which has, on many an occasion in the past, benefited the establishment at the expense of people’s expectations and dictates of justice. They fear that a history they would much rather prefer putting paid to is threatening to repeat itself in this case too.
What’s also left unsaid, but conveyed in innuendoes, is the provenance of the incoming chief justice. He too is from Nawaz’ city, Lahore, and being clannish is an established Pakistani trait. No guesses required.
Karamatullah K Ghori
Former Pakistan diplomat
Email: k_k_ghori@hotmail.com