A while back, I met one of my “assets” in a dimly lit Indian restaurant. By this, I mean someone whose conversation I overheard, and who I was brazen enough to engage in unsolicited dialog before the suggestion was made that we continue on another occasion. In our brief discussion, which was encouragingly empty of hyperbolic rhetoric, he opined that the governing class of Pakistan was utterly ruthless in the sacrifice of their citizens to their games of power. In the span marked by the Partition, till the booting of Asif Ali Zardari, this seems like a fair assessment. But against this backdrop, there have nevertheless been meaningful gyrations. The Indo-Pakistani War of 1971 led to the radicalization of the country, with replacement by General Muhammad Zia-ul-Haq of secular public schools with a madrassa system of education. The public literature mentions this as a mere footnote, but it was, in fact, a turning point in the evolution of Pakistan, a shrouding of all the positive things the West admires, replaced by something strange, intolerant, and now understood to be dangerous and violent.
In Pakistan, as with Saudi Arabia and Iran, there is a dichotomy of life between the 1% and the masses. The 1% are privately western, the masses in thrall to religious ideology. In Pakistan, the 1% are also the political class, who duke it out with power structures rooted in the madrassas. The situation recalls a lawyer joke: “How can you tell a lawyer is lying? Answer: His lips are moving.” Until recently, (there is nascent reform) it has been one of the one of the two ways a Pakistani politician of secular persuasion can deal with the 99%. The other way is exploitation of the national psychosis about India.
The sudden betrayal of one’s own slogans goes back to the beginning. Muhammad Ali Jinnah, the esteemed poet whose agitations were responsible for the Partition of India, decreed immediately afterwards that the new Pakistan was to be a secular state. His wish did not carry well with the masses who had just endured grueling and deadly migrations to be with their own. But it is an interesting template, to use religion as a tool, and drop the tool when the job is done. In Pakistan, it has been utilized so much, it makes election promises here in the U.S. appear, by comparison, completely genuine.
Perhaps you are familiar with the concept of national psychosis in the example of North Korea, which is “convinced” that the U.S. is out to destroy it. To gauge the severity of Pakistan’s affliction, one need only examine the country’s national defense doctrine. According to their strategists, the only, and very real danger to Pakistan’s existence, is India. If, in spite of Pakistan’s nuclear deterrent, India invade Pakistan, perhaps in a desperate ploy to add to their population, the Pakistani Army is to “take to the hills”, meaning, the rolling green verdant paradise of Afghanistan, until such time as they can counterattack and drive the Indians out. This insane doctrine is one of the reasons why Pakistan’s cooperation with the U.S. in Afghanistan has been so frictional. While the U.S. doctrine is that Afghanistan is actually a viable country (in itself a delusion), Pakistan regards it as a convenient hideout.
It does sound a lot like Hitler’s Alpine Redoubt. With a strategy like this, one expects to find Pakistani flying saucers hidden under the Antarctic icecap, or on the far side of the moon, ready to wreak havoc on the hapless Indians. Yet in spite of best efforts, such as the Mumbai massacre, India has never taken the bait. India refuses to be part of the delusion.
When insane asylums were inhabited by picaresque inmates, before psychoactive medications deprived them of the ability to tell their stories, it was noted that the insane generally had a single preoccupation. So the India psychosis may, in fact, be protective against other delusions. The west of Pakistan, and the bordering east of Iran, is split by an area with a dominant ethic identity: Balochistan, occupied by speakers of a kind of old Persian. Although the Balochi are primarily Sunni, there is a significant Shiite minority. There may be a potential for Iran to stir the pot in this region, creating a problem analogous to Jammu and Kashmir on the opposite, west side of Pakistan. This would be unfortunate for a country determined to concentrate on their national psychosis.
So, when Saudi Arabia approached this basket case of a country for help, Prime Minister Sharif uncharacteristically soft-pedaled it to the parliament, who voted no. But this does not mean what it says. In Pakistan, nothing does. As with Iran, in Pakistan, the commonplace concept of a single hierarchy of power does not apply. Here in the U.S., initiatives that result in action are subject to determinative procedures. There has always been a conflict between executive and legislative powers, but, with some notable exceptions, it has been open.
My “asset” in the dimly lit Indian restaurant, whispered, “When, in the U.S., your president says something should be done, something actually happens. Not so in Pakistan. He could decree that this thing be done, or that thing, and nothing will happen!” I swallowed this truth with some morsel colored green that had the scorch of mustard and chili. I furtively glanced at the walls, wondering if they had ears. Actually, it was hard to get a waiter even if you yelled at the top of your lungs. And I value my sources so highly, I wish I had his phone number.
The reverse is also true. The civilian government has no control over the military and the ISI. The only bonds are interests that sometimes coincide. In reality, Pakistan has two governments: one civilian, and one military. Each has something to offer the other. The civilian government has vote machines that tamp domestic violence. The military realizes the external threat, which, in this fractious nation, is the primary bond. The external threat-psychosis underpins the national identity.
The vote of Pakistan’s parliament limits, but does not exclude participation. The Pakistani Army would have been quite an asset in Yemen. It has been thoroughly blooded, and as British offspring, has elements of internal motivation lacked by others of the region. But their presence is somewhat interchangeable with Egyptian forces of similar quality and heritage.
The vote is not a barrier to the other need, for sealift. The Saudis would like to move massive components to Aden, which is the only significant port, and economic center, in Yemen. Inconveniently, most of the world’s ocean shipping is by huge container ships, which require cargo to be prepackaged in bus-size containers. While anything can be containerized, it’s geared towards industry-standard needs. Shipping a few motorized battalions is not one of them. What the Saudis really need is something like the Military Sealift Command, but as the giant now has feet of clay, this seems unlikely. Pakistan’s cargo fleet is negligible, but Karachi is a major port of call for small (in modern terms) general cargo ships that ferry modest loads around the Arabian Sea. Pakistan’s ISI can disburse Saudi money, and these ships can be hired to transport Saudi military units to Aden.
They will be joined there by Egyptian troops. This is one game the House of Saud cannot afford to lose.