An alternative theory of our institutions

Part - II

“Institutions matter”. For several years now, largely thanks to the work of Douglass North and his contemporaries, this mantra has helped shape part of our understanding of how countries work. The appeal of institutions is obvious. As the building block for understanding where countries are coming from and predicting where they may be headed, institutions help us believe more credibly in the power of collective agency, above the will of a man (or woman).

In the neutered, made-for-TV notions of democracy available in slideshows, listicles, and 140-character profundities, institutions are a great comfort. They serve to assuage the latent fear many of us have buried, deep, deep inside the Musharraf-loving, Zia-eulogising, Ayub-worshipping recesses of our consciousness. Iqbal has demanded that we summon the uber-mensch within us (you too, ladies!). Beckoning us to fly. This Westernised notion of a self-worshipping individual is masked only subtly with the cloak of Muslim religiosity that Iqbal has employed with perhaps more élan than anyone has managed to do since.

The contradiction between the individual and the institution is not a trivial matter. Despite his important contribution to the conversation about institutions through ‘The Origins of Political Order’ and ‘Political Order and Political Decay’, Francis Fukuyama has struggled to choose a clear side between the primacy of the individual versus that of institutions. In January 2012, as he watched Hungary adopt a series of measures that actively represented a corrosion of democracy in that country, he challenged the notion of institutions being able to withstand the deceit, the gamesmanship and the naked ambition of an individual.

The man in question at the time was Viktor Orban, but the language used for Orban could easily be used for any number of individuals that seem to afflict Pakistan. Interestingly, Fukuyama argues against institutions that restrict individual agency too robustly (as he does in describing the checks and balances that limit presidential authority). Upon Donald Trump’s election as president, Fukuyama has been retroactively thankful that the institutions underpinning American democracy are in place, as they are.

It is not shocking that even an intellectual giant of Fukuyama’s stature is stumped by the pendulum between strong individuals (who act within the limits of compromised rationality) and strong institutions (that reduce the tendency for outlier behaviour, but therefore, also restrict the capacity for transformational change). If there is one thing one can learn from the literature on economics, psychology and politics, it is that the caveat of context is a blushes-mitigator. But it isn’t so easy to locate Pakistan, either on the larger historic scale, or even in terms of this week’s headlines.

On the one hand, it is clear that one individual (Prime Minister Muhammad Nawaz Sharif) and his family have been able to game the system without any real challenge to their capacity to continue gaming the system. He will likely not suffer any dramatic damage due to the Panama Papers, but for millions of Pakistanis the case has confirmed our worst fears about the clarity of the Sharif family finances: at best, the money trail is problematic.

On the other hand, it is also clear that democratically elected leaders in Pakistan are simply not allowed to attempt anything remotely resembling transformational change in areas that really matter: like relations with India. Notwithstanding the clumsiness at Ufa, or the arrogance of the timing of the meeting with Sajjan Jindal, the propaganda against the prime minister has been unceasing and vicious. There are too many rumours of a nexus between the military and the 2014 dharna to dismiss offhand, and the tsunami of #ModiKaYaar nonsense that invades our smartphones, and idiot boxes alike is not coincidental. It is determined, concerted, and malicious.

When the subject is the assessment of democracy, we are goaded and nurtured into assessments of the failure of individuals and families. When the subject is the failure of dictatorship, we are encouraged to consider the imperatives of the times, the compulsions of institutions, and we learn to repeat phrases like ‘doctrine of necessity’, ‘ground realities’, and ‘unity of command’.

As every algorithm ever written wants, it is easy for us to fall into the trap of simplistic and false binaries. We can resist this compulsion of the binary. We can choose more wisely.

We can defend democratic ideals (and the democratic credentials of less than ideal leaders like PM Sharif) without endorsing the cynical manipulation of democracy in which decision-making is devolved only on paper, and all power flows from proximity to the king.

We can also defend the honour and dignity of the soldier, and pay homage to her or his sacrifices, without endorsing the interventions into the political process that the military continues to indulge in, sometimes implicitly, and sometimes explicitly.

The reason we must strive to avoid simplistic binaries is not fairness or equity or neutrality. All three are overrated. The reason we must strive for a nuanced understanding of Pakistani institutions is the inherent strength of these institutions. The weaknesses of Pakistani democracy are not contested: oligarchic tendencies, family dynasties, a malleable and ductile steel frame that become silly putty in Asif Ali Zardari’s hands, and a carving knife in Shahbaz Sharif’s. These are not contested. The weaknesses of the Pakistani military are also reasonably well known and beyond arguing: three explicit coups, and the cultivation of a national culture of distrust of politicians may seem like victories to some men in uniform, but they represent a betrayal of the people and the constitution.

The good news is that Pakistani institutions are stronger than they would seem. What is oft-deemed pejoratively as muk muka is a capacity for accommodation and arbitration that allows political actors to occupy and keep public space in the face of an onslaught of domestic and international machinations against the will of the Pakistani people. The Sharifs may not respect parliaments or cabinets, but when push comes to shove, they cannot do without them. This enhances and deepens the negotiating capacity of those bodies. Those bodies also serve as counterweights to the tendencies of other institutions to overstep their boundaries. The nature of democratic institutions means that the notion of an all-powerful prime minister is a fantasy to begin with: quite unlike the notions of all powerful chiefs of army staff (who have been all powerful), and even chief justices (who have tried to be).

Understanding the waltz between the individual and the institution can be instrumental in helping shape our understanding of why, for example, despite a significant growth in generation capacity, loadshedding will continue to take a toll this summer. Paul Joskow at MIT has written about electricity markets in developed and developing contexts and found that technical expertise often outweighs the institutional nuance needed for reforms to work. Distribution losses, payment crises and circular debt are not engineering problems. Joskow urges a more nuanced integration of institutional considerations in designing reform.

The same can be said for Pakistani democracy. The colonial legacy bequeathed to 200 million of Iqbal’s momins, includes common law, military and democratic institutions. Lant Pritchett warns of the multi-layered crises we expose ourselves to here in the developing world through isomorphic mimicry, or the adoption of structures from other places, without due consideration for our histories and trajectories.

For us to examine where change will come from in Pakistan, we must first acknowledge the change that has already happened. A strong military, a cantankerous political class and a judiciary that asserts itself periodically are not manifestations of weak institutions or a cautionary tale of isomorphic mimicry. They are a tribute to the bravery, the genius and the industry of the Pakistani: she is stronger than she looks.

So, the good news is that Pakistani institutions are strong. The bad news? The bad news is also that Pakistani institutions are strong. Change has come to Britain, to India, to the US, and – whether we like it or not – to France as well.

What kind of change is coming to Pakistan?

Concluded

The writer is an analyst and commentator.