Who is behind the Hazara unrest?

Part of the reason the Sooba Hazara issue is not going to go away very soon is that it has in fact been around for a long time. Beyond the Hazarewals' resentment of slights (both real and perceived) and the fear of becoming dominated by another ethnic group, however are deeper issues. A regional Hazarewal identity wasn't galvanized simply on the back of the 18th Amendment. It is rooted in several other processes and events.

One of its roots is how Hazarewals perceive the history of Pakhtun nationalism, and its relationship with, at first the idea of Pakistan, and later, the Pakistani state. Hazarewals see themselves as being among the most instrumental groups in the formation of Pakistan, because they defeated the referendum held in 1947 to decide on the fate of the NWFP. Pakhtun nationalists loyal to the Frontier Ghandi, Khan Abdul Ghaffar Khan, lost that referendum, and have since, in different shapes and forms, sought to assert their Pukhtun identity within the fabric of Pakistan. Many historical accounts in fact openly question the validity of the referendum itself, both because of an alleged British bias, and because Congress (and therefore many Pukhtun nationalists) boycotted the process. Of course, given that such nuance barely makes its way into objective analyses of the situation, it is unlikely to have any sway in an uber-sensitive Hazara. Many Hazarewals still see the assertion of Pukhtun identity within the framework, and from the lens of, the contentious battle for Pakistan in the 1940s. To them, they are the backbone of Pakistani identity in the province formerly known as NWFP.

There is also an unmistakable element of class conflict that is fuelling the Sooba Hazara narrative. Though the umbrella coalition for Sooba Hazara is no more than a month old, an exclusively Hazarewal political narrative pre-exists the current inflammation in the region, through the Hazara Qaumi Mahaaz (HQM), which was established in 1987 by Advocate Asif Malik. Though Malik passed away in 2008, his followers are now buoyed by the surge in the popularity of a message they've been propagating for nearly a quarter of a century--a separate province. The rhetoric they use however is linguistic and ethnic only peripherally. Instead, according to Tariq Abbasi (vice president of HQM), the real foundation for a Hazarewal identity politics is that since the 1985 elections, "the traditional political elite of Hazara, (exclusively Muslim League) has always sold out the social and political interests of the people". Though the Muslim League enjoys an organic and historical dominance in the region's politics, signing up to the name Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa is seen, certainly for the near term, as suicidal for Muslim Leaguers. The reason is simple. The very basis of the Muslim League's strength in Hazara is rooted in the 1947 conflict between Pakhtun nationalists (the forebears of today's ANP) and the Muslim nationalists (the forebears of today's PML). Sardar Mehtab Khan Abbasi and the entire spectrum of the N League are seen to have sold out the multi-ethnic, and Muslim nationalist central nervous system of the NWFP, by endorsing the linguistic and ethnic re-naming of the province. For an angry Hazara populace, this time Nawaz Sharif has gone too far.

Linguistic and ethnic arguments for Sooba Hazara are also important. Not so much in the formation of a singular Hazarewal identity, but in the formation of a linguistic and ethnic counter-factual to the idea of Pukhtunkhwa--the notion of the Frontier being the "Home of the Pakhtuns". Hazarewals are not a distinct ethnicity. A majority speak Hindko, but they also speak Pushto, Kohistani and in parts Gojri and Potwari. Whereas the opponents of Sooba Hazara see this as a mortal weakness of the argument, the proponents see it as one of its greatest strengths. Mushtaq Ghani, one of the local PML-Q bosses in Abbotabad, says the entire basis for opposing the name change is to stay far clear of "lissaniat" or linguistic politics. The multiethnic nature of the coalition for Sooba Hazara is consistent with that fact.

Journalist Saleem Safi, who has been following the travails of NWFP politics for more than a decade, says that a critical part of the argument for a Hazara province is the same argument all that all provincialism in Pakistan seeks to co-opt. That is, the administrative viability of the proposed province. Hazarewals lay claim to a large majority of the share of Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa's revenue on the back of the Hattar Industrial Estate, the numerous dams in the division and the timber industry.

Ultimately, the demand for Sooba Hazara and the sense of seething resentment have to be accepted as part of the fabric of Pakistan's emerging democratic narrative. We don't have to embrace every aspect of this multiethnic, multilingual and multifarious narrative. In fact, no single Pakistani can. When this democracy puts out one fire (say by renaming a ridiculously monikered province) another fire will be ignited. In accepting that Hazara's people are largely unhappy with the name Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa, we must also accept that counter-narratives to this unhappiness do exist.

The most pertinent might be the almost "je ne sais quoi" feeling expressed by a majority of the Pashto-speaking Pakhtuns that I spoke to about this issue. Quite rightly, ANP supporters are asking (in some cases with hurt feelings) why such a joyous moment in Pakhtun identity's short history in Pakistan has been stained by this degree of antagonism. A land-owner from Charsadda (with no declared ANP sympathies) was blunt, asking how a minority group could dictate the name that a majority wanted to give to their province. To supporters of the Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa name, this is not about the Hazara. It is about the Pakhtuns.

Given the consistency with which Hazara has produced chief ministers for NWFP (as many as seven of sixteen since 1947), how can the people of Hazara claim to be frozen out of the provincial discourse? By claiming to be victims of collusion between elite political groups, of course (mostly led by Nawaz Sharif's regional proxies).

But the elite capture argument goes only so far. All of Pakistan is elite-captured, and so Hazara is not unique on that front. More importantly, if the people of Hazara have been so deeply let down, so consistently by their representatives, why then do they keep electing them to office? Sardar Mehtab Abbasi, who is now widely reviled in Abbotabad and Haripur, might be done as a politician. Then again, that bold prediction has been made about every other politician in the country. Like cats, our pols have nine lives (sometimes, God bless them, even more). At a roadside tea shop in Haripur, an old man was sure this was the end of Nawaz Sharif in Hazara, saying "There was once a time that we would vote 'sher' even if there was a donkey running on that symbol. Today, we wouldn't vote for the 'sher' if he came here himself and roared". One of his friends then asked who they would vote for. After an uncomfortable silence, the answer was, "We'll find somebody".

Pakistanis of all linguistic, ethnic and socio-economic backgrounds should be able to relate. Dogmatic constitutionalism, which often de-legitimizes the articulation of smaller groups' aspirations, will never work in a large, diverse and weak democracy. Other, more compelling arguments for other, more "problematic" provinces are not far behind the demand for Sooba Hazara. The military and political elite will always begin by resisting any de-concentration of power in Pakistan. New provinces are anathema to the military, for whom centralization is fiscally critical. Less so to politicians, who will ultimately see new "opportunities" in new provinces. Rejecting the demand for any new province off-hand is myopic and stupid; embracing all of them, thoughtless and naïve. No matter what kind of a Pakistani you are, each case deserves careful and respectful consideration. The 18th Amendment is not the end of progress in Pakistan. It is merely the beginning.



(Concluded)



The writer advises governments, donors and NGOs on public policy.