Wednesday, November 28, 2007

The Flying Lawyers of Pakistan

Today, dear readers, true to our commitment to understand the world and explain it to you – which is the same thing, actually – and despite the risk of sounding boring, we will try to understand the situation in Pakistan. Feel free to correct us. It's an exciting story.

It's a bit tricky, because we have to keep in mind that a president and a prime minister are two different things. But let's try.

President General Musharraf ran into trouble with the international community, that's basically the US, because he can't contain the tribes in his country. His country consists of tribes, not the other way around, but that is not an acceptable structure for the international community. His preventing tribes from assisting terrorists was the only thing that helped us forget that he was not a democratically elected leader or even a civilian one.

He was, of course, elected last October, which was inevitable, since the opposition boycotted the elections, only to challenge the outcome afterwards. When the judges tried to annul the result, they were sent home. Auf wiedersehen.

So Musharraf announced parliamentary elections (where a prime minister is elected), at the same time looking for a way to hijack those too, as anyone would do, or would wish they could do. To begin with, he gave potential candidates very short notice to prepare their papers. And then he needed a scapegoat. And he found it in Benazir Bhutto.

Bhutto had been living what seemed a nice and quiet exile's family life, her days as the prime minister of a corrupt government almost totally forgotten.

Not by her, it appears. When your father has been killed by politics, it must be difficult to let it rest. It's probably that sense of obligation to the dead. So she fell in the trap and negotiated an alliance with former enemy Musharraf, for the good of Pakistan. He pledged to step down as head of the army and be sworn in as a civilian president [that should be happening more or less as we speak]. Bhutto returned to Pakistan. The crowds cheered, the bombs exploded, the dead multiplied.

So Musharraf did not step down as head of the army at that moment, because the situation was getting out of control. He imposed state of emergency and sent Bhutto home.

He is a genius! Such a magnificent bastard!

Bhutto ended up in house arrest. All she had left was her phone. She called CNN every day at World News o'clock to denounce the actions of dictator Musharraf. But nobody cares anymore, because after her alliance with Musharraf her credibility is null.

Tu es foutu.

Oh yes, we saw the demonstrations. Who demonstrated? The lawyers. Academic education, you can't beat it. It was funny to watch how the police carried the protesting lawyers away by grasping them by all fours, and having them face the ground rather than the sky. They looked like little airplanes. It's the new thing, and it is genius, because it disables all important muscles that would allow the carried person to fight back with their arms, or by kicking. Not to mention, it makes the close proximity to the ground (and the possibility of a roughed up face) all too palpable.

Anyway, the new savior of Pakistan, we hear, is Nawaz Sharif, the person responsible for Pakistan's nuclear arsenal. Another exile wants to come back and save his country. Crowds are an addiction. Crowds rock. The estrogen rages, the testosterone flows, and we all are One – the loneliest number no more. The masses cheer, the bombs explode, the dead multiply.

Sharif is considering to boycott the parliamentary elections, where he will be a candidate. Go figure. Like the King of Jordan once said, Democracy means different things to different people. He probably knows what he's talking about.

Musharraf hasn't solved the Sharif problem yet. We have no idea what he'll do. It's a cliff hanger!


Speaking of thrillers, we've got two gorgeous movie suggestions for you!

In the tradition of Hitchcock one might say, a classic: “Gloomy Sunday” must have been (or should have been) sponsored by the Spanish Ministry of Tourism. Takes place in Mallorca, which we thought was a German colony, but it turns out to be a super gorgeous Mediterranean island. The song Gloomy Sunday is perfect and eerie.

May not be a Who Done It, but you may call it a How Done It and therefore a classic in an Agatha Christie sense: "Fracture". Roufa figured it all out mid-movie, but enjoyed it nonetheless.

Both projects have been excellently realized. Great camera too!

1 comment:

Frog the Dog said...

Hmmm, thank you for explaining: we understand it more now, but it still doesnt make sense!
Oh dear.
I really am not a political animal :) (hehe)