By Anwara Begum

WE CANNOT get away from our past; its grip on us is firm, unrelenting. As for the Bangladeshis, blood keeps dripping from our past into our present clouding our future. It is not just in Bangladesh that playing with the past has proved irresistible. The Germans have found it hard to escape their Nazi past, which came back recently to swallow Gunter Grass, the Americans’ slave past haunts the African-Americans as painful memories and the polity keeping dangerous fault lines alive. Our past – the long gone and the more recent – both have been kept alive by our politicians as well as those who customarily and easily malign politicians. The Awami League sees itself so much as a victim of the unjust past that it has passionately sought what in political science parlance is known as ‘memory justice’ (WJ Booth views trials for past atrocities as memory justice; see WJ Booth, ‘The Unforgotten: Memories of Justice’, American Political Science Review, December 2001, p 779) through a process of adjudication of crimes against the party that took place in 1975.
   We got used to thinking that it is only politicians who use wars, movements, and murders from the past to legitimise their political manoeuvres. But then the longest emergency in Bangladesh came and people who were not stigmatised by political labels began to speak about obliterating the past of this country. We thought, ‘Here is a regime with its supporters talking about constructing a bright democratic future and the impossibility of returning to the pre-January 2007 past; it will remain intoxicated by the brightness of that future and remain planted in the present. That would be really different, wouldn’t it?’ We felt the past would really be a foreign country as LP Hartley says at the beginning of his fascinating novel The Go-Between.
   That was not to happen. Playing with the past began with renewed vigour after January 2007. We were told that our past was all wrong; we did not do anything right in the past, our violent and corrupt past is responsible for our predicament as a nation. But there is so much hidden in the past! Our democratic constitution, the united movement for democratisation in the eighties culminating in the ouster of an autocratic government, our return to the original parliamentary government, maintaining a democratic regime – however imperfect – over a period of sixteen years under the leadership of two women and no less, our quickening pace towards the status of a middle-income country, a media becoming stronger and freer. All these are marks of glory that the Bangladeshis achieved through fierce and difficult struggle; these are our roses of glory. We should not be denied our red roses of glory.
   This was a new game with our past. We found out that it is not corrupt, rogue, belligerent politicians who play with the past, shamelessly using it for their own benefit. The past can be used by the opponents of these politicians; by those who are morally perfect, who do not have a single blemish on their character (that is positively a frightening revelation about a human being because we as human beings are imperfect creatures and embody so many flaws – moral and otherwise). I thought this new game involving our past would be one-dimensional: super honest elites confidently creating a people who have only a future (the present we had better not think or talk about!). The game is not to be one-dimensional after all. Another intriguing dimension has been added. We have been offered a sliver of the past that is worth remembering and worth emulating. In early July Professor Muzaffer Ahmad of TIB was shown by Bangla Vision on its CDL Shongbad Protidin in its quotation segment as saying that the parliamentary election could be held under a somewhat relaxed emergency. He added that there was a fine election under martial law in 1970; he thought if that election could be fine, an election under a relaxed emergency would be just as good. Professor Muzaffer Ahmad repeated the same theme in the opinion he gave to Prothom Alo (July 31, 2008). His statement on Bangla Vision is pregnant with meanings and carries allusions to our past on multiple levels which cannot be ignored.
   I was really surprised at the number of people who have been advocating continuation of the state of emergency and holding the parliamentary election under it. The more vehement has been the open and staunch supporters of the post-January 2007 regime. One of them is Abidur Rahman, the former editor of People, who enthusiastically declared on Trityo Matra, at the very end of August, that an emergency is the ideal condition which must be maintained. That is the more extreme position; Badiur Rahman, the former chairman of the National Board of Revenue and now writing for Jonotar Chokh, supported it more matter of factly saying some people were concerned that if the emergency was lifted the corrupt would become active once again (Jonotar Chokh, August 21, 2008); journalist Syed Badrul Ahsan gave muted support by juxtaposing his foggy thoughts about the emergency with his clear ideas that a successful election was held in 1970 under martial law in Pakistan. I started feeling that there would be no sensible person speaking against the emergency but the major two parties. Then they are not persons; and they are not considered sensible as collective entities either! I was somewhat relieved to see Asif Nazrul and journalist Matiur Rahman Chowdhury, on the NTV programme Ei Shomoy (September 3, 2008), suggesting that the emergency should be lifted in order to have a free and fair election. It must, however, be added that Naimul Islam Khan, on the same programme, kept insisting that a free and fair election could be held under a relaxed emergency.
   The two major political parties, the Awami League and the Bangladesh Nationalist Party, are both on record demanding the withdrawal of the emergency; they have made it clear that they would not participate in elections under a state of emergency. This has been the position of the BNP all along; the Awami League has clearly embraced the same position after participating in some local level polls. Bangladesh has now been under a state of emergency for almost twenty months. That the emergency should be lifted immediately is not only a constitutionally valid position but also a politically and morally correct position. Whether it was right to impose the emergency, to begin with, is an important question and I do not intend to deal with it here. It should, however, be underscored that the political parties, maligned as bands of unruly thugs who should be under a tight leash, are also the organisations that were able to govern Bangladesh for a period of sixteen years without needing a state of emergency. Both the parties should be given credit for that; they both faced strong waves of protests – the BNP had to deal with the Awami League’s caretaker government movement in 1995-1996 that brought life to a standstill for days on end; the Awami League was luckier being a more organised and older party and facing rather flashy road marches of protests by the street-weak BNP – none of the parties contemplated imposing an emergency. The longest emergency in Bangladesh has been supported by the moralists who promised to bring morality and goodness into governance through something that any constitutional expert or political science scholar would call immoral means. Democracy through undemocratic means – that is what has been attempted – something that scholars on democratisation would find ironic and, of course, impossible.
   That said can we try to understand what meanings Professor Muzaffer Ahmad’s thoughts carry? Not yet. To be able to even begin an effort to understand we must create the context and that requires finding out what a state of emergency really means as it is experienced by the people and also according to the documents that govern nation’s lives. This entails entering a document written in our past, our constitution. The past does not relax its grip, does it? Not even to allow a relaxed emergency.
   
   The meaning of emergency
   A state of emergency is not just a condition that makes life a little more difficult and a little more uncomfortable. Thinking that it is so or trying to make it so is politically and constitutionally a wrong position. An emergency is not natural, it is very unnatural and is declared under abnormal circumstances and makes life abnormal restricting citizens’ rights as it does thus destroying human dignity. Constitutions, as a rule, have tried to severely limit the power to declare a state of emergency. Just because a government thinks politics is very noisy and might get out of hand, it cannot declare an emergency or continue it for that matter. Constitutional experts and political science scholarship agree on that point.
   Countries usually declare an emergency when they face attacks or wars from outside forces. India declared four emergencies: in 1962 (war with China), 1964 (war with Pakistan), 1972 (involvement in Bangladesh liberation war), and in 1975 (an emergency because of internal instability and for which Indira Gandhi was punished by voters and ousted from power). Liberia faced what is known as the Complex Political Emergency or the CPE in 1990-1997 in the context of a complete breakdown of its state machineries because of ethno-political conflict. About 200,000 Liberians died during the CPE and large-scale displacement of population took place and the income lost by displaced people was about $4 billion (Quentin Outram, ‘Liberia: Roots and Fruits of the Emergency’, Third World Quarterly, pp 163-173). Outram believes the emergency did not improve the life of the Liberians. The state of Nepal declared an emergency on November 26, 2001, during its civil war against the Maoists. Kramer has this has to say about this emergency, ‘… democracy and human rights suffered badly under the state of emergency. At the same time, Nepal’s economy was on the verge of ruin.’ (See Karl-Heinz Kramer, ‘Nepal in 2002: Emergency and Resurrection of Royal Power,’ Asian Survey, Jan-Feb 2003, p 209). Sounds familiar to Bangladeshi readers?
   Sunil Khilnani’s statement should be enough to show how scholars oppose emergencies; he writes in a book review essay about Indira Gandhi’s emergency in 1975-1977, ‘…India’s free press was subject to stringent censorship, and leaders of the political opposition were arrested en masse. For almost two years, Gandhi, her son Sanjay, and his associates bullied and terrified their compatriots. It seemed that India had followed the lifecycle of so many other newly independent states as its youthful democratic ambitions sagged into midlife despotism and nepotism.” (Emphasis mine; see Sunil Khilnani, ‘India’s Unresolved Democracy’, Foreign Policy, Sept-Oct 2000, p 96). After 9/11, there was pressure in the United States to have long periods of emergency. Prolonged periods of emergencies with the approval of the US Congress was advocated by some (many readers may find it eerily similar to support for a long period of emergency in Bangladesh). Serious American legal scholars have opposed such ideas; for instance, Lawrence Tribe and Patrick Gudridge, in their lengthy and detailed study, opposed long periods of emergency and emergency in general – long or short. They do it mainly for three reasons: First, emergencies are no way of running government because governance is complex and difficult requiring an ongoing system in place. Second, they believe that an emergency entails suspension of basic rights and arbitrary powers given to the executive branch of government which invariably result in serious abuse; they worry about how ‘terrible things’ can be done in bracketed times of emergency without the governing elite not becoming ‘terrible people’. This means ‘terrible things’ are done during emergencies and the elites performing those deeds do turn into ‘terrible people’. The third reason they do not support emergency is more intriguing and more relevant for a developing country like ours. They call this reason ‘constitutional amnesia’. The memory of reasons given for arbitrary use of power lies in the subconscious of the elite and may be used to justify such power again in the future. Constitutional amnesia works in such a way that short periods of arbitrary power and the justification for it are more easily remembered than the longer periods of diffused and democratic distribution of power (Lawrence Tribe and Patrick Gudridge, ‘The Anti-Emergency Constitution’, The Yale Law Journal, June 2004, pp 1801-1870).
   We live in the twenty-first century and democracy has become more developed and more nuanced through the experiences of Third World and former communist countries and also through the struggle of women and ethno-religious minorities. The struggle for democracy also has intensified. Consequently, emergency powers have become a more salient issue as political development in many Third World countries and former communist countries in Eastern Europe can attest to. A look at the newer constitutions of the former communist countries can demonstrate how those who make constitutions have become more careful about emergency powers. These are more recent constitutions that were written in the last two decades of the last century.
   These constitutions have tried to limit the use of emergency powers by a single political actor by diffusing such powers. This makes it very difficult to declare an emergency. The East European constitutions provide for two models of exercise of emergency powers. The first is the parliamentary model and the second is the presidential model. Bulgaria, Hungary, Lithuania and Slovenia have followed the parliamentary model; Poland, Romania, Slovakia and one could argue the Czech Republic have adopted the presidential model of emergency powers. The Hungarian parliament can proclaim a state of emergency on its own but must do it with the vote of a two-thirds majority (article 19; specific information about East European constitutions are from Vanelin Ganev, ‘Emergency Powers and the New East European Constitutions’, The American Journal of Comparative Law, Summer 1997, pp 585-612, and Andras Sajo, ‘Reading the Invisible Constitution: Judicial Review in Hungary’, Oxford Journal of Legal Studies, Summer 1995, pp 253-267). In a fragmented parliament it would be almost impossible to declare an emergency. The constitution of Slovenia also gives the power to declare a state of emergency to the parliament but the parliament cannot do it on its own. The executive must decide that an emergency exists in the country and must request the parliament to declare a state of emergency. The Bulgarian constitution also provides for a request by the executive; it must request the parliament to declare a state of emergency. The Bulgarian constitution also provides for a request by the executive while the power to declare emergency is to be exercised by the representative body of the parliament. I agree with Ganev that all these constitutions have made the declaration of emergency contingent upon consensus that is difficult to achieve in a system that diffuses power.
   In the presidential model of emergency powers the East European constitutions have made it mandatory that the approval of the parliament must be involved. The Romanian constitution (article 99) requires that a state of emergency can be declared through a presidential decree which must be countersigned by the prime minister (similar to our constitution). The Slovak constitution (article 102) makes it more difficult for the president to declare a state of emergency by making that declaration to be based on a constitutional act. A constitutional act in Slovakia requires a three-fifths majority of the parliament to be enacted which is, again, difficult to obtain. It is important to note that the Czech constitution has no provision for the declaration of a state of emergency. But the parliament can give the president such power through a constitutional act passed by a three-fifths majority (see Ganev, 1997, p 590).
   What happens when the parliament is not is session or cannot function normally? That is also provided for and efforts have been made to prevent abuse of power or a prolonged exercise of emergency powers by the executive branch of the government. The Slovenian president can declare a state of emergency when the parliament is not in session but he must refer the issue to the representative body immediately. The Lithuanian constitution restricts the powers of the president more. S/he can declare a state of emergency when the Lithuanian Seimas, the parliament, is not in session but s/he is obliged at the same time to convene the highest representative body and refer the issue to it. The Hungarian constitution deals with the issue in a more elaborate fashion. It gives the power to the president to declare an emergency but limits his/her power to determine if reasons for an emergency exist. That must be done jointly by the speaker of the parliament, the president of the constitutional court, and the prime minister. This makes it almost impossible for the president to violate the underlying political consensus of the system. It should be mentioned that some East European constitutions prohibits any constitutional amendment during an emergency. I am sure readers can remember talks of constitutional amendments during this emergency in Bangladesh!
   If we look at older constitutions, for instance, of India, it also makes it difficult to declare and maintain an emergency by the president. Articles 352-360 of the Indian constitution deal with emergency powers (see Krishna Tummala, ‘The Indian Union and Emergency Powers’, International Political Science Review, October 1996, pp 373-384, for an analysis of different aspects of emergency powers of the Indian government). As regards nationwide emergency, the power of the president is limited. He declares it at the advice of the prime minister and can declare it only for a month unless approved by both the houses of the parliament and then it can extend to six months. If the parliament is not in session or has been dissolved then the emergency cannot extend beyond six months. What is important is that the parliament is involved. Article 85 provides that no more than six months may pass before a session of the Lok Sabha. For space constraints, I will not consider the emergency powers in a much older constitution, that of the United States, other than mentioning that some scholars (Daniel Farber in his Lincoln’s Constitution, 2003, and Henry Monaghan in his ‘Protective Powers of the Presidency’, Columbia Law Review, 1993, pp 38-61) think that the US president’s emergency powers come from the Vesting Clause, the Oath Clause, and the Commander-in-Chief Clause of the constitution or are extra-constitutional which means they apply when the constitution does not apply. Some constitutional experts think the emergency powers derive from the Militia Acts passed by Congress (the reader can see Stephen Vladeck, ‘Emergency Power and Militia Acts’, The Yale Law Journal, 2004, pp 149-194). Vladeck believes Congress has given most emergency powers to the president and can also take them back or modify them.
   A state of emergency is a grave constitutional matter and cannot be taken lightly. Framers of newer constitutions tend to be more serious about it and have tried to make any declaration of emergency difficult and participatory. They have also tried to make an emergency very short. We must keep this in mind when we want to present an argument about the current emergency.
   
   Emergency and the Bangladesh constitution
   Like any democratic constitution the Bangladesh constitution allows only very short periods of emergency and makes it impossible, when a normal government is in power, for the president to declare a state of emergency alone. Section 9 and article 141 of the constitution treats the issue of emergency. The original provision is for a declaration of emergency by the president but it required the prime minister’s signature. But after the 13th amendment the president, during the tenure of the caretaker government, can declare a state of emergency without the sign of the prime minister. Apparently, those who supported a prolonged emergency and still support the continuation of the emergency think that since the emergency has been declared during the tenure of a caretaker government and the parliament is not back in session the emergency can be continued as long as the supporters of the regime feel necessary.
   Obviously, those who support maintenance of emergency and the government who has maintained it over a period of about twenty months believe that just because the text of the constitution allows an emergency to continue till the parliament is back in session (the old or new) a government can maintain emergency for as long as it finds it convenient. Whether a government can do it is a very important question. We should consider this question very carefully in light of scholarship both in constitutional interpretation and political science.
   Anything about a constitution is not only textual (meaning what is written in the text) but also political. A constitution is the supreme law of the land and it cannot be interpreted to suit the desires or whims or needs of political elites. A constitution is also an agreement between the people and the political elite in which the elites agree to respect the rights of the citizens and accept a diffused distribution of power. These are safeguards against authoritarian abuse of power. Constitutionalism is an integral part of democracy; many would say it is the other name of democracy. The reader must have patience to come along with me as we see how constitutions are interpreted. Once we have done that it would be very clear if the Bangladesh constitution permits a prolonged state of emergency.
   There are five major modes of interpretation of constitutions: (1) Textual; (2) Historical; (3) Structural; (4) Pragmatic; (5) Teleological. I will not treat the subjective approach separately because it is subsumed under the teleological approach. The subjective approach is similar to the subjective approach to treaty interpretation (on treaty interpretation, see Anwara Begum, Inter-Republican Cooperation of the Russian Republic, Ashgate Publishing Co, 1997). Of these five, the textual interpretation is conservative and restrictive and thus undemocratic. Textual interpretation emphasises the written text: the meaning of sentences, words, the way the argument runs, etc. (reader can see David Beatty, ‘The Forms and Limits of Constitutional Interpretation’, The American Journal of Comparative Law, 2001, pp 79-120). Textual interpretation is discouraged by scholars; for instance, Limbach stresses that, ‘… interpreting the constitution cannot be reduced to textual exegesis.’ (see Jutta Limbach, ‘Concept of the Supremacy of the Constitution’, The Modern Law Review, 2001, pp 1-10). It is the United States Supreme Court that has made extensive use of textual interpretation and its interpretation has tended to be very conservative. Beatty agrees with Limbach and writes that textual interpretation, ‘… imposes very serious constraints on the scope of democratic politics.’ (Beatty, p 98). He believes textual interpretation is profoundly undemocratic (the reader may note that the argument of those who are supporting a longer period of emergency depends, to a certain extent, on textual interpretation). Social and political development requires more flexible interpretation and calls for going beyond the text of the document. The historical approach entails dependence on judicial precedents; this interpretation can be conservative or liberal depending on a country’s Supreme Court’s or Constitutional Court’s orientation. Again, in the United States, the Supreme Court has also followed precedents.
   Structural interpretation bolsters the teleological interpretation. It stresses the structure of distribution of power that the constitution sanctions (see Vickie Jackson, ‘Holistic Interpretation: Fitzpatrick v Bitzer and Our Bifurcated Constitution’, Stanford Law Review, May 2001, pp 1259-1310). Thus, separation of powers and distribution of power among the federal government and the states are very important under such interpretation. This interpretation discourages altering the distribution of power among institutions mandated by the constitution. The pragmatic interpretation has been used more by the German Constitutional Court. It is geared to problem solution or crisis management with a view to achieving the optimal benefits for the contending parties on a constitutional issue. An instance would be a problem involving the concept of family as defined normally by a constitution such as the German constitution after World War II. At that time marriage was an important condition in forming a family; it is no longer so in Germany. In a case involving the definition of a family the court has tried to reach a solution using a pragmatic interpretation so that both the parties who have opposing claims on the definition of a family end up gaining (on the approach of the German court see Beatty).
   The teleological interpretation zeroes in on democratic principles and democratic progress. A constitution is primarily a document that establishes a democratic system. This is why the constitutions of the communist countries were not accepted as real constitutions by scholars of constitutionalism. Constitutionalism itself implies establishment of democratic rule and protection of citizens from the arbitrary exercise of power by the state or any organ thereof (on constitutionalism the reader can see, Donald Lutz, ‘Thinking about Constitutionalism at the Start of the Twenty-First Century’, Publius, Autumn 2000, pp 115-135; the reader should carefully consider this statement by Lutz, ‘Constitutions need to be viewed more as instruments for achieving general fairness and justice than as instruments for efficiency pursuing specific public policies.’ 124). A constitution, therefore, cannot be interpreted to restrict democratic rights or impede democratic rule. More and more scholars are supporting the teleological interpretation and opposing any interpretation, textual or otherwise, that does not either maintain or enhance democratic norms.
   In the Bangladesh constitution (article 141) declaration of emergency is provided for. Those who support continuation of the emergency apparently think that just because the parliament does not exist the emergency can be maintained. The political parties do not agree for practical and normative reasons. Our constitution, even if one applies a restrictive textual interpretation (we have seen that a textual interpretation violates democratic principles), does not support a prolonged emergency. Article 141 allows for a declaration of emergency by the president which has to be countersigned by the prime minister. The 13th amendment waives the prime minister’s sign requirement during the tenure of the caretaker government. That has obviously been done to eliminate textual disparity because the caretaker government is to be in power for three months and that for the purpose of conducting the election. Article 141 thus makes the declaration of a state of emergency dependent on the elected prime minister’s consent. Textually, the power of the president to declare an emergency alone should not be read as the normal flow of the text of the constitution since it has been done to adjust the text of the amendment to the text of the main constitution.
   The framers of our constitution meticulously avoided giving the power to extend an emergency to someone not elected directly by the people. An emergency can continue beyond a period of three months only if the parliament approves. Scholars strongly agree that constitutions should not be interpreted neglecting the teleological principles meaning what a constitution aims to achieve. A constitution aims at establishing a democratic system and the Bangladesh constitution does the same. Without the basic rights of citizens a democracy is meaningless. A constitution protects those rights and under an emergency those rights remain suspended and no constitution should be interpreted to support such suspension of basic rights over a long period of time. The same is true of the Bangladesh constitution. It holds constant the normal functioning of a parliamentary democracy when an emergency might be needed when the parliament is not in session or has been dissolved. Under those circumstances the parliament is going to be back in session after a short period of time (three months) after the election. That is how the framers of the Bangladesh constitution imagined the duration of an emergency. One could argue what if a war is going on or serious turmoil? The original constitution which did not have a caretaker government did make provision for war times. Article 72 gives the parliament the right to extend its term. One cannot ignore the wishes of the framers as well as development in democratic system of politics. To think that a stopgap measure like the caretaker government, which assumes responsibility every five years and only for a period of three months, should be in the centre of interpretation of such an important provision in the constitution and that interpretation should be done to favour tendencies against democratic governance amounts to directly opposing what constitutions are for.
   The structural elements of the constitution should not be ignored either and that takes us to the structure of distribution of power within the parliamentary system. In a parliamentary system the parliament is the supreme representative body and the most powerful organ of the state; a constitution cannot be, structurally speaking, interpreted to violate this principle or to curb the power of the parliament. Continuation of the state of emergency does that and also, as the political parties have pointed out time and again, prevents a free election to the parliament. It should be noted that the senior Bangladeshi political science scholar Emaj Uddin Ahmed has also expressed his opinion against holding the election under an emergency (Prothom Alo, July 31, 2008).
   Those who advocate maintaining the emergency hint at turmoil that would ensue if the emergency is lifted. Another reason that is offered is: the emergency is so relaxed that it does not feel like an emergency. Both of them are invalid reasons. The first one emanates from the Eurocentric mindset of the elites supporting the current regime. This mindset sees the Bangladeshis and other non-Western people as unruly, chaotic and uncivilised who do not function properly unless shown a stick. I have indicated in my writings that the Bangladeshis are a tolerant and resilient people and the last thing they deserve is a state of emergency. They have been fighting for democratic rights on an ongoing basis. That struggle itself is an achievement – a dazzling crown that should be worn with pride. The second one calls forth the question why an emergency which is not a real emergency should be maintained; the constitution allows an emergency only when war-like turmoil prevails. Another point should not be forgotten: an emergency that does not look like an emergency may be deceptive and more dangerous than a real emergency.
   
   The supporters of this emergency
   Now let’s go back to what Professor Muzaffer Ahmad said and wanted. I know the reader is thinking that this essay is getting longer and keeps changing. It began with a promise to talk about our past and then went into interpretation of constitutions. I apologise; the constitution is an important part of our past. No matter how glibly and impatiently we are urged to forget everything before January 11, 2007 and embark on a new beginning we cannot just wipe out our past. Our constitution was achieved after the liberation war, after the death of three million people and no less. And it prescribed an ongoing democratic system that provides for democratic individual rights: freedom of speech, freedom of movement, freedom to organise, and rule of law.
   There are so many aspects to Professor Ahmad’s statement! First of all, he wants what he calls a relaxed emergency to continue. But a relaxed emergency is logically impossible. Emergencies are needed in extraordinary circumstances; if an emergency can be relaxed it means the extraordinary circumstances no longer exist. This translates into no need for an emergency. What I find unusual is his reference to the election of 1970. Just because an election took place under martial law, an unfortunate and politically wrong condition, it does not mean we have to emulate that thirty-eight years later. Must we emulate military rulers of long-gone eras? Why couldn’t the moral purists like Professor Ahmad who have supported the regime could not teach this hapless nation proper behaviour by example in this long two years? Another very intriguing dimension is that he does not select his example from our own past but refers to the past of Pakistan. The 1970 election was held in Pakistan which means he is talking about the past of a foreign country but implying that we did it in the past and should (?) do it again or can do it again. This brings us to the most dangerous part of the implications or meanings of his words. That election took place in a different state, Pakistan. How about viewing it from Pakistan’s perspective? The election led to a stalemate as a result of which the state of Pakistan became involved in a violent internal conflict which it could not solve and as a consequence the state of Pakistan broke apart and Bangladesh was born. The aftermath of elections under martial law contained the break-up of the state of Pakistan. Should that not be reason enough for us to pause before we compare ourselves to politically immoral segments of other country’s history?
   Playing with the past can be dangerous especially for those who offer dreams of a super bright future as the reasons for their legitimacy. David Lowenthal, echoing Hartley, gave his book the title, The Past is a Foreign Country. I don’t know whether our past is a foreign country. But I do know that part of our past is indeed a foreign country.