The underclass debate

Pakistan is not a single nation. It is many. As a matter of fact it is a kaleidoscope of ethnic and lingual colors. We rejoice in these divisions and deem them a source of strength and renewal. Yet, there is another sort of division that afflicts our society. It is nefarious, shameful, divisive and potentially fatal to our viability as a nation.
The vast majority of Pakistanis are an “underclass” people who are not quite full citizens. This underclass is poor, and usually illiterate. They are the people who work in the fields and factories of Pakistan. They are construction laborers, and rickshaw drivers. They are our household help and those who clean our streets. Their clothing is frayed and basic but their hearts are, more often than not, of pure gold.
Their access to civic amenities — health care, education, security, sanitation and housing — is non-existent or severely limited. Those who are lucky enough to have a job can be dismissed on a whim. They live in shantytowns, victims of hunger and despair.
It is a peculiarity of the Urdu language that personal pronouns can reflect three levels of politeness. So the English “you” can be rendered, in descending order of cordiality, as “aap,” “tum” and “tu.” The underclass almost never merits the “aap.” They are those whom we address as “tum” or “tu.” Self anointed “Sahebs” and “Sahebas” treat this huge underclass with contempt. It is as though they were objects, material possessions without hearts or feelings, slaves with no rights or recourse or dignity. Their Sahebs have no compunction in subjecting them to verbal and physical abuse at the slightest infraction. Wrongdoing that is perceived to be more serious invites a visit by the police, and a merciless beating. There is no presumption of innocence, or, God forbid, right to any kind of defense.
The Sahebs are not congenitally uncouth. Men and women of culture, education and merit will talk to you (another Saheb) with a tongue of milk and honey. A moment later the same people will turn to a driver, or gardener or a maid, with a tone laced with venom. It is as though the mere sight of an “unequal” brings on an uncontrolled Pavlov like response.
That some of us should systematically treat some of our compatriots as dirt is clearly repulsive and unacceptable. But why should it be a threat to our viability as a nation?
A nation is a state of mind more than it is a physical space. It is an abstract, an idea, an emotion — call it what you will — that is dear to all who would call it theirs. We belong to it not because we have to, but because we want to.
Take away this desire to belong and the concept of “nation” disappears into thin air. And this is why the existence of an underclass is fatal. Pakistan cannot be just for some of us. It must be for all of us. And this means that all of us, every single person, man, woman or child must be treated with respect and dignity.
The mindset of the underclass spawns, as it were, a subtle, perhaps more insidious consequence. What starts as a perception of social superiority results ultimately in an illusion of intellectual sufficiency. So the Saheb now believes he knows and others do not. He alone is right.
People start to believe this is a quality worth emulating. Before long you have an army of ignoramuses who think they know it all. Ignorance alone is dangerous. Combine it with an ersatz sense of intelligence and it becomes lethal.
What can be done? Can the underclass be liberated, empowered and transformed into a powerful nation building force. The answer is an unqualified yes. Perhaps the most effective step is the easiest to take. We have to remove the pronouns “tum” and “tu” from our vocabulary. The only permissible use should be for endearment — between close friends and relatives. “Aap” must become the mandatory pronoun. This may seem a trivial matter. But in fact it lies at the core of the divide. Talk to the underclass with respect and you immediately elevate them to equals.
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The writer is the chairman of Mustaqbil Pakistan Party.