Pakistan_ A Hard Country - Anatol Lieven [64]
Central to the near-paralysis of the judicial system are the embittered relations between the judiciary and the police. Of course, this exists to some extent in all societies, but in Pakistan it has reached a level which, as will be seen, can become literally violent. It should be obvious from this chapter why the judiciary have good reason to distrust cases brought by the police. Equally, the police can point to numerous instances where they have finally prosecuted well-known murderers and gang leaders, who have then been acquitted by the courts on specious grounds, or whose cases have dragged on for years with no result.
As a result, as many policemen told me: ‘If you really want to deal with a powerful miscreant in this country, you have to kill him.’ This has contributed to the taste of the Pakistani and Indian police – urged on by provincial governments with a particular commitment to tackle crime – for ‘encounter killings’ (extra-judicial executions by the police under the pretence of armed clashes). The inability of the courts to get convictions has been particularly disastrous when it comes to tackling Islamist extremists, who, even when proceeded against by the state, are often released for lack of evidence.
The case of the gang-rape of Mukhtar Mai, mentioned above, shows the police, the courts and the political system at their interactive worst. The crime occurred in 2002. In 2010 she is still waiting for justice; and this was both an extremely simple case (legally speaking) and an extremely high-profile one in which the Pakistani and international media and human rights organizations took a close interest, and which the PPP government which took power in 2008 promised to expedite.
One key aspect both of the incompetence of the judiciary and the alienation of the mass of the population from the judicial system is that, owing once again to the British Raj, the system is conducted mainly in English sprinkled with Latin. The alienation of the population comes from the fact that the overwhelming majority of the population do not understand English. The incompetence comes from the fact that neither do many of the system’s staff – at least, not well enough to do their jobs half-way properly.
In January 2009 in the Bar Association in Multan, southern Punjab, I listened with wry amusement as the president of the Association, Mehmood Ashraf Khan, dictated legal notes to his clerk to write down. The clerk (or munshi) was an old, old man with a grey beard and a wool hat, and it may in part have been lack of teeth as well as lack of English that made him stumble over his words.
‘The following prisoners are required to be implemented as respondents,’ said the lawyer.
The clerk repeated slowly, writing as he spoke, ‘The following prisons are retired to be ...’
‘Required!’ snapped the lawyer.
‘Are required to be imprem, indem ...’
‘Implemented!’
Of course, it would have helped greatly if the lawyer had done his writing himself, but that would presumably have offended against one of the most basic and universal rules of South Asia – that the elites do not perform manual labour. In fact, many of the lawyers whom I meet speak – and therefore presumably write – very poor English. As a result of this and the inadequacy of most Pakistani legal training, a great many simply cannot master even moderately complex briefs, or prepare their cases in ways that will allow them to be understood easily and decided expeditiously. This is of course a godsend for defence lawyers.
Evidence in the courts can be given in Urdu or provincial languages, but then has to be translated into English to be recorded. In a courtroom in Karachi in May 2009 I watched while a woman gave evidence – in a case of child kidnapping – in Urdu and the judge translated it into poorish English to a clerk writing beside