When news of Benazir's assassination broke, my nephew gasped, "She can't be dead! She's always been a part of my life." So strong and ubiquitous was her presence, he cannot imagine Pakistan without her. No one can. She grew up in the public eye, and we knew her through all her incarnations from pimply adolescent to the first female leader of a Muslim nation. Dressed in signature 7-Up green shalwar kameez, her head covered by white chiffon scarves, this arresting, contradictory woman, with an impossibly tragi-glamorous family history, had the wherewithal to save her country but repeatedly disappointed throughout her two terms in office. We had expected so much from her the day that she was swept to power in 1988, washing away a decade of General Zia's military oppression, and hoped this third opportunity would see her redeem her past failings. Religious extremists put paid to that.
Benazir's father, Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto, was a charismatic and ruthlessly ambitious demagogue who created the only political party with a national footprint in Pakistan. A deeply conflicted personality, he was ultimately most true to his roots as a feudal land owner. He espoused socialist principles, but his politics were about the cult of personality. He posed as a man of the people, but his lieutenants were from the privileged classes. He claimed to be a nationalist, yet personal ambition paved the way for the dismemberment of the nation in 1971 and for an orgy of economically ruinous nationalisations. The eldest of four, Benazir, or "Pinky," was the apple of her father's eye and his anointed successor; dynastic ambition trumped democratic process.
She was a creature of her father, mirroring many of his paradoxes but without his petty vindictiveness. Like him, her western liberal persona was cultivated at western academic institutions, first Harvard then Oxford. These experiences honed her sharp mind and inculcated easy familiarity with western liberal tradition. However, a strong sense of entitlement and an autocratic nature were also part of the patrimony. This duality wrestled for her soul and largely explains her blemished political history.
Constantly stressing her relationship to her martyred father, Benazir made leadership of the People's party contingent on bloodline rather than political ability. Squabbling with her mother, she appointed herself sole chairperson for life of an allegedly democratic institution. Like her father, she crushed aspirants to prominence within her party, and old stalwarts were ruthlessly sidelined. The creation of party structure came second to self-projection. Moreover, she could not distinguish between what was hers and what belonged to Pakistan, treating state assets and revenues as hers to dispense as favours to courtiers. She was dismissed twice on charges of personal corruption, and her husband was widely dubbed "Mr 10 Per Cent,"' yet she refused to countenance any allegations of wrongdoing.
Despite her failings, she will be sorely missed at a time when Pakistan needs unifying, far-sighted leaders. She was a woman of great courage and political shrewdness with a firm grasp of global political and economic realities. Alone among the democratic leadership of Pakistan, she understood the grave threat the country faced from religious extremists. And in an atmosphere of extreme hostility towards America, she was brave enough to articulate that it was not just America's war but Pakistan's as well. She knew the risks and had already survived one bloody attack on her life. Despite repeated warnings from military intelligence and her own oft-stated fears of assassination by Islamists, she was determined to confront this genie. Flawed, she still represented the best secular option for breaching Pakistan's multiple provincial, linguistic, ethnic and social fissures.
In the aftermath of the assassination, Pakistanis feel immense guilt, grief and trepidation. Benazir's public martyrdom in a media-obsessed age means her iconic stature will probably transcend her father's. The funeral rites were heavy both with symbols of Shia martyrdom and political significance, as mourners self-flagellated while remaining party leaders jostled for proximity to her returning husband and son. Implicit in the grieving and sympathy, there is jockeying for favour, as expectations are that a groundswell of popular sympathy will sweep the PPP to electoral victory in 2008.
History is repeating itself: just as Benazir was anointed to succeed her father as leader of the PPP, she, cognisant of the possibility of assassination, prepared a will which was read out by Bilawal, her 19-year-old-son (and himself an Oxford undergraduate). The leadership of her party listened respectfully as her last testament named Bilawal's father, Asif Zardari, chairman of the PPP. However, underlining the importance of the Bhutto brand, the father passed the mantle on to the son. Simultaneously, Benazir's three children changed their surname to Bhutto-Zardari.
Whoever the present caretakers, real influence over the party's future remains within her bloodline. Despite all the acquired veneer of western education, whether it is the Bhuttos or the Gandhis, as long as there is an adequate supply of willing family members, south Asian politics remains dynastic; family brands once established (through the ballot box and personal tragedy) transcend regional concerns to bind complex polities. This "demand for dynasty" transcends social divides. While Pakistanis living abroad find it jarring that democracy can be dictated by inheritance and bequeathed from the grave, this is readily accepted by local labourers and intelligentsia alike, who are grateful for any short-term fix to immediate danger. This may not be enough in the future, as you cannot have a coronation and subsequently demand checks, balances and accountability. The battle for Pakistan's future, especially against the fundamentalists, must be based on transparent democratic processes. As Benazir herself stated, "democracy is the best revenge." If Bilawal is to truly vindicate himself, he must offer more to his followers than just his surname.
