Pakistan’s Supreme Problem

When Pakistan’s Supreme Court Chief Justice Iftikhar Chaudhry dismissed the country’s Prime Minister on June 19, it looked from the outside like a triumph for the rule of law. After all, Prime Minister Yousuf Raza Gilani had repeatedly defied the court’s orders by failing to pursue corruption charges against President Asif Ali Zardari. Even though Gilani and Zardari’s Pakistan People’s Party — now headed by former Water and Power Minister Raja Pervez Ashraf — will likely still be able to limp through the completion of its term, Chaudhry’s ruling represented a major assertion of authority for the historically complacent Pakistani courts.

But while the emergence of the superior judiciary has the potential to provide a much needed check on military and civilian-government excesses, if taken to the extreme the judges could also stunt democratic growth at a time when it is just taking root. Which way it goes depends largely on whether Chaudhry — seen as a hero by many in Pakistan and beyond for his willingness to stand up to then President Pervez Musharraf in 2007 — uses his newfound powers to advocate for the people’s will, or if he instead undermines democracy in his single-minded pursuit of President Zardari. So far, the signs are not good: the Prime Minister’s dismissal at the hands of an unelected judge has the makings of a constitutional coup.

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Nor is it comforting that the standoff between the Prime Minister and the Supreme Court, now in its ninth month, has paralyzed Pakistan, diverting attention from a catastrophic energy shortage, a lackluster fight against militancy and the deteriorating relationship with the U.S. Yet Chaudhry has shown no willingness to let up on his vendetta against the President, no matter the costs to the country. On June 27, Chaudhry gave Ashraf, like Gilani before him, two weeks to write a letter to Swiss authorities requesting that they reopen a corruption probe against Zardari dating back to the 1990s. Ashraf, a party loyalist, will likely refuse, setting the stage for continued paralysis, the collapse of the government and even the possibility of an army coup.

Born in 1948 with a lazy eye in the Wild West town of Quetta, Chaudhry has the twitchy, defensive attitude of someone who spent his adolescence fending off bullies. His father was a rare honest police inspector in a town riddled with corruption, an early experience many associates say has contributed to Chaudhry’s Robin Hood tendencies. Unlike most of his colleagues in Pakistan’s superior courts, Chaudhry never had the money to study law abroad. Instead he came of age as a lawyer and then a judge in Pakistan’s provincial backwaters, where feudal elites owned the courts and acted with impunity. Resentment of untempered privilege seems to run through many of his rulings and may explain his ferocious pursuit of Zardari, who is accused of stashing hundreds of millions of dollars grafted from public funds in Swiss bank accounts. Zardari says the accusations are politically motivated.

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Chaudhry’s vigilante style is exemplified by his frequent use of suo moto, Latin for an obscure judicial power that allows the Supreme Court to investigate misconduct “on its own initiative.” Chaudhry has taken suo moto action to fix fuel and sugar prices, to direct traffic, to question the military about allegations of illegal detention and even to call his own son before the court when rumors spread that the younger man had taken some $3.7 million in bribes and luxury vacations from a developer who was aiming to influence upcoming judgments. The case is pending, but many expect to see the son serve time, even as he says he paid the money back and was set up for blackmail. The son could be a sacrifice to Chaudhry’s quest for justice — and public support. “You would think he was running for office,” says former Supreme Court Bar Association president Asma Jahangir.

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Though Chaudhry might fancy himself an eventual presidential contender, the likelihood that he could trade his gavel for the stump is slim. He is uncharismatic, abrasive and visibly uncomfortable with unscripted speech. But so strong is the need for a hero in Pakistan that many are willing to overlook the potential pitfalls of an unchecked judiciary in order to see an unpopular government put in its place. When Chaudhry took on Musharraf back in 2007, stickers featuring his face, emblazoned with the words MY HERO, papered the urban landscape from lampposts to bumpers to children’s notebooks. In some circles, the stickers have come back. But as any comic-book fan knows, a hero isn’t a hero until he can subdue his internal drive for absolute power. For Chaudhry — who too often seems to let his zeal get in the way of the nation’s interest — the jury is still out.
— with reporting by Aoun Sahi / Islamabad

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