Four decades have passed while I stumbled along in the field of journalism; perhaps that is why I am wrongly bestowed with the title of a senior analyst, senior journalist, or columnist. Today, I want to make a criminal confession: I am actually a quack. Please do not consider this humility or self-reproach at all; I am, in truth, a quack. That is because throughout my life, I have written on the subject of politics—sometimes political analysis, sometimes the ebbs and flows of political history, sometimes news of a government’s departure, and sometimes of a new setup coming—yet I never tasted the flavor of practical politics, nor did I ever face the hardships that obstruct the path of politics. I remained a student of political theory, but I could never know the practical aspect of politics, nor could I ever feel its dynamics from up close. Supposedly, by profession, I am a doctor of politics, but in reality, I am a quack of politics. No matter how great a scholar of theory you are, if you do not know the practical side, then you are a paper scholar and a so-called scholar, and I am that very paper and so-called analyst. As a student at FC College, I contested an election for a department and lost that too by a single vote. Ever since, I became terrified of contesting elections, and to this day, I am amazed at how politicians make thousands and lakhs of people in a constituency their supporters and secure their votes; several members have been continuously elected 8 or 10 times. To me, politics seems like the most difficult and complex task, so I have no hesitation in saying that I never descended into the political well, which is why I am unfamiliar with its depths. I merely kept peeking over the well’s parapet to make estimates. Obviously, such estimates belong to quacks, not to certified doctors who conduct all the tests in a scientific evaluation and only then prescribe a medicine. But quacks and half-baked doctors like me merely try to diagnose the disease and treat it by feeling the pulse alone.
I am at that stage of life when jibes are cast at me to retire, and sometimes I am accused of conducting fabricated interviews. I must confess with embarrassment that I wrongly considered myself a political analyst and columnist, not only giving advice to politicians but also pointing out their mistakes. This attitude of mine was completely wrong; when I never engaged in horsemanship in the battlefield at all, how could I judge whether the gait of the horses of politics was a trot, a steady stride, or a full gallop? Where a quack of politics and journalism like me, and where the experienced politicians of this region: Nawaz Sharif, Shehbaz Sharif, Asif Zardari, and Imran Khan. Although today I am certain that I am a quack, until a month ago it was not so. I used to think that Plato had certainly written a book named “Republic,” but he did not even know the basics of political science. It felt to me that Alexander the Great had needlessly gone to the Amu Darya river and wasted 3 years; had he acted with sense, he would have avoided going there. My theory was that Alexander the Great’s strategy against Porus was flawed; I was convinced that Napoleon could have won the Battle of Waterloo if he had delayed the battle just a little. I considered myself far greater than Plato, Alexander, and Napoleon. I grew so confident in my knowledge, experience, and connections that what Nawaz Sharif could not understand after becoming Prime Minister 3 times, Chief Minister twice, and through half a century of political experience, became clear to me. Shehbaz Sharif remained in power for 17 years, yet he could not see those flaws in the system that I recognized instantly. President Zardari has been in the political arena for the past 46 years and spent 11 years in prison, but he could not formulate that formula to improve the country’s system which I had already created. Imran Khan suffered blows in the political field for 18 years, attained power, and is now in prison, but even he could not gain awareness of the actual problems of the country that became evident to me. Maulana Fazlur Rehman has been active in politics for more than 40 years, but even he did not possess the magic charm to fix the country that I had obtained. I was overflowing with the confidence that the country’s destiny would change through my formula alone. What happened was that when I began presenting my thoughts and ideas before friends and allies, everyone’s initial reaction was one of astonishment and surprise, because no one expected this from me. My staff praised my ideas to such an extent that I truly began flying in the air; day and night, I began having dreams in which a changed, bright country and prosperity everywhere were visible. During this time, any friend who offered even slight opposition to my plan seemed like an enemy to me; if any ally made the slightest objection, it felt as though they were going to ruin my magnificent plan. My wife explained to me not to fly in the air and to keep my feet on the ground, so I suspected that even my wife had become jealous of my greatness. Then the situation became such that day and night, I began having green dreams of change; the eyes of reality were closed. When my wife became worried about my condition, she called a psychologist to the house, who, after examining me, revealed that I had become a patient of Megalomania (delusions of grandeur). I refused to accept the doctor’s diagnosis and said that all great people who dream of revolutionary changes in the country are considered mad by people. The German philosopher Nietzsche was considered mad by doctors and common people, but the ideas he gave are still alive today. Despite my resistance and denial, my wife and children considered my restlessness, unease, pacing back and forth constantly, roaring with anger, and wanting to stay ahead of everyone as an illness, and gave me a sedative. I remained under the treatment of a psychiatrist for one month; I kept fighting with the doctor to let me go as I had to bring about change in the country, but the doctor and my family conducted my therapy for a month, and only then did I begin to understand that I am no Plato, I am a quack. I am no leader; I haven’t even drunk water from the spring of politics. I am not more experienced than politicians; it was my delusion that I had started considering myself a great expert in politics and a bringer of revolutionary change. On the doctor’s advice, I read the history of Megalomania, saw the symptoms of the disease, and learned its consequences. In the light of history, when people attain fame, power, and authority, most lose their balance, consider themselves a messiah and God’s messenger, and then try to enforce what they consider right through force and coercion. But the conclusion of history is that if you attain power, authority, and fame, you should stay away from arrogance, coercion, and the use of force; you should not change your friends and allies; you should listen to opposing views or criticism and try to correct yourself through it. I made this very mistake: considering myself Plato and Aristotle, I wanted to uproot the evils of the country and nation in the shortest possible time, but I was a quack, and I am a quack. “A half-doctor is a threat to life, a half-cleric is a threat to faith”—that is why it is famous. Quacks are empty inside and on top, which is why empty vessels make the most noise; that is why they speak more. My condition was like a blind person catching a quail by chance, or a monkey holding a razor. It was fortunate that my disease was diagnosed, and now I am normal—just an ordinary person fully aware of his stature and the limit of his knowledge!!