It may be a game for you, but…

There’s quite a hullabaloo all around. The elections are around the corner. Unless there’s something drastic, after every five years this tournament piques our interest and curiosity. It’s the politicians who play the field. They  play for various clubs or are on hire. And a group of businessmen sit in the gallery with the strings and a bag full of money. They control the clubs. That’s where the players are bought and sold. Sometimes an entire club is sold. We saw a club being sold in such a manner back in 2014. The owner of the club was confined to a hospital and the deal was done.

There is not much time left for the tournament to start. The warm-up has begun. The war of words has begun, slander, smears, bickering and worse. Two parties will remain in the fray for the championship. They will play in the finals. Everyone knows that. They are honing their knives and spears, preparing their sticks and stones.

We see a lot of cheating in the game nowadays. The referee sides with one party and blows his whistle against the other. There is an uproar, fist fights. Many of the spectators cry out that the referee is a cheat. We have often seen the referee being beaten up by the furious players or the spectators. That is why there is a demand for a neutral referee. And that is why we see foreign referees conducting the game. All sides have accepted this. No one calls this an ‘interference’. It is an ‘interference’ when one sides accepts it and the other side does not. It’s like saying, I agree to everything you say, but I am the winner.

The referee of the election game that is to take place in December this year or January of the coming year, is the election commission. They are accused of being partial, biased towards one particular party. Everyone knows that the referee’s hands and feet are tied. He has been appointed at the liking of one particular club. The referee’s whistle blows when the club blows its whistle. That is why the issue of a club-neutral referee has arisen.

Meanwhile, the election bells are ringing. No matter which party it may be, they are determined to get the trophy. Their wealth, money, honour, prestige, life and death, everything is entwined in this trophy. They must win it. And now publicity and propaganda has begun over the game. The contesting clubs have kept their cards up their sleeves. It is all about how they will step up their attack, how they’ll take control of the field and guard the goal post. One club doesn’t know the strategy of the other. They work on assumptions, throwing stones into the dark.

A long time ago the Aga Khan Gold Cup would be played in Dhaka. This was Pakistan’s largest inter-club tournament. Top players from all around Pakistan’s province would come to Dhaka and rule the grounds. An Indonesian club at the time would regularly attend. If any club won the cup for three consecutive times, that is, if they became champions, they would received the Gold Cup. Indonesia’s club became champion twice consecutively. In the finals they faced a club from Dhaka. This is about the year 1970. I don’t quite remember which club it was, probably Mohammedan Sporting Club or EPIDC.

After half time, there’s a scuffle in the field. A free-kick was granted or a red card shown to a player of one of the teams for breaking the rules. And that was it. A brawl broke out. The spectators in the gallery were already all riled up. There was a ruckus, fist fights, skirmishes and more. Even EPR mounted police couldn’t control the frenzied crowds. Four died, hundreds were injured. The game was disrupted. The club supporters fought, broke their arms and legs, even died. But the players remained totally unscathed.

In the game that’s scheduled for December or January, we, the public, are the spectators in the gallery. We want to watch a good game, full of close competition. But none of us are unbiased about the clubs. We want the club of our choice to win. It doesn’t matter how they win. If the game is disrupted, a battle will break out. Limbs will be broken, lives will be lost, shops and houses will be burnt down. The clubs don’t care who dies. It all about power. Falling back from the power struggle means suicide, it means bidding farewell to heaven.

In our country we now bring in referees from outside when there are big games. No one objects. But when it comes to the election, then that is hard to swallow. After all, there is the matter of our sovereignty! That gets besmirched. So what is to be done?

If any club year after year claims the trophy, why will the others accept that? That is why there has been a demand for a change in referee. The referee that is there now cannot be trusted. A new referee must be found either within the country, or brought in from abroad.

We have already made it clear in the meantime that we are a sovereign nation above all. We may lose our lives, but not our sovereignty. Is there not a single referee in the country that we have to seek one from abroad? So we have to seek a referee from within the country, a referee who keeps his eyes and ears open, watches the game and blows his whistle and all players listen to him. If not, they will be punished. He won’t look at the club enclosures to take his decisions.

We would often see in the stadium how players would lose their heads and push and shove each other. The police would be on alert in the sidelines, but they wouldn’t enter the field unless the referee called them. The referee wouldn’t get a chance to call them. Before that, a player is punched and falls to the ground or runs for his life to the pavilion. The referee is helpless in front of the clubs. How can the referee’s courage be bolstered?

There is not much time left for the tournament. For quite some time now we have been hearing a mantra from the players – the game is on! We are waiting. As we wait, we recall the moral of one of Aesop’s fables – what is a game for you, is death for us.

* Mohiuddin is a writer and researcher

* This column appeared in the print and online edition of Prothom Alo and has been rewritten for the English edition by Ayesha Kabir