Author: Asfand Katchela
The writer is from Sargodha. He writes every now and then. He has been a fan of LDS for very long. And as his first submission, he has clearly chosen the most popular take out there.
There’s an American political thriller available online that’s far more gripping than the typical binge-watch fare. And no, for those of you who prefer your political dramas with a side of scheming presidents and backstabbing congressmen, this isn’t referring to House of Cards. The film I’m talking about is Miss Sloane, or perhaps more aptly, The Movie About Elizabeth the Lobbyist (cinephile creds destroyed already).
The film is a masterpiece of suspense, pulling you into a high-stakes political battle where power, influence, and moral ambiguity collide with all the elegance of a Shakespearean tragedy—minus the tragic endings (well, mostly). And at its heart is a woman. Not just anyone woman, but an extraordinary one. A woman who doesn’t just play politics but rewrites the very rules of the game.
When asked to define her profession, Miss Sloane responds, with a casual indifference that hints at her formidable confidence: “A lobbyist.” It’s as though she’s simply stating her name. Yet this one word carries the weight of a thousand unspoken narratives about power, persuasion, and ethics.
The first time this author encountered Ms Sloane, he was embroiled in a political contest of his own—though far less glamorous, and certainly less consequential. He had just been elected to the LUMS Student Council as a sophomore representative (a title that, at the time, felt like the Holy Grail for the aspiring political minds of my batch), and was campaigning for a candidate running for General Secretary (who, incidentally, also won). That was when the term “lobbyist” first made its way into his life.
Initially, it was thrown around as a mild, somewhat playful jab, a mark of his “unethical” campaigning for someone he trusted. But as the years passed, when he re-entered the race for President, the term morphed. No longer a lighthearted quip, it became a weapon—a blunt instrument wielded by those eager to discredit his credibility.
In the end, his most recent foray into the world of lobbying didn’t end in victory. But in stepping away from that world, may he say something that has eluded him for a while now: —lobbying, when done ethically and for the right reasons, isn’t just a political maneuver, it’s an art form. It’s the bridge between the lofty ideals of democracy and the harsh realities of governance. It’s more than just getting your boys to chant the loudest naaras or dropping the hardest election theme songs LUMS has ever seen; it’s about advocacy, strategy, and, finding the courage to compromise while never losing sight of the principles that drive you.
Now before you start throwing curses, hear me out. There is an unnecessarily negative connotation attached to it. And when I say that I am talking about the imagery of white shalwar kameez-clad miniature siyasatdans in their “smoke-filled clandestine rooms” (kudos to the other author for 10/10 sinister imagery). I mean, yes, there are white shalwar kameezein, but let’s not discriminate against the blue or the black ones—all of them are equally worn after all. And yes, the male hostel rooms do give the appearance of a sinister-clandestine setting, but that owes more to their general lack of cleanliness than anything else.
And this is not to say all lobbying is good lobbying. Lobbies based on ethnic preferences or elitist notions about preserving the status quo of your former all boys’ school are not what I mean. They’re dull, uninspiring, or in the words of Bismarck nothing short of “the pesticidal air that dampens our nerves and hampers our spirits.”
But not every form of campaigning fits into this narrow mold. For instance, consider a group of 14 boys and girls with no prior hegemonic connections, coming together to support a candidate they truly believe in. That is politics in its purest, most beautiful sense.
And not only is it simple politics, it’s a perfect microcosm for the world out there.
Look at it this way: You plan on eventually making a mark in the political world beyond LUMS. What’s the best way to go about it? Sitting in your ivory towers and writing lengthy essays about the lack of political idealism (synonym: Marxism for your everyday Ali in LUMS) in our country? Or, donning your shalwar kameez and actually getting out there? Even a plain T-shirt and some pants work, if you associate shalwar kameezein with a brand of toxic brown masculinity.
After all, what better place to practice the fight for your ideals than in a university that offers you every aspect of the experience? From the bloodthirsty media (our very dear LDF) to the bureaucratic maze (The Office of Sluggish Affairs), to the markhor gang (He who must not be named), it’s all here. It’s a fascinating, often maddening mix to find yourself in.
In this environment, campaigning can be transformative. It’s not just about manipulation; it’s about navigating through a maze of political realities, recognizing the backhanded schemes, and countering them with intellect and integrity. It’s about standing before an audience that would love to see you fail, yet still managing—against all odds—to win them over. It’s about showing up at a university where you don’t know a soul, but by the end, your network is vast, and your influence undeniable.
This kind of experience teaches you more than any textbook ever could. It’s not simply about winning; it’s about how you rise after a loss, how you turn setbacks into opportunities for growth, and how you learn to read people, situations, and power dynamics with a sharper eye.
And this kind of stuff that fascinates this author and if you feel the same way, then you Miss Sloane are in for a treat.