Pakistan's president Pervez Musharraf is stepping down, bathed in his own self-regard and the opprobrium of most of his countrymen, writes MARY FITZGERALD
FLYING FROM Karachi to London after covering the fallout from opposition leader Benazir Bhutto's assassination in late December, I fell into conversation with the twentysomething Pakistani seated beside me. Like many of his contemporaries who could afford the airfare, he had left Pakistan the year before. Deeply disillusioned with his homeland, he had decided anything was better than remaining there, even if it meant leaving a well-paid office job to flip burgers in Hammersmith.
Bright and articulate, he was eager to offer his assessment of what had gone wrong with the country of his birth. In his eyes, it all came down to president Pervez Musharraf. And, he argued, there could be only one solution to Pakistan's multiple woes - Musharraf would have to go.
His arguments were all too familiar, echoing those that could be heard across Pakistan, from the slums of Karachi to the drawing rooms of Lahore. No doubt, he is still celebrating following Musharraf's televised announcement yesterday that he was stepping down after nine years as president.
Widely despised, isolated and faced with the ignominy of impeachment, Musharraf had little choice but to bow out.
Even those who had hitherto been reluctant to abandon Musharraf, arguing that no opposition leader had the political savvy, broad support and the all-important backing of the army necessary to hold Pakistan together, had started changing their minds. Instead of Musharraf being part of the solution in the battle against extremism, many now considered he had become part of the problem. Tellingly, the US recently chose not to dip its toes into the debate over their once-favoured ally's looming impeachment, describing it as an "internal" matter for Pakistan.
Also notable was the absence of any show of support from the army, now under Gen Ashfaq Kayani, for its erstwhile chief.
The unspooling of Musharraf's authority and credibility appeared irreversible long before any talk of impeachment. His unseemly power struggle with Pakistan's chief justice Iftikhar Mohammed Chaudhry; the state of emergency he imposed last November; and Bhutto's murder and the subsequent sweeping to power of her party along with Musharraf's old nemesis, Nawaz Sharif; all contributed to a sense the former army general was on borrowed time. The most recent poll to track his plummeting ratings found last month that 83 per cent wanted him removed. It wasn't always so.
In 1999, when Musharraf staged a bloodless coup after Sharif, then prime minister, attempted to force him from his post as army chief, many of those who now hail his resignation cheered, hoping he would break with the corruption, sectarianism and disastrous economic policies that had come to mark Pakistani politics.
The cricket-player-turned-politician Imran Khan described the heady optimism of those days when I interviewed him two years ago and admitted he had supported the coup. What Khan and others had not anticipated was how quickly their hopes would sour as Musharraf, who refused until last year to step out of his army uniform, became one of the - if not the- most divisive, controversial and loathed leaders Pakistan has ever seen.
Pakistanis often refer to the "three As", wryly observing that the "Allah, Army and America" triumvirate forms what amounts to a national stranglehold. During Musharraf's nine years at the helm, many believe that choking grip tightened to an unprecedented extent.
On his watch, extremism flourished despite his much-vaunted policy of "enlightened moderation", and the army extended its reach into Pakistan's economic, social and political spheres like never before. But in the eyes of millions of Pakistanis, one of the most damning decisions Musharraf made was to hitch the country to America's so-called "war on terror".
They watched incredulously as their army general president went from international pariah to one of Washington's most important allies. Musharraf convinced the US he was indispensable, raising the après moi, le delugespectre whenever the relationship was under strain. The alliance with Washington enraged huge swathes of Pakistani society and not just the Islamist parties who called Musharraf a dog while burning American flags at their rallies.
Since 2001, poll after poll has recorded Pakistan as having some of the highest levels of anti-American sentiment in the world. A survey earlier this year found that a majority of Pakistanis believe the US poses the greatest threat to their country.
But how will history judge Musharraf? To his defenders - the few that remain - he was the strongman needed to steer a country with innumerable faultlines through some of its most challenging and perilous years. They scramble to highlight the changes that took place during his tenure, most notably the amending of the notorious Sharia-based laws known as the Hudood Ordinances which had long impeded the lives of Pakistani women, and media reform that has led to the setting up of dozens of private television stations unafraid to challenge the status quo and provoke debate.
In his emotional address to the nation yesterday, Musharraf dwelt long on the legacy he leaves behind. But his obtuse references to the "essence of democracy" and expansive ponderings on how well he had served his country only served to remind those watching of the immense gulf between his own self-regard and the reality of how he was perceived by the majority of Pakistanis.
Musharraf's resignation caps what has been perhaps the most tumultuous 12 months of Pakistan's 60-year history. The country has lost a president, it has witnessed its most popular political leader assassinated at one of her own rallies, it has suffered civil strife and borne the brunt of dozens of suicide bombings, it has seen its economy slump and rising food and fuel prices bite hard.
The enormous challenges Pakistan faces, most notably in dealing with the homegrown militants allied with the Taliban and al-Qaeda who now control its restive tribal areas, will not be resolved simply by Musharraf's stepping down. And many believe the uneasy coalition that makes up its parliament is in danger of falling apart now that its common foe is gone.
Nevertheless, Musharraf's departure, and with him the reminder of army rule, marks another step further along Pakistan's long, slow journey towards democracy.
• Mary Fitzgerald is Foreign Affairs Correspondent of The Irish Times